Cool, hard flooring under your back. Rough but fluffy carpet under one foot. A slight breeze from who-knows-where lightly playing with your stray hair.
A long breath exhaled. Peace.
“What are you doing?”
You open your eyes and tilt your chin upwards to look at the owner of the voice behind you, just returning home.
“Lying on the floor.” Isn’t it obvious?
He smiles, closing the door behind him before walking over to sit next to you. Your eyes follow him.
“Hard day?” he asks, shedding his bag. He lies down next to you as you hum a reply, tearing your gaze away to the ceiling. “Me too.”
Two heavy sighs fill the room.
There really isn’t any need to talk anymore, for while muscles melt onto the floor and eyes close in want of stress to disappear, two hands meet in the middle.
As if each one already knew they were heading in each other’s way.
Neither of you knows how long you both laid there. It could have been minutes or hours. But once you’ve both calmed down and your stresses fell away to a level you can cope with, one of you says, as always, “Pizza?”
And, like a well-rehearsed act, the other one will reply “Cool, I’ll call them.” And the both of you will pick yourselves up from the floor.
Sometimes you pretend to be stuck and he has to pull you up (you relish in that second of lightness you feel when his strength supports you).
Or sometimes he pretends and laughs at you while you flail around trying to lift his body, that he purposely made hard to peel from the floor.
Or sometimes, either one will roll to their side to get up and the other will roll all the way, pushing the first, to squish your two bodies together against the couch on the right side of the room or the wall on the left side.
Whichever it is, days like this always ends with both of you sharing a light kiss and with happiness bubbling inside, thinking that life isn’t so hard after all.
Because no matter what life throws at either of you, there is always someone to lie on the floor with at the end of the day.
And that is really all that matters.