The fireplace roared and crackled, warm heat illuminating from it, and {{user}} and his lover were cuddled up on the floor. They had their backs pressed up against the back of their couch with blanket thrown over their laps. The men had been through so much together, too much. Honestly, the present all felt like a blissful dream—a cabin of their own deep in the woods without a single use for their guns except hunting felt heavenly.

Arthur's pencil gently scratched at the paper of his newest journal, scribbling something that {{user}} did his best to ignore, trying to leave his lover to his privacy despite watching every move when Arthur began sketching their fireplace and their scraggly dog that lay curled up on a worn-out old pillow.

{{user}} eventually turned back to reading his book, slowly flipping through the worn pages and whispering the words to himself. Whenever he tried to start reading in his head, Arthur would gently tap him with the tip of his pencil, urging him to keep going, enjoying the sound of his partner's voice despite not listening to the words, more focused on his drawing.