*Picture Source: https://painterwithgryffindor.tumblr.com/post/167881958603*
Words: 736
You pushed the door to your home open with you shoulder, trying to avoid getting twigs of the wreath into your face, while you balanced the two paper bags, which were filled to the brim with groceries, on your arms.
With a click the door fell into its lock just seconds after you had slipped into the warm house. Ignoring your shoes, you waddled down the hallway and through the living room to the kitchen. You heard the soft plucking of fingers on guitar strings, but since you were too concentrated on maneuvering the food over to the fridge, you did not look up to see where the music was coming from.
A few minutes later, after you had stored everything away, and even found a place for the probably five-hundredth pack of gingerbread, you finally walked back into the living room, finding your husband Ray sitting on the sofa. His long, curly hair fell into his face, his eyes were closed in concentration, and his head was slightly tilted sideways as his forehead furrowed unhappily.
You had seen this expression on his face countless times before. It always appeared when he was trying to write a melody or song, and the notes did not come together as he wanted them to. You watched him for a moment, hoping he would find the chords he imagined, but he only shook his head absentmindedly, still not aware of your presence. You quietly left the living room to take off your shoes and coat in the hallway, then you walked up the stairs to your bedroom, changing into something more comfortable and cozy than the things you had worn to the supermarket. After the soft fabric of a sweater and some sweatpants engulfed your body, you lay down on the bed, tucked a few pillows under your neck and grabbed a book from the nightstand which you had started reading just yesterday evening.
You barely noticed how much time had passed, only the increasing difficulty to read the small letters made you aware of the falling darkness. You put the book aside and stretched, suddenly craving tea and your husband's presence.
Downstairs Ray was still sitting on the sofa, in an almost completely dark room. His fingers were continuously plucking at the strings, and his expression had barely changed since you had last seen him. Considering it had been more than three hours now, you carefully sat down on the upholstered furniture. The dip in the cushion finally tore Ray out of his trance, and he looked over at you.
"You're back already," he wondered, "Did you get everything?"
You giggled and leant over to him, gently kissing his lips.
"I did, and just so you know, I've been back for hours."
It was common for Ray to forget the time over playing music, so he just nodded and reached behind the sofa to turn on the floor lamp, so he could see you better in the darkening room.
"What are you writing," you asked, running your fingers over the strings of the instrument that still rested in your husbands lap.
Ray sighed and snuggled his head against your shoulder, relaxing back into the soft fabric of the sofa, and deeply inhaling the delicate scent that your sweater spread.
"I was trying to write a Christmas song," he confessed, "remember how your grandma asked me about one last year?"
You nodded, and ran your fingers through Ray's soft hair, wrapping it around your fingers and combing through it.
"Well, it's harder than it sounds," he mumbled, turning his head so his nose was now buried against your neck.
Spiky stubbles scratched over your sensitive skin and you smiled at the sensation.
"Maybe you're just not in Christmas spirit yet," you suggested, "how about a hot cup of mulled wine and some gingerbread, I'm sure that will get your inspiration flowing."
Ray nodded against your neck before sitting up with a sigh.
"What would I do without you," he wondered, his warm eyes boring into yours.
"Still sitting in the dark, I assume," you joked, getting up from the sofa. "Come on."
You pulled him up and lead him into the kitchen to prepare some food to cheer him up, while his guitar was left on the sofa, only to be picked up again when Ray finally had a proper idea for a Christmas melody a few minutes later.