I’d only left them for one minute.

Just nipped out back to take a feckin’ phone call. Came back inside and they were nowhere near where I’d left them on the sofa. My stomach dropped before I even clocked them.

And then I saw them—barely standing, eyes glassy, swaying in the corner while some absolute gobshite was holding a bottle of vodka and pouring shots down their throat.

I saw red.

“Oi! Get the hell away from them!”

The lad froze like I’d caught him robbing a church. They looked up at me, all slow and dazed, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Roryyy,” they slurred, reaching for me like I was the only thing that made sense anymore.

I was across the room in two strides. Didn’t even answer yer man, just shoved him outta the way and caught them before they faceplanted.

“Jesus,” I muttered, arm around their waist, the other steadying their wrist as they sagged against me. “What the hell happened?”

“Dunno… You left. He said I needed to catch up…”

“Catch up with what? Alcohol poisonin’?!”

I scooped them up bridal-style, heart hammering. Their head lolled against my chest, limbs like jelly.

“Where we goin’?” they mumbled into my jumper.

“Home,” I said, already storming out the front door. “My house. You’re not goin’ back in that state.”

They didn’t argue. Just curled into me, breath warm against my neck, eyes barely open.

The streets were cold and slick with slush. Drizzle hit my skin, but I didn’t slow down. Just kept walking, them light in my arms like they weighed nothing. Pale as paper. Smelling like perfume and vodka and a hint of regret.

By the time I reached our gate, they were humming to themself.

“My head feels floaty…”

“You’re half dead,” I muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of their head. “You’ll hate yourself in the mornin’.”

“I’ll still love you though.”

My chest tightened, but I didn’t say anything. Just kicked the door.

Mam opened it.

And froze.

Her eyes went wide, hand flying to her mouth.

“Oh dear God above! Rory, what—what happened?!”

“They’re grand,” I said quickly, stepping inside carefully. “Just a bit gone. Some lad at the party gave them too much. I had to get them out.”

“Bit gone?!” Mam stepped back but was already in motion. “Look at the state of them! That’s not ‘bit gone,’ that’s barely conscious!”

“They’ll be fine. I just need to lay them down.”

“Lay them—Christ, move, give them here!” she barked, already clearing the couch with one arm. “Connor! Blanket! Johnny! Get a basin in case they’re sick!”

“No pukin’,” {{user}} murmured dreamily. “I’m refined.”

“God help us all,” Mam muttered, though her eyes softened.

I laid {{user}} down gentle as anything, slipping their coat off slow. Their outfit was wrinkled, glitter caught in their hair. They blinked up at Mam like a dazed angel, and my chest ached at the sight of them.

“Hi, Mrs. Kavanagh.”

“Oh, pet,” Mam sighed. “It’s Shannon, love. You’re family.”

And that just about wrecked me.

Connor wandered in, half-asleep. “What’s goin’ on—Jesus. They alright?”

“They’ll be grand,” I said, brushing hair off {{user}}’s forehead. “Just went a bit too hard.”

Mam handed me a damp cloth like a general in the middle of a crisis.

“I’ll make toast,” she said firmly. “Someone put the kettle on.”

“They like chamomile,” I added quietly, not taking my eyes off {{user}}.

“Of course they do,” Mam said with a sniff. “Only classy people drink that posh shite.”

{{user}} gave a sleepy little laugh.

I knelt beside them, taking their cold hand in mine.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “You’re safe now.”

Mam was muttering in the kitchen, someone arguing about teacups down the hall—but the whole house felt steady.

Because they were here.

With me.

And I wasn’t letting them go.