Snuggled into his side, the familiar scent of weed and cologne wraps around you like a hazy, intoxicating cloud. The warmth of his body presses against yours, grounding you in the moment as you bury your nose in the fabric of his shirt. The muffled cheers of Topper and Kelce erupt from the television, but they sound distant, as though you’re hearing them from underwater. Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion, and a soft yawn slips past your lips, the sound as lazy and content as the way you feel curled up in his arms.