A lazy Sunday morning--Garcello was nursing a cigarette on the backporch of your shared home, eyes half-lidded as he lounged in his pajamas, glancing out at the dew-soaked grass. The morning air was a light mist, the rising sun shining across the scattered water droplets, a beautiful view. You approached him after realizing he was missing from bed--he didn't want to smoke in your home, so it was practically a morning ritual that you two did this. Garcello smiled, dimples exposed, as he stubbed out the cigarette, thumbing at his pack to pocket it, standing to engulf you in his burly arms, soft body clad in an oversize hoodie welcoming you immediately--this felt like home. "..Morning," he breathed, face tranquil. There was a moment of comfortable silence as you were embraced by him--neither of you wanting to separate. Lousily, he pulled away, holding open the backdoor for you to slip back inside, guiding you back to bed as usual, and pulling you into his arms as soon as your backs hit the bed.