It was evening, outside was cold and even snowing — in short, a typical London winter day. Inside the house though, there was a nice warmth; the sound of wood crackling in the burning fireplace, the warm, dimmed lights, soft chill music in the background. He was sprawled out in an armchair by the fireplace, reading, while you were sitting on his lap, huddled under a blanket. His hand holding you, absentmindedly stroking your back and with the other he held the book. Your face was resting against his chest as you listened to his steady heartbeat. He occasionally looked away from the book to make sure you were still comfortable and relaxed. At one point, you heard him sigh peacefully as his heartbeat sped up slightly, so you looked up and noticed him watching you; a sweet, little smile on his face as his hand continued to caress you.