"You're home," Stephanie yawned as she sat there on their couch, bundled up in a blanket. It was late and she probably should have already gone to bed, but it was a special night, after all. No way she was going to bed before he got there.

"I'm home," he sighed as he sat his briefcase down on the ground before coming closer. "Steph."

She sat up a bit more, watching as he wiggled out of his leather jacket. "Happy anniversary."

And, once free of his jacket, he came to lean down and press a kiss against her lips. Then, softly, he returned, "Happy anniversary."

Holding up some of the blanket as if offering him some, she stayed silent as she watched him kick off his shoes and go to give a their dog, Andre, a pat on the head from where he was, chewing on a bone in front of the television. After that though, he returned to her, slipping beneath the blanket with the woman, but also having to pull her close to get this accomplished.

She pressed some quick pecks to his cheek, her lips brushing more beard than flesh, before asking, "How was taping?"

"It was taping," he said as he settled in. "I was thinking more about you though."

"You were not."

"I'm always thinking about you, babe." He grinned down at her then. "Every second of every day. While I'm on the john, even."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"You can't control it. I can't even control it. You infiltrate my brain. What can I do? I-"

"Hush." She sat up some then as the show she had on the television came back from commercial. 'I'm watching this."

"Are you serious?" He made a face. "You weren't waiting up for me? You were legit just watching this damn show?"

"I could do both."

"But you weren't."

"Was too."

"Well, I'm here now, so turn that off and-"

"Paul-"

"Record it."

"I don't like watching recording."

"That's just because you don't know how to work them."

"I really don't," she agreed as he snatched the remote and clicked the record button. "I was so much better at putting a tape in and setting the VCR. Remember? I used to have to be the one to do it because you didn't know how."

"Yeah, no, I just told you that. I could do it, I just didn't want to."

"What?"

"Now that that's off," he said as he clicked the power button on the remote before tossing it down to the coffee table where it clanged a bit too loudly for Steph's taste, "we can focus on us, huh?"

She gave him a look as he shifted to nuzzle his head against hers, but didn't duck the advance. Softly, she asked, "Focus what about us?"

"The rest of the night."

"Uh, the night's practically over and I'm going to bed soon, so-"

"You know, Steph, for someone who's gonna eat this shit up," he tsked, "you sure are being difficult."

And that got her finally as she was taken over by giggles. As she fell forwards some, to try and hide her laughs against his arm, Paul only shifted so that he could wrap both arms around her and, together, they fell back on the couch, him fighting his own laughter as well. Though his could probably be rooted more in the absolute exhaustion he was experiencing, he was sure some of it had to do with just how contagious his wife's was to him.

"You'll wake the girls," he reminded as she tried to stifle her laughter. "Steph."

"I'm sorry. I just-"

"Let's go up to our room," he suggested then. "Before I fall asleep out here."

Stephanie had to deal with Andre first who certainly needed to go out for his nightly romp through the yard while Paul made himself a sandwich and got something to drink. They both finished at about the same time and, after ordering Andre to go find somewhere to sleep, the pair headed off upstairs. Steph took his plate and drink to bed for him though while Paul checked in on his daughters. In order of the bedrooms he arrived upon it went oldest, middle, youngest and when he got to that last one, he was so very afraid that he'd been too loud with the others and she was finally going to tip the scales and wake up, ruining whatever it was that him and Stephanie had going on, but luckily she allowed him to pat her head gently and whisper, "Goodnight, baby," without so much as peeking an eye open.

It was really shaping up to a great anniversary. They'd spent more than their fair share over the years apart or together, but weathering the storm of either a sick or just whiny child. Sure, this year he was dead tired and Stephanie didn't look like she was offering up much, but they could at least have a nice our or so before he passed out.

"Did you eat my sandwich?"

"I thought you made it for me."

"After I explicitly asked for you to take my sandwich upstairs?"

"Mistakes were made," Stephanie said as she slid the plate across the bed towards his side. "Here's the other half though."

"Stephie," he griped as he took the time out to go ahead and undress. Stephanie seemed ready for bed already though, as she had been since he strolled in, and only took to watching him, bundled underneath the covers on the bed by that point. "And are you cold or something?"

"Are you not?"

"Babe, it's the end of October" he remarked with a shake of his head. "How are you gonna make it through the real winter if you're so miserable now?"

"I'm not," she said with a shrug. "I plan on being gone for most of it."

"You do not."

"Take my vacation leave."

