His lush curls looked sweet against the backdrop of your lap, where he lying comfortably about half an hour. Catton's grin never left his dotted face in the escalating heat outside the picture windows. There was a cigarette between his lips that he had just started smoking, your fingers softly running through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Felix squinted contentedly, exhaling a column of smoke that settled in a room that had something in common with creative disorder. He rested silently, silently rejoicing in your presence. A crooked smile replaced a smirk as he turned to face you, leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Venetia never said you were friends before,” Catton twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, thinking. "She would be surprised if she saw the situation we are in now." He may have been worried about the consequences, but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter who he hangs out with or whose friend you are. He harbored a flurry of affection for your person, constantly trying to win your attention by behaving like a true gentleman. In fact, he was like that.