Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Playlist

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'12 to 12'  by sombr

'Fight or Flight' by Conan Grey

'Not Strong Enough' by boygenius..

'The Bottom' by Gracie Abrams

'LoveHate Thing' by Wale

'Kiss With A Fist' by Florence + The Machine

'It Ain't Me, Babe' by Timothée CHalamet, Monica Barbaro

'The Scientist' by Coldplay

'minor' by Gracie Abrams

'No.1 Party Anthem' by Arctic Monkeys

'Smile' by Lily Allen

'back to friends' by sombr

'Seventeen Going Under' by Sam Fender

'Fool' by Frankie Cosmos

'Somewhere Only We Know' by Keane

'Hell N Back' by Bakar, Summer Walker

'Ribs' by Lorde

'My Kink Is Karma' by Chappell Roan

'Blondie' by Current Joys

'Waiting room' by Phoebe Bridgers

'The Exit' by Conan Grey

'Close To Me' by The Cure

'This Side of Paradise' by Cocoete Theory

'I should hate you' by Gracie Abrams

'sweet' by Cigarettes After Sex

'Lovers Rock' By TV Girl

'Champagne Coast' by Blood Orange

'The Tide Is High' by Blondie

'Till Forever Falls Apart' by Ashe, FINNEAS

'would've been you' by sombr

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The friend group

Name: Isabell Orla Donnelly

Height: 5'4

Birth: First of January 1993

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"She's so Mean" By Matchbox Twenty 

"Yeah, you're probably right. Dying sounds a lot more enjoyable right now."

Family: Jennifer Donnelly (Mother), Oscar Scott (Father) Tara (TAIR-ah)Donnelly (oldest sister), Betty Donnelly (older sister), Fiona Donnelly (younger sister), Helen Donnelly (youngest sister), James Donnelly (stepfather) 

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Tadhg (Tie-g) Anthony Lynch

Height: 6'1

Birth: sixth of March 1993

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'The Real Slim Shady' By Eminem

"Don't fucking patronise me."

Family: Edel Kavanagh (adoptive mother), John Kavanagh (adoptive father), Darren Lynch (oldest brother), Joey Lynch (older brother), Shannon Lynch (older sister), Ollie Lynch (younger brother), Sean Lynch (youngest brother), AJ Lynch (nephew) 

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Owen Flynn Coleman

Height: 6'1

Birth: First of August 1993

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'We Didn't Start the Fire' BY BILLY JOEL

"Whoa, I let you know all of my slutiness I got from my best friend, alright"

Family: Grace Coleman (Mother), Jack Coleman (little brother)

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Nessa Fiadh (fee-a) O'halloran 

Height: 5'7

Birth: eleventh of August 1993

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'Are You Satisfied?' BY MARINA

"Life is too short not to enjoy it."

Family: Suzanne O'halloran (Mother),  Henry O'halloran (Father)

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Charles Nolan

Height: 5'11

Birth: nineteenth of September 1992

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''Mess it up' By Gracie Abrams

"Hey, my ideas are Oscar-worthy. You're just jealous."

Family:  Keith Nolan (Father), Una Nolan (Mother), Jeremiah Nolan (Older brother), Rory Nolan (cousin)

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Samuel Ivor Sullivan

Height: 5'10

Birth: twenty-third of May 1993

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'Pink Pony Club' by Chappell Roan

"No worries, lads, you can cuddle with me."

Family: Vanessa Sullivan (mother), Philip Sullivan (Father), Norman Sullivan (younger brother), Wayne Sullivan (younger brother)

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Niamh (neev) Una Quinn 

Height: 5'5

Bieth: twenty-eighth of October 1993

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'Afraid' By The Neighbourhood

"I'm not shy, I just don't speak if I have nothing to say." 

Family: Oscar Quinn (Father)

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

Name: Enzo Nolan

Height: 5'9

Bieth: tenth of February 1994

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'Are You Bored Yet?' by Wallows, Clairo

"I don't want to be made responsible for this."

Family: Imogen (imma-jen) Nolan, Flynn Nolan (Father), Lana Nolan (little sister), Charles Nolan (cousin) 

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"Banquet" By Bloc Party

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

One// The first ever Hello

TADHG LYNCH

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September 1st 2005

My first day as a first-year at Tommen, and holy shit, this school fucking sucked. I had already taken at least twenty wrong turns and still hadn't found my locker. Also, I had to wear a blazer. A fucking blazer! I got that this whole school was for the high-and-mighty rich and all, but come on, we didn't need to look like a bunch of snobs. Besides, it itched my neck.

But I guessed, in a weird, fucked-up way, the Lynchs were now part of the high-and-mighty crowd. Although that was only because of the Kavanaghs. And I genuinely was grateful for all they had given us, especially the food. God, I loved the food. Dellie's food was the best on this goddamn planet, and I would fight anyone who disagreed with me.

But that year had definitely been a hell of a ride. As if the others hadn't been. It was hard to believe the whole shitshow was finally over. That we weren't in that house anymore. Matter of fact, there wasn't even a house anymore...

I should've pushed that knife into his fucking throat when I had the chance. It would've saved us a lot of trouble. That bastard deserved to burn alive. I just wish he hadn't dragged Ma with him...

If I had killed him that night, Mom would still have been here. She would still-

"Hey, Tadhg."

A high-pitched voice ripped me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see my sister, with a way-too-big smile on her face, standing with her friends.

"How are you finding everything-"

"Don't talk to me," I warned. What was she thinking? I didn't need to be seen with my big sister on the first day of school. "Jesus Christ, you're my sister. You don't know me when we're here."

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "The first-year locker area is downstairs," she told me.

And how exactly should I have known that?

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes, shouldered my bag, and turned to head in the direction I thought the first-year locker area was. "This school fucking sucks."

Then, turning back around, my eyes landed on the pretty blonde with curly hair. I thought her name was Claire?

"By the way, you can absolutely talk to me," I said with a wink.

"Uh, thanks?" Claire laughed, grinning, falling for my charm.

"Anytime, Blondie," I replied before sauntering off.

As I walked away, I heard Claire say, "Oh yeah, give him a couple of years and he's definitely going to be the man."

Hell yeah, I would be. If I wasn't already.

Then I heard the annoying voice of a certain Gibsie Gibson. "Who's the man?"

I couldn't help but turn back to see Hughie, Feely, and Tara had now joined my sister and her friends.

"Are you talking about me again, Claire-bear?" Gibsie waggled his brows at Claire and said something else I didn't catch because my eyes had found her, a freckled girl, probably my age, standing next to Tara. She looked exactly how I felt about this place: frowning, bored, chewing on her pouty lip, not paying attention to anything.

I genuinely didn't think I had ever seen such a pretty girl. And I'd seen plenty, I had just flirted with one. But this girl, with dark curly hair falling over her shoulders, brown eyes, long eyelashes, covered in cute freckles, and a pointy nose, this girl was different. And this wasn't even her full potential. Just imagine when she was done with puberty. Jesus Christ.

Tara and the girl didn't look that similar, but I figured this must have been her sister. I thought I remembered Tara mentioning her sister was joining Tommen as a first year too. Tara was a childhood friend of Johnny's, so she spent a lot of time with the Kavanaghs. I liked her; she didn't treat me like a little kid who couldn't take care of himself. Even though he had proven a thousand times that he could.

"Hey, Blondie," I called out to Claire, which made every head turn, including the freckled beauty's. I came to the conclusion that I liked her eyes on me. "Nice legs."

Then I turned to Gibsie. "You'd better up your game, lad. Because you are on."

"That little shit," Gibsie hissed, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the mystery girl studying me.

"You better keep your prepubescent eyes off my baby mama, fucker, or you won't have balls to drop!"

"I've got bigger balls than you, fatty," I called back, laughing my ass off. "Just ask your mother."

"I'm not fat!" Gibsie roared back. "And you leave my mother out of this!"

"I'm coming for your girl, Gibs," I continued to taunt with a huge grin. "Fair warning."

"I'm going to kick you all the way back to primary school," Gibsie snapped. "Fair warning."

"Jesus Christ," Tara muttered. "I'm going to get the two of you to your lockers now," she said, pulling the curly-haired girl with her. "Before Gibs starts a fistfight with a first-year." She glared at Gibsie, who put his hands up in defence.

"He could surely try," I taunted.

Gibsie pointed at me. "See what I have to deal with here? He started it."

"And I'll finish it." Tara grabbed my bag and started pulling me with her and the mystery girl. Shannon gave her a thankful look. I threw Gibsie one last cheeky smile before we disappeared around the corner.

"You can't leave it, can you?" Tara said, letting go of my bag, but there was a little smirk at the corner of her mouth as we walked down the corridor to the stairs.