"You don't get vacation leave."

"Go somewhere warm."

"Like the Mojave Desert?"

"That's oddly specific," she remarked with a frown. "Babe."

"Name a warmer place," he challenged. "See?"

"I think it gets cold in the desert, though, at night, which is when it's too cold for me here and I need blankets, which is what we're having this conversation over, so-"

"You ate my sandwich. You don't get to backtalk me too."

That time Stephanie didn't try to hide her giggle and he allowed himself to smile. It was only he was down to his boxers though that he moved to slip between the sheets to join her.

He stayed sitting up in bed, as he ate, while Steph laid at his side, watching in what was kind of a creepy way, but nearing two decades of putting up with this kind of shit, Paul hardly noticed.

"Did you drink my drink too?"

"Only half."

"You have one anniversary once a year and suddenly you gotta start sharing your shit again." He shook his head a bit. "Don't you know things get split down the middle when you divorce? Not when you happily continue to fuck into, what is it? Fifteen years now?"

"You know what it is."

"Fourteen," he admitted with a slight nod. "But fifteen soon. Then twenty. Twenty-five. Then we're gonna be old and my brain will be mush and numbers probably won't matter much."

Snorting, Stephanie said, "I'm never getting old."

"That'll be awkward," he told her simply. "Because I plan to."

"Do you?"

"That graceful kind of old. I'm already heading there."

"No, you're not."

"Am too," he admitted with a sharp nod. Around a bite of sandwich, he added, "I'mma be a hot old man though."

"Are you though?"

"I am," he said with certainty. "I mean, look at me."

"But you're not old yet."

"Plenty old," he remarked. "You though? Definitely not."

"Definitely not."

"Nowhere close to old. Never gonna be."

"Your over stating is concerning."

"It's late," he told her simply. "I'm just talking so I don't fall asleep before I finished my sand- my half of a sandwich."

"You kind of skimped on the mustard."

"You know, Steph," he griped then over the sound of her giggling once more. She always had too much fun when she was exhausted. Or at least when they were alone together. "I'm trying very hard to end this anniversary on a high note."

"Are you?"

"Mmmhmm."

"I'm not helping much, am I?"

"Mmm-mmm."

"I'm sorry," she yawned as, finished with the plate, he moved to set it on the nightstand. "What can I do to help?'

"Shutting the fuck up would be a start."

"Okay, now I'm annoyed."

"You're annoyed," he grumbled. "Try being me, Stephie."

He moved to shifted more comfortably into the bed, resting on his side then so that they could stare at one another. There was something so nice about the comfort in it all. He could lay in a thousand beds a year, in multiple states, and many countries, but none made him as relaxed as the one he had at home where, when his head lulled to the side, he could see his wife staring back at him. The monotony was calming almost as much as Steph's presence was all by itself.

Reaching a hand out, Steph poked his nose gently before whispering, "I'm tired, babe."

"Me too," he agreed as her hand fell to the space between them, just resting there. "I'm happy you waited up for me though."

"Thought we'd decided I didn't do that?"

"Half the things I say to you are all in jest, Steph," he said with a frown. "Over half, even. Probably ninety percent, even, if it doesn't have to do with work or the girls. Actually, that ten percent is probably work and the girls."

"Sometimes you tell me you love me," she added.

"Like I said, ninety percent of the things-"

"Anniversary, Paul."

"You're my baby, you know that." His hand came to fall over hers then, covering it completely. "Mmmm. Baby."

His eyes were drifting then and he probably would have fallen asleep had Stephanie not suddenly said, "What's, like, the best thing about me?"

"What?" And his eyes opened once more, just to give her a look. "Steph?"

"I said-"

"No, I meant, what are you doing, I'm clearly going to sleep now. And you can't rope me into having this conversation. It'll only end poorly for me."

"It's anniversary stuff though."

"We can do it when I take you out to dinner then, this weekend."

"Then it's not special."

"Then cancel dinner as well."

"Paul-"

"Stephanie-"

"Maybe I'll just go first," she warned. "And I'll only say the bad things about you."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good luck," he wished her as, scooting closer, he reached his arm out then to pull her to him. Snuggling her against his chest, he said, "'cause I ain't got any bad qualities. Physical or mental."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but can't I?"

"You're really hurtful, sometimes, without meaning to be," Stephanie began.

"Oh, no, I always mean it."

"Your sarcasm is not usually appreciated."

"I appreciate it and that's enough for me."

