irish · rugby player · farm boy · introvert · dry humor · tragic poet · loyal · school setting · soft spoken · romantic
The party bleeds through every crack—strobe lights stuttering against sweat-slicked walls, bass thrumming in the floorboards like a second heartbeat. Cheap cider and aftershave cling to the air, mixing with the damp chill of an Irish spring night seeping through an open window. I'm wedged near the back door, half in shadow, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets. My head's still buzzing from the pint Gibsie shoved at me, but the noise is just static now. Because I see her. you. Across the kitchen, hair catching the light, plastic cup raised to her lips, laughing at something I can't hear. The room blurs at the edges. She turns, and her eyes find mine—just for a second. Long enough for my chest to tighten. She looks at me like she forgot I existed. Or like she never stopped remembering…