They have a routine together, the both of them.

It didn't always exist, instead it slowly started to come together and take form from the moment he moved in with Paul, hoping to take their relationship to the next level. He'd been self-conscious then, still not sure he was doing the right thing even with all the support from his family, yet still doing what felt right and natural for the both of them. What he wanted, regardless of fear.

And what he wanted was to be closer to the man that sneaked into his heart and found home there.

And so their life together started.

Daryl's always considered himself an early riser, but damn if Paul doesn't manage to beat him by hours in the days where they both get to sleep at the same time. Or even in days they don't, really. He always seems to know exactly when to wake up, and those days Paul will always get up before him without a fault; he will take a shower, do some of his daily training exercises in the cramped kitchen they both share, and then make them both some coffee to start the day and the heavenly smell will wake up Daryl from his slumber before the other can.

Some days Paul hasn't gone to bed yet, either because of a run or a watch or one of his usual bouts of insomnia, and instead he forgets all about that and crawls lazily into bed as they ignore the rest of the world and sleep in for as long as they can before someone in Hilltop needs one of them, just holding each other and enjoying their laziness together. Others, one has a run to go— if not both of them— and so Daryl's woken up with kisses and the sound of laughter; happiness flooding his heart with warmth before he's even completely conscious. Those mornings are perfect, reminding them what they're fighting for and what's awaiting at home.

But one way or another Paul is always up before him, even days where Daryl does his best to wake up first; and the little shit knows it too, always teasing him with a "Good morning love, maybe next time" and that damned smile that both infuriates him and makes him melt.

Except.

Except today Daryl woke up to the other still completely out, snoring softly like he always does when he's deep in his sleep, and the hunter would be worried if he didn't remember they both drank heavily the night before for the first time ever since they'd started living together.

He chuckles to himself, completely enamoured with the image of his boyfriend— fuckin' boyfriend; Daryl Dixon has a boyfriend now, he had never seen it coming, not in a billion years— so peaceful in his sleep and with bed hair so messy it's sticking everywhere. Daryl pulls a lock of light brown hair out of Paul's mouth, softly, making the other scrunch his nose but not wake up.

Daryl never thought he'd find a grown ass man adorable before, yet here they are. Paul lived to prove him wrong.

Ever since he'd first moved in and their routine started, maybe even before then, Daryl always tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up the other man. Maybe he'd throw a granola bar at his face all smug for finally waking up first, before giving him a good morning and calling him a lazy ass. Or maybe he'd pull him by the feet, or hit him with a pillow, only to get that deer in the headlights look from Paul that he loves so much and laugh.

But now that he's here and it finally happened, he wants none of that.

Oh sure, it'd likely be just as satisfying as he always imagined it to be, and the other would laugh too with him after realizing what had happened. But just the thought of interrupting such a serene scene like that seems wrong, somehow. He doesn't want to do it.

And so instead he leans down and drops one single kiss in the corner of Paul's mouth, less of a peck and more of a soft wake up call.

"G'morning," Daryl whispers against his cheek.

Paul hums interested but still he doesn't open his eyes. He turns to Daryl, movements still slow with sleepiness, and gives him a quick peck that's off its destined target by a lot and instead hits his chin with a lazy smile on his face, looking so incredibly happy and at peace that Daryl can't help but but give him a second kiss and then one more, caressing Paul's cheek ever so fondly.

It takes Paul a second or two to blink himself awake and fully gain consciousness, and Daryl just watches as the other settles himself on his elbows groaning as he did it. Paul looks around the room, as if only now taking in the situation.

"Morning, love," he answers him, rubbing his eyes still so clearly tired. "You were up before me?"

Their breaths smell something awful with the booze and morning breath, but none of them seem to care as they just smile softly at each other and enjoy the early morning haze together, neither wanting to move away.

"What, is that so hard to believe now?" Daryl asks, his voice soft despite his words. "'Sides, the whiskey knocked ya out good. Lightweight."

Paul laughs at the memory, sleepily. "Mhmm. Just because I can't drink like you do doesn't make me a lightweight, you know. At least I get buzzed first," comes the reply, joy clear even though he's clearly feeling the night before. "How is it that you never get hungover? That's so unfair," Paul whines as he nuzzles the hunter's neck.

Daryl snorts.

"I do, 'm just not a baby about it like some," he teases, making Paul gasp mock-offense.

The effect is ruined, however, by the small pecks he's leaving on Daryl's skin. "You implying something, Dixon?"

"Maybe," Daryl replies, still smiling. "C'mon, get up. I'll make you something for that nasty hangover."

"But I don't want to, I'm so comfortable right now," he says against his skin, his breath and beard tickling Daryl's neck ever so lightly— not that he'd ever admit to being ticklish in the first place. "Can't we just cuddle and sleep it off?"

Christ, Daryl can't believe this is his life now.

"Nah. You'd lose the famous redneck recipe against hangover then, we can't have that. I know how to make it just like Merle used to." Daryl gives him a quick kiss before getting up, grabbing him by the hands and pulling Paul with him even as the other complained. "C'mon, it's awful. It tastes like ass."

"Ugh. That makes me want to get up even less now," Paul argues. "You're terrible at this."

"What, I thought you liked ass?"

Daryl lets out a huff of laughter at his own joke even as Paul sputters ultraged and hits him with a pillow.

"You're an ass."

"Yep," he agrees with a smug smile, making Paul chuckle too against his own wish. "And you love me anyways."

There's a twinkle of joy in Paul's big blue eyes at his words, and maybe if Daryl's mind hadn't been so clouded with its own little mixture of sleep and happiness he'd realize that it's the first time he's felt comfortable enough to joke about it out loud. They've said the word before, sure, but most of the time Daryl's to understand why the other loves him back; always so stuck in his own insecurity and self-loathing that he couldn't help but doubt.

"Mm, true," Paul says with a bright smile. "That I do."

They stare at each other, a look so utterly satisfied and fond that it makes Daryl's heart do an humiliating dance in his chest that he'll never admit even under torture, and share one last good morning kiss.

"Come one now, show me the promised oh-so-famous Dixon family recipe. You made me curious."