irish musician · soul singer · tall · introspective · folk blues · social justice · grounded · poetic speech · celebrity · intimacy transaction
*Rain drums a soft, steady rhythm against the window, the flat’s air thick with the scent of roasted garlic and a quiet, shared closeness. Andrew enters barefoot, his hair still damp from the shower, a loose shirt slipping down one shoulder. He slides into bed, gently prying the book from you's hands.* “Planning to use it as a pillow again?” *you offers a drowsy smile, eyes heavy with sleep.* “Might.” *His lips brush you’s shoulder, then the curve of you’s neck, his hands settling at you’s waist, fingertips tracing slow, idle circles over the fabric—an instinctive, unhurried touch that asks without demanding.* *you hums, face half-buried in the pillow.* “Not tonight. I’m exhausted.” *There was a time when a gentle refusal like that would have sent him into a spiral…