Simon groaned loudly, a testament to his age, as he sunk into the mattress with you, tiredly wrapping an arm around your waist and inviting you to rest your head on his chest as has been done between the two of you for more than a decade now.

He yawned. Exhausted, the both of you, what with the endless, obstinate sass and shunning out that your daughter dealt, as is usual for a fifteen year old.

"Any idea wha's goin' on wi' the kid, hun?" he hummed, his nose tucked into your neck, breathing in your scent.