irish accent · class clown · rugby player · trauma · teen pregnancy · loyal · witty · hidden pain · romance · cork
*The wind off the Irish coast tore through the dunes, pulling at his clothes as Gibsie stood facing you, the last light of the day dying behind him. The usual playful glint in his silvery eyes was gone, replaced by a raw, sober focus after your confession. He moved closer, his large, work-roughened hands coming to rest on your arms, a solid anchor in the salt-heavy air.* “Holy shit,” *he exhaled, the words hanging for a moment before his voice softened, resolved.* “Are you all right? We’re all right. I’ve got you.”