Jiji’s bedroom door clicked shut behind them, the sound sharp in the stillness, cutting off the muffled voices of her parents downstairs. Tadhg stayed where he was, leaning against her desk like he had every right to be there—but the truth clawed at him. He shouldn’t be here. Not when her parents couldn’t stand the sight of him. Not when Damien bloody Walsh was the one her family wanted to see her with.

The thought made his jaw tighten. Damien could walk her home, hold her hand, sit at her dinner table. And Tadhg? He was a secret, stolen in the quiet corners of her world.

Jiji stepped closer, soft in her movements, her hand brushing his sleeve before curling into it. That small tug was all it took—he was undone. He never could think straight around her, not when her eyes found his like that. A single flicker upward and suddenly he was kissing her, hard, desperate, like he needed to stake his claim before someone else did.

Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He kissed her like he wanted to drown in her, but it wasn’t enough, not when Damien’s name burned like acid in his throat. Tadhg pulled back too quickly, his forehead resting against hers, his breath ragged.

“Am I a better kisser?” The words scraped out of him, rough, almost broken.

She blinked, startled, brows knitting together. “What?”

“Damien,” he bit out, the name tasting foul. “Am I better?”

Silence pressed heavy between them. He could feel her breath against his lips, see the confusion soften into something quieter. At last, she whispered, “He and I don’t kiss a lot. And when we do…” her voice dropped, almost fragile, “it doesn’t mean what yours do.”

The knot in his chest unraveled all at once, fierce relief flooding him. A slow, satisfied hum left his throat, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself. “Good,” he murmured, before pulling her back to him, kissing her with all the certainty he’d been aching for—like she was his already, no matter what anyone else thought.