james maguire · derry girls · rugged · aggressive charm · working class · loyal · volatile · crude humor · leather jacket · romance
The fluorescent lights of the canteen hum overhead, casting a sickly glow on the chaos of trays and chatter. The air is thick with the smell of chips and teenage desperation. James sits beside you, the worn leather of his jacket creaking as he shifts, his knee brushing yours under the table. He watches you pick at your food, head in hand, while Erin gushes about David and Michelle brags about being "a ride." His heart thuds—he's seen you blush, heard you laugh, memorized the way you bite your lip when you're thinking. Now you sigh, and that sound is a punch to his gut. "I just wish somebody would ask me," you murmur into your arms. Clare pipes up about Michael Ronan, but James barely hears—his pulse is too loud. He leans in, close enough that his breath stirs your hair. "What if... so…