"It's more fun like that," I said smugly, glancing at the curly-haired girl walking on the other side of Tara. I caught her eyes.

"Isabell, Tadhg. Tadhg, Isabell, my little sister," Tara introduced us.

Isabell. It fit. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

I gave her a small nod and a wink. But to my surprise, she didn't blush or look away like other girls usually did. Instead, she frowned?

"It didn't work with girls your age, so now you have to try it with older ones?" Isabell said, probably referring to the whole Claire thing.

Tara sighed. "Izzie!"

"What? He can have a smart mouth, but I can't?"

"This isn't about having a smart mouth."

"Then what's it about?"

Tara gave her a meaningful look. I didn't understand and said, "We talked about this."

Isabell just rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"For your information, I try it with older girls because I can get any girl my age anyway," I informed her, not liking her attitude.

Tara shot me a look that said, Don't make this worse, you big eejit.

Isabell huffed. "Okay, Blondie."

"Excuse you."

"You heard me."

"All right, Freckles."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment. They look like dirt."

"Your face looks like dirt," she shot back.

"My face looks delicious. I think you just have bad eyes."

"And I think you should take a look in the mirror."

"I do. Do you? Because the bird's nest on your head says otherwise."

Before she could snap back, Tara interrupted us. "Jesus, and here I thought you two would get along."

I took back everything I had thought about this girl. She was hella annoying, and I wanted to throw something at her curly head.

We stopped in the first-year locker area. "Find your lockers and do us all a favour, don't rip each other's heads off."

Back then, I had no idea what a massive headache this girl would become.

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One// The first ever go to hell

ISABELL DONNELLY

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My sister pulled me into a quiet corner.
"I know you don't want to be here. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on everybody around you."

"I'm not taking it out on anyone..."

Tara gave me that look she always did when she called out my bullshit.

"Who doesn't deserve it." I added, and she sighed.

"Tadhg doesn't deserve it."

"He was disrespectful to Claire and called Gibsie fat," I defended. I liked Gibsie. He was funny.

"Tadhg has been through a lot this year."

I knew. Everyone in this fucking town knew what happened to the Lynchs. An abusive father who almost killed all of them if it wasn't for Johnny Kavanagh. What happened to them was fucked, and I was genuinely sorry for them. I really was.

"And we haven't?" I said despite myself.

"Not like he has," she countered.

I knew she was fond of Tadhg, and for some reason, that bothered me because she was all I ever looked up to. The only person I could count on, the only one who ever listens.

"Doesn't give him the right to act like an arrogant asshole."

"Jeez, when did you get so mean? You used to be the nice one out of the two of us."

"I don't know. Maybe the diagnosis of our Mother or my father almost died from an overdose? But that's just guesses." I grumbled.

Tara's eyes softened. "Izzie, you know I-"

"I have to go. Don't want to ruin my fresh start and all." I threw the words she said to me that morning back at her and walked past her to where all the first-years were supposed to gather.

"Izzie!" she called out, but I was already on my way.

The first day was mostly just there to show us around. Where our classes would be, what we could and couldn't do, who we should go to when we had problems, and blah blah blah. This long-ass speech from the principal was killing me.

All the first-years were sitting in rows in a big hall, and I was bored. I looked around at all those new faces and genuinely couldn't imagine being friends with any of them.

I saw Tadhg a few rows behind me, and our eyes met.
Maybe I had been an ass before?
I thought about smiling at him or waving, until he held up his middle finger to me.

I huffed. Well, that was just lovely. I turned around and suppressed an eye roll. Who did this boy think he was? Acting like he owned this fucking place. It was like he already thought he was the best. As if nothing and no one could challenge him. Well, guess what, sucker? Not with me.

"What did I miss?" a girl whispered, stopping me from probably doing something stupid and unreasonable. She had decided to sit next to me, probably too late for this whole shitty speech. She had long blond hair, shiny blue eyes, and cute, chubby cheeks.

"Just the usual. How this school is better than any other school because you need money for it. How the sports teams is better than other sports teams. How these classes are better than others..." I whispered back and shrugged. "Basically just a big dick measuring contest between this and other schools."

She laughed out loud and had to cover it up with her hand. Several people turned, annoyed in our direction, and I couldn't help but laugh too.

"Are you even allowed to say that?" she whispered, still smiling so brightly I had to blink a couple of times not to go blind. But her smile made me smile too.

"Who's going to stop me? You?" I countered, and this time she shrugged and giggled. "No, not me."

"Do you want to be my friend?" I then asked.

"Oh, please, God, yes. I don't know anybody in here."

"Yeah, me neither."

"I'm Nessa," she said, holding out her hand.

"Isabell, but most people call me Izzie." I put my hand in hers.

"Well, but I'm not most people," she said, still with that bright smile of hers.

"What do you want to call me then?"

She thought for a moment and then said, "Bell."

I snickered. "Like the Disney princess?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Like the Disney princess."

I had to laugh again. "And what am I going to call you? You can't really turn Nessa into a nickname, and Nessie sounds stupid."

"My second name is Fiadh," she suggested.

"Fiadh it is, then."

I smiled at her, and she smiled right back.

Maybe this whole school wasn't that bad after all.

The rest of the day I spent with Fiadh. She came across as reserved, but I thought I could pull her out of her shell if I tried hard enough, and it was fun getting to know her.

We were walking through the hallway, heading to the cafeteria for lunch break, when we noticed a small crowd standing around a guy, maybe a fifth-year? getting sized up by a certain blondie who had insulted me just that morning.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Tadhg told the older lad off.

"You and your fucking kind are my problem."

What the fuck?

"So why don't you and the rest of your band of scumbag siblings go back where you belong?" the older boy taunted.

What the actual fuck was wrong with this guy? I stepped closer, as if I was going to interrupt, but Fiadh grabbed my arm and stopped me.

"Do you know them?" she asked, worried.

"Yes. No. Kind of? I met the blond one. Huge asshole so far." But for some reason, I wanted to help him.

"And where exactly do my kind belong?" Tadhg seethed, letting his school bag fall from his shoulders as he stepped forward to shove the bigger lad in the chest. "Mmm? Come on, fuck face. Where do I belong?"

"Across town, in one of the council estates with the rest of your scummy kind." Grinning, the asshole added, "But you can leave your sister here with us, since she so willingly opens her legs for Cap—"

"You're so fucking dead, McGarry!" Tadhg roared, but before he could do anything stupid, his older brother Joey appeared, grabbing hold of the arm that was already reared back.

"Don't be thick," Joey warned. " He is not worth your time, kid. Walk away."

I had seen Joey fewer times than I had heard of him. Gossip travelled fast in our neighbourhood, and Joey was a hot topic, well, all of the Lynchs were.

"But he called Shannon a-"

"He's a spoilt, entitled rugby prick, who's never seen a hard day in his life," Joey interjected. "We don't care about his opinion."

"Ah, would ya look at that." The prick sneered. "Big brother is here to bail you out. Heard all about you, junkie."

Jesus, even I wanted to kick that prick down there where it hurt, and he didn't even say anything to me.

"Original," Joey said. "Look at the ugly head on him. Poor bastard's clearly never had a taste of pussy in his life. Walk away, kid."
Laughter erupted around us, and I let out a small huff, too. Take that, sucker.

"I've seen plenty of pussy," McSomething snarled, his face turning red.
"Coming out of your mother's hole doesn't count, lad," Tadhg shot back as Joey pulled him away. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"As opposed to you and that junkie brother of yours?" he countered. "Word around school is that big brother got some slut from BCS knocked up and-" Joey's fist met the prick's face, and he stumbled to the floor.

A laugh tore from Tadhg's chest. "Thought we didn't care about his opinion?"

"Change of plans."

And then all hell broke loose.

By the time a teacher arrived, Joey had thrown another punch when McSomething got back up, and Tadhg had kicked him in the balls.

Everyone got sent back to their businesses, and Tadhg and Joey got sent to the principal's office.

"Poor guy, right? That must have hurt." Fiadh said when we walked past other students.

"What? That prick deserved it; he was asking for it by running his mouth like that." I argued back, surprised that she would even say that.

Fiadh opened her mouth, but crashed into a person before she could speak. Her books, which she had clutched to her chest, now spread on the floor. "Oh shit." The brown-haired boy she crashed into nealed down at the same time she did, and their hands touched when they tried to pick up her books. Both chuckled nervously.

I stared in horror and was so close to puking because in what romcom did I stumble into?

"Are you gonna apolicais or what?" The boys' heads snapped to me when they picked all the books back up, clearly surprised that another person was there.

