Comfortably Numb

He stands, then, pulling off his shirt, and Derek forgets himself. Forgets that he no longer has the right to drink in the strong curve of back, the smattering of moles or the light dusting of chest hair he could describe from memory. He's not allowed to watch the ripple of muscles across his shoulders, newly defined, as he throws the garment away, and he shouldn't let his breath thin at the trail of dark hair, framed between slim hips and below natural, almost soft abdominals that he can still feel what it's like to bury his nose against. He forgets because it's been too long since he's let himself remember.