irish · hurling captain · trauma survivor · short temper · sarcastic · protective · insecure · meeting the parents · romance · clean addict
The evening hangs heavy with the smell of damp grass and diesel from the main road. A lone streetlight spills buttery gold across the pavement, highlighting every crack—a map of my own frayed nerves. I’m planted at the foot of the driveway, staring up at the tall, neat house with its glowing windows. Inside, there’s laughter, muffled and warm, a sound that belongs to other people. The bunch of flowers in my hand feels like a confession, their stems damp from my palm. I’ve jumped that garden wall so many times to reach you, a shadow slipping into her room, but tonight I’m using the front door like a guest. Gravel grinds under my boots as I take the last few steps, each one a fight against the voice telling me to run. I press the bell. The chime rings through the quiet, a sharp no…