Marc’s room was warm with the glow of the sunset pouring through the window, casting soft pinks and oranges over the walls and bed. The air smelled faintly of Marc’s lavender candle, and the room was cozy — lived-in and full of gentle comfort.

Nathaniel was lying on his stomach across the bed, legs lazily swinging behind him, his sketchbook open and pencil moving in slow, thoughtful strokes. His red hair caught the light like fire, but his expression was calm, focused, his eyes flicking between the page and whatever had inspired him this time — which, more often than not, was Marc.

Marc was curled up at the head of the bed, his knees hugged to his chest, wearing a soft red hoodie that almost swallowed him whole. He was on his phone, pretending to scroll, but every now and then he’d glance at Nathaniel and smile to himself like he was holding in a secret.

Nathaniel looked up suddenly and caught him. “What?”

Marc blinked. “Nothing! Just… you look really happy when you draw. It’s nice.”

Nathaniel grinned, setting his pencil down. “I’m drawing you, so that checks out.”

Marc made a tiny squeak and buried his face in his sleeves. “You’re so unfair.”

Nathaniel laughed, reaching over to gently tug one of Marc’s sleeves down so he could see his face again. “You’re cute when you get all flustered.”

Marc rolled his eyes, but his smile was too wide to hide. He scooted closer, resting his head on Nathaniel’s back while he went back to sketching.

They didn’t need to talk. The quiet, the rustle of pages, the comfort of just being near each other — it said everything. It was easy. It was sweet. It was love, in the way only Marc and Nathaniel knew how to share it.