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She slid off the couch, her bare feet hitting the cool floor as she began the hunt for her purse, feeling his gaze finally crack open to watch her move—a silent, hungry sentinel even in the light of day.

Olivia finally located her purse, buried under Derek’s discarded  jacket. She fished out the vibrating device, the screen glowing with a barrage of notifications that made her heart skip a beat.

“Hi, Izzy,” she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep. “Good morning.”

“Duh! Good morning? Really?” Isabella’s voice crackled through the line, vibrating with its usual high-octane energy. “I’ve been calling you since the clock struck twelve to wish you Happy new year. I called, I texted, I sent a carrier pigeon. You and Derek…”

Olivia winced, pulling down her notification shade. Her eyes widened. Seven missed calls from Isabella, three from her mother, two from Tessa, and a string of festive "Happy New Year!" texts from a dozen different people.

“I’m sorry, Izzy,” Olivia said, leaning against the cold glass of the window, the morning sun warming her bare skin. “We were just... occupied.”

“We? Occupied?” Isabella repeated, her tone shifting from slightly annoyed to dangerously knowing. She let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Look, just because you and my brother have finally stopped being idiots doesn't mean the rest of us cease to exist. Mom was about to call the hospitals.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Olivia said, a small, private smile tugging at her lips. “We just completely lost track of time, and then we... well, we crashed.”

“Don’t need the details!” Isabella cut in with a mock-shudder. “I’m thrilled for you guys, really, but ewwww. Total sibling boundary violation.”

Olivia laughed, the sound bright in the quiet loft. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Derek was fully awake now, propped up on one elbow on the velvet cushions. He wasn't even pretending to look for his phone; his gaze was anchored entirely on her, his dark eyes raking over her naked silhouette with a hunger that suggested the night hadn't been nearly enough.

Olivia felt a fresh blush creep up her neck. She turned back to the window, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “Happy New Year, Izzy. I love you.”

“I love you too, lover girl,” Isabella replied, her tone softening. “But do me a favor? Tell that blockhead brother of mine to call me and our parents back. They were starting to get genuinely worried about his slutty ass.”

“I’ll tell him,” Olivia promised, stifling another giggle. “Talk soon.”

She hung up and turned to face the "blockhead" in question. Suddenly self-conscious in the harsh morning light, she instinctively tried to shield herself with her hands—an exercise in futility that only made Derek’s smirk widen. Giving up on modesty, she walked back toward the couch.

“So,” she began, trying to sound stern. “Apparently, there’s a search party out for us. Our parents are wondering why we’ve gone off the grid on the most important morning of the year.”

“Hmmmm,” Derek hummed, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. He didn't look worried. In fact, he looked like a man who wouldn't care if the building was on fire as long as she was within arm’s reach. “We can return the calls later.”

“Later?” Olivia challenged, stopping just out of reach. “Derek, it’s tradition. We have to wish them a Happy New Year… And so they know we’re actually still alive.”

“I’m very much alive, Liv,” Derek countered.

Before she could anticipate the move, his hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist. With one fluid, powerful tug, he pulled her back down into his heat. He rolled them over in a tangle of limbs and velvet, pinning her beneath him until she was trapped between his heavy frame and the soft cushions.

“Every single part of me is alive right now,” he muttered against her ear, his voice dropping into that dark, delicious register.

Olivia laughed, her breath catching as she felt the unmistakable, rigid evidence of his claim against her thigh. “That’s... not what I meant by being alive.”

“It’s exactly what I meant,” Derek said. He slipped a hand between their bodies, his fingers finding her already soft and slick from the memory of him. He let out a low groan of satisfaction as he spread her legs, his gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that made the rest of the world—and the missed calls—fade into gray static. He grabbed his length, guiding himself home with one slow, deep thrust that made Olivia’s toes curl.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he whispered, beginning to move with a steady, rhythmic heat.

Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted like a new beginning. The phone could wait. The parents could wait. The world could wait.

“Oh, Derek...” she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. “Happy New Year.”

She could return those calls later. 

—------------

The weeks that followed were a blurred, golden montage of domestic bliss. Derek hadn't just stepped back into Olivia's life; he had woven himself into the very fabric of it. The cold, industrial edges of his loft had softened. There were now traces of her everywhere—a stray silk hair tie on his nightstand, a bottle of her vanilla perfume in his bathroom, a few of her clothes in his wardrobe, and a growing collection of animations saved in his watch history. 

They spent their days in a comfortable, rhythmic loop of work and passion. Most nights ended with her skin against his, and most mornings began with the smell of strong coffee and the sight of Derek—bare-chested and focused—taming a frying pan.

They’d perfected the art of doing nothing. Sometimes they didn't even make it to the table, opting to spread a blanket on the floor in front of the television of his living room, surrounded by takeout containers and the flickering light of a cartoon, dissecting plot points as if they were high-stakes philosophy. It was the kind of peace Olivia had stopped believing in. And because it was so perfect, she was terrified to nudge it, fearing the bubble might burst if they moved too fast.

Then came a Tuesday morning that shattered the status quo. The sunlight was streaming through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Olivia bolted upright, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the clock on the bedside table.

"Shit!" she hissed, throwing back the heavy duvet. "Derek, wake up. We overslept. I have a house to show a client in forty minutes and I haven't even seen a hairbrush."