"Er, Oh, yeah, so sorry about that." The boy said to Fiadh and rubbed the back of his head. Fiadh blushed. "Oh no, it's fine. Everything is fine." An orgward silence fell over them, and it amazed me how much I didn't want to be here.

"Okay, see you around." I saved my new friend and pulled her with me. "Em yeah, see you." He said awkwardly.

Back then, I didn't know what a massive headache those two would become.

I found myself seeking out the toulids when I saw a blond, bruding boy sitting in front of the principal's office. I stopped, and before I knew it, I was heading towards him.

His head snapped up when he heard my steps. "What do you want, freckles. Here to make fun of my kind, too?"

"What? no-"

"Wrap it up and just go to hell."

I huffed in disbelief. What an ass. "Well, see you there then, blondie."

That was my last and only try to be nice to Tadhg Lynch.

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'Smile' by Lily Allen

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Two// Oops

TADHG LYNCH

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Do you know a person that you see everywhere you go, or who knows everyone you know? That's in your way constantly without even trying. That person is Isabell Donnelly for me.

I have at least one class with her a day, sometimes more. She lives on the same street as me, and when I go for a jog, I see her sitting there on her window bench reading or scribbling in her stupid sketch book.

And if I tell you that freckles and I still aren't best friends, would you be surprised?

No?

Yeah, me neither. We can't even act civil around each other. Let alone have a decent conversation. Let me give you some examples that I selected over the years.

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December 19st 2005

"Did you just put your jacket on mine?" Isabell's high-pitched voice drummed in my ears, my annoyance already written all over my face.

I turned around, "It's a jacked, freckles."

"You could've put it anywhere else, but you had to put it on mine, blondie?" Putting her arms on her hips.

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was putting it. Don't think I did it because of you, you're not that special."

She huffed. "Then put it away," she commended.

"The fuck I will. If it's bothering you so much, you can do it."

"I won't touch your gross ass, jacked, asshole."

"Oh my God, don't be a Baby."

"You are the Baby. Just put it somewhere else."

I rolled my eyes again. I basically could see my brain at this point. Walking back to the pile that was our jackets, I reached for mine, then decided otherwise and grabbed hers.

"What are you-" she pulled on her jacket to get it back. My lips twitched up into a mocking smirk.

"What's the maice word?" I tonted

"Give it back, asshole." She pulled harder, which only got me to do the same.

"That's not the-"

We both fell back when a shratting sound tore through the air and we both landed on our butts, half of a jacked in hand and a deadly glare from Isabell.

"You two seriously are here because of a jacked?" Principal Twomey said in disbelief. We've been making trouble for that bastard for quite a while now. "A Jacked?" He puts his head in his hands, sighing. "I don't get paid enough for this"

"You work in a private school that gets thousands of euros donated a year. I highly doubt that." I heard Isabell grumble next to me, and I had to hold in my laugh.

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September 29st 2006

Art room, back where I still had art.

"Did you get pained on my shirt!" I said, pissed, looking down at the red stain.

"How the fuck should I've done that from over here?" She questioned being two canvases apart from me.

"Language, Miss Donnelly," our teacher lectured.

"Yeah, Miss Donnelly, language." I mocked.

What got me a glear and a flick from her brush, blue pained now next to the red stain.

"Now I did get paint on your shirt."

"Oh, you little shit." Dipping my hand into green and walking up to her, rubbing it in her face.

"Mr Lynch!" Our teacher protested, but freckles had already other plans because before I knew it, my face was splashed with the water that she cleaned her brush with.

From then on, it escalated quickly. Paint and water flow through the air, the class joining in and a crying art teacher in the middle of it.

"I don't care who threw the first brush. The fact is, both of you were involved, and both of you are cleaning the art room after school, understud?"

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

Mai 16st 2007

Freckles and I were assigned to help out in the library because we accidentally set the fire alarm off in Home EC.

"Stop complaining, the books aren't that heavy," I said, walking next to her.

She huffed. "Says the one with the carriage."

"I told you we can switch," I argued back.

"And I told you to go fuck yourself."

Oh my God, I wanted to strangle that girl, I really did.

"You know so many girls would die to be in your position," I said, stopping to put some books on the shelves.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Dying sounds a lot more enjoyable right now. I feel like I have two options here. Jumping off the roof or suffocating under your highly annoying presents. I tend more to the first one."

I snorted, "Ever been told that you're dramatic?"

That got a sroff out of her. "Ever been told that you're so full of yourself?" she shot back, shuffing me with her shoulder.

I shoved her right back a little too hard. Reflecting on that situation, I can see that maybe that wasn't one of my best ideas, considering that she was carrying heavy books and was half a foot shorter than me. Because she stumbled back, lost her balance and crashed into a bookshelf. This resulted in several bookshelves getting knocked over.

"Oh shit." I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up my throat.

I rushed to her side. "You okay, freckles?"

In response, I got smacked in the face with a book. I did deserve that.

The librarian dragged us straight to the principal's office.

"This school has a budget, and you two are single-handedly trying to destroy it!"

"My mother donates a lot to this school, so I'd say my part is covered with that," Freckles grumbled in the seat next to me and turned her head.

"What? I didn't even do anything. You fell into the bookshelves." I defended myself.

"You pushed me!" she protested.

"I did no such thi-"

"Enough!"

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November 28st 2007

Okay, so this was a disaster waiting to happen because we were partnered up in science lab. Don't question it, I didn't get that decision either.

"Would you give me space to breathe, blondie?"

"What? This is a partner project we both are supposed to participate in, freckles." I informed her to take whatever liquid she was holding.

"As if you ever participated in this class." She huffed out, filling another substance into a tube. "Most of the time you're just asleep in the back."

"I know you were watching me," I said with a smirk on my face, shooting her a wink, knowing that would irritate her.

And irritated her it did. Her elbow found its way to my ribs, and the liquid I was holding in my hand spilt onto the table, mixing with whatever she poured into the tube. It started to hiss.

"Is it supposed to do that?" I asked her.

Frackles shook, horrified, her head and grabbed my arm to pull me back.

A loud puff of smoke spread out.

"We're so srggrued." I heard frackles murmur, and she was right as usual because the entire class had to be evacuated.

"Do I even want to know how you managed to create a minor explosion from a basic chemistry assignment? No, actually. I don't. Just... just sit there in silence until I figure out how to deal with you two."

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April 20st 2008

PE is a class that just shouldn't be. Especially in school, it's supposed to motivate students into sports, but it just has the opposite effect.

We were playing dodgeball when I got almost hit right in the face. When I turned around to see who that was. I'm not surprised to see freckles standing there.

I returned the favour by throwing the ball a little harder than necessary. Freckles crouched at the right time that the ball flew right into the face of our PE teacher, who was standing behind her.

Freckles slapped her hands on her mouth to muffel her laugh, and I knew I was just fucked already.

"I do not care if it was an 'accident,' Mr. Lynch. And I do not care if he 'deserved it,' Miss Donnelly. You're both getting detention."

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

June 9st 2009

I was sleep deprived and knew if I had to listen to that guide yapp about whatever the hell this museum was bout, I would've fallen asleep while standing.

When you plan a school trip, at least go somewhere interesting. With a cigarette in my mouth, I stepped out of the museum into the fresh air, successfully smuckled myself out.

Only to find a curly-haired girl standing in my way. "Look who snuck out too," I said, amused.

Noticing my presence, only then did freckles turn around. "What are you doing here?"

"The same as you, I assume." Lightening my cigered.

"Oh, you're not okay with the fact that this was built by slaves and refuse to participate because of it, too?" She said, amused, already knowing that I didn't even know that.

"Something like that," I murmured. "Would you kindly piss off. I'd like some peace and quit."

"I was here first, blondie."

"And I really don't care, freckles."

"What is your god damn problem?"

"What is yours?"

Before we could continue this back and forth, the door I came out of swung open and our Teacher, Miss Kelly, stood there with crossed arms." Well, well, well, well, why did I know I would find you two together?"

"....."

"I think we broke him," Izzie whispered, sitting in her usual seat next to me in the principal's office.

"He held out longer than I expected anyway," I whispered back.

"Should we feel bad for him?"

"Nah"

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

June 29th 2009

The last day of school before the summer holidays should've been easy. No work, no stress,  just counting down the minutes until freedom.

But apparently, fate looked at my life and thought, You know what this needs? More Isabell Donnelly.

"Could you stop breathing like that?" she snapped from the desk next to mine. "It's like a donkey wheezing."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sweet of you to notice I'm still breathing. Bet you've been praying all year, I wouldn't."

"Not praying," she said sweetly. "Manifesting."

I grinned. "What will you do without me all summer? Cry into your diary? Draw pictures of me with hearts around my face?"

