It was a warm night, but the friends were spread over the couches in the living room with fuzzy blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Feet tucked under the stretched cloth, one of them, a girl with a slight frame, nestled into the cushions and blew across the steaming mug in her hands. The wooden scent of fresh tea wafting across the room.
Their home was, simply put, cozy. No elaborate or fanciful decoration. Just oranges, browns, and yellows made up the common palette of the sofas, chairs, and rugs. Soft watercolour painted landscapes hung off the nails that jutted irregularly from the wooden wall panels. Each framing an experience those on the couch had shared.
In the corner of the room a small stereo hummed and played. Muted bellows of a French horn and accompaniment filling the small space with a sweet and crisp melody. The music broken by the regular scraping of a page as it was turned. With fanciful story in hand, and warmth of heart and ear, the man reclined and was comforted. A slender hand resting and combing through his hair absent mindedly in between page turns.
Affections unnoticed, the tea drinking friend continued bobbing in time with the music with her eyes closed. The swelling of the horn in sync with her time spent sipping the warm tea. Toes wriggling under blanket she soaked in the calm. The trio were content with life: their books, music, and company all contained and reflected in the evening they shared.