Francis closed his laptop. He had enough of boring work for one night. His eyes glanced over to his lover, sitting just a few feet away, taking up the loveseat with his feet tucked under him and a magazine in his hands. His lover, Lovino, seemed so handsome in that moment, holding the magazine with sure hands; the lighting, although dim, made his eyes seem the most alluring shade of hazel; his nose, the curve of his lips, especially when regarding something amusing, and that pesky hair that never seemed to stay in place, all seemed perfect to Francis. Lovino was, in Francis' eyes, the epitome of beauty.
"Dance with me," he said suddenly, causing Lovino to pause, and furrow his eyebrows in confusion.
"Dance? There's no music, idiot," the Italian replied.
Francis, however, got up from his seat and walked over to Lovino, setting the magazine aside, and grasping his boyfriend's hand, pulling him to his feet. Francis began to hum a tune, one that sounded romantic, and lovely, and suspiciously French. He placed a hand on Lovino's hip, gently pulling him closer as he stared into the other's eyes; Lovino, however reluctant he may have looked, gave in, and loosely laced his fingers together behind Francis' neck, swaying along with his lover.
They stayed like that for an indiscernible amount of time, just swaying to the chanson, never once breaking eye contact. Lovino knew that his face was heating up, all because of his charming lover, close in proximity, and strangely endearing (not that it was anything new); and yet, Lovino could feel a smile forming at the corner of his lips despite himself.
But Francis, well...He felt like the luckiest man alive. His heart was smiling, and it shamelessly showed on his face as he hummed that sweet song, unspoken lyrics being sung into their minds, as they both knew the song very well - not that Lovino would admit it. The two saw "la vie en rose"; life was wonderful, as long as they were together.
At one point, neither of them knew when, Francis had stopped humming. Their eyes were locked as they unconsciously leaned in, their eyelids lowering with each inch they neared each other. At once, their lips met in a sweet, chaste kiss, like hands would to pray for something wondrous from God, such as this very moment.
Slowly, they withdrew, foreheads touching, leaning against each other for support. Francis once again lost himself in those beautiful eyes that were his lover's.
"You are beautiful," he said, scarcely above a whisper.
This elicited a ghost of a smile upon Lovino's lips.
"Shut up," said he.