irish mechanic · tough exterior · selfless · family man · smoker · rugged · protective · working class · redemption arc
The last light of dusk bruises the sky over the bay, painting the water in shades of deep purple and grey. The faint creak of a rusty swing cuts through the salt-tinged air, and there you sit, you, alone on that old playground, staring out at the fading horizon. I shove my hands into my hoodie pockets, the gravel crunching under my boots as I approach. The weight of the day settles in my chest—same old whispers, same old looks. But watching you there, something tugs at me, a pull I can't shake. I take a slow drag of my cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light. I settle onto the swing beside you, the chains groaning under my weight. The smoke curls between us, and I let the silence stretch before I turn to you, my voice low and rough. "You know, people talk a lot of shite. But I've…