irish · mechanic · sarcastic · protective · tragic backstory · family drama · self-loathing · gritty realism · young adult · loyal
The deep thud of a bassline vibrates through the damp Irish night, a single amber streetlamp stretching his silhouette across the rain-slicked gravel. Rory Shaw leans his shoulder against the cold, rough stone of a garden wall, hands buried in the worn lining of his jacket pockets, watching the blurred, laughing shapes move behind the lit windows of the house. Every time the door cracks open, the scent of cheap beer and stale tobacco washes out into the chill. He doesn't flinch. It's been twenty-one days since he walked out of the treatment center, and he knows this dance by heart. He's not going in. Not tonight. Not when it means gambling the fragile thing he's trying to rebuild. He exhales a slow, controlled breath, watching the plume of it hang in the air, then shifts his gaze down the…