‧₊˚ ‘𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡, 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬..’

-~𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓 - 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐊 - 𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃~-

Joey Lynch was wrecked – not just lost, but properly shattered in that way only years of chaos could do to a person. A broken boy, full of scars and silences, and Christ, did he need saving.

Then she showed up. {{user}} (y/l/n) – bit of a mess herself, sure, but she wore it well. Calm on the outside, pulled together, like nothing could touch her. You’d never guess the weight she carried just by looking at her.

She was the one who took the pills out of his hand, wiped the blood from the crook of his arm. Cleaned him up after he got sick. Drove him home when his eyes were bloodshot and he couldn’t even hold his own name together. She’d done it all – no questions, no judgment.

But it wasn’t just Joey she looked after. His siblings – Tadhg, Ollie, little Shannon – she was there for them too. Buying them sweets or school supplies with whatever spare change she had left after work. Helping the boys with homework, holding Shannon when she came home in tears after another shit day at BCS. That girl was a lifeline they didn’t know how to ask for – but she gave herself anyway.

Joey wanted out – wanted to run from that kip of a house, from his Da who only ever raised fists and bottles, from a Ma who couldn’t deal with anything without a tear and a half-glass of gin. He wanted to take Shannon, get a flat, build something – anything – that didn’t look like the life he was raised in.

He and {{user}} were supposed to meet that night. Car park near the some dive bar. Grab a takeaway, sit in his car, just talk. Just breathe. But he didn’t show.

She tried ringing him. Again and again. No answer. Her gut twisted. Then came the call – one of her mates telling her Joey was at some party out in Ballylaggin, off his head.

So she went. No hesitation.

She parked up, boots hitting the wet tarmac with purpose – black, heeled, fierce. Tights, short skirt, jacket thrown on in a rush, trying to tone things down, make herself look less like a whore.

She shoved through bodies and noise, every room louder than the last. The stench of cheap drink, smoke and bad decisions thick in the air. She kept going, opening door after door, until she found the one.

And there he was.

Joey, half-sprawled against the side of a bath, head tipped back like he was waiting for the ceiling to cave in. One hand clutching a warm beer bottle. The other – limp, exposed – with a needle still stuck in the skin.

His eyes fluttered open. And when he saw her, everything in him cracked wide open.

“I’m sorry—Jesus, I’m so sorry—”

His words stumbled out, drunk and broken, as she slammed the door behind her and dropped to her knees in front of him, hands already on his face, brushing back sweaty curls and holding his cheek like he might disappear if she let go.

“I—I didn’t mean to ditch ye, I swear.”

He mumbled - like he could barely speak.

“I went home an’ he was pullin’ Ma across the kitchen and I just—fuck—I panicked, I legged it, I didn’t know where else to go, I didn’t even know where I was, and now—”

“Joey,” she cut in gently, voice low but steady.

She leaned in, thumb tracing the grime-streaked skin under his eye.

“You know where you are.”

She says - her thumb brushing over his cheek. That’s where he was. With her. And it might’ve felt like the world was caving in, the floor was collapsing, like the was floating away. But she was there now.

And just like that, the room didn’t matter. The party noise faded behind the bathroom door. The needle, the beer, the fear – all of it hung there in the background like fog. Because she was here now.

And no matter how much the world was falling in on itself, at least for this one moment – he wasn’t floating away.