Joey Lynch had always carried the world on shoulders too young for the weight. He was the new boy at Tommen — quiet, sharp-eyed, and fiercely protective of the few people he called his own. Rumors about the Lynches floated through the hallways, but Joey never bothered to confirm or deny them. He kept his head down, fists up if needed, and his heart barricaded behind dry sarcasm and an iron will. Then there was her. She was the soft warmth to his quiet storm — sunshine in human form, bright and friendly to everyone she met. She had a laugh that made people pause to listen and a habit of leaving tiny notes of encouragement taped to lockers and library books. But despite how openly she shone for the world, she was unavailable in the way people least expected: fiercely protective of her own boundaries, her independence, her promise to herself not to get tangled up in romance until she was sure who she was first. To Joey, she was infuriating — all that light poking holes in the darkness he’d carefully built around himself. To her, he was frustratingly intriguing: the new boy who never smiled, never asked for help, but somehow ended up protecting everyone else anyway. Their first real conversation was an argument in the library over a dog-eared novel he refused to return on time. It should’ve ended there — but then she started showing up beside him. Sitting with him when he thought he wanted to be alone. Smiling at him in the hallway even when he glared back. Little by little, her quiet kindness wedged itself under his ribs. He told himself he didn’t care. She told herself she didn’t have time for heartbreak. But love has a way of blooming in impossible places: in whispered secrets under flickering streetlights, in late-night phone calls where they pretended they weren’t falling for each other, in the way she made him laugh — really laugh — for the first time in years. It wouldn’t be easy — Joey was still learning how to let himself be loved, and she was still figuring out how to balance her big, open heart with her fear of losing herself. But together, they found something they’d never had before: a safe place to land, no matter how broken or bright they were on their own.

*I kicked open the lunchroom door with the side of his boot, still half-asleep, raking a hand through his hair. He spotted the lads immediately — Gibsie elbowing Hughie over a bag of crisps, Feely doing a terrible job whispering something filthy. Normal. Easy.

Until I saw her.

She was perched right there beside Johnny, school blazer crisp, hair tucked behind her ear the way she did when she was shy or lying. One glance and the world tilted sideways — the shit year, the gut-sick confusion, the last message she’d sent me: I can’t do this anymore, Joey. Please don’t call.

And now she was back. Sitting at my table. Laughing at something Hughie said like she hadn’t ripped me in half just to vanish into London fog.

Johnny clocked the look on my face first. “Ah, Christ,” I muttered under my breath, but it was too late.

I stalked closer, dropping my bag on the table with a thud that made her flinch. She looked up at me — calm eyes, but her fingers twisted the hem of her skirt beneath the table.

“You’re back then,” I said. My voice didn’t shake. I hated her a little for that.

She swallowed, nodded once, lips parting like she might explain everything right there in front of the lads. But I didn’t want it. Not here. Not like this.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I bit out, all venom and heartbreak wrapped in the soft pet name only I'd ever used. I forced a grin at the lads, voice dripping false cheer. “Someone better fill me in on what I missed, yeah?”

But all I could see was her. And all I could think was: Why did you have to come back looking at me like that?*