"And," she continued, "your eyes sit too far back in your head."

That got him to pause. Then frown.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means that your eyes tiny and beady and when you grin or whatever, your cheeks make it look even worse."

His jaw fell open in shock as Stephanie, unable to handle it, tried to giggle into his chest again. He wasn't allow this to go unanswered, however.

"I'll play your game," he said then. "You wanna list bad qualities? Huh? My eyes are perfect, but for the sake of argument, fine."

"I mean they're not, but-"

"You have a bad attitude, Steph," he said then with a shake of her head. "When we're doing something you don't want. And it's annoying."

"Well, I don't like this game anymore, so-"

"Sometimes," he kept up, "you ignore my texts when I know you've seen them and, if I did that to you, you'd be pissy about it."

"That's not a quality," she complained. "That's an in the moment decision."

"In the- You make that same decision at least twice a week!"

"Okay, I think we should establish which texts I'm ignoring," Stephanie complained. "It's never work related or to do with the girls. Its always you saying inappropriate things at inappropriate times."

"Define inappropriate."

"Literally everything that comes out of your mind when you're in a meeting and bored."

"You have me there."

"I have you everywhere," she fixed for him and, well, he had no gripes with that.

"What other bad qualities do you have?" he pondered. Then, with a shrug, he said, "You never put the cap back on the toothpaste."

"That's a personal choice. And why should I when you do it for me?"

"Personal choice?"

"You heard me."

"What does that even mean, Steph?"

She wasn't sure, but it felt like a compelling argument.

"I feel like you're scrapping the bottom of the barrel here, babe," she said instead of answering. "I have loads more bad things about you that I could talk about, but you're already on toothpaste."

"What other things?" he asked. "Huh? Go ahead, try and take me down, Steph. Can't do it."

"Taking one another down wasn't the point," she said with a shake of her head. "I wanted to say all the things we loved each other for."

"Where's the fun in that?" he complained. "Huh?"

"This is one of your bad qualities," she decided then as he only raised an eyebrow. "You never do cute stuff with me."

"I do cute stuff all the time."

"Not on demand."

"I'm not a slave, Steph."

"I would do any cute thing you wanted on demand without question," she countered. "Even after all these years."

"I wasn't doing that for you year one and don't plan on doing it year a billion," he told her with a shake of his head. "And you wanna do cute stuff. Me also wanting to do them would be heaven for you. And I'm playing this game, aren't I?"

"Not the version I wanted."

"This one's more fun. I'dda conked out by now with the other one." Which, honestly, wouldn't have been too bad a deal. He really did need some sleep and soon. "If you wanted to play more games like this, I'd do it more often."

"This wasn't supposed to be a game," she told him. "It was supposed to be an open and honest discussion with one another on-"

"How is it an open and honest discussion when you're over here taking aim at my eyes?"

Stephanie paused then for a second, to smile at him, before saying, "They do sit too far back. Sunken in, really."

He blinked (which didn't help his case much), before opening his mouth to retort with some of his own gripes, but just then, something crashed downstairs and Andre let out a loud yelp. This, of course, woke the girls and Steph rushed off to check on her dog (he wasn't injured; his ball had rolled beneath a side table and he'd tried to fish it out, only for the whole thing to topple over) while Paul got stuck trying to get the kids back to bed. The clean up Steph had to do surpassed the soothing Paul did and, though he wanted to go help her out, he was just so tired.

So he finally went to bed.

When Stephanie joined him, she was ready for sleep too, but did bump into him while getting settled which was enough to get him to peek open and eye and reach out for her.

"We'll finish," he sighed as he snuggled her real close, "in the morning."

And Steph gave him a lazy kiss to his cheek. "Happy anniversary."

"Yeah," he slurred from exhaustion. "Happy 'versary."

They didn't though, finish it in the morning. Because in the morning both were busy and neither had time to do much of anything remotely relating to themselves. Not with three girls and no longer remorseful puppy to deal with. Then there was work and he was traveling and she was at home and it just didn't happen, their chance to talk again, until he took her out to dinner.

But at dinner, Steph wanted to talk about all sorts of things. She had a lot to tell him. She always did. And he never minded it, when he had something else to focus on too. Eating was a big focus. His wife rambling on and on about their daughters was a welcome accompaniment.

The girls were waiting up for them when they got home and as Steph talked to the nanny, Paul went about getting them ready for bed. He was in the middle of reading his youngest her story when Steph came into the room.

