The sunlight entered like a guest uninvited, filling every corner with gold. Even the most forgotten corners of your bedroom bloomed under its touch. 

Soft, endless music swirled in the air. Timothée, sat at the edge of the bed, was playing guitar. Morning light fell generously on his face and the curves of his shoulder as his fingers moved lightly over the strings.

Words unnecessary, you remained drowned in silence, gaze fixed on the window, watching sleepily the stains of rain and the fleeting sparks amidst the infinite light that danced into your bedroom. You smiled, but Timothée remained tied to his melody.

A sigh escaped your lips, breaking your silence, and you tilted your head on your pillow, eyes now on him. You, absentmindedly, toyed with your hair, looping strands between your fingers and then your lips.

He was lost in his own world, the wandering sound of his guitar a testament that he was there. The tune drifted around the room unhurried.

Your toes touched his arm, tentative and mischievous. He didn’t look up, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. You bit the smile off your lips and encouraged, your foot wandered further, brushing the slope of his shoulder and tracing down to his collarbone. He paused for a moment, glancing down, then snapped his teeth playfully toward your foot. You gasped, pulling it back under the covers as laughter spilt into the room making the sunlight seem brighter.

« What are you playing ? », you murmured, the question breaking gently against the music. Tim shrugged, his fingers drifting over the guitar tenderly in inexpressible delight, each note a quiet murmur. His gaze stayed unfocused at something only he could see. Then, with a sudden shift, his eyes turned to you, alive now, filled with light.

« Name a song and I’ll play it, » his fingers momentarily stayed still and then he balanced his chin on top of the guitar.

« Don’t do this to me, you know I’m indecisive. »

« Come on, » he tilted his head to the side, waiting. You pouted, sitting up on your elbows, letting the blanket slip from your shoulders. The sunlight caught in your hair, and his eyes lingered on you.

« Anything ? » Timothée nodded, and you dropped your head back, thinking. « Okay, then play... the one I like. »

« Alright, the one you like, » he repeated, turning back to the guitar. His fingers moved over to the frets. « Pay attention, » he added, glancing at you with a curve on his lips.

You smiled, sinking back into the pillow, your head melting to the side, as you let the melody pass through you.

A delicate hypnotic progression echoed, the sound weaving around you like a dream. You loved this song, melancholic, yet subtly uplifting.

« You always like the sad ones, » he murmured, half to himself, and your smile widened.

The melody unfolded with a restrained intensity. His voice joined the guitar, unpolished and raw. You could feel him in your veins, the song a gentle tide in your soul. He sang with a bittersweet tenderness, each note whispering a secret. The guitar hummed like a distant memory, and for a moment time had stilled as if the world around you dissolved.

The last note hang in the air, and he continued with another tune. You slid your foot to his knee again. He faltered, the strings stuttering.

« What happened Timo ? Don’t know the chords ? » He shook his head, letting out a low chuckle as he adjusted the guitar.

« You’re impossible, » he murmured, shaking his head, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

His fingers shifted to the frets, playing a lighter and playful song. You tilted on your elbows again, your stare moving out of the window looking at the weather. Then you threw off the covers ready to get up.

« Where are you going ? », he called, the notes of the guitar ringing as you swung your legs off the bed. You stretched lazily before grabbing the sweater draped over the chair.

« Just getting something, » you replied, slipping it on.

« Get back here, » he murmured, the sound of the guitar fading as he set it aside and reached for you. His fingers found the waistband of your shorts, tugging gently, his touch teasing. You turned toward him, a playful laugh escaping your lips, and leaned down, brushing your teeth lightly against the sharp curve of his jaw.

You moved away from him, grabbing a sweater from the closet, tossing it his way before slipping away to the kitchen. The faint sound of his voice trailed behind you. The floor was cool under your feet as you reached for the bowl of mandarins, their bright orange skins glowing in the sunlight penetrated mysteriously through the window.

The scent of citrus rose as your thumbs worked effortlessly, peeling the fruit as you made your way back to him.

When you returned, he was leaning back on the bed, his guitar resting idly on his lap. You dropped onto the mattress, resting your head on his thigh.

« What’s this ? », Tim asked in a mock curiosity.

« A mandarin. Want one ? », you looked up at him.