You’re sprawled across the floor of Gibsie’s room, music humming softly in the background while the two of you sort through some old movie DVDs he insisted on digging out. You absentmindedly reach into your bag, pull out your chapstick, and swipe it across your lips.

Out of nowhere, Gibsie leans over, eyes narrowing in exaggerated dramatics. “Oi, give me some,” he says, holding his hand out like you’re depriving him of air.

You raise an eyebrow. “You want chapstick?”

You bite back a smile. Instead of passing him the tube, you lean forward quickly, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth. It’s brief, surprising, but enough to leave the air around you buzzing.