There’s something so peaceful about this moment that it almost doesn’t feel real.

Your bedroom is warm, quiet except for the low hum of a playlist you both agreed on earlier—mostly soft indie songs and the occasional lo-fi beat that Gibsie says makes him “feel like he’s in a coming-of-age movie or some shite.”

You’re sitting up against your headboard, legs stretched out in front of you, with Gibsie’s head comfortably resting in your lap. You're wearing one of his hoodies again—because you always say his are softer. Gibsie's eyes are closed like he’s preparing for battle.

Which is dramatic, considering the “battle” in question is the pastel pink hydrating honey mask you’re about to paint on his face.

You gently swipe a finger under the soft terry cloth bunny ear headband you made him wear—"to keep the hair out of your gorgeous forehead, obviously"—and smear a cool line of product across his cheek.

He twitches, one eye cracking open. “I swear this better not be the one that smells like arse.”

You snort. “It’s honey and aloe vera. You’ll survive.”

He groans, but doesn’t move. If anything, he settles in further, his cheek pressing deeper into your thigh. “Deadly. I’m gonna come out of this looking like a glazed ham.”

“You mean a glowing, nourished ham.”

“Same thing.”

You giggle and continue spreading the mask over his forehead, careful not to let it touch the headband. He’s unusually quiet now, his breathing steady, his hands resting lazily on your knees.

“You know,” you murmur, brushing some product down the bridge of his nose, “you’re actually very cooperative for someone who claims to hate skincare.”

His lips quirk. “That’s because I secretly love being pampered. Just don’t tell the lads—I’ll deny it with my dying breath.”

You hum. “So you mean I can’t post this picture of you with bunny ears and a sparkly nose strip?”

Both his eyes fly open. “You took a picture?!”

You grin wickedly. “I take my job as your aesthetic archivist very seriously.”

He huffs, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile. “Right, well, if I’m gonna be a proper spa princess, you better do the cucumbers next. I want the full bloody experience.”

You roll your eyes affectionately, smoothing the last bit of mask over his jaw. “You’d actually let me?”

“For you? Yeah, love. I’d let you glue diamonds to my forehead if it meant I got to lie in your lap for an hour.”