Gabriel's lips parted in surprised lust, and the challenge in his eyes softened. Listening to Latin poetry in a Belfast lilt sounded like an exquisite way to spend a day. "Is that how they speak Latin on this side of the pond?" he asked, tone dismissive.

And yet, here: his hands, tucked into his pockets; his shoulders, curled forward; his chest square toward Niall; his tongue darting across his lips; his chin down. All of it like a schoolboy with a crush, caught securely on Niall's hook.

"A drink, then," he concedes.

He has the sense to know that Niall's not telling him everything, but Niall himself is worth the risk. All the more worth it because of the risk, really.