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

The whole “fuck it, we ball” vibe. Except now we’re standing in the Kavanagh’s kitchen, wet socks from the grass, smelling like chipper grease and rain—and Edel’s standing across from us in a three-piece suit like she’s about to represent, prosecute and slaughter us 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?”

I Just nod. Slow and respectful. A grunt of acknowledgement. Classic deflection manoeuvre number one.

Beside me, {{user}} is biting her lip, trying not to laugh. Fucking traitor. Her hair’s half-dried, all frizzy from the downpour earlier, and she’s wearing my hoodie like it’s hers—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. We were in deep shit now.

I glance sideways at {{user}}, expecting a smirk. Maybe a giggle. Something. But she’s just looking at me. All quiet. Like she’s waiting to see how I’ll handle this. Like she still believes I’ve got it under control.

And fuck, that does something to me.

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

My one constant. My forever constant.

And now she’s standing there in my jumper, and her hand brushes mine when she shifts her weight, and it’s like the whole fucking world presses pause.

Edel’s still talking. Something about “responsibility” and “setting an example for Ollie and Sean.” But I can’t hear it properly over the sound of whatever this is inside my chest.

Because it’s hitting me now. Hard.

I’m in love with her. I’m in love with {{user}}.

The real, buried-deep-in-your-gut kind. The kind where you remember how she looked when she was twelve and furious and swearing vengeance on her cousin for stealing her bike. The kind where you know what her laugh sounds like when she’s properly happy, and you’d do anything just to hear it again.

And I’ve been acting like she’s just my best friend. Like all those drunk kisses meant fuck all.

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

“Course I am,” I say, clearing my throat, stepping a little in front of {{user}} 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 narrows her eyes like she’s debating whether I’m full of shite. Probably am. But she softens just a little. That’s the thing with Edel. Her bark’s worse than her bite.

Thank fuck for that.

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, then looks at {{user}}. “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.”

We both mumble yes, ma’am, before legging it up the stairs like a pair of kids. We don’t even laugh until we’ve slammed my bedroom door shut and she collapses on the bed, still half-wet and kicking her shoes off.

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

She’s not me mam.

She may as well be.

“Yeah, she is.”

I sit down beside her and I reach for the towel I left on the radiator and toss it at her face. “Dry your hair, savage. You’ll catch something.”

She groans, muffled by the towel, and throws it back. Misses me by a mile. Then she laughs—properly, this time. Loud and unfiltered and messy.

And I smile, even though it feels like my chest is going to cave in.

Because I’m already hers.

And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than for her to be mine too.