Peter isn't nearly as subtle as he thinks he is. The boy was about as subtle as a shotgun. He was in the process of edging his way into Felix's lap, very slowly and carefully while the dialogue from the television filled in the absence of the conversation they weren't having. As I Lay Dying was gripped in the large palm of Felix's left hand, as his right reached to grab the forgotten pillow squashed between Peter's hip and the couch cushion. He pulled the pillow free, and bounced his right leg, effectively disrupting the boy that had settled there.

Peter lifted his head with a little pout and a huff, but waited obediently while Felix placed the pillow underneath the nape of curls at the back of his neck. Once the pillow was placed he made a show of dropping his head rather heavily, keeping summer green eyes pinned on the taller boy.

"Thanks, dear." Peter cooed with a grin—Felix couldn't see it but he could hear it in the boy's playful tone. He turned his attention back to the screen across the room, plucking the remote off the coffee table in front of him, and pressing his thumb unenthusiastically on one of the channel buttons.

Felix, meanwhile, allowed his now unoccupied right hand to drop into the mess of sandy curls on the boy's head, long fingers massaging gentle caresses. It was nice; domestic; warm. Peter sighed under the contact, settling on the soap opera channel, where a large breasted woman was speaking in rapid panicked Spanish. It soon became clear that he wouldn't be watching the show any time soon, as he turned his body toward the tall boy petting his head lovingly.