You’re sprawled out on the couch, fingers intertwined with Derek’s.

You’re laying against him, tucked under his arm cozily as you read a book. He has a football game on the screen––muted, for your sake––and is gently stroking your hair with the hand he’s not using to hold yours.

He looks down at you and smiles to himself. You make him feel like a teenager again. “Whatcha reading?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your hair.