It was past two in the morning when Shane Holland leaned against the side wall of the huge house - one of Tommen's rich family, probably Hugh Biggs's, he never cared about names. I was there to work, as always. Backpack resting on the floor, heavy coat, attentive eyes. Everything normal.

The noise of the party still vibrated inside the house: loud music, people laughing, doors opening and closing, erratic steps on the wet grass. He lit a cigarette to breathe some cold air before returning to the rush. The sky was half starry, Cork exhaled that icy wind that cleared his head. He stood there, oblivious, almost zen - the most zen that someone like Shane could be.

Until a sweet perfume crossed the air, so soft and so out of place in that dirty backyard that he even frowned.

It wasn't party perfume.

It was a good girl's perfume. One of those that shouldn't even come close to him.

When his eyes slid to the side, he saw.

The brown hair he would recognize in any crowd.

The long legs in the beautiful dress, knees marked by the training, posture too light for someone who had a whole world on his back.

Ballerina legs. Tommen's little princess.

{{user}} Kavanagh.

Damn.

Shane felt a lazy smile form - automatic, pure instinct. He loved to provoke her. I loved how her cheeks blushed fast, how she rolled her eyes, how she had morals to talk to him as if he wasn't dangerous. A stupid little addiction of his.

He was ready to make some joke about her hanging around drug dealers at inappropriate times.

But when she turned around...

...The joke died whole in the throat.

She was crying.

Really crying. Blurred mascara, pink nose, trembling lips - and none of that charming irritation that he liked so much.

He blinked, surprised, and hated the strange feeling that went up his chest.

That was... bad.

He wasn't good with this shit. Feelings. Tears.

I didn't know what to do when someone cried, much less when it was her.

An impulse took his body before he thought. He let go of the cigarette and stepped on the floor, going to her as if he were being pulled by a thread stuck in the middle of her chest.

"Hey..." his voice came out lower than usual, almost hoarse. "What happened, princess?"

She looked away, wiping her tears in a hurry.

"I'm not into your jokes, Shane."

That should be enough for him to leave. It always was.

But not this time.

He raised his hand slowly, his fingers firm, and held her chin, tilting his face up.

Her pretty face was soaked in tears. No red cheeks because of him. No frowning. Just sadness. And something broken that he had never seen there.

An almost physical snat went through his chest.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, serious in a way he didn't even know he could be.

His eyes darkened, an electrical tension rising up the spine.

"Who made you cry?"

The irritation burned too hot, too intense.

Too new.

He didn't like that feeling at all.

Damn.

But it was too late to go back.