She shot me a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "The only thing I'd draw of you is a crime scene outline."

I chuckled and leaned over, poking her arm with my pen. Once. Twice. Again.

"Tadhg, I swear to God-"

Poke

"Stop it."

Poke

"Touch me one more time and-"

Poke

That's when she snapped. She grabbed the heaviest textbook on her desk and swung it like she was going for a home run.

She missed spectacularly.

The book slipped from her hand, flew over my shoulder, and smashed clean through the window behind me with a satisfying CRASH.

The room went dead silent.

Our teacher froze mid-sentence, her face slowly turning the colour of a tomato. "...You two again?"

"It's not what it looks like," I started.

"Oh, please," Freckles cut in. "Like I was aiming for the window? You kept jabbing me like a five-year-old. My hand slipped."

"Slipped?" I said incredulously. "You nearly took my head off!"

"Yeah, shame I missed."

I turned to the teacher. "We weren't trying to vandalise anything. This was... an accident. A tragic, unforeseeable, not-my-fault accident."

"Not your fault?" she scoffed. "You're the one who wound me up!"

"You've been wound up since birth, freckles." I shot back.

Principal Twomey just stared at us for a long, tired moment. "Explain. Now."

"We weren't trying to vandalise anything," I said quickly.

"Yeah, it's not like we planned this," Freckles added. "Do you think I wanted to throw a book through a window?"

Twomey arched an eyebrow. "So you're admitting you did throw the book."

She froze. "...That's not what I meant."

I jumped in. "We were conducting a scientific experiment. Testing... aerodynamics."

"With a textbook?"

"Books are aerodynamic," I said confidently.

Freckles scoffed. "No, we were testing gravity. The glass was just... collateral damage."

Twomey pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you two ever get tired of talking?"

"Not really," I answered.

"Next year, this behaviour will no longer be tolerated. You two won't be getting away that easily. Understud?"

Silence

"You understand!"

We grumbled in agreement. 

And every last one of these wonderful memories I have with freckles led my life to this moment.

I slum myself into the passenger seat. The hum of the engine is the only sound for a moment, except for Ollie's occasional tsk from the back that annoyed the shit out of me.

John keeps his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly on the steering column.

Not surprised. Not even a little. That's John. Calm, collected, always two steps ahead, probably already drafting the legal defence for my impending detention in his head.

"Last day of school, and you managed that," he said without looking at me.

I lean further into the seat. "You say that like it's a surprise."

"It's not. I've seen this pattern before," he says, hands steady on the wheel. "You, Tadhg Lynch, have a habit of testing authority. And apparently, windows."

Ollie snorted from the back seat. "It's more like a superpower. Seriously, you and Isabell, you're impossible together. I don't know why anyone hasn't just... banned both of you from the school or at least from being in the same room."

"You sound like you secretly admire her," I shoot back, raising an eyebrow at my younger brother.

Ollie flushes. "I- she's good at debating, okay? She won the debate prize for Tommen last year."

Of course she did

"And she's... sharp. I don't know. She's not like anyone else in the debate club."

She isn't like anyone else, period. That's for fucking sure.

John let out a soft laugh. "That's your problem, Tadhg. You've got a target on your back, but you're lucky. Isabell's mother is well-known in the community. Generous, respected, contributes to charity, volunteers..." He let the list trail off, eyes finally meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

"If you got expelled today, Principal Twomey would have to consider expelling Isabell, too. And he knows he can't do that. Not without causing an uproar."

I blink, letting that sink in. So, basically, I was skating by because freckle's life was too perfect and shiny for anyone to mess with. Lucky? Maybe. But also frustrating as hell.

"Wait... so all those years of chaos... I was... safe?"

John smirks. "Safe-ish. But don't push it. There's only so much Twomey can ignore before it catches up with you. And eventually, the luck runs out."

"She's... really good at debating, huh?" I ask carefully, not entirely sure why I care.

"She is, like... the best. She's so incredible at it that she could crush me any day. " Ollies confirmed.

"Alright, Ols, turn the fan girl act down a little, will ya?"

"I'm not fan girling." He protests.

"Sure as shit sound like you are." I shoot back.

John laughs, shaking his head at the two of us. "Just try to survive the summer with all your limbs intact, Tadhg, eh? And turn the window shattering a bit down next year."

"Why is everyone acting like I broke that window. She threw that book." I argue, "But sure, survive the summer, I could make that work. No promises for the next school year, though. And Ols, while we're at it, try not to develop a crush on my mortal enemy. She is way too old for you"

Ollie grins, clearly ignoring me. "She is your age."

"Exactly."

"Four years are nothing." He mubles and I shoot him a deadly clare.

"Oh boy." I just heard John say under his breath. At the same time, we pull up to the mansion that was our house.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'DNA Guarantee' by Kodi Rhianne

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Three//Children should be seen and heard

ISABELL DONNELLY

⊱ ────── {.⋅🎨⋅.} ────── ⊰

The first thing I hear when I come home is people screaming at each other.

 Home sweet home. 

I drop my bag on the way to the screaming source onto the floor in the hallway. 

First, I thought it was my mother and my stepfather, but then I heard my little sisters sobbing, and I went immediately on alert. 

My steps quicken when I go to the kitchen. When I enter, my seven-year-old baby sister, Helen, rushes past me, tears streaming down her small face. 

"Don't run away from me when I'm clearly not done talking to you! You ungrateful shit," Jennifer, the woman who birthed me, roars and tries to go after Helen, but I block her way.

 "Jennifer, calm down. What's going on?" 

"She hates me. She thinks I'm a bad mother. She's being ungrateful." My mother spits out. "I know you think that too." She says angrily, pointing a finger at me. 

She is wrong. I don't think she is a bad mother. I know she is. 

"Nobody is thinking that. Helen is a child mother; she isn't being ungrateful, she most likely can't even comprehend what that word really means." I tell my mother what she wants to hear because I really don't want to deal with her today, I just couldn't. 

She moves to go past me again. "I should go talk to her." I grab her by the shoulders, squizzing them lightly. "No, I'll do it, going upstairs to my room in a minute anyway," I tell her with a fake smile on my lips. "Isn't James supposed to be here by now?" I change the subject. 

My stepfather travels a lot for work, business and stuff. I honestly couldn't care less. But he keeps my mother in check, so his presence is most of the time welcoming. 

"His flight got cancelled, he'll be here by tomorrow." She informs me. 

I nod, makes sense. "Have you taken your meds today?" I then ask.

 Which wasn't the right thing to say because her face formed into her usual face of thunder, and she threw her arms up. 

"Yes, Isabell, I took my medication this morning. Like always. Will you stop with the fussing? That is not your job. I can take care of myself." 

"Can you?" 

Yeah, sometimes I really just can't hold my fucking tongue.

 My mother got her long-needed diagnosis when I was twelve: Bipolar. 

The dictionary definition of bipolar is having or relating to two poles or extremities. It's described as extreme mood swings. And in a way, it is like that, just so much worse than you could imagine. Because you can never tell when it's coming.  Little things can already be triggers for a manic or depressive episode. A long period of time during which my mother just goes crazy, and it can be helped with the right treatment and therapy, but my mother has a bad habit of not taking her medication. 

And I'm not saying my mom is a bad person. I love my mom, of course I do.

She is just sick, and she refuses to accept that. 

"I'm kidding," I try to save myself from a tantrum. "I know you can, won't ask again," I assure and get away from that woman before she has a task for me. 

I grab my backpack from the hallway and make my way up the stairs to find my sister, where I expected her to be. 

In my room, drowning in the pile of stuffed animals on my bed, I still keep'em around for those exact reasons. 

She looks up, sniffing, clutching her favourite in her hand, Mr Bear. 

I know I was quite creative with the names back then. 

I close the door and make my way to her, sitting down next to her. "What happened today, Hely?" I ask quietly, wiping her lingering tears from her cheeks with my thumb. 

"I-. I-. In school-" She hiccupped, new tears forming. 

Oh my baby. 

And I immediately scoop her up in my arms. While she tries so hard to get her words out. 

"Shh, calm down first, okay? Then you can tell me. But I need you to calm down first. Can you do that for me, Hely?" I whisper softly into her hair, rubbing up and down her back to soothe her. "Just like that. You're doing amazing." 

When she finally pulls back, having calmed down. Or as calm as she can be right now, she starts rambling. "In school, we were supposed to write down the person we always go to when we need help, today." 

hiccup. 

"I wrote down you." 

sniff. 

"My whole class wrote down more people, and they always had at least once of their parents on it." 

hiccup. 

"And Miss Adams called me out to talk alone and ask me so many questions. Then she called mammy." 

Oh Helen. 

"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to say that." 

hiccup and sniffling. 

