i don't mind spending every day, out on your corner in the pouring rain, look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay awhile, and she will be loved

johnny kavanagh was devoted to one thing and one thing only; his one true love, rugby.

the brunette never missed a minute of practice, never put down the ball, never relented in the gym. some said that he resembled tom wellington in smallvile.

he was practically clark kent, anyway.

so, johnny was supposed to good with a ball.

well, he was. in fact, he was better than good; he was the captain of his rugby team, he was in the academy, and was predicted to make it to professional rugby once he finished high school.

yet, he somehow managed to unintentionally spear a poor girl with a ball on her first day of school.

that poor girl happened to be you. you were merely trying to take a shortcut through the fields to get to your classes when, out of nowhere, you were struck in the head, resulting in a mild concussion.

johnny felt absolutely terrible.

he rushed you to the nurses office, smoothed over the incident with the principal, and apologized countless times. unlike the rest of his obnoxious teammates, johnny wasn’t the immature teenage boy that he could’ve been.

he couldn’t shake the image of you—the girl with the broken smile—from his mind that night. he was captivated and infatuated, perhaps a little obsessed, and he’d only met you yesterday.

it scared him; he didn’t have crushes. he didn’t have time for them. yet, somehow, you’d taken over his entire mind.

meanwhile, you weren’t particularly concerned about the concussion itself. what you were truly worried about was the consequences waiting for you at home. the brutal punches and kicks from your father would be far worse than any sports ball injury.

sporting a fresh bruise under your eye and a split lip the next day, you walked into school expecting to be the center of gossip.

but, surprisingly, everyone kept their mouths shut, courtesy of johnny.

he approached you in an empty hallway, eager to apologize for the billionth time and to check on how your head was. he couldn’t help but notice the damage adorning your face. that wasn’t from him.

“shite, the hell happened to yer face?” he asked in concern, oblivious to the true reason behind the darkening blue under your eye.