"Nigh," she said to their daughter as she pressed a kiss to her head. Her eyes though were on her husband and, just as quickly, she was leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Needless to say, the bunny rabbit somehow magically found his way home with a few pages being skipped along the way.

"You still need a blanket?" he griped a bit as he found her out on their back deck. She was sitting on the bench in the corner of the deck, bundled up under it as if it was a frozen wasteland out. It wasn't, but he would admit there was a nip to the air. "You sure you're not sick?"

"Sick and tired of the weather," she griped and even had to agree that it had been rather dreary out recently. They'd see their first snowfall of the winter next week, the forecasts said, and Steph clearly wasn't taking the concept well. "But that's about it."

Paul didn't doubt the structure of the stone bench, but did worry about room with the way Steph was sitting, but somehow, when he sat beside her, not only did the bench hold, but they fit together like always. He'd question it the next time as well, however.

Just like every time.

"Why'd you wanna come out here?" he asked as he shook his head no when she offered him some of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "Steph?"

"So Andre didn't bother us," she explained as, on queue, the ever in sync with his mother dog came zooming past as he ran around the yard, chasing a squirrel or some other poor creature. He was very good at evening patrols. His mother told him, even, he was the best. Paul still had his doubts. "This time."

"This time?"

Nodding, she added, "So that we can finish our game."

He was confused momentarily as much had gone in during the interim, but then his eyes got a glint in them that matched hers and, nodding along, he said, "You're in luck. I got a few bad qualities of yours saved up."

"Oh, do you?" she asked, elbowing him gently then.

"Mmmhmm."

"Like what?"

He stared at her for a long moment before saying, "Your face is jug-like."

"What?"

"Yeah. A jug. I said it."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"And my eyes being too far back in my head made what sense?"

"I don't know, ask the laws of nature."

"I think you're pretty pretentious sometimes, too," he went on then. "And it rubs people the wrong way."

Wrinkling her nose, she asked, "Should I not be? I am better than most people."

"You're rubbing me the wrong way right now."

"The way this is going, I'm not rubbing anything."

"That's another thing," he kept up. "You say things like that a lot to me."

"Like what?"

"Dismissive things." Shaking his head, he said, "As if you don't want me or something. But then, there you are, all over me every single time I so much as breathe. It's mixed messages, Steph! I need clear lines."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll stick to dismissive then, I guess."

"Thank you." He even nodded a bit. "All I've wanted for eleven years."

"We've been married fourteen."

"I liked your stupid dismissive attitude for the first three."

It was so perfect too. She was pursing her lips at him and he wanted to kiss her and just go ahead and take things back inside. He'd come collect Andre later; he wanted to go inside right that moment.

But…

"And then your voice. That tone you use. Horrible."

He couldn't stop himself. It had been the first 'bad trait' he thought of the other night and was now circling back in his head. He doubted they'd play the game again and he wanted to get it out.

Stephanie, having picked up on the vibe they'd had going (although she was definitely bring her poor baby back inside first), was all ready to get up and get to it. But his words made her stop.

"What?" she asked, blinking, as Paul, in all his years of wisdom, still couldn't see the writing on the wall.

Maybe if his eyes weren't so sunken in…

"Your voice. It's fucking annoying," he said because she knew this, how could she not know this? There was no proper word to describe it, but somewhere between shrill and nasally, but not quite either. "I mean, it's gotten better, but fuck, when you get excited, you really do inflections that-"

"Why would you say that?"

"What?" And he came back down then, frowning over at her. "We're listing bad qualities."

"That's not a bad quality," she griped back as her face basically became a scowl. "And it's not like I can control that. You know I hate when you talk about it."

Yeah, he did. Or at least he should have. He used to tease Steph, when they were younger, after shows and things about it. He couldn't quite remember why he stopped…

"Steph, what? We were messing around." He elbowed her, but she didn't so much as move. "Like with my eyes. You said-"

"Who else has ever said that to you?" she asked as he could tell her voice had officially hit that tone. Great. "No one. I didn't make fun of your big ass nose."

And he snorted, a bit, because there was something so funny about all of this.

Other than the fact that it had just hit him why he'd stopped teasing Steph about all her weird inflections and timbres of her voice.

She'd bit his head off about it one day, either when they were engaged or pretty damn close to it, and he let it die for the most part.

Shit.

But what she'd just said? That was funny."

"It's not funny, Paul."

Oh, damn, no, it's not funny. Right.

