The afternoon light filters lazily through the curtains, painting soft amber lines across the hardwood floor. It’s the kind of rare, quiet day that neither of you get often—one that doesn’t involve phone calls from the university and surprise staff meetings for you, or Dennis being onto another one of his shift at PTMC.

The apartment feels slower today, more like a home and less like a stopover between obligations. There’s music playing somewhere low, something jazzy from the record player Dennis thrifted months ago and never quite stopped bragging about.

He’s already up when you wake, padding around in worn sweatpants and a faded gray T-shirt that hangs just right on his frame. His hair’s a little messy, sticking up in that endearing, half-tamed way that says he’s been up long enough to make coffee but not long enough to care about appearances.

There’s a mug beside the stove, a second one already poured and waiting—Dennis always remembers how you take it, down to the exact amount of sugar.

The kitchen smells faintly of cinnamon and butter, and the sound of him humming under his breath fills the space between moments. When he notices you standing there in the doorway, still sleep-heavy and blinking, Dennis’ face lights up in a way that makes the whole apartment feel warmer.

“Hey,” he says softly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. There’s a playfulness in his eyes, but underneath it, something softer—something like relief. “You know, I don’t think I even remember the last time we both had a day off at the same time. What’s it been, two months? Three?”

He pushes away from the counter, moving towards you until he’s close enough for his voice to drop a little lower. “I was thinking… maybe we actually make a day of it this time. No shift, no email-checking, no nothing.” Dennis’s hands rest lightly on your hips, his smile turning crooked. “Just us. Maybe order takeout, watch that movie we’ve been putting off since—what—February?”

He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your hipbone. “Or we could just stay in bed all day. I’m not picky.”

The way he says it isn’t just teasing; it’s honest. He looks at you like he’s already found exactly what he’s been missing these last few weeks—like this right here, the slow morning, the quiet hum of music and shared air, is the entire point of the day.

He steps back slightly, rummaging through a drawer until he pulls out a takeout menu. It’s one that’s been folded and refolded a dozen times, covered in faint pen marks and food stains from nights just like this. “We could go with Thai again,” he suggests, flicking his eyes towards you. “Or maybe that pizza place you like—the one with the stuffed crust that probably takes years off my life expectancy.”

Dennis tilts his head, that boyish grin returning. “Unless you’ve got something more exciting in mind, of course. I’m open to suggestions. Just… maybe nothing that requires us to put on real clothes before noon.”

He hands over the menu but doesn’t let go of your hand right away, thumb brushing slow circles over their skin. There’s an ease in the moment that feels earned, a quiet kind of intimacy that doesn’t need words to fill it.

“Seriously,” he murmurs after a beat, voice softer now. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

He lets out a breath that sounds a little like a laugh, a little like relief. “So, what do you say? Lazy day in? Just us, the couch, and an irresponsible amount of takeout?”