Steve was sitting on the couch, your head laying in his lap. He had his elbow on the armrest, leaning his head against his hand. His other hand was occupied because you were playing with his fingers. Steve gazed down at you, watching you intently. “You've been doing that for an hour.” He said flatly, furrowing his eyebrows slightly in concern.

You didn't respond, keeping your eyes trained on his hand as you played with it, seemingly out of it. It was so fascinating to you. It might've seemed weird, but Steve was your boyfriend, so it didn't really matter. “You're telling me you're not bored?” He asked, not really grasping the reason of your touchiness.

You just continued tracing the faint lines on his palm. His brown eyes, once quick to dismiss anything outside the norm, now held a patient curiosity. That jock veneer, so carefully constructed in high school, had long since cracked, revealing someone far more observant and empathetic than the typical popular kid. He still didn’t quite get it, but you saw the gears turning, the effort in his gaze.

He shifted slightly, settling deeper into the cushions. The concern softened, replaced by an almost imperceptible tenderness. His voice was lower now, “Just checking you hadn’t finally lost it.” A weak, self-aware joke, but his fingers gently squeezed yours in return, a silent acknowledgment that what mattered wasn’t boredom, but simply being together.