"I didn't mention how much of a jerk you are to me either," Stephanie kept up because once she was on a roll, she was hard to get off. "Becuase you are. A good majority of the time. Everyone thinks you're so funny and cute, but you're mean sometimes, to me. When you're tired or angry over something at work. And I don't make a big deal about how you never help out around the house. At all. I'm always making excuses for you, because you're gone so much, but why should it be my job? If I'm gone just as much? And you make fun of me to other people too. I know you do. I'm not stupid. You and Dad especially. Oh, ha ha, Steph's so ditzy and bratty and emotional and-"

"Stephanie-"

"No. No. It's not fair. You act like I'm so hard to deal with and poor Hunter, he has to put up with her and she's the worst McMahon and she's so annoying and bossy and probably controls him. That's what you want everyone else to think so that they don't know that it's actually the other way around."

She huffed then and he blinked a bit, as well as considered just what sorta landmine he'd stumbled upon. Also, he decided then that more laughter was not the best course of action.

"Holding that in for awhile?" he asked after a few moments. "Steph?"

And they only sat there, in the chill of October, staring at one another. Eventually she blushed some, looking off, but he only continued to stare at her.

"I'm starting to think," he went on when it was clear she didn't want to speak anymore, "that we won't make it to year thirty, you're feeling this abused. Not even half way there yet. What a shame."

"Paul-"

"No, if I make you feel like that, fine. I should know." He was uncomfortable then though and it was clear. They both were. "But I don't talk about you to other people, Stephanie."

"You-"

"Not in a malicious way. You're my wife. And someone I work with. Sometimes, yes, I might mention you in something, but you know that I'm not actively trying to tarnish you. What good would that do me? And you're not ditzy or bratty or- Well, you're emotional, but that's okay. I like that about you. You know that."

"I did mean-"

"Yeah, you did. And that's okay." He chuckled then, but it was soft. And, when she looked back to him, he only shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I wasn't expecting it, but it's okay."

They sat there some more. And some more. Neither was too sure where to go from there. Stephanie's anger, as always, had been extremely fleeting and now, with it gone, she was left kind of empty. They'd been having such a nice moment and she knew she'd overreacted and she wanted to blame it on lack of sleep, but even with that explanation, blowing up on him like that wasn't acceptable. Not when they were trying to have a nice night, just to themselves.

And over such a stupid comment.

Paul though was a bit lost of how to handle things. Mainly because he didn't want to. At all. Steph had got in her feelings over something he didn't mean to offend her by and, though she'd attempted to, no of her accusations actually hurt his feelings. He didn't like them, but they weren't anything he could discredit. They seemed to be more of her feelings, which he didn't like that she had, but at the same time didn't necessarily see himself as being able to change.

He was an ass. Not to everyone. Not to his kids. Or his parents. He didn't think he was to Stephanie either, but if she felt that way recently, then he was sorry, but he couldn't fix something he wasn't actively attempting to achieve. And mean felt like an overstatement.

But still, if she feelings weren't something you could argue.

It would be stupid to tell her that he'd help around the house more because, though he figured he probably should, he also knew himself enough to know that he never would, so claiming to would only lead to more aggravation later down the line. It wasn't even, honestly, that Steph wanted that, he was pretty sure. Or thought that she would get it. When he was around, he was either still working or very busy cramming time into activities with his kids.

Plus, it wasn't like she was Becky home ecky either…

He wasn't even so sure that what she had said had been something that she'd been holding onto either. It seemed to just be a compilation of multiple things that she thought would hurt him to say because, though he had no ill-will intended, he'd hurt her. He knew that he prided himself on his work ethic and how he cared for his family. She was only acting on instinct, striking back in hopes of eliciting the same response he'd gotten, albeit unwittingly, from her.

"Sometimes," he told her softly then, "I feel like we fight over really stupid shit, you know? Just because we haven't had a serious fight in awhile."

Looking out into the yard, Steph looked for her dog, but upon not finding him was forced to at least respond.

"We're not fighting," she said with a sigh. "We're just… I shouldn't have said that. That was mean."

"I know. You're mean to me, but try to make everyone else think-"

"I really don't want you to be funny right now."

"I'm sorry." He was rare to say that word as, honestly, he rarely felt that way. Btu in that moment, he did. Not because he honestly believed that he'd done anything wrong, but that he'd let his joking take them so far off track. And that he'd made Steph feel that way in the first place. Right or wrong, she'd clearly at least thought these things once or twice before and he never rightly liked her to be upset. Especially if he was the one causing it. "Seriously, Steph. Even about, you know, the voice thing. It was a joke, but you didn't want me to say it and I shouldn't have."

