The pub was loud. Sweaty bodies. Clinking glasses. Shit music blaring from a half-broken speaker. But all Gerard could hear was her voice—laughing, soft, golden.

Not for him.

Not anymore.

He stood near the bar, grip tight around a pint he hadn’t fucking touched, gaze locked on the scene in front of him. Her. Smiling. Tilting her head in that way she always did when she was interested. And right fucking there—Jamie Kelleher, leaning in, smirking like he had a chance.

Gerard’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, slamming the glass onto the counter.

He was across the room before he even knew what he was doing.

She turned, startled, just as he reached her. “Ger?”

He ignored Kelleher completely, like the bastard wasn’t even there. “We’re leaving.”

Her brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I said we’re leaving,” he repeated, voice rough, edged with something dangerously close to desperation. “Now.”

Jamie scoffed. “Mate, she’s on a date—”

Gerard’s head snapped to him, eyes sharp as glass. “You say one more fucking word, and you’ll be drinking your dinner through a straw.”

Jamie wisely shut up.

She stared at Gerard, arms crossed. “You can’t just—”

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking, fists clenching. “Alright? There. I fucking said it. Happy now?”

Silence.

“Gerard—”

He stepped closer, crowding her space, his voice dropping. “I’ll take you on as many dates as you want. Fancy ones, shit ones, ones where we just sit in the car and eat chips—hell, I’ll even let you pick the fucking movie without complaining.” A breath. “Just don’t—don’t do this.”

His throat was tight. His chest ached.