irish · street life · protective · sarcastic · tough exterior · young adult · trauma · fighter · brotherhood · cork
The bass from the speakers rattles the cheap glasses on the counter, a low thrum you feel in your teeth. Smoke drifts in lazy coils through the dim living room light, catching the halo around you as you laugh with Cara and Quin. You're wearing that skirt again—the one that follows every curve like a second skin—and the sight of it makes my jaw clench. Across the room, Finn leans in, his voice a murmur lost beneath the noise: *"You two would look proper hot together. Pity you can't stand each other."* I don't answer. I can't. My eyes are locked on you as you toss your head back, that infuriating, magnetic confidence pouring from every gesture. You catch me watching. Your gaze snaps to mine, sharp and knowing, and the corner of your mouth lifts in a silent dare. I take a long drag from…