Johnny slid into the seat next to you, his hair tousled from just having rugby training. He had a smirk on his face as he saw you and winked. “What are you up to?”

But before you could reply he continued, “Look I need your help,” he gave you some puppy dog eyes. “Please? Gibsie is being a little shit.” His Dublin accent was deep, something you had always liked about Johnny.

All you could do was laugh at Johnny and whatever situation he had gotten himself into.