"No," she sighed as, if only to herself, she admitted, "I'm just too sensitive."

Yes. Gosh, yes. It took every ounce of him not to exclaim that exact same sentiment.

"Nah, baby, you're fine," he insisted because sometimes you lied for your spouse, you just did. "Sometimes I forget that, you know, I don't have to always take everything so far. I'm always so censored, you know, at work."

"You?"

"In some ways," he defended. "But then I get home and… Do you really think that I'm mean to you, Steph? Sometimes?"

And for all the deep and personal conversations Stephanie had wanted them to have, this just felt far too deep and far too personal in that moment.

"No," she said slowly, after a moment. "I mean… Everyone's kind of mean to everyone, aren't they? I do things to you sometimes that… But you're not mean to me."

"Yeah, I am," he decided then, for the both of them. Reaching over, his hand came to squeeze the back of her neck gently before slowly relaxing his hold. "Sometimes."

And, giving into this, she nodded some. "Sometimes."

"I try not to be," he offered. "To you. You know that."

"I know."

"Did you, uh, wanna go inside?" He wasn't even sure if what he was insinuating with that short of it was starting to get cold and he was not dressed for it. "Please?"

"Let me get Andre-"

"I'll get him," he offered because, at that point, he might as well. "Dumb dog's probably scared himself out there of something."

"Don't call him dumb, Daddy." And Stephanie got to her feet then, tugging the blanket around her tighter. "He's a baby."

Andre was a lot of things, a lot of annoying, bothersome things, but only a baby if overgrown was thrown in there somewhere.

He thought he'd find Stephanie downstairs still, after he'd come inside with Andre. It'd taken awhile to track the dog down though and he couldn't find her anywhere. Doubting she'd have gone down to the gym without mentioning it, he figured it was a sign that it was time for an early bed and he'd best head along as well.

"You're going in here," he grumbled to Andre as he stowed him away in one of the kid's rooms as he, once more, went into to check on all of them. "Where you won't get in so much trouble."

The mastiff had some complaints, but choked them down as he spiked a pesky chew toy on the floor he hadn't rolled around with in a bit.

Their bedroom light was out when he opened the door and he was afraid she'd gone straight to bed, but that wasn't the case. It made him snicker too, when he found her waiting for him, not too cold it seemed then, but how could she be when he was right there to warm her back up.

"Steph," he whispered eventually as the house was still once more and she seemed to seriously be considering bed then. "Steph, are you still up?"

"Mmmmm?"

Grinning, he reached out for her and, when she only moved to shove him away, he only said, "No, no more, just… Your best, like, quality or trait or whatever is probably how much you're willing to go through, you know? Or put up with, or whatever. To love me. Or, like, the lengths, I guess, is what I mean, that you're willing to-"

"What are you talking about?" And she batted him when, once again, he tried to pull her close. "Paul, go to bed."

"I love you," he told her then. "And I love how much you love me. Like...like a paradox. And your voice isn't annoying to me. At all. That was just a cheap shot. It's...you, you know? I love all of you, not just parts of you. If I ever make you feel like I don't, then-"

"You know," she yawned as she pushed up some so that she could be the one to scoot closer then, moving to rest against his side, "a lot of people think you talk too much."

That one caught him off guard and, for some reason, made him frown.

Still, Stephanie kept up as she added, "But I like it. Hearing you."

He let out a long breath then before asking, "Do you?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I talk well, I think. And everyone who doesn't think so can get fucked." Then, bowing his head, he hummed. "Well, you got fucked and you don't think that, so-"

"Goodnight, Paul."

Grinning then, truly, he relented. "Happy late anniversary, Stephie."

"Fourteen more?"

"Fourteen more." Then, humming some more. "And then a billion. But after the billion and fourteen, I want to die and become a god or whatever, like I deserve."

She was too tired to giggle for him then no matter how hard he tried to get her to, but did pat at his chest some in thanks. "Like you deserve."

Like, I can't be the only one to think that his eyes have gotten more sunken into his head as time has gone on, can I? Part of it's definitely a bags under the eye/lack of sleep thing, but the rest of it's just fucking bizarre. And ain't no way Steph don't know her voice is annoying, right? Maybe that's just me too?