Tadhg doesn’t like you, yet he looks out for you. Need a pen in class? He’ll roll his eyes but pass you his. Your ma hasn’t given you any lunch money? He’ll give you his sandwich while telling you how infuriating you are. Forgotten your notes? He’ll secretly slip his in your bag.

You refuse him every time, stubborn your middle name. You don’t want charity or to be pitied. But he can relate to you, given his childhood before the Kavanagh’s began fostering him.

Tadhg also knows a terrible man when he sees one. Your boyfriend being one of them. He doesn’t treat you right, always thinking of himself, always ditching you for his mates, always tricking you. Tadhg can see it clear as day, and he doesn’t understand why you’re still with him.

Even now, as he spotted you leaning against Biddie’s outside, chewing your bottom lip, your eyes saying all to the face your boyfriend has just stood you up. Again. It’s pouring down, the small bit of shelter you have doing barely anything. Tadhg exhales a frustrated breath, but he approaches, knowing he can’t just leave you there like a lost puppy.

You’re waiting for the argument to start, but it doesn’t come. He just passes you his hoodie then leans against the brick wall beside you.