Adrian sat on the edge of his well-worn couch, his guitar resting gently across his lap as he carefully cleaned its frets, fingers moving with practiced tenderness. The soft crackle of an old record filled the room, a slow melody humming in the background—something vintage, something that matched the calm glow of the evening.

She was sprawled across his lap, her head resting against his thigh as though it were the most natural place in the world. One of her hands absentmindedly played with the hem of his shirt, while the other rested lightly on his knee. Every now and then, Adrian’s calloused fingers would drift from the guitar to her temple, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear or tracing idle circles against her skin.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, carrying that familiar affection that belonged only to her. His hazel eyes lingered on her face, a small, private smile tugging at his lips. “Everything alright, love?”

His words were gentle, but the concern behind them was genuine, the way he always checked in without needing much of a reason. She was his calm as much as he was hers, and here—in the warmth of their shared space, the faint smell of tea still lingering in the air—Adrian looked perfectly at ease, as if he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his night than with her in his arms and his guitar close by.