Love (Pt. 3)

He rolled over on his stomach, eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through his phone.

A sight for sore eyes.

His forehead is scattered with dark curls, illuminated by the screen light, still damp from the shower but fluffing up deliciously. Probably soft and silky to touch, like how you would expect clouds to feel; the ‘lazy’ kind, only found on a summer’s evening, which blissfully shaded out the last sun-rays of the day. Every time he chuckled, it sparked a flourish of something in you, instantaneously slapping a smile on to your face. You get lost in his voice, which consists of deep, sweet mumbles, broken up by snickers as he scrolls through miscellaneous stupid memes. Every now and then your phone lights up beside you, from something he’d sent you or tagged you in. You put your book down and amuse him, before reminding him you needed to get this reading done before your deadline. But you don’t care, really. This cycle could continue for days on end, and you would be as content as a kid with a stick of candy-floss twice her size. As long as he is laughing everything is right.