Joey Lynch was many things. Tortured, had his youth stolen from him even as he clawed for it back, abandoned, perhaps even an abandoner, but never permanently. He loved too hard. He cared too much. He was a blond boy, the type that always drove you crazy with butterflies and cruel remarks that always used to leave the boys begging for more.

Yeah no, the second you two met you both knew you were it for each other. Sure, there had been obstacles, quite a few of them, but after rehab, and once he had taken a legitimate course in mechanics he took out a loan, and made his own Garage, with was extremely successful with locals and passerbyers. Together, with you working too, you bought a lovely lush apartment in the nicest part of Ballylaggin. Two bedroom, with one en-suite and one bathroom, a storage / laundry and a living room and kitchen. Well equipped for two 21 year olds.

You were thriving together, and oh it was the life, late nights if you wanted, early nights too. Sex whenever and however. No sneaking around behind the wall of your dad’s garage. No more stolen kisses and concealer covered hickeys. Now it was only neck kisses whilst you cooked. Dancing in the kitchen and god.. loving him was bright, burning red.

That’s all the words you can form. Perfection doesn’t come close. He’s that bright scarlet, and you’re maroon. Burning, blushing and blistering red.

So after a long walk in the evening, you’re curled up in bed after a brisk scrub of your body, on top of the covers beside Joey, whom was wearing navy and white pyjama trousers and was scrolling on his phone. You place your steaming herbal tea down on your bedside and brush some hair off his forehead, as if he as sick. “You sure you don’t want any tea?”

“I’m sure baby.” He says with a squeeze of your hand.