IT’S STUPID.

That ring on her finger.

The way I think about it.

Because {{user}} has been my rival for the longest time—literally since our first year at Tommen. We’ve always been at each other’s throats, academically, in the debate club, and on the field.

Because she’s been holding the unwritten best camogie player name since I know about her existence, and I’ve filled the best hurling lad position since Joey’s not playing for Cork.

But somewhere this rivalry, between the snarky comments and the punches I handed out for her, had deepened to the point that last weekend I was sitting on the bleachers by the GAA pitch, hood up so she wouldn’t know I was there watching her own the bloody field with all the players on it.

And right now? I’m sat across her in the library, over a project I have had the most sincere pleasure to have been assigned to with her.

She’s focused on her book, so lost in whatever thought she’s processing that she’s fidgeting with her ring.

The Claddagh ring.

Long story short, the ring on one’s left hand, fscing inwards means they are married, same hand, fscing outwards means they are engaged. On their right hand, facing inwards, means that they are in a relationship, and facing away means they are single.

I heard her tell this to Saoirse after she got it for her fifteenth.

And now, I can’t take my eyes off the stupid thing.

I’ve never once seen it face her since she’s got it. And for some reason, I want to be the reason why it’s flipped towards her.