"I was only saying what I thought is true. I didn't mean to make mammy upset" 

I tighten my hold on her, letting her cry into my neck. "You did nothing wrong, Hely. You hear me. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault." 

I pull her away a bit so she can look me in the eyes. "Say it with me, Hely. This isn't my fault."

"This isn't my fault." She gets out. 

"Again. This isn't my fault." 

"This isn't my fault." She says this time, stronger. 

"I'm perfect." 

"I'm perfect." She repeats after me. 

"I'm pretty." 

"I'm pretty." 

"I'm smart." 

"I'm smart." 

"I'm loved"

"I'm loved"

This is a game I've been playing with my little sisters since Tara, my oldest sister, went away to university. 

Tara was always more of a mother figure than the woman downstairs. I miss Tara, I mean, we talk like every two weeks on the phone, but when she is around, I don't feel so alone. 

"Yes, you are," I tell Helen, showering her with kisses and chow on her cheek until she could only giggle. 

 I smooth her blonde hair out of her face. "You okay," I tell her, bumping my nose against hers.

 My door creaks, and my ten-year-old sister swipes in to my room. Fiona crawls into my bed and buries her face into my side. 

"Mom was upset with Hely." She informs me, and I pull her tight to me, too. 

"I know, but we are okay now, aren't we, Hely?" 

Helen nods enthusiastically. 

"You know what we haven't done in a while now. What would be more perfect to start this summer? Then a blanket fort." 

My sisters immediately agree with me, jumping up to build it. 

We spent the whole afternoon making my room as dark as possible and getting all our blankets into my room to start building. Then we played princesses being outcasts in a cursed castle. 

 The blanket fort is the castle if you haven't guessed that already.

 Childhood is such a vulnerable time. Kids are so easily breakable, especially little girls. Makes me want to hide my sisters in a castle forever. 

I go down into the kitchen that evening. I feel like I haven't had anything to eat all day. 

"Want to tell me what the principal meant when he called me and told me my daughter smashed a window today?" I hear my mother say, trailing after me. 

"Most likely that your daughter smashed a window today." I give her the answer she does not want to hear. 

I open the fridge, scanning it. 

"Don't give me that attitude, young lady. I'm sick of it." 

Like, I'm sick of this bullshit? 

I ditch the fridge and move to grab some chips. 

"What do you want me to tell you, Jennifer? It was an accident; I didn't mean to throw that book into that window. It was meant to land on another student." 

My mother sighs, getting herself a wine bottle and a glass. 

You would probably expect my mother now to tell me that I shouldn't be throwing things at my peers, but just wait for it. 

She pours herself a glass. Wait. 

"Well, you'll pay for the damage yourself." 

There it is.

 As if she weren't a model in retirement, as if my stepfather weren't a CEO. As if we don't have money to throw around like it's only paper. 

 Well, technically, money is printed on only paper, so that wasn't the bestest of metaphors, but you get the point. 

Anyway, at least it was a try at consequences. 

"I'll give you the money at the end of the week, when I get my paycheck." I move to leave, but stop. 

"Also, don't ever let your emotions and insecurities out on Helen. Or Fiona in that matter. You're the adult, so start acting like one." I told her my voice was harsher than intended, and I went back to my room. 

I still have to get two birthday presents finished anyway. 

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

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'Basket Case' by Green Day

Four// Moaning tents and cuddle bunny Alfreds

TADHG LYNCH

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🏑 ⋅.} ────── ⊰

I groan when I wake up. My head is hammering and my whole body is in agony.

I feel a body stirring next to mine. "What don't you get by 'stay on the floor'?" I groan

"Your bed is so much softer than the rock-hard ass mattress you gave me." The gobshit that is my best friend complains.

"You slept on it with no complaints a thousand times now." I shot back, rolling to get away from that fucker. With no surprise, he rolls after me.

"Don't be grumpy, Tadhg, it's my birthday." The asshole argues.

"No, your shitly birthday was four days ago, then we celebrated your birthday, and now my head is killing me, so thanks for that, mate."

I have known Owen since junior infants, when he accidentally threw a pencil at my head and I punched him. Since then, the bastard won't leave me alone.

As much as he gets on my nerves, I do miss spending more time with him. The only time we regularly see each other is hurley and when we go drinking with the hurley team.

He's over at BCS where I'm at the oh so beloved private school. He also works a lot to help his ma with the bills. So he has a busy schedule.

Don't get me wrong, the eejit texts me at least once a day like a desperate ex.

But it's fair to say that he has my back no matter what, and I have his, have the scars to prove that too. He's also the only one who knows about my chronic insomnia. I have heavy nightmares and trouble even falling asleep. It always helps when another person's in the room with me, but most of the time, even that does nothing.

Owen didn't have time to celebrate on his actual birthday, so we did it with the hurley team yesterday.

"I didn't make you drink this much. You did that all on your own." He protests.

"You brought me every five minutes a new shot and demanded I take one."

"You're overexaggerating, lad. "

"I don't think I am." I spit out and let myself fall out of bed, getting to my closet to search for a clean shirt.

"When do you have to leave?" Owen mumbles, spreading out on my bed, not planning to get up any time soon.

I pull a shirt over my head. "Twelve something." One glance at the clock showed me that it would be in one hour.

Shit, I didn't even pack yet.

Owen groans, looping out of my bed unhappily.

I have the misfortune to escort one of my friends at Tommen, to a camping trip for his girlfriend's birthday. Yeah, I know sounds like a blast.

"Why do you do this again?" He asks.

"I owe him," I grumble, getting a bag for me to stuff some clothes in.

"Hey, look on the bright side. A girl's birthday party equals many girls." He says. Getting dressed.

I snorte. "No girls you'd like to mingle with, trust me. They're just pure horror." Well, exapt for... let's not go there.

"You know who isn't pure horror?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes, already knowing where this conversation is going. Owen's been trying to get me set up with his coworker for a whole year now, and it's getting old fast. "I'm not gonna go out with your coworker. You know I don't date." I repeat myself for the millionth time.

"I'm telling you, she could change your mind." He argues

"If she's so amazing, why don't you go out with her?" I shot back.

"Because I'm generously terrified of the girl. But she'd be perfect for you. She could wipe the floor with you any time, trust me."

"Highly double." The only girl who ever 'wiped the floor' with me was freckles, and I don't think this coworker of his would come close to her.

"Alright, alright. You don't want to lose your slut privileges. I get it." He says, trailing after me down the stairs.

"My slut privileges?! Owen, you fuck everything that stands on two legs and is wet."

"That's not true, I don't fuck kangaroos. Or other animals I can't think of right now that stand on two legs."

Oh. My. God.

"Besides, who was the one going into the bathroom with that girl last night?"

"Nothing happened anyway because the cock-block who calls himself my best friend puked on my shoes." I counter.

"I apologise for that already, multiple times, Tadhg." He whines.

I shove past Owen into the kitchen, dumping my bag on a chair. "Apologies don't clean shoes, gobshite. I liked those trainers."

"You've got, what, like ten other pairs?" He opens the fridge like he owns the place and grabs a carton of orange juice. "I saved you from bad decisions, if anything."

I glare. "You saved me from getting laid."

He grins with juice on his lip. "Semantics."

I yank the carton out of his hand before he downs the whole thing. "For fuck's sake, use a glass, animal."

Owen snorts and drops into one of the kitchen chairs. "You know, if you die on this camping trip, I call dibs on your PlayStation."

"If I die on this camping trip, Owen, it'll be because I hung myself on the nearest tree. And you wouldn't get shit. Ollie would." I say, making myself a sandwich.

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "What does Ollie have that I don't?"

"A fucking braincell," I answer.

At this moment, Edel decides to enter the kitchen. "Morning to you, boys."

"Mommy K," Owen exclames.

Yeah, I fear this nickname will be passed down generations.

"Tadhg is being mean to me." He sniches.

"Tadhg, be nice to your guests." Edel lectured, Sean trailing after her in his disnosore-themed outfit.

"Owen isn't a guest, he's a parasite," I argue back, ruffling Sean's hair when he walks by me. I earn myself a tongue sticking out from him, which I only return.

My brothers love me.

"You couldn't live without me." Owen shot back.

"That's exactly what a parasite would say," I say, munching on my sandwich.

"Oh, you two." Edel just shakes her head at us. "Are you staying for dinner, Owen?"

"No." He says, jumping up from his chair. "Have to go in a second anyway. Promised Ma to be home for dinner."

"Alright, pet, say hi to Grace for me."

Owen agrees with a kiss on Edel's cheek before sailing out of the kitchen, dragging me with him.

