The place smelled like grease and milkshakes, buzzing with the usual Friday crowd. Gerard “Gibsie” Gibson stood by the milkshake counter, straw in his mouth, but his eyes were on the booth in the back.

Her booth.

His best friend.

His sunshine.

And sitting across from her, grinning like he owned the world, was Damien bloody Cleary.

Gibsie’s jaw ticked.

“She looks uncomfortable,” Patrick murmured.

“She looks like she’s pretending,” Hughie added.

Gibsie didn’t respond. He was already moving.

Johnny followed immediately, bumping his shoulder against Gibsie’s with a smirk. “You gonna be civil?”

“No.”

They marched toward the booth like a four-man storm. Gibsie didn’t hesitate — he slid in beside her without asking, arm brushing hers. Johnny joined on the other side. Patrick and Hughie flanked Damien, boxing him in without a word.

Her eyes widened. “Gib— what are you doing?”

“Catching up with my best girl,” he said, stealing a sip from her milkshake like it was nothing. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Damien blinked. “Seriously?”

Patrick smiled, all teeth. “Dead serious.”

“Mate,” Damien huffed, trying to look at her past the wall of lads around him, “She chose me.”

Silence.

Gibsie turned slowly. His smirk was gone now, expression unreadable, blue eyes fixed on her. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked… caught.

But she didn’t move away from him either.

“Did she?” Gibsie asked softly, not looking at Damien anymore.