#and i think gh.ia would appreciate it a lot

[self-shipyard]

The "Radio" Drabble

SYNOPSIS: An indulgent drabble in which Lumaca and Gh.iaccio are cuddling with the radio on, and Lumaca gets the idea to sing her own version of the songs.

Word Count: 977

CW: Domestic Fluff, Cuddling, Mild Swearing

The lamp gave the whole living room a tender glow and the disc in the radio spun quietly, only barely audible over the music. “Happiness is a Warm Gun” echoed throughout the room, reaching the ears of the couple laying down on the couch.

Lumaca laid face up and was running her fingers through Ghiaccio’s blue, disheveled curls. Ghiaccio laid face down and was holding her with his face buried into her abdomen. Their tangled-up legs hung over the side of the right armrest, furthest away from the radio, while her head was propped up against the left.

They could’ve spent hours like this, especially after all the work they had to get done that day. It was like, for a moment, they could forget about all the danger and worry Passione gave them.

Suddenly, he lifted his head up to squint at his blurry wife, who looked back into his soft grey eyes.

“You know something?” he muttered.

She smiled at the sleepiness in his voice.

"What is it, love?" she asked.

“Well,” he nuzzled his cheek against her front. “You know how Lennon and McCartney are saying ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun’? I understand what they’re trying to say in the song but I have to call bullshit on it.”

Lumaca tilted her head a little, as though quietly urging him to continue.

“I don’t take any kind of joy out of feeling a warm gun,” he went on. “It reminds me of Passione too much. No, if happiness is anything, it’s feeling your warm body underneath mine, like right now.”

Her hand went up to cover one of her cheeks as she felt a warm blush spread across them.

“You’re so sweet,” she mumbled against his hair. “To me, happiness would be feeling your coolness against my skin… Happiness is your cool touch.”

She sung those last words to the tune of the song, which had conveniently gotten to that part of the song.

It made Ghiaccio tilt his head up and look at her.

“Hey,” he pointed out. “That was really clever."

“Thank you,” she grinned, feeling a little bolder now. “I do have another lyric change for the next song.”

“The next song’s ‘Martha My Dear’.”

“Mm-hmm! It’s not nearly as thought-out as that last one, but the lyric change with that one makes me feel happy.”

“I still want to hear it. If it makes you happy then it’ll make me happy too.”

The radio went quiet at the song’s end. It waited for a few seconds, then it came back to life with the familiar sound of a piano tune. It made her grin with anticipation and him watch her carefully.

The second Paul McCartney’s voice came through the speaker, she sang along but with a change he noticed right away.

“Ghiaccio my dear, though I spend my days in conversation please, remember me.”

He stared up at his wife in surprise, cheeks aglow with a warm blush and his eyes practically sparkling with adoration.

Seeing how lovestruck he was all of a sudden made her start to laugh.

“I guess you like it, hmm?” she cooed.

“I do, I-I like it a lot,” he stammered, trying to regain his composure. “It’s coming from you, so of course. Keep going… please?”

She pressed her forehead against his with a quiet laugh and continued to sing. She even gently drummed her fingers against his back as she sang along.

Her voice, as low and as quiet as it was, seemed to replace Paul’s voice with ease in his head. Maybe it’s because he always found her voice to be so pretty, or maybe it was because he was in love with her and not Paul.

Maybe it was meant to be.

That might’ve been his favorite lyric she altered, too: “Take a good look, you're bound to see, that you and me were meant to be for each other silly boy.”

Something about the way it sounded made him feel lucky.

It inspired him.

As soon as the last chord of the song played out and brought the room back to a temporary quiet, Ghiaccio sat up and reached over to the radio, making sure he wasn’t squishing Lumaca too badly.

She looked up at her husband, a puzzled look on her face.

“Honey?’ she quizzed. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s my turn now,” he responded as he squinted at the track number on the radio.

“Isn’t the next song ‘I’m So Tired’?” she giggled.

“It is.” His finger landed on the ‘skip forward’ button and pressed it a couple of times. “That’s why I’m going to skip ahead a little bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind! The music isn’t going anywhere, after all.” She started to feel a blush creep onto her face. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

As soon as he found the track he was looking for, he shifted his body back down until his chin was resting against her abdomen and he could look up at his curious wife

“But I want to,” he replied. “You inspired me.”

The radio gave no time for her to prepare to hear her husband sing along to the tune of “Julia” in that low, hoarse singing voice she loved so much.

“All of what I say is meaningful, and I say it ‘cause I love you Lumaca.”

All of a sudden, she found herself blushing and holding him close to her, burying her face into his hair. Seeing her get so cute and flustered made him grin, and he made a note to sing his version of the song from then on.

He made it his all for her.

“Lumaca, Lumaca, Ocean child calls me, so I sing a song of love Lumaca.”