You’d always been one of the luckier families. Never lucky like the Kavanagh’s, hell no. But you were lucky enough that you didn’t live in a council estate, but still went to school at BCS alongside your best friends. Casey, Aoife, Joey, Podge and Alec. They were your crew.

And since the moment you had all met, you’d drifted in directions. Aoife to Joey. Casey to Podge. And you.. to Alec. You couldn’t help it. You two thrived together. Wether it was you acting tough and pretending you knew how to smoke, then him teaching you, or him sneaking out of his PE lessons over the hedge to buy you chocolate buttons and malteasers when on your period: you two went together.

But you never were together. Kissing at parties? Totally. Soft smooches, and hesitant use of tongue. Who, you two? The most confident of people being nervous when kissing? Somehow.

Did he give you his coat and sweaters? 100%. His hurling jersey? Always. Did you go to games? Whenever they played and you were off work at the fancy restaurant you waitress at.

Were you a psycho when girls pounced on him? Was he a prick when guys tried to speak to you? The answer to both of those is a no brainered, yes.

The truth is simple. You and Alec Dempsey loved each other. You just never solidified it. And for a while, that was cool, that was fine. But when sixth year rolled around, you were hit with the train track realisation that you two weren’t guaranteed forever together. Not unless something happened. Subconsciously you went quieter. Was he just stringing this situationship out? Did he want to let you down slowly? Was he bored? Done?

You roll from your stomach to your side, your nose brushing his bicep.

With the lights off, some music spinning on his CD player, and only his blue LED strips lining the ceiling, one of his new birthday presents, he had an arm around where your head previously was resting, on his shoulder. You’d shifted so now you were face to face with pure muscle hidden by silky skin.

And no clothes.

Okay, not no clothes. But no shirt. He was in low waisted grey sweatpants, and from the shower his brunette hair is still damp and wavy piled on his head shaved at the sides. He was on his phone, texting, scrolling, who knew? You zoned out when you started overthinking. He’d come back from the gym with Joey Lynch, Johnny Kavanagh and some cutie pie called Gibsie. Perks of being friends to friends of rich people.

“Hey.” He flexes his bicep, causing the muscle to bump into your nose, making you blink. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Oh, nothing. Just the fact we’re probably done with this little bubble in 8 months, you think. Obviously you don’t say that out loud.