The afternoon sun entered through the slits of the curtain of {{user}}'s room, leaving everything with a golden and quiet glow. She was sitting on the bed, leaning against the cushions, with an open book in her hands and a lazy smile on her lips. The story was an absurdly cliché novel - the kind she loved to read just to laugh at the sweet lines and have fun with the exaggerations.

Tadhg had invaded her room minutes before, without knocking, as always.

"Hi," he said, with that dragged and charming accent. "I was bored."

Without waiting for an invitation, he threw himself on the bed, resting his head on her lap with the intimacy of someone who already knew every inch of that space - and hers too.

Now, {{user}}'s fingers passed slowly through his blond strands while she read aloud, with dramatic intonation:

"'And when he touched her face with his fingertips, as if she were made of crystal, she knew... that she would never love another man like she loved that one.'"

Tadhg moaned loudly, burying his face in her belly.

"For God's sake..." she murmured, her voice muffled against the sweatshirt she was wearing. "You're doing this just to torture me, right?"

She laughed, and the sound was light and provocative.

"You invaded my room, Lynch. This is my territory. If you're going to lie on my lap, you'll listen to my readings... with all the sighs, cheesy metaphors and eyes watery with emotion."

"I want to see you cry, then," he provoked, turning sideways, his blue eyes staring at hers. "Where is the emotion? It's very calm for those who are reading the apex of the passion of the young lady's life."

"I'm saving my tears for the tragic end," she replied, gently patting him on the forehead.

Tadhg smiled, one of those soft smiles that he only showed when he was completely at ease - and with her, he always was.

"You're weird, you know?"

"And you're a slack introvert," she replied, still smiling, her fingers now playing absently with the messy strands of his hair. "But it matches my cheesy book. You are my sarcastic secondary character who tries to pretend he doesn't believe in love."

"Maybe because I really don't believe it," he replied, but his voice came out low, almost hesitant.

She didn't answer right away. He just turned his eyes to the next page, resuming reading aloud with a slight smile on the corner of his mouth.

But his hand, still resting on her thigh, squeezed lightly - as if to say that he was there, that even if he mocked the love of books, he was not going anywhere.

And {{user}} knew that.