Rain tapped softly against the tall library windows, blending with the quiet sound of turning pages and the slow ticking of the clock above the fireplace. It was late—far too late for either of you to still be there—but the library seemed made for impossible hours like this. He sat across from you beneath the warm glow of a desk lamp, one hand resting lazily against the spine of an old book filled with tiny notes written in blue ink. Shadows softened the sharpness of his features, though the exhaustion beneath his pale eyes remained impossible to hide.

You had spent the last twenty minutes pretending to read, mostly because listening to him speak was far more interesting. “What are you reading?” you finally asked, breaking the silence.

Henry glanced up briefly. “Catullus.”

“In Latin?”

“Naturally.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Something dangerously close to a smile appeared for half a second before disappearing again. Henry rested a finger between the pages. “Translations ruin the rhythm.”

“Well, not everyone speaks like a tragic ancient poet.”

“Tragically.”

You tossed a crumpled piece of paper at him, and without even looking up properly, he caught it easily before setting it aside. For a moment, the rain filled the silence again. Then, without warning, he began to read, his voice low and smooth as each Latin syllable slipped effortlessly from his lips:

“Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus... da mihi basia mille, deinde centum…”

The language sounded ancient and heavy when he spoke it—elegant in a way that made the entire room feel quieter somehow. You didn’t understand a word of it, still, you couldn’t stop watching him because Henry never sounded like this with anyone else. Not cold, not distant, not sharp around the edges like usual. Just strangely gentle.

He continued, eyes lazily scanning the page:

“...nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda.”

The last line lingered in the air for a second after he stopped reading. Then Henry looked up.

“And?”

You blinked. “I didn’t understand anything, but it definitely sounded like you said a lot.”

A quiet breath of amusement escaped him.

“Of course.”

You leaned forward slightly over the table. “Then translate it.”

Henry hesitated for a moment, like he was deciding whether or not he should. Finally, he glanced back down at the page. “Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love... give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred.”

The warmth rose to your face embarrassingly fast. “That sounds suspiciously romantic.”

“The Romans were intense.”

“Uh-huh. What about the rest?”

Henry’s fingers traced absentmindedly along the edge of the paper before he spoke again. “When our brief light sets once and for all, we must sleep through one everlasting night.”

Silence settled between you again, softer this time, while the rain continued falling steady and endless against the windows. You stared at him for a second too long.

“That’s either the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard or the biggest red flag imaginable.”

Henry finally smiled properly at that—small, tired, but real. “Those are not mutually exclusive.”

You laughed quietly under your breath, shaking your head as you looked back down at your book. The conversation should have ended there—a brief distraction, a joke, then silence again. But when you looked up once more, Henry was already watching you, and something in his expression had changed.

He closed the book slowly.

“There was another part I left out.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. “Why?”

Henry held your gaze for a few seconds too long before answering.

“Because it would’ve made things too obvious.”