He leaned against the door frame, watching you unnoticed. You crinkled your nose slightly, your face reacting to the sneeze before it escaped you. Frustrated, you extended your arms away, violently shaking the dusty book in your hands. Satisfied, you returned to the curled up position in the relaxing loveseat, settling back into the familiar realm of a loved novel.

Holding his breath to avoid making a sound, he shifted his weight more comfortably. Observing you like this was a chance to take note of your little charms, the details he wouldn’t notice on a regular day. Your lips curled at the ends into a smile, a faint hum of satisfaction when a favorite character was rewarded. You hardly looked up when he walked slowly to the chair across from you, sitting with his hands molded around his face, leaning forward slightly. His head tilted to the side, eyes wide and observant.

You turned the pages with care, eyes revealing the satisfaction behind every crinkle of the paper. You were enthralled; the house could have fallen at your feet and you would remain with eyes glued to the book, unwavering. Your fingers wrapped smoothly around the mug as you lifted it to your lips, eyes shifting up to peer over the rim even as you drank. With practiced skill you returned the mug to its coaster, never once staring away from the page.

He noted the sadness in your eyes when events turned darker, how your palms pulled at the dust cover with an anticipation of sorts. Your fingers drummed gently at the page’s edge, eyes scanning rapidly in hopes that the conflicts would resolve. He heard a mumble of dissatisfaction when the plot soured, a disappointed sigh when questions remained unanswered. Your smile returned when you noticed his curious expression as he moved silently, sitting close to peer over your shoulder.

The warmth of his breath on your neck was distracting, yet you continued to read with eager anticipation. When the chapter approached its end, a sigh escaped your lips, nearly silent. The character was at peace, and your mind was free to focus on other things.

He noticed your fingers slipping from the pages, folding the cover carefully closed. You returned the book to a table with care, as though the novel itself was as delicate as the story within. He reached for those hands, wanting to treat them with the same care with which they held the book. Looking in your eyes, he smiled, noting a reflection of the same happiness you found in satisfying endings. He didn’t speak; the quiet moments at times louder than conversation.

You understood, leaning backwards to rest your head near his. Closing your eyes, you smiled, the book completely and wholly forgotten.