Charlie’s lying on his stomach, shirt off, cheek pressed against your pillow, curls messy and eyes half-lidded. His back rises and falls with each slow breath, muscles relaxing under your fingertips as you trace lazy lines along his bare skin.

“You’re gonna put me in a coma,” he mumbles, voice all sleepy and warm.

You smile, scratching lightly between his shoulder blades. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

He lets out a soft sound—half a sigh, half a hum. “How do you make something so simple feel that good?”

“Magic hands,” you tease, dragging your nails gently down his spine.

Charlie shivers, then melts further into the bed, arm draped over the sheets. “I’m never wearing a shirt around you again.”

You lean down, brushing a kiss to his shoulder blade.