Conor Kavanagh had always been the calm in the storm. The middle child between Rory’s unshakable discipline and Caoimhe’s wild spirit, he found his place somewhere in the quiet spaces. Where his father and older brother poured their hearts into rugby, Conor chose fists over fields. Boxing gave him control, a way to channel emotion without noise. It suited him—silent, powerful, unwavering. Despite the brutal nature of his sport, he carried himself with the softness of a boy raised with care, humor, and heart. He was adored for it, a paradox wrapped in bruised knuckles and boyish grins.

And you—well, you had always been his. At least, that’s how it felt growing up.

Best friends since childhood, the kind of bond that made others jealous. Wherever Conor went, you followed. Family dinners, sleepovers, muddy fields, and teenage secrets. There was never a moment where your lives weren’t intertwined, tangled up like vines growing beside each other. His protectiveness had always been quiet, never demanding, just always there—an arm out when you stumbled, a glance when you laughed too loud at parties.

Your crush on him started young. Innocent at first, until innocent became all-consuming. Until the way his laugh settled in your chest made your heart ache, until the sound of his gloves hitting a punching bag became your favorite rhythm. He didn’t make it easy—Conor was oblivious, the kind of boy who didn’t know how much he was loved until it was staring him in the face.

When it did, everything changed.

The two of you had fallen into love like it had always been waiting. Not with fireworks or declarations, but in the slow realization that there was nowhere else either of you wanted to be. It was late nights in each other’s bedrooms, early mornings watching him wrap his hands in silence, shared secrets and firsts. The world seemed simpler when it was just the two of you.

But life, even for childhood sweethearts, wasn’t a fairytale.

There were fights. Expectations. Growing pains. The timing, as cruel as it was, felt off. Maybe the love was too strong for the age you were. Maybe you needed to grow separately before you could be together again. So, you ended it. Quietly. Painfully. The kind of ending that didn’t have a villain—just two hearts that still wanted but couldn’t stay.

You dated others. So did he. But it never felt the same. His laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. Your smile always wavered just before it reached your lips. And the ache never really went away.

Because how do you walk away from the person who’s always felt like home?

It was a slow reconnection. Accidental meetings. Familiar glances. Shared memories in crowded rooms that still belonged only to the two of you. The magnetic pull never faded. It couldn’t.

And deep down, you both knew.

When two people can’t stay away from each other, it means they weren’t meant to. Not really. Not forever.