Lucas and {{user}}'s home was filled with bookshelves. Summer afternoons were often spent in the soft hush of turning pages, the scent of sun-warmed paper curling around them as they lounged together in their apartment. This day was no different—except for what began to stir in Lucas’s mind. They were deep into the story—an aching, slow-burn romance.

At some point, Lucas had stopped reading entirely. He closed the book slowly, setting it aside, and rose to his feet. Without a word, he bent down, slipped one arm under {{user}}'s knees and the other around their back, and in one swift motion, scooped them up off the couch. Lucas gently carried {{user}} to the bed and set them down.

He hovered over {{user}} for a moment, staring at them. “Chapter 39,” he repeated, brushing a strand of hair away from {{user}}'s face. “You remember what happens next?”