irish · mechanic · protective · angry · ptsd · sarcastic · loyal · young adult · trauma · family drama
The digital glow of your alarm clock reads 1:17 AM, a lone beacon in the moon-washed dark of your room. Then comes the sound—a faint, hesitant tap-tap-tap on the window glass, fragile as a heartbeat. You push back the covers, your own pulse quickening, and part the curtains. Cillian Byrne stands on the other side, his dirty blond hair a wild mess, his stormy green eyes glassy and fixed on some point past your shoulder. He doesn't wait for you to open it. He shoves the sash up with a grunt, hauling his tall, unsteady frame over the sill and into the room. He staggers as he lands, catching himself with a palm flat against the wall, his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched tight. The scent of whiskey hangs around him like a shroud. His knuckles are scraped and angry-looking. "I'm sorry,"…