It was one of those slow, golden Sunday afternoons — the kind that made you feel like time had hit pause. Gerard “Gibsie” Gibson was lying on the couch in his living room, legs stretched out, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest, and his childhood best friend curled up between his legs with her back to him, her hair brushing his jaw.

The TV was playing some ridiculous rom-com she’d insisted on — and he hadn’t argued. He never did, not when she asked for something, not when she was this close.

“You’re gonna drop the popcorn again,” she murmured, not looking away from the screen.

“Yeah?” Gibsie muttered, resting his chin on the top of her head. “You’re gonna eat it off me again like last time?”

She elbowed him lightly, grinning. “That was one time, and you dared me.”

“And you still did it. Freak.”

“You loved it.”

He grinned wider. “I really did.”

They weren’t dating.

But they cuddled like this every weekend. She wore his t-shirts like they were her own. He knew how she took her tea, what part of her hair always frizzed when it rained, and she knew when he needed quiet, when he needed chaos, when he needed her.

They kissed sometimes, too. Drunk. Or not. Once after her team won a match. Once when er dad was in hospital and he was the only one who could make her feel like the world wasn’t ending. It was always quiet, always soft — never talked about.

Everyone assumed they were a couple. Even her sister called her his “missus” the other night and Gibsie had just… laughed. Didn't deny it. Didn’t want to.

Now, she tilted her head back a bit to look at him. “You know everyone thinks we’re together, right?”

Gibsie shrugged, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on her arm. “They’re not wrong.”

She blinked, a little caught off guard.

But before she could say anything, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, like he always did when he didn’t want her to overthink things.

Because maybe they weren’t officially anything.

But he’d never felt more hers.