hii tasfia! i'm just popping into your inbox to tell you that adore your drawings and the domesticity of them 💓😌 and i would love to hear your headcanon about the one tucking in his t-shirt <3
Hiii Emma!! 🥰💕 thank youuuu so much🥺🥺
Okay so,
Sander isn’t much for the simple things. He likes big statements. Everything he does and sees is always something loud and eye-catching: his bleached hair, the art he creates, the art he sees, the grand romantic gestures that sweeps his boyfriend off his feet. But every once in a while he looks at Robbe and he gets caught up in simple. A quiet moment where he does something or says something and it’s like Sander’s floating on air, dreaming on a cloud.
It happens when Robbe is quietly humming while making his morning coffee, when he slips his hand into his without thinking on the streets, when his icy feet slowly melt into the warmth of his under the sheets, when he watches him sleep, his breathing even and steady.
And it happens when he watches him get ready in the mornings.
Robbe’s getting dressed for class, or to meet with Zoë and Milan or Yasmina for brunch. He’s getting his jeans on, pulling up his pants to his waist, getting the belt through the loops. And then he’s wearing a white shirt, shaking out his hair to tame some of the mess it makes. Then he’s meticulously tucking it into his dark jeans and Sander’s mesmerized by the way his fingers move. It’s a simple thing, really, but he finds all the muscles in his back relax as he watches him and he sinks more into the pillow of the bed. He’s feeling a lot of things right now, sleepy and dreamy and and insanely attracted.
And it’s when Robbe grabs his wallet, putting it into his back pocket, and turns around with a startled smile that Sander lets out a small snort.
“What?” asks Robbe.
“Nothing. Just really like you in that shirt,” he says.
“Hmmm,” hums Robbe as he puts his black sweatshirt over it. “It’s yours,” he says.
“Stealing everything of mine, huh? First my heart and now my shirts.”
“You’ve stolen mine, too,” retorts Robbe.
“I’ve never stolen your shirts,” Sander gives him a pointed look. He watches him check the battery percentage on his phone and take it off his charger as he pockets it. He walks over to him, shaking his head with a smile as he leans down the bed to kiss him softly.
“My heart, idiot,” Robbe laughs, a sound that gets captured in Sander’s mouth. He licks the melody off his lips, tastes the minty toothpaste he’d used to brush his teeth this morning, runs a hand through his hair, knowing he’ll have to fix the mess again.
“Come back soon,” he whispers.
“Always,” Robbe whispers back into a kiss on his cheek.
Sander isn’t for the simple things, but with Robbe around, he’s learning to like them.
