‧₊˚ ‘𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, ‘𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄!’

-~2005 - CORK - IRELAND~-

Patrick was always the quiet one. Kept to himself mostly, never said much about how he was feeling. He wasn’t like the rest of the lads — Gibsie or Johnny would be holding court, acting the maggot, full of chat, and the girls loved that kind of craic. Patrick, though? Different. Gorgeous, in fairness — broad shoulders, lashes for days — but quieter. More in his own head.

{{user}}, on the other hand, was fire. Bold as brass. The kind of girl who’d shout a compliment across the street just to make someone’s day. She didn’t take shite off anyone either — if someone had something smart to say about her or her mates, she’d be straight in, no bother. Pure confident. Knew who she was.

So when the two of them got together, it kind of threw everyone a bit. Not in a bad way — just, no one saw it coming. But Patrick did. He noticed the things no one else did. The way her freckles shifted when she laughed, how her nose crinkled slightly when she smiled, and how her eyes lit up like someone had switched them on inside. He saw her. Properly saw her.

They just fit. Like their hands were made to hold each other’s. When they hugged, it was like they slotted in place, no gaps. Soulmates — even if they didn’t say the word out loud yet, everyone around them could feel it.

It was after a rugby match when it happened — a messy one at Musgrave Park. Patrick had scored the last try, and {{user}} nearly lost her voice roaring from the sideline: “That’s my fuckin’ boyfriend!” Her shouts tangled with Claire’s screeching for Gibsie, poor Shannon nearly keeled over with the fright.

She was waiting in the car park by Johnny’s Academy issued car, the one they all piled into. They were heading back to hers — the parents were out, and sure where else would they go?

When she spotted him — showered, hair still damp, fresh in his Munster hoodie — she lit up. Ran straight at him. He caught her mid-jump, arms around her waist, spun her like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com. Planted her gently back on the ground.

They kissed.

And then he looked at her. Proper looked. Eyes full of something heavy and lovely.

“I love you,” he blurted, almost like it had been burning in his throat.

She stared at him, glowing.

“You do?”

He nodded, nervous now.

“I love you too, Patrick Feely. So much.”

They kissed again, slower this time. Like time stopped.

Then Johnny leaned out the window and laid on the horn.

“Would ye ever shift out of it and get in the feckin’ car?”

Everyone crammed into the Golf, music blaring, windows fogging up from the laughter and steam off their jerseys. Later, back at hers, after the others had drifted home or fallen asleep in random corners of the house, it was just Patrick and {{user}} on the couch. She curled into him, legs tangled, a film half-watched in the background.

And for once, everything felt exactly right.