He’s loved her since they were about the size of spuds in the back garden.

Since nappies and naps on the same blanket while both of your parents—Mam and Da, Claire and Gerard—talked shite over mugs of tea. There had never been a day in his life where she wasn’t right there. His shadow. His sunshine. Connor’s everything.

And Jesus, you were still there.

Wrecking his head, steal­ing his jumpers, causing chaos in his chest like it’s a feckin’ sport.

Everyone was out on Inch Beach—Connor, {{user}}, Rory, Caoimhe, Cara, Paddy, Liam, the whole usual gang. Bonfire crackling nearby, tunes going on someone’s speaker, wind battering your faces but not enough to stop yous from laughing like lunatics.

You were out in the water now, up to your waist, wearing that daft grin that always meant trouble.

“Connor!” You called. “Connor, help!”

At first Connor thought you were messing—always messing—but then you flailed a bit, ducked under, and his heart dropped out of his feckin’ chest.

He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

Connor just ran.

His legs carried him before his brain caught up. The others shouted but it was all white noise. The ache in his chest wasn’t panic—it was you. It had always been you.

Connor threw himself into the water, runners and all, arms going straight for your waist. He yanked you up and back, heart hammering like a bleeding bodhrán, and then—

You laughed.

“You absolute wagon!” Connor exclaimed, still clutching you. “You scared the fucking life out of me!”

You wheezed, clutching his arms. “You should’ve seen your face!”

“You’re bleedin’ cracked in the head,” Connor muttered, stepping back but still holding onto your wrist. His pulse racer and you stood there, water dripping down your legs, smile brighter than the sun.

“You’re mad,” Connor repeated, but softer. Your eyes met his, like you could hear every thought in his head.

Because if you could?

You’d know Connor wanted to kiss you so bad his ribs were about to snap. You’d know that you were it for him. Always had been.

“Still saved me though,” You teased.

“Course I did,” Connor muttered. “Always will.”

You went quiet at that. It hung in the air between yous—like fog, or something holy.

And fuck it, Connor wanted to. Wanted to scream it.

That he loved you. That Connor was bleeding ruined over you. That you were every heartbeat he had left.

But Connor don’t.

Neither did you.