Tadhg was halfway through scrolling aimlessly on his phone when his screen lit up with a text from Jiji.

Jiji: Come outside. Bring your phone. We’re filming something.

He didn’t even need to ask what. He was already tugging on his hoodie and crossing the street. Jiji was waiting in her driveway, camera-ready, grinning like she’d just won something.

“What is it this time?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“A trend,” she said simply, holding up her phone. “You film our shoes, then I step between your legs and—”

He blinked. “You’re what now?”

“—sit down on your lap,” she finished, like she hadn’t just dropped that casually.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, pretending to think it over, but they both knew there was no universe where he’d say no to her. “Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

They sat on the low brick wall by her front garden. He held the phone low, framing their trainers. She moved into the shot, her feet sliding between his. Without hesitation, she turned, lowered herself onto his lap, her feet tucked neatly inside his, her back pressing into his chest.

Tadhg’s hands found her thighs like muscle memory, his thumbs brushing lazy circles.

“See?” she said softly, glancing at the phone screen. “Easy.”

“Mm,” he murmured, looking at her instead of the video. “Dangerous, more like.”

She laughed, oblivious—or maybe not. Either way, he hit record.