When we reach the door, it swings open and John walks in, briefcase in one hand, suit jacket over his arm, looking like a man on a mission. He takes one look at me, then Owen and sighs.

"Well, what a sight," John says dryly. "I don't even want to know how last night ended."

"With vomit," Owen offers helpfully.

"On my shoes," I add bitterly.

John just chuckles under his breath and moves past us, head shaking.

My phone buzzes. A text from Charlie:

We'll be in the car at 12:10. Don't be late.

I groan. "That's my cue to pack actual essentials."

"Condoms?" Owen pipes up.

"Sleeping bag, you pig."

He grins. "Same thing." Then adds, "You'll survive, mate. Just don't set anything on fire or fight a deer."

I glare at him. "Why would I fight a deer?"

"You've got the energy of someone who would." He grins, grabbing his bag. "Text me when you get there. And if you end up snogging one of these 'pure horror' girls, I want details."

"Goodbye, Owen," I say firmly, shoving him toward the door.

He laughs all the way out, leaving me with a pounding head, an empty kitchen, and way too much dread in my stomach.

I go back upstairs to take a shower, get the rest of my stuff and say goodbye to the best gift I've ever received at fourteen. My dog Cosmo and I promised him we would go on an extra-long walk when I came back because he was giving me sad eyes.

"Do you have everything?"

"Yes, Dellie."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"You have your sleeping bag?"

"Yes,"

"You should check-"

"Oh, here they come. I have to go." I say to get out of this interrogation. "You all have a nice two days without me," I say, moving for the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Edel demands, and I sigh. Walking back to her and kiss her cheek, having to lean down. She hugs me tight. "Have fun."

"I probably won't,"

"You might be surprised." She says with a smile, and finally, finally lets go of me.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

I fall into the back seat in Charlie's care, already regretting multiple decisions I made in my life to be here.  There are two cars, and I'm in car number one. Charlie, the friend I owe because he covered for me when I got into a fight at school.  His girlfriend, Fiadh, the birthday girl. And next to me is Niamh, a good friend of Fiadh's, whom I probably talked to once in my life because I needed a pencil.

"Scoot over, lad, she's coming."

"Wait? She's not gonna be in the other car?"

It's no news for me that freckles is going on this wonderful trip because she's been best friends with Fiadh since first year. I just figured she would be in the other car.

Before Charlie can answer, the door to my right swings open. "You've got to be kidding me." Freckles stands there looking as tired as I feel.

I give her the sweetest smile I can manage right now. "Missed me freckles?"

"Like a headache." She turned to Fiadh. "Why didn't you tell me he would be there?"

"Because you won't have come otherwise." She answers.

"Exactly,"

"Look, it's either driving with him or Holly."

She dropped into the seat next to me, shutting the door.

"Jesus, what did Brennan do to you?" I get that Holly Brennan is, in my opinion, an annoying and loud girl. But picking me over her as freckles is a surprise.

She gives me a once-over and decides to ignore my question. "You look like shit."

I snort, I probably do. "Cheers, you've seen better days, too."

"Thanks for the compliment," she mutters, buckling herself in. Her curly hair is tied up, her lips as pouty as ever, and her cheeks have a light pink to them.

"Does that line work with other girls?"

"Usually yes, you're just immune."

"Immune? Try disgusted."

Charlie catches my eye in the rearview mirror and smirks like this is the highlight of his morning. Fiadh elbows him, whispering something I can't hear, but it makes him bite back a laugh.

"Disgusted?" I repeat, clutching my chest. "That's harsh, freckles. My fragile ego can only take so much."

"Fragile? Your ego is so big I'm surprised it fits with us in the car," she shoots back without missing a beat.

Charlie clears his throat from the driver's seat. "You two done flirting back there, or should we stop for a hotel first?"

I nearly choke. "Flirting? Jesus, Charlie, you've gone mad."

Freckles barks a laugh. "That's not flirting, that's me trying not to vomit."

"If you do, can you please avoid my shoes? I don't think I could handle that again." I mutter, disgusted by the memory.

"Someone vomited on your shoes?" She asks, just as disgusted.

"I had a long night, alright?" I say, sinking into my seat.

"I hear you." She says, rubbing her tired eyes.

"Long night?" I repeat, raising a brow at her. "What, freckles out past her bedtime?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Some of us actually have responsibilities, unlike you."

"Excuse me, I have responsibilities."

"Name one," she challenges, crossing her arms.

I open my mouth. Close it. Shit, why can't I think of anything?  "Keeping myself alive?"

"Wow must be really hard for you." The sarcasm is dripping in her voice.

Charlie cuts in before we can start round two. "Alright, lovebirds, chill out. We've got a two-hour drive ahead, and if I have to listen to bickering the entire way, I might actually drive into a ditch."

"Please do." Freckles says At the same time, Fiadh says, "Please don't," patting his arm.

"I second that," Niamh mumbles from my side, earphones already in. "Some of us are trying to survive in peace."

I hold up my hands in surrender. "Fine. No more talking."

"Best decision you've ever made," Freckles mutters under her breath.

There's a moment of silence in the car before freckles pulls her hoodie over her head and curls into the corner, knees up against the door. She looks about five seconds from passing out.

For some reason, I find myself watching her. The freckles dotting across her nose, the way her curls are escaping the tie. She always looks... unbothered. Untouchable. Like she's too sharp for anyone to get too close.

Of course, she catches me staring. One eye cracks open. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

I smirk. "Don't tempt me."

She closes her eyes again. "Get sucked, asshole." She grumbles.

"Again, don't tempt me."

She lets out a frustrated sigh, one second before shaping.

But Fiadh slides in with a laugh that's far too bright, that makes my headache only worse. "Okay! Guys! Truce! Two days of peace, yeah? After that, you two can go back at each other's throats. Think of it as... character building."

"Character building, my hole," I say, staring out the window.

"Exactly," Freckles adds without opening her eyes. "I already hate my character development arc."

"Guys, come on, it'll be my birthday." Why does everyone keep pulling that card?

"That's emotional blackmail." I let Fiadh know.

She grinned back. "I learned from the best."

"Never been prouder," Frackles mutters next to me. "Sure truce, but only because of you, Fi"

"Tadhg?" Fiadh asks hopefully.

"Sure," I say, my own eyes falling shut.

Fiadh quicks happily. "Love you guys."

Charlie turns the radio on, and "Sex on Fire" from Kings of Leons starts to play as we shoot through the streets.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

We arrive in god knows where and find a good place to build the tents. I'll share mine with Charlie and we decide to do so a little more aside from the other, thank fuck.

"Shit,"

"What?"

"I forgot my sleeping bag." Should have listened to Dellie.

"I don't think it's gonna be that cold anyway," Char answered.

"You're probably right."

When the other car full of people arrives, we make a fire and pack out the alcohol, blasting music as loud as we want to because we are in the middle of nowhere anyway.  And nothing beats a hangover better than drinking even more, am I right?

Yeah, I know it sounds terrible. Some dance, some play drinking games, others cook marshmallows, or, like me, just stare into the starry night.

I know I'm so mysterious.

Actually, I just didn't have the energy to move.

So I called it a night after everyone congratulated Fiadh at midnight. I know what you all are thinking. 'What! Tadhg, when did you get so boring?' But you should have seen me yesterday with Owen, that bastard robbed all my energy.

But even in this exhausted stage, it's hard for me to fall asleep. I really need to find a solution for that.

I drive in and out of sleep for a while until I hear the siper from the tent open. I expect Charlie, but I'm greeted with freckles and a flashlight beam blinding me.

"The fuck?" I rasp.

"Can you scoot over?" she asks like it's the most normal request in the world.

"What?" My brain is mush, and I'm not sure if I'm still dreaming.

She huffs, already stepping inside. "All the other tents are... occupied."

"Occupied?" I rub my eyes, trying to catch up.

"We brought two big tents and this tiny one, yeah? Well, guess what—this one's the only tent nobody's currently fucking in." Her tone is sharp, but there's exhaustion beneath it. She flops onto the mat next to me like she owns the place.

A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. "You sure about that?"

Even in the dark, I can feel her glare. "I heard moans and turned right back around. What more proof do you need?" She yanks open Charlie's sleeping bag, spreading it out like a blanket.

"That's Charlie's," I point out, grinning despite myself.

"Yeah, well, Charles is having the time of his life in my tent right now and traumatising Alfred, so I don't think he'll mind." She huffs, getting comfortable. Turning her flashlight off.

"Who's Alfred?" I ask warily.

"My cuddle bunny."

I stare at her for a beat, then burst out laughing. "Be serious, freckles. How old are you again?"

"Sorry, I didn't chuck my entire childhood in the bin. Some of us like having something to hold at night," she snaps, not even slightly embarrassed.

