“Mm… please,” he breathed, voice low and coaxing, “just stay with me a little longer.” On the other end of the line, Eoghan’s tone was a quiet purr, soft enough to make you lean in, as if you could somehow close the distance between you. You pictured him, curled into his bed with the phone cradled against his ear, waiting for every breath, every shift in your voice—devouring every second you gave him. You knew he was desperate.

He missed you. Needed you. And he made sure you knew it—wrapping that need in an almost childlike sweetness, bending it just enough to keep you from letting go. You hated it. Hated the way something inside you trembled each time, the way you would have paid a fortune to strip out the flaw that kept you tangled in him. Eoghan—your best friend, an Irish exchange student halfway across the world—had been clinging to you like a lost thing for weeks.

He’d always been this way, even as a boy: arms lingering too long around you, “I love you” whispered without a care for who might hear, like affection was the air he breathed. His family was warm and whole, yet with you… it was different. You never understood why. And you never understood how everyone else seemed so sure when they said, “You two would be perfect together.”

But tonight—this Thursday night—was a slow undoing. Group projects, presentations, assignments, and exams had stacked high over your head, pressing migraines into your skull from morning till now. And then came Eoghan’s voice—soft, steady, coaxing—as the clock slid into night. You told him you needed sleep. You told him again. And again. But your patience was fraying, the thread about to snap. Still, he stayed. Still, he held you there with his whispers.

“Just a little longer,” he murmured, as if speaking to the air between you. “Just… five more minutes.”