You were Johnny Kavanagh’s best friend. Past tense.

Ever since a smaller, nine-year-old Johnny had moved from Dublin into the manor next to yours, the two of you had been inseparable.

That is, until last year -when, unfortunately, everything changed.

The fight had been petty. One of those childish arguments that feel enormous in the moment, the kind that seems worth shattering a friendship over - until it's too late to take it back.

Since that summer, you and Johnny hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t that you hated each other - at least, not anymore. It was just… awkward now. Too much time had passed. Reaching out would feel strange, like trying to start a conversation with a stranger you used to know.

The real problem was that your families were close, too close. Monthly get-togethers were unavoidable. Whether it was tea and biscuits at someone’s house or a dinner out, the adults insisted on staying in touch.

Tonight was one of those nights. A fancy dinner at a nice restaurant.

The parents were deep in conversation - politics, probably, or whatever else adults loved to ramble about. Which left you and Johnny sitting across from each other in an uncomfortable silence.

Until, at last, he broke it.

“So…” Johnny said, eyes fixed on the glass of water in front of him, voice low enough that your parents wouldn’t notice. “Still hate me?”