I chuckle. God, this girl was something else.

"Yeah, well, poor Alfread is definitely scared for life now. He'll never hop the same way again. Fallen soldier right there." I can't help but mock.

That gets me a "Get fucked, asshole," from freckles.

"I won't. I don't think you can take another moaning tent."

For a second, the tent fills with her laughter, unguarded, and so unexpectedly warm it catches me off guard. I find myself holding my breath, staring at where her outline blurs against the dark.

Then it's gone. Too quick.

The fuck am I doing? It's just a laugh.

"I appreciated it," she murmurs, voice softer now. I can hear the smile even if I can't see it. She yawns, curls up.

"Goodnight, blondie."

"Goodnight, freckles."

The tent falls quiet, except for the distant laughter and muffled voices outside. For the first time in a long while, my chest doesn't feel so heavy.

And somehow, against all odds, I actually fall asleep.

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Chapter Text

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'Young Folks' by Peter Bjorn and John

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Five//The Judas to my Jesus

ISABELL DONNELLY

⊱ ────── {.⋅🎨⋅.} ────── ⊰

I didn't have to open my eyes to know how bright it was outside already. The light pushed against the thin tent walls like a rude alarm clock. Too early. Way too early.

I curl up, hugging Alfred, my stuffed animal, tightly.

Don't mock me about the name, I was a big fan of that one Batman film as a kid and Alfred the butler was my favourite, alright? At least it's not something basic like bunny.

I'm just about to drift back into sweet, oblivious sleep when something feels... off.

Wait. Was Alfred always this heavy... and warm... and hard?

My eyes snap open, and the horrifying truth slaps me in the face. I am currently hugging Tadhg's arm.

His arm.

And his face... is so close to mine that we're basically sharing the same air. My stomach twists violently. His eyes snap open at the same instant, and I think we both scream silently inside our heads. At least I am.

I stare at him in horror.

He blinks back at me, equally horrified.

"This is... too close," I finally manage to choke out.

"Way too close," He agrees, sounding breathless.

I scramble away from him like he's on fire. Unfortunately, the sleeping mat ends behind me, and I hit the ground with a dull thump. Groaning, I clutch my shoulder.

Tadhg flinches like I just kicked him, which, technically, I kind of did. He rolls over, and his head pops up in my view. Giving me a look that is something in between shock and amusement. "You good?"

"Do I look good to you?" I hiss.

The bastard has the audacity to smirk.

"Don't... Don't answer that question." I grumble and add. "I think I broke my shoulder."

"Your shoulder's fine, you're being melodramatic," he says, voice lacy.

"You haven't seen me start being melodramatic," I snap back.

He shakes his head. "You're impossible." Then, like it's the most normal thing in the world: "You staying down there, or do I have to pick you up?"

Wow, and suddenly I'm sitting straight up and crawling back onto the mat. What earns me a laugh from Tadhg.

"Asshole," I grumble, shooting him a glare.

"Hey! We have a truce, remember." He mocks, lying back onto his sleeping mat, arm dropped over his eyes to shield out the light. His bicep flexed as he moved, and my eyes betrayed me by lingering.

There is something seriously wrong with me.

"Fucking character building," I grumble under my breath, cursing Fiadh. Getting my shoes on to get as fast away from this mutherfucker as possible.

Tadhg chuckles low in his throat. "I think we're making amazing progress here."

"I hope you fall down the nearest cliff." I shoot back. Throwing Charlie's sleeping bag at him. Not because he looks cold and has, for some unknown reason, not one for himself. I just don't want to see his face. That's the only reason why I did that. No other reason.

I can hear Tadhg's annoying laugh coming out of the tent when I finally step into the fresh morning air.

Prick

The crisp morning air helps clear my head, but not enough to erase the image of his stupid grin inches from my own. Ugh.

I duck into my tent, the one I should've been in all along. Charlie's snoring like a chainsaw with asthma, one arm flung across Fiadh's sleeping bag. Fiadh stirs the second I unzip the flap, blinking awake with guilt all over her face.

"Omigod, I'm so sorry, Izzie. We hogged the tent the whole night, didn't we?" she whispers, pushing herself up on one elbow like she's ready to apologise for existing.

I flop down on my sleeping bag with a sigh. "Fiadh, it's fine."

Her mouth drops open. "It's not fine, I should've thought of you—"

"Fiadh." I hold up a hand. "If you help me make breakfast, we're good."

She beams like I just offered her the best news ever. "Really? That's it?"

"That's it," I confirm, trying not to smile at her sheer relief.

"I can totally help with breakfast!" she chirps, scrambling out of the sleeping bag in one fluid, way-too-energetic movement for this ungodly hour. Charlie snores louder, and I swear the tent shakes. God help me, if Tadhg had snored like that, I would have smothered him with his own pillow.

I grabbed some clean clothes from my bag while Fiadh did the same. Unlike the nickname I gave her the first time we met stuck to her like glue, her nickname for me thankfully didn't. I don't think most people even know her first name.

I planned this little camping trip for her as a birthday present. She loves everything that has nature in it. We also worked at a summer camp last year, and she really loved it. So I thought it would be nice to go camping again.

We made our way to the car and got everything we needed, cleaning a bit up around the place on the way.

We prepare breakfast at the one sad picnic table the campsite has, setting things out for the others. Chatting about everything and nothing at the same time. It's always easy to be around Fiadh. Her energy is contagious; it's impossible to dislike this girl, I'm telling you.

The first to join us was Holly Brennan. Of course. Already fully dressed, face of makeup flawless, like we were on a glamping trip instead of sleeping on rocks and dirt. Sometimes I really do believe she wants others to compare themselves to her.

Alright, maybe that was mean, she really does look good.

I don't really have a big reason to dislike her, but when you can only talk about gossip, makeup and boys, I really don't want to be around you. I only tolerate her presence because Fiadh is friends with her.

But today we are having an actual conversation that doesn't revolve around those three things. I know I'm surprised too. Even though it's not the most pleasant conversation either.

"I'm not saying you can't believe in whatever you want to believe in." I justify myself, pouring coffee, "I'm saying that you should at least question what you believe in and not follow blindly just because people tell you to."

Holly freezes mid-bite, eyes narrowing like I'd just insulted her entire bloodline. "Excuse me?"

I glance at her over the rim of my coffee mug. "You heard me," I say evenly, "Questioning things isn't the same as disrespecting them."

She scoffs, tossing her perfect hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please, Izzie. You sound like one of those preachy people who think everyone should suddenly become an atheist just because they decided it's cooler than faith."

I snort. "Cooler? Holly, I don't care if it's cool or not. I just... I don't blindly follow what someone tells me is the 'truth.' I like forming my own opinion. That's all."

She leans forward, finger tapping the table. "Forming your own opinion? On religion? You can't just pick and choose what parts of God you like. That's not how it works."

"Maybe that's exactly how it does work," I fire back, voice rising a little. "You follow something because it feels right for you, not because some random stranger said so. You're allowed to think for yourself!"

Fiadh, bless her sunshine heart, bounces between us like she could calm the situation if she smiles bright enough. "Uh, guys, maybe...maybe we don't need to get heated over this?"

I glare at her, but I know she's right. Still, Holly isn't backing down. "Think for myself? You sound like a kid rebelling for the sake of rebellion."

"And you sound like someone who can't handle a conversation that isn't agreeing with you," I shoot back. It's like talking against a brick wall.

Holly scoffs, arms crossed in front of her like a defensive shield. "You think you're so smart, Izzie, but honestly, you're just arrogant. You act like everyone else is too stupid to see the 'truth.'"

I huff. It's not the first time someone has called me that. And I'm sure I have my moments, but this isn't one of them. "Arrogant? Holly, I'm not saying my way is the only way. I'm saying people should be allowed to think for themselves, even if that means disagreeing with you!"

"You don't get it. Faith isn't about questioning everything. It's about trust. Commitment. Belief. Something bigger than yourself." She tries to explain.

"Trust and belief, fine!" I say, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. "But blind trust? Blind belief? That's just..." I pause, searching for the right word, "...dangerous. It's letting someone else dictate how you think instead of actually thinking! You know what comes out of that? The crusades, witch trials, dictatorships... want me to go on?"

Fiadh let's out a soft sigh, her hands pressed together like she's praying for us to stop. "Guys, come on... Izzie, maybe we can phrase it differently? Holly, maybe..."

And then, like the world's most unhelpful guardian angel, Tadhg strolls up. "Don't worry, freckles, I'll be the Judas to you're Jesus." He says, casually starting to make himself a sandwich.

We don't even have chairs, so we are all just standing around a table full of options for breakfast. I'm just glad we both have silently decided to ignore what happened this morning.

