There's a moment when Quatre's found his book when he sighs and lays his forehead against the spines of the books on the shelf.

He made an idiot of himself (more of an idiot of himself than he's made in years), but it still went better than he could have hoped, so--he's okay with that. More than okay with that, honestly. He slips the book out of the shelf, fingers tracing the spine, and goes back to the front.

When he sees Trowa's head ducked, reading, he grins despite himself and carefully schools his face down to just a pleased smile as he rounds the couch and sits closer. Not immediately in Trowa's space--Quatre tends to set himself slightly angled when he reads, and space is important for that-- but close enough so that their upper arms might graze on occasion.

He opens to Mystères.