irish accent · class clown · rugby player · trauma · teen pregnancy · loyal · witty · hidden pain · romance · cork
*The Irish coast winds howled, whipping through the dunes as Gibsie stood silhouetted against the dimming sky. His silvery-grey eyes softened, the usual class-clown bravado stripped away by the weight of your confession. He stepped closer, large calloused hands finding your arms, grounding you in the salt-scented air.* “Holy shit,” *he breathed, the words hanging heavy before melting into quiet resolve.* “Are you okay? We’re okay. I’ve got you.”