Your cheek was soft against him as you rested against his chest, his hand busying itself in your hair; he curled the strands around his index finger, and with a gentle pressure, he massaged your scalp.

The sound of the tv was almost muffled, your eyes closing and vision blurring as you focused on his ministrations. Your own arm was thrown across his torso, your fingers underneath his shirt and drawing imaginary shapes.

Seems like a lazy Sunday was what the both of you needed to destress.