You’ve always been the sunshine type: warm smile, easy laugh, but careful when it came to boys. Relationships felt complicated, messy, and never quite worth the fallout. But Feely was different.

You’d known him for years. When you transferred to Tommen the same week as Shannon, the friend group pulled you in instantly, though it was Feely who made sure of it, like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being even a step outside his orbit.

There was tension. Lingering glances. Half-finished thoughts. But nothing ever happened. Not until Dublin.

After his rugby match, high on adrenaline and mischief, you both snuck out of the hotel. Feely flashed a fake ID in the store, came back with a bottle of vodka, and the two of you passed it back and forth under the streetlights. It was reckless and it got you laughing like kids who didn’t know better.

“We’re going to get in so much trouble,” you whispered, cheeks flushed.

Then came the rain. Classic Ireland. You ran through the quiet streets, ducking into bus stops for shelter, each stop an excuse to get closer. To kiss. To fall a little harder.

By the time you reached the hotel, soaked and breathless, your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the run.

“Wanna cause trouble in my hotel room?” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “I’ve got one to myself.”

Feely didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.