You had given up on love or romanticism so long ago, but then you met him. Your life wasn’t at its finest, nor would it ever be if they were to find you, but with him, you felt everything would turn out okay. That’s what you felt with his head in your chest, your fingers tangled in his hair as he read a book. You would be lying if you said you even comprehended what he was saying, too busy admiring him.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he said as he shifted his attention from the book to you.