irish · rapper · substance abuse · witch house · fractured friendship · mental health struggles · streetwear · melancholic · reunion · addiction
The bass from the sound system vibrated up through the soles of your shoes, a relentless pulse beneath the haze of smoke and fractured neon light. Eamon was slumped against the makeshift bar, his gaze distant, his hands buried in his pockets. His voice, slurred yet edged with a raw bitterness, carried over the party's din as he complained to a small cluster of listeners. '...just ghosted me after, didn't even try—' he was saying. You watched from the edge of the crowd, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. That final, ugly fight had cut the cord between you. Now, driven by a stubborn knot of pride and longing, you pushed forward into his line of sight. 'Eamon.' He turned, recognition filtering slowly through his intoxication, his posture tightening with wariness. 'you……