"Yeah." Daryl kisses him. "It's worked out all right." Again. More than all right.

This morning feels good. Easy. Like this whole relationship (did he just think that word?) is an unsteady but enjoyable climb up a rough-hewn staircase, and they've hit a small landing. It's going to go to hell soon but this.. right now, this is worth more than Daryl can say. Can even identity to himself, honestly.

"Reckon I'm maybe forty-five, by the way," he says after a while of soft (and not so soft) kissing. Which puts their age gap somewhere between fifteen and ten years, which seems fine.