"Whatever makes you feel beautiful," Derek replies easily, laughing a bit and stepping up to order his coffee. "And it's okay, mine smells like apples."

He slides off to the side after he pays and leans against the counter, fiddling with the CDs on display and waiting for Oliver to make his own order. He does smell like apples, and a little like vanilla. It's sort of an assault to his senses, but he likes it for how it reminds him of the previous night.