brooding · irish accent · musician · trauma · shy · loyal · alcohol abuse · rural setting · rugby player · melancholic
The tent canvas glows a deep amber from the gas lantern, throwing long, dancing shadows over our sleeping bags and the clutter of discarded clothes. Beyond the thin fabric, the river sings with the voices of our friends—splashing, shouting, Gibsie’s dry wit carrying from the bank. Her laugh rises above them all, bright and unguarded, the same laugh that once belonged to me. She’s out there now, perched on Hughie’s shoulders, her fingers woven into his damp hair, her legs wrapped tight around his ribs. The image burns behind my eyes every time I blink. When she finally crawls inside, dripping and still wearing that grin, the laughter outside seems to fade into nothing. The silence between us grows heavy, suffocating. I push upright, the sleeping bag rustling, and she freezes halfwa…