A house sat in the nondescript city-block, barely distinguishable from those around it. Its actual physical appearance was hardly worth describing, with an angled, red-shingled roof, two stories with whitish-grey walls, and glass windows whose shades were presently closed. The garage was off to the right (should one be looking at it from the front), and the front door sat behind the small porch to the left. Overall, very homely and comfortable, if nothing else.
A tall, almost lanky figure approached said house, bearing a white bowler-hat on his raven-haired scalp, a grey trench-coat around his average-sized shoulders, and a metallic briefcase that had clearly seen better days in his bare, bleached right hand. In the crook of his left elbow, an unlabeled cardboard box was held, the box itself measuring roughly four inches (or ten centimeters) to an edge. A slight drizzle was providing some darkened spots on the ill-protected package, but the contents would be no worse for wear. As the figure made his way to the modest dwelling, he took note of the few beams of light that managed to find their way through the windows' shades. Once he actually made it to the door (after nearly tripping on the curb just before the rock-lawn), he set his briefcase and package down before searching his coat-pockets for a set of keys. Finding them after some ten seconds of trial and error, he fitted one into the lock, turned it, and twisted the knob, finally pushing the door open. Picking up his carry-ons, he took a few steps into the house before once again setting them down, this time on the wooden floor.
Afterward, his first order of business was to remove his bowler hat, slipping it off his head with a swift motion and silently placing it on the nearby standing hat rack. The trench-coat was a much tougher affair to remove without creating unnecessary noise, but he managed to pull it off, both literally and figuratively, with no incident. In doing so, he revealed a black turtleneck that surprisingly managed to reach the entire length of his long arms, down to his wrists. Underneath was a set of dark grey jeans that almost seamlessly flowed into the white ankle-dress socks that adorned his feet. After carefully untying his well-polished shoes and slipping them into the shoe-rack to his immediate right, he made to collect his briefcase and parcel before being interrupted by a surprisingly audible whisper.
"You're finally back!" came the sweet, soothing voice from the top of the stairs. Said voice belonged to a woman, slightly shorter than the black-clad male, but no less noteworthy. She had bright emerald eyes and a brighter smile, and her blond pony-tailed hair was dyed so as to gradually lead into a rich lime green which matched her casual t-shirt, under which was a pair of pajama pants so yellow as to be almost gold. She was lean, but not unnecessarily thin, and she possessed a modest form that was capable of great elegance. Given a graceful dress and natural hair color, she would fit right into the image of an aristocrat of the late nineteenth century.
The male provided a sad, tired smile and a simple response: "I'm sorry for waking you up". Looking down at the glimmering ring on his right hand, he regretted not having much more to say to his wife. They had been together for two years now, and still he couldn't say much other than that uncreative platitude. He must have been more tired than he realized.
"Oh, come on, Justin," she cooed, already beside him after having silently slipped down the carpeted stairs. "I was never asleep to begin with, so you don't have to apologize." As she whispered, she placed her right hand in his left and lifted it, slowly guiding him into what revealed itself to be a waltz.
Surprised by the seeming suddenness of it, he tensed up a hair, squeezing her hand. "Not now, Eko," he huffed, nevertheless sliding their dance into the living room. "I was going to give you something, too." He was a little disappointed that he could not provide her the gift in the morning, what with her own intervention.
She chuckled, matching his steps, waiting until he had finished his retort before reciprocating. "That can wait. For now, we relax." She squeezed his hand with barely a modicum of force, somehow alerting him to his tense condition. "Just... relax..."
Not even feeling her grip, Justin wandered ever so slowly to the center of their humble guest room, partner in tow, giving her some feedback about her actions all the while. "You're softing again, dear," he mumbled, taking note of the unusual amount of ease that it took to move his wife from the foot of the stairs to the center of the largest space in their home. "I'm afraid that if you relax too much, you'll collapse into a pile of mush," he chuckled. Not like she wasn't mushy enough as is, in terms of behavior.
She giggled softly. "That's not important, honey," she answered, ignoring the uncharacteristic complaint (if it could even be called that) which slid out from her husband's mouth. "All that matters is that we're enjoying ourselves like a good couple should." At that moment in time, the only thing that mattered to her was them being together, a rarity caused by their conflicting work times and unfortunate schedules.
"You hit me right in the feelings," her mate puffed, carrying them along to the tune of the imaginary music. Smiling, he provided her with a pleasant surprise to hopefully diffuse her playful assault on his heart. "It's past midnight. Technically, that means it's Valentine's Day." Using his mostly free right arm, he pulled her into a loving embrace while still maintaining the pseudo-waltz.
"In that case, happy Valentine's!" she quietly answered, both of them relaxing as they swung away their worries.
After that exchange, they continued their dance, wishing away the remaining hours of the night. As they swayed to and fro, their movements perfectly syncing, the box of Eko's favorite exotic fruits lay on the ground, ignored, awaiting the morning when it would finally be opened and its contents enjoyed. That privilege would only come once the daylight reached the humble abode of the good couple.