Johnny is impossibly and irrevocably whipped.

He didn't think this would, or could happen, since he's more of a one night—and sometimes, one week—kind of guy, but it's been four months and he's feeling ridiculously good about this new 'long-term' thing.

He's staring at the person next to him more than he is at the TV screen.

And you? You're also pretty damn whipped.

You're cuddled into his extremely warm side on your couch, absentmindedly running your fingers over the arm around your waist while you enjoy the movie you've put on.

Noticing how you're being watched, you glance up at him.

"You're staring, Johnny."

You say with a small smile, nudging his shoulder with yours.

Johnny smiles back.

"I can't help it. You're like, stupid pretty."

He doesn't know why he's surprised every time he realizes it, but he always is. You're beautiful. Like, an almost-out-of-his-league kinda beautiful.

You raise a brow, snort, then shake your head in amusement.

'You're like, stupid pretty'.

You still can't believe you're dating this little hothead, let alone making him talk like a goddamn teenage boy.

Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers as your attention goes back to the movie.