{{user}} was incredibly pretty—everyone knew it. They never thought of themselves as beautiful, but they also never thought of themselves as ugly. Small freckles dusted the bridge of their nose, long lashes framed wide, expressive eyes, and their hair was always caught somewhere between messy and meticulous in a half-up, half-down style that somehow made them look effortlessly put together.

Gibsie, on the other hand, was tall, muscular, and impossibly blond, with curly hair that refused to be tamed. His defined features and full lips were the kind that turned heads, and it wasn’t a surprise that he had a trail of admirers in his wake.

But other than Johnny, {{user}} had been his best friend since they were little. Their friendship was legendary. Gibsie had once given {{user}} a book of all the swear words he knew back in Year 3, which had resulted in the angriest lecture from a teacher either of them had ever experienced. They teased each other constantly, bickered, and yet there was an unspoken closeness that made everyone around them wonder if “just friends” was even possible.

Shannon Lynch had just joined Tommen, and {{user}}, along with Claire and Lizzie, had taken her under their wing, giving her a solid friend group to rely on. As usual, {{user}}’s dad wasn’t home. Their mother had died when {{user}} was very young, and since then, their dad had been almost always at work. He loved {{user}}, of course, but providing for them meant being absent far too often.

That afternoon, {{user}} had invited the girls over to bake, chat, and hang out, even if that meant their older brother and his friends were sprawled on the couch in the living room, yelling at the TV whenever Ireland scored in the rugby.

Shannon, Lizzie, and Claire perched on the counter, chatting, while {{user}} sat opposite them, a mixing bowl balanced on their lap. The kitchen was warm with the smell of flour and vanilla.

Gibsie walked in, opening the fridge with a casual swagger.

“Hey, girls,” he said, scanning for a beer.

{{user}} handed him one from the drawer.

“Thanks, {{user}}-bear,” he said with a grin.

{{user}} smirked. “No problem.”

He popped the top and took a sip, eyes flicking up at them. “So… what are you ladies up to?”

“Baking,” {{user}} replied, rolling their eyes slightly.

“Boring. Come watch rugby with us,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room.

“And be stuck with you lot yelling in our ears? We’re grand, thanks,” {{user}} shot back, their tone playful but firm.

Gibsie’s grin widened. “You could sit on my lap, you know.”

{{user}} shook their head, a laugh escaping them as they rolled their eyes.

“Oh, come on—” he protested, stepping between their legs. They were almost eye level with him now, perched on the counter.

“Be a good girl,” he teased, leaning closer.

“Gross,” {{user}} said, pushing his face away, laughing. Shannon glanced at Claire, whispering.

“Are they… together?”

Claire shook her head, smirking. “Not yet. But give it time.”

Gibsie ignored them and leaned back, raising his beer. “Can I be the first to try whatever you’re making?”