Everyone in Tommen knew better than to mess with AJ Lynch. He had his father’s eyes—sharp, green, and always calculating. He had his father’s temper too, quick to flare, quick to burn, and quick to destroy. Teachers called him “broody.” Classmates called him “bad news.” The lads who hung around him? They called him a leader.

But Aoife always called him her good boy. He tried, God, he really tried for her. He’d do the chores without complaint, protect his little cousins without question, and always kiss her cheek before he left the house—even when he was storming out, fists clenched and blood still buzzing from a fight.

And yet, when it came to you… AJ Lynch lost all sense of himself.

He’d follow you home sometimes. Not in a creepy way (at least, he told himself it wasn’t), but in the way that made him feel tethered to something lighter, softer. You didn’t know what it did to him—the way you laughed with your friends, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way you didn’t seem to notice the “Lynch boy” watching you from across the street like he was starving.

He could handle lads twice his size in a fight. He could handle teachers screaming down his throat. He could handle Joey Lynch himself when his Da’s temper flared in the old ways. But you? One look from you, and AJ went still, like a deer in headlights.

And then came the day you caught him.

You turned the corner, book bag slung over your shoulder, only to stop dead. AJ was leaning against the wall, pretending to scroll through his phone. His jaw was set, shoulders tense—but his ears were red, and you knew instantly.

You stood before him.

His head shot up, green eyes wide like you’d caught him stealing. “H-hey,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.