Was this really how you expected to spend your birthday? Abso-fucking-lutley not.

But here you were, sat in Johnny Kavanagh’s kitchen whilst he makes you guys some cereal and toasted sandwiches after being abandoned by your brother. Jesus fucking christ, you were panicking, and so was Johnny.

So much for trying to get you out of his mind.

Seeing you in his oversized t-shirt and his boxers, with damp hair and your lonesome eyes, how could you not be thrust right back into the forefront of his mind? You just looked so…at home. Like being sat here in his clothes eating a bowl of cereal was normal, meant to be.

But hearing about his current ‘friends’-with-benefits situation he used to have with a girl in sixth year left you feeling a bit awkward, and him regretting going so in depth about it with you, “You don’t need to be listening to this. You’re only fifteen, for christs sake.”

“I’m sixteen,” You informed him, “And I’m not a child.”

His head snapped up, expression wary, “You’re fifteen.”

“No, I’m not,” You corrected, “I’m sixteen.”

Johnny frowned, “Since when?”

“Since today.” You replied

“It’s your *birthday?”