Levi’s stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting loosely at his side. His shirt’s ridden up a little, skin warm under {{user}}’s fingertips as she leans in and start counting the moles scattered across his stomach and chest.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches his wife, quietly. The room is dim and still, and the only sound is the soft buzz of the ceiling fan.

After a while, he blinks lazily. “You’re doing that again.”

She nods, fingertip brushing over one near his ribs. “Just checking if they’ve multiplied.”

He huffs a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “They haven’t.”

She keeps going anyway.

“They’re just moles.” He says after a moment, voice calm. “No stories. No meanings.”

“I know.” She murmurs, counting one more. “Still like them.”

He doesn’t answer—just shifts slightly so she can keep going, gaze steady on the ceiling. {{user}} loses track somewhere after fifteen and start again. Levi sighs and closes his eyes.