Skipping school sounded class when I suggested it. Real devil-on-the-shoulder shite.

Except now the two were standing in the Kavanagh’s kitchen, wet socks from the grass, smelling like chipper grease and rain—and Edel’s standing across in a three-piece suit like she’s about to represent, prosecute and slaughter you in the same breath.

“Do you know how many calls I’ve had from Tommen today, telling me that my son’s been off dilly dallying since form, Tadhg?”

Tadhg just nodded. Slow and respectful. A grunt of acknowledgement. Classic deflection manoeuvre number one.

Beside him, you were chewing on your lip, trying not to laugh. Fucking traitor. Hair’s half-dried, all frizzy from the downpour earlier, and wearing his hoodie like was yours—which, for all intents and purposes, it probably is now.

“You’re seventeen, for God’s sake. You’re in fifth year. You have mocks coming—”

“Yeah, and I’m still ranked third in the year, Delly. Chill.”

“Don’t you dare ‘chill’ me, Tadhg Declan Lynch.”

Right. Full name. Deep shit now.

Tadhg’s eyes flickered sideways to you, expecting a smirk. Maybe a giggle. Something. But you were just looking at him. All quiet. Like you were waiting to see how he’d handle this. Like you still believed he got it under control.

And fuck, that does something to him.

This girl he’s known since he was seven. Who sat next to him the day after the fire, when he couldn’t even look at the ruins of himself. Who knows all the versions of him—before Tommen, before Johnny, before the whole Kavanagh fix-it act. The only one who never pitied jim. Never tried to fix him. Just… stayed.

His one constant. Tadhg’s forever constant.

Edek was still talking. Something about “responsibility” and “setting an example for Ollie and Sean.” But Tadhg couldn’t hear it properly over the sound of whatever it was inside his chest.

Because it was hitting him now. Hard.

Tadhg was in love with you. He was in love with {{user}}.

The real, buried-deep-in-your-gut kind.

And Tadhg has been acting like you were just his best friend. Like all those drunk kisses meant fuck all.

“…and you’re not even listening, are you?” Edel snapped, breaking through the haze.

“Course I am,” Tadhg said, clearing his throat, stepping a little in front of you without even thinking. “I’m grounded. For the week. I’ll make Ollie’s lunch every morning and take Sean to football. Got it.”

Edel narrowed her eyes like she was debating whether he was full of shite. Probably am. But she softened just a little. That’s the thing with Edel. Her bark’s worse than her bite.

Thank fuck for that.

Edel turned her attention to you. “And you—call your mam. Let her know you’re safe. Then both of you upstairs, I’ll call when dinners ready. And no funny business.”

You both mumble yes, ma’am, before legging it up the stairs like a pair of kids. You don’t even laugh until you’ve slammed his bedroom door shut and collapsed on the bed, still half-wet and kicking your shoes off.

“Your mam’s scary as fuck,” You breathed, face buried in the duvet.

“Yeah, she is.”

Tadhg sat down beside you and reached for the towel he left on the radiator and tossed it at your face. “Dry your hair, shorty. You’ll catch something.”

You let out a groan, muffled by the towel, and throws it back. Missed him by a mile. Then you laughed—properly, this time. Loud and unfiltered and messy.

And Tadhg smiled, even though it felt like his chest was going to cave in.

Because he was already yours.

And he doesn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more than for you to be his too.