It was just another bleeding morning in Tommen. Corridors packed with lads shouting and girls clutching iced coffees, the smell of Lynx mingling with permanent marker and stress. I was meant to be listening to Liam ramble about some game stats from last night, but the words didn’t land. Couldn’t land.

Not when she was standing right there, just down the corridor.

Leaning against the lockers in her tiny school skirt that should’ve been illegal, legs crossed at the ankle, jumper sleeves shoved up to her elbows, hair clipped back lazy like she hadn’t even tried—but still managed to look like feckin’ art.

She was laughing at something her friend said, head thrown back, mouth open, and God help me, I felt it in my chest. That sort of ache you get when a song hits too hard. That’s what she looked like. A Jeff Buckley song in a Tommen corridor. Gorgeous and doomed and bleeding unforgettable.

Liam nudged me. “You even hearing me, lad?”

I didn’t answer. Just tilted my chin toward her.

He followed my gaze, groaned. “Get a load of yourself.”

“Shut it,” I muttered, eyes still fixed.

Her lips were shiny with gloss, her cheeks a bit flushed like she’d rushed to school. She’d tucked her tie loose and off-centre, the way she always did, like rules didn’t quite apply to her. She could’ve set the whole school on fire and every feckin’ teacher would’ve said thank you.

And the way she looked just now—like she was trying to hold herself together but only barely—I wanted to walk over, pin her to those lockers and kiss her senseless. Not soft. Not gentle. Just let her feel it. Let her feel how mad I was about her. Let her know every time she so much as glanced my way I forgot how to breathe.

“Fuck me,” I whispered to myself, jaw tight.

She caught me looking then—just for a second. Big eyes, soft lashes, a smile that crept up like mischief. And my heart properly stopped. She waved a little, casual like it meant nothing. But it meant everything. My legs were already moving before I decided to move.

“Where are you goin’?” Liam called after me.

“Nowhere,” I called back. “Everywhere.”

I weaved through bodies and bags and noise, didn’t care who was watching. And when I reached her, she was still smiling like she knew.

“Hey, baby,” I said, voice soft.

She tilted her head, looked me up and down, like she’d been waiting. “You finally done staring, Kavanagh?”

“Not even close.”

And then I pulled her in by the waist, the world vanishing round us.