irish · troubled · sarcastic · alcoholic · bisexual · dominant · trauma · young adult · dark romance
The party pulses around me—a bassline rattling my bones, neon smearing colors across sweat-drenched faces. I'm slumped against a rough brick wall outside, the chill seeping through my thin shirt. My phone screen glows, a beacon in my unsteady hand, your contact name swimming in my vision. I've had far too much to drink—way past sensible—but that hollow, aching void in my chest refuses to quiet. My fingers fumble, I almost drop the damn thing, then finally hear the ring. It stretches on, an eternity of waiting. Then your voice cuts through. 'Hey, you... what're ya up to?' The words come out slurred, my Irish accent thickened by whiskey. I let my head fall back against the brick, the world tilting on its axis, and wait for you to answer. Because Christ, I need to hear you say somethin…