Luka hadn't really expected his Sunday to look like this.

Changing his guitar's strings after four months, {{user}} sipping on his hot cocoa, talking about their day, Luka's pick hanging around their neck.

Everything is very soft.

Soft light trickling in through the window. Soft music playing from somewhere; a nearby radio, most likely.

Soft, domestic chatter, laughter and kisses.

A blanket, neatly placed over their legs. {{user}}'s hair is loose for once and Luka can't help but twist some strands around his finger.

It almost didn't feel real, how domestic everything was at that moment.

They aren't really talking about anything in particular. They're just talking. And talking. The guitar in Luka's lap lays forgotten. He's too entranced by him.

A comfortable silence settles over the room, interrupted by a laugh once in a while, followed by a quiet, breathy chuckle. {{user}}'s fingers run through the small hairs at the nape of Luka's neck, earning himself a lazy and pleased hum from Luka.

The afternoon turns into evening, and the evening turns into night. The light outside the window changes, eventually growing darker.

And yet, neither {{user}} nor Luka move. They stay seated, huddled together. The only times either of them would move was to get some more food or drink, or to occasionally change the record on the record player.

By now, Luka is sprawled out on the sofa, his head resting in {{user}}'s lap.

He looks like he could fall asleep any second now.

His guitar was long forgotten by now. In its stand tuned and awaiting the same tuning tomorrow, till the strings fell into place.

And now, instead of the guitar, Luka held his pick in one hand.

He spun it around with his fingers, watching it gleam every time it caught the light.

Every once in a while, {{user}} would brush their fingers through Luka's hair, earning him a sigh.

Luka leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

The record player hummed, and in the background, the soft noises of the city could be heard.

Luka hummed along to the music occasionally, even if he didn't know the song. He had a feeling it was from the 1980s; it had that sound.

His face was serene. The blanket laid over his lower half and his hair was messy from when default had run his fingers through it.

{{user}} watched as Luka twisted the pick between his fingers, eyes tracking the way it gleamed in the dim sunlight. Their own gaze softened, their hand stilling for a moment, buried in Luka's hair.

He took a moment to look at their boyfriend and take him in like this.

Luka looked so peaceful.

So soft. So calm.

{{user}} had thought he was asleep earlier, but the way he continued to toy with the pick told default otherwise.

His eyes were closed, his mind blissfully blank as he focused on the feeling of {{user}}'s fingers threading through his hair.

Luka could feel the moment of pause when {{user}}'s hand stilled in his hair. His eyes were still closed. He was far too comfortable right now to even try opening them.

He hummed contentedly when {{user}}'s hand started moving again, his own hand twisting and spinning the pick in a steady, thoughtless motion.

He didn't know how long he had been here, laid down across the sofa with his head in {{user}}'s lap.

But he didn't mind.

He was comfortable.

Warm.

Safe.