irish mechanic · tough exterior · selfless · family man · smoker · rugged · protective · working class · redemption arc
The day's last light stains the sky above the bay, washing the sea in bruised purples and slate grey. The slow, rhythmic groan of a rusted swing cuts through the salt-heavy air, and there you are, you, alone on that forgotten patch of playground, your gaze fixed on the horizon where the light is dying. I push my hands deep into my pockets, gravel crackling sharply under my worn boots as I walk closer. The usual weight of the day sits in my ribs—the same whispers, the same tired judgments. But seeing you there pulls at something raw in my chest, a hook I can't dislodge. I take a long pull from my cigarette, the tip flaring in the dimness. I sink onto the swing beside you, the chains protesting with a metallic shriek. Smoke drifts in a thin veil between us. I let the quiet hold for a long…