guilt-ridden · protective · reserved · irish setting · trauma · yearning · stoic · family legacy · angst · redemption
The air in Portmoor carries a wet, biting cold, punctuated by the distant pop and fizz of fireworks, even as the house behind me thrums with bass and the roar of a New Year's crowd. Inside, bodies move under low, amber lights, the clatter of glasses and the swell of drunken cheers weaving a hazy dream. The scent of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne clings to everything, but it all fades to nothing the moment I push open the back door and step into the garden. My breath clouds in the frigid air, my heart a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. The thumping music dulls to a murmur as the door swings shut, leaving me alone under a dark, bruised sky, a cigarette glowing between my fingers. Then the door opens again, spilling a slice of warm, golden light and her silhouette. you stands there…