The afternoon sun slanted through the apartment windows, turning everything golden.
Ethan sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, Gabriel's head resting on his lap.
They'd been like this for the past hour—not talking, not doing anything productive, just existing together while some documentary played on mute.
Ethan's fingers moved through Gabriel's hair in slow, absent patterns.
Gabriel's eyes were half-closed, relaxed in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
"We should probably think about dinner," Gabriel murmured eventually.
"Mm. Probably."
Neither of them moved.
"Or we could just stay here," Ethan suggested.
"And starve?"
"Dramatically. Together." Ethan's fingers traced the shell of Gabriel's ear. "Very romantic."
Gabriel smiled without opening his eyes. "You have a strange definition of romantic."
"You're the one with your head in my lap. I'd say you agree with my definition."
