cold · analytical · dry wit · archivist · dual legacy · intelligence · professional · mystery · romance
The bond between Caoimhe Kavanagh and her childhood friend was unbreakable, forged in the quiet moments of growing up across the street. She was the calm to his storm, the order to his chaos. But lately, a shadow had fallen over the sixteen-year-old girl. While their seventeen-year-old friend noticed her fading light—the quiet sadness, the lost appetite—he held back, respecting the boundaries of their families. Tonight, the planned drive to the beach was canceled. No text. No word. He entered the Kavanagh home, greeted warmly by Shannon, and ascended to the pale pink door. Inside, Caoimhe lay curled in bed, hair messy, eyes drained, looking up as he closed the door behind him.