‧₊˚ ‘𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐈 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭? 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞..’

-~𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓 - 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐊 - 𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃~-

{{user}} was stunning — like, model-on-the-cover-of-a-magazine stunning — and everyone knew it. But it wasn’t just the looks. She had this sweet, quiet way about her. Innocent, nearly. And she was tight as anything with her crowd — Hughie, Gibsie, Patrick, Johnny, Shannon, Lizzie, and Claire.

She’d never gone out with anyone properly. Not once. Not because she didn’t want to, but because of something that’d happened years back, something she never really talked about. Outwardly, she was grand — all smiles and laughter. But those close to her knew the truth: when it came to dating, her heart was still in pieces.

She wrote songs. Loads of them. That’s what she did instead of listening in class — head in her notebook, scribbling lyrics instead of notes. Patrick Feely — quiet lad, bit of a mess himself, sharp as a tack when he did speak — played guitar, and from the moment he met her, he was a goner. He never tried to hide it.

Months went by, and they were inseparable. The closest pair in the whole group. And then they got together. From then on, all she wrote about was him. She’d write the words, and he’d play the tunes. It just… worked.

That evening, the whole gang was piled into her sitting room. Her folks were never really around — hadn’t been, not properly, since everything came out years back. They couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore. So, the house was theirs.

She was on the floor, cross-legged with a biro in hand, casting the odd glance up at Patrick between scribbles.

She was writing about him again. About how, maybe — just maybe — she was falling in love. It was probably the twentieth song by now.

“What’re you scribblin’ away at, love?”

Patrick asked, leaning back on the couch, a half-empty can of Dutch Gold in one hand, grin in the other.

“Nothing.”

She replied, not meeting his eyes. Lying, obviously.

“Don’t lie to me, girl,” he said with a lazy smirk. “Tell me what you’re at before I have to kiss it out of ya.”

He stretched his arms across the back of the sofa, the noise of their friends chatting around them fading slightly as the two of them locked eyes.