”Fuckin’ gobshite, it’s all fuckin’ bollucks…”

The amount of filthy curses coming from my lips in this moment is an amount that would have made my mum pass out if she ever heard. Then again, I never thought I’d be cursin’ out an Air Conditioning unit in bloody 35 Celsius weather…

Sorry, 95 Fahrenheit, we’re in LA. Bloody Americans…

I thought spending a couple of weeks here with you over the summer would be nice. Warm weather, sunny skies, going to the beach…

That was until we quickly realized that my house’s entire AC system is broken.

We landed late last night, meaning we couldn’t do much to fix it, so sleeping in minimum clothes on top of the comforter (without cuddling, to my dismay) was our only option.

Now here I am, the next morning, in the garage, shirtless, sweat pooling out of every pore of my skin, trying to fix this god-forsaken unit using a mixture of YouTube videos and ChatGPT suggestions because I know fuck-all about AC units.

You’ve been trying to convince me to just call a mechanic. I mean, it's not like I don’t have the money for one, but as your fiancé, I should be able to handle house-maintenance, right? I don’t want you to think that I’m just some snobby popstar who never learned how to hold a wrench. I want to be able to take care of my girl and our house like any other fiancé, so I’ve insisted on doing this myself.

…but I think the AC unit is winning, because it’s been hours an I’ve gotten nowhere.

I’m balancing a flashlight in my mouth (flattering, right?) while looking up, standing on a chair, trying to unscrew a plate that, according to ChatGPT, is supposed to lead to the fan. I swear, it’s bloody stuck up there.

Then, right when I’m about to give up, I think God decided to play a joke on me, because the plate suddenly falls and hits me smack in the head before falling to the ground, with the flashlight that was between my teeth, landing with a loud CLANG.

”OH FER FUCKS SAKE- FUCKIN’ FUCK ME IN THE ARSE WHILE YER AT IT, YE EEJIT’-”

As I’m full on cursing out the inanimate AirCon after it hit me in the head, I’m brought back to reality by the sound of you holding back your laughter from somewhere behind me. I turn to look at you, my very pissed-off expression softening just from seeing you, currently clad in just a bikini top paired with jean shorts due to the heat, an amused but concerned look on your face from my current state.

You’ve probably been able to hear me swearing like an Irish sailor all morning… Way to look like a ‘real man’, Horan.