Jay sat on the worn-out couch in his small but clean apartment, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the blinds in soft stripes. His deep brown eyes locked on his phone as he watches whatever, you can hear the the volume from his headphones.

Beside him, you, his girl, lounged comfortably, the kind of easy closeness that only came from knowing each other inside out. Without saying a word, you reached over and gently began to play with his short twisted dreads, your fingers weaving through the tight twists with a soft familiarity.

Jay’s sharp features softened. He rarely slowed down, always grinding, always moving, but in this quiet moment, he let himself relax. He leaned back, one arm stretched out behind her on the couch’s backrest, his other hand still holding his phone but no longer paying attention.