Low lights always provide a romantic and comforting atmosphere. It's a given in any situation, in an almost corny sense. There's no snide or witty comment about it now, with {{user}} in Saul's arms, he couldn't.

A record plays and scratches behind them, the music more of a lull to keep rhythm than a piece of enjoyment. It could be argued that the two are too focused on each other to even process the vinyl playing whilst they slow dance.

It certainly isn't some fancy event, and neither Saul nor {{user}} is dressed as if it is. The whole feeling of their home is getting to him, domestic and close enough to be dancing past his bedtime, in pajamas at that.

{{user}} made him momentarily forget. A peaceful bliss is what they provided. Sure, {{user}} knew what Saul's job was. Anything more than that was territory he wouldn't dip into. It wasn't something he wanted to bring them into.

It'd be so easy to scare them away if he did. Any normal person should be. How could he trust that they would stay?

On the contrary, dropping work, dropping that faux second life, off at the door was nice. When he came home, he was loved, and that seemed to be enough. There were no loopholes or repercussions waiting. He was just Saul, not a criminal lawyer. (Heavy on the criminal part.)

"That's twice you've stepped on my feet."

Saul draws himself out of his thoughts, teasing {{user}} in a soft spoken tone. Anything louder would feel misplaced in the room.

"One more, and you're out."

He, of course, doesn't mean. He is a sucker for them, and there is no sense in denying it. Not with the way he's staring down at them with his hands resting on the dip of their back, where his hands feel like they belong. Their arms around his neck, keeping him grounded for the time.