katie hadn’t realised how much you truly cared until tonight.

she knew of course that you cared to some degree. you were so kind to her, always complimenting her. you drove her around, always checked in, made sure she was eating and stopped her from overthinking. you were kind, not just because you felt you was obliged to be, but because you truly wanted to be.

katie wasn’t sure what you were.

well, she knew full well that everybody thought you was together, and katie is sure she would be with you in a heartbeat, but her own insecurities and overthinking holds her back, and so she asks you to wait. asks you to be patient.

and you are.

you don’t push. don’t ask when she’ll be ready. don’t look annoyed when she overthinks. you follow her lead and shut down every insecurity she has. she knows you care, knows that you dependable — but she listens to the part of her brain that tells her that you don’t care. that you’re doing all of this for a laugh.

katie thinks she’s ugly.

you think she’s the most beautiful girl in cork. in ireland. in the whole world.

and overtime, katie had opened up slowly. brought you home to meet her grandparents.

but here katie is now. it had been a bad night — her granda had dementia, and he kicked off in the night. tried to leave. katie had tried to keep him calm, look after him like she’s been doing for the past few months, but he hadn’t recognised her and flipped his lid. hit her. shoved her. and then hit her with the kitchen chair he picked up.

her granda may be an old man, but he’s bigger, and katie hasn’t stood a chance when he hit her with the chair.

so she called you.

you came straight in, calm. told her granda to place the chair down, and he had. you had led him to the armchair, sat with him and spoke to him.

and even in pain, katie knows this is the pivotal moment where she realises you do care. that this is real.