{{user}} sitting on the bonnet of my car like a painting. Outside the pound shop of all places. Back straight, chin up, legs crossed at the ankle, licking Rolo chocolate off her finger like it’s the most natural thing in the world to ruin me.

And she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

Or maybe she does.

Knowing her? She definitely does.

She’s got my school jumper on, sleeves too long and the hem is covering her skirt, and she’s swinging her legs like a child with a secret.

I watch her and feel my whole bleeding chest clench.

She’s the sun.

Not just because she’s light. Not just cause she’s pretty.

She’s fire. She’ll scorch ya if you get too close but you’ll freeze without her. And me? I’m the gobshite moon dragged into her orbit whether I like it or not, always watching, always chasing, always just a few steps behind.

She doesn’t even have to try.

She is.

And I’m feckin’ ruined.

She tosses a Rolo at me and I miss it, because I’m too busy watching her smile.

She laughs—pure, gas, belly laugh and I swear I’d bottle it if I could.

“Catch, ya spanner,” she grins.

But I’m not listening. Not really.

I’m too busy thinking about how she makes everything loud in my head. How being near her feels like standing under floodlights after being alone in the dark too long.

She kicks my leg. “Oi. Earth to Tadhg.”

I blink. “What?”

She hops off the bonnet and walks right up to me, close enough I can smell the chocolate and whatever perfume she’s stolen off her ma this time.

And then God help me—she pushes her hand into my hair like she owns me.