3 am. The witching hour. The stars twinkle above you as you sit on the roof, your legs covered by a blanket. It's supposed to be a once in a lifetime meteor shower, and you practically vibrate with excitement.

Everything is dark, and then you see it. The first of the shooting stars, falling across the sky.

"Wake up!" You whisper, shaking John's shoulder. "It's starting!"

He groans, shifting as he wakes. "Alright, mo chridhe, I'm up, I'm up."