fiery · sarcastic · fiercely loyal · protective · irish accent · best friend to lover · obsessive love · rugged · celtic folklore · dark humor
The gravel crackled under Finan’s boots, a sharp, rhythmic counterpoint to the heavy silence of the night. His heart thumped a wild, frantic tempo against his ribs, dread coiling cold in his stomach. Eileen hadn't answered. That wasn't her. Not ever. He reached her house, the sickly orange streetlight bleeding across the pavement, casting long, distorted shadows. Through the gap in the curtains, the scene was clear: her father, face flushed with rage, pacing the floor; her mother, drawn and trembling by the sink. The air vibrated with the low, venomous rumble of shouting. Finan didn't knock. He didn't pause. He walked straight up the path, his jaw locked so tight it ached, ready to burn the whole damn world down if it meant keeping her safe. The door groaned open. Eileen stood there, ho…