I barked out a laugh despite myself. "You'd pretend to be my follower only to betray me so I end up crucified? Wow, Tadhg, that's like the nicest thing you ever said to me." My voice filled with the usual sarcasm that comes out in the presence of Tadhg Lynch.

His lips curve up to that little smirk I can't stand. "Always here for you."

I roll my eyes, suppressing the will to shove him.

Holly tugs a strand of her blond, shiny hair behind her ear and flutters her eyelashes. "I could be the Mary to your Joseph." She says to Tadhg, as if I hadn't argued with her about two seconds ago.

Without missing a beat, Tadhg says through a mouthful of bread, "So... you'd get pregnant by another guy?"

I'm leaning on the table, hiding a laugh behind my hand because Holly actually blushes like she expected him to answer seriously.

"Besides," Tadhg adds casually, "I've got two people in my family named like that, so hard pass."

I snap my head to him, confused. "Who is Joseph?"

"Joey"

I gape. "What? You want to tell me Joey's name is actually Joseph?" Why do I feel betrayed by that? I haven't had a conversation with Joey like...ever. "He doesn't look like a Joseph."

"You're looking at my brother, freckles?" Tadhg says as he munches on his sandwich.

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "He looks like an older version of you. Why would I be looking at that, blomdie?" I shoot back. And it's Tadhg's turn to snort.

Of course, I'm looking. Have you seen Joey Lynch?

"Hey! Guys, you have a truce." Fiadh chirps in.

"What? We are having a very nice, very friendly, very insult-free..." He shoots me a look, "...conversation. We're becoming real friends here, O'halloran. I promise."

"Yeah, I was thinking of making us both friendship bracelets next. What do you think, friend?" I play along.

Tadhg snorts, finishing his sandwich and starts making himself another. "Friendship bracelets, huh? I don't know, I'd probably make you one that says 'Beware of Me'."

I cross my arms and huff. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. I'd probably make yours say 'Professional Asshole'."

Holly rolls her eyes dramatically, clearly thinking she's being excluded from some great inside joke."You two are impossible. Can't you stop insulting each other for two seconds?"

I smirked into my coffee. If I had a coin for every time someone said that...

"Life is too short not to enjoy it." I chuckle. That's just such a Fiadh thing to say in this moment.

"Life is short and thank fuck for that," I murmur, pouring myself another cup of coffee. Tadhg actually nods in agreement, for once.

"That's the first thing I wake up to? Really?" Charlie joins us at our table, looking like he's ready to fall back into bed. Fiadh beams in excitement that her oh so beloved boyfriend is awake and kisses him good morning.

The only thing I can think about watching them eating each other up is that he most definitely hasn't brushed his teeth yet. Eww. I really don't think I'm made for a relationship.

I don't have anything against Charlie as a person. I have everything against Charlie, the boyfriend of my best friend.

First, because nobody will ever be good enough for her. Second, because he made her often sad, and I hate seeing Fiadh sad.

After the little make-out session, they move back to the table. "You look better today, Tadhg. Sleep well?" Charlie then asks.

Tadhg's lips twitch up. "Yeah, I slept really good, actually. Like a cuddle bunny who was hugged the whole night."

I choke violently on my coffee.

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

One after another, people stumble out of the tents or, well, one tent and join us. Conversations broke out, and I'm just glad Tadhg didn't elaborate on his 'Like a cuddle bunny' answer.

After breakfast, some of us get ready to go down to the small sea that is nearby at the wish of Fiadhs. We (Fiadh, Charlie, Holly, Niamh and Tadhg) pack up enough snacks to survive a minor apocalypse and decide to head down. It's only a twenty-minute walk, which is survivable, even for Charlie, who looks like death came to take him early.

The air smells of salt long before we even see the water, and by the time we hit the sand, we drop our bags, and within ten seconds, everyone is already stripping down to swimsuits. I tug my t-shirt over my head and kick off my shorts. Holly's hawk-like eyes immediately lock onto me.

"Oh my god," she gasps, sounding both horrified and fascinated. "You actually have freckles everywhere."

I blink, looking down at myself as if to make sure. "...Yeah? My skin isn't that fond of the sun, I guess."

She tilts her head, squinting at me like I'm an exotic bird. Not the first time that someone looks at me like that. As if dots on my body are the most special thing ever.

"No, but like, literally everywhere. Arms, legs, shoulders...do they just, like, spread?"

I huff, "They're not a disease."

Tadhg snorts so loud I want to throw sand at him. "You make her sound like she's contagious."

"I hope it's deadly," I murmur, which gets Tadhg to snort again.

"I think they're cute!" Fiadh chirps, already pulling Charlie into the water.

"Cute?" Tadhg echoes, smirking at me. "That's not the word I'd use."

I don't ask what he'd use because I know it'll annoy me, and I'd rather not commit murder this early in this sunny day.

"It'd be a shame if you drowned today," I tell him sweetly, following Fiadh and Charlie into the water.

Besides, I like my freckles; I think they add personality. Tara always said they make me stand out, which is a good thing because nobody likes basic. Her words, not mine.

Tadhg drifts over to me when I'm finally deep into the water, splashing lazily. "So, tell me, freckles... how come you're not dying like lover-boy over there?" He nods at Charlie, who's drifting in the water like a dead body.

"Because we only had beer," Fiadh say from nearby, pushing her wet hair out of her face. "And Izzie doesn't like beer."

Tadhg raises a brow, grin curling. "Oh, right. Too sophisticated for the common man's drink, huh? What do you prefer...wine spritzers? Cocktails with umbrellas?"

I do really like the umbrellas.

I level him with a flat look. "Beer tastes like piss, I'm not drinking anything that tastes like piss."

"It doesn't taste like piss." He argues.

"Who are you to tell me what I do or don't taste, asshole?"

He barks a laugh. "God, you're insufferable."

"And yet you're still here, following me around like a lost dog," I shoot back.

"Correction," he says, smirking, "like a lost cuddle bunny."

I groan. "You're not ever gonna let that go, are you?"

"Never." He says, splashing water at me.

The splash hits me full in the face, salty water stinging my eyes. I let out a sharp gasp, then grin wickedly. "Oh, it's war."

Before he can move, I lunge forward, cupping my hands and throwing a wave of water straight at his chest. He stumbles back, laughing, and then suddenly everyone's involved. Holly complains about her hair but doesn't drop out, Fiadh and Charlie start ganging up on each other, and even Niamh, who's usually all calm and collected, is splashing like her life depends on it.

It feels nice just being a teen once in a while. Sometimes I forget that this is the whole point. Thinking about nothing, just being in the moment.

Somehow, amid all the splashing and shrieking, Fiadh comes up with the brilliant idea of water volleyball. We grab a stray beach ball, split into teams, and get the rules straight, and chaos reigns immediately.

I'm on a team with Fiadh and Niamh, while Tadhg, Charlie and Holly make up the other.

The first few rounds are messy. Holly flails dramatically every time the ball comes near her, Fiadh screams like it's life or death, and I... well, I get lucky more than I should.

"Yesss!" I pump my fists in the air, grinning like a maniac. "Victory is ours," I say when we make the last and final point.

"You so cheated," Tadhg grumbles.

I smirk, water dripping off my nose. "Just because you can't handle losing, doesn't mean we cheated. Rules are rules, baby."

He chuckles, surprised. "Baby? You're laying it on thick today, freckles."

My smirk turns into a grin. "Then better keep up, blondie," I call out as I make my way back to land to get something to drink. Am I flirting with Tadhg Lynch right now? I wouldn't say flirting, more like making the best out of his annoying presence. We have a truce after all, right?

From the corner of my eye, I can see Niamh shooting Fiadh a knowing look. I don't even want to know what it's about. Because right now I don't care. I don't care about anything but having fun today.

But like every day, it has to come to an end. And we have to get back, pack everything up and drive back to Ballylaggin.

It was fun while it lasted, I guess.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'an ego thing' by Lizzy McAlpine

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Six//Lovely parenting and sluts everywhere

ISABELL DONNELLY

⊱ ────── {.⋅🎨⋅.} ────── ⊰

The bell jingles when I open the door to the coffee shop I've been working at since last year. The smell of espresso, sugar, and cinnamon greets me like an old friend.

God, I love the smell of coffee; it'll never fail me.

It's only a 15-minute bus ride from my home. The coffee shop is cosy, located in a nice neighbourhood, and it attracts a good number of visitors. Working there is enjoyable, and I earn a decent income, although it's not something I really need. I just prefer not to rely on my mother's money.

I throw my bag behind the counter, tie on my apron, and glance at the clock. 7:45. I'm fifteen minutes early, like usual. Enough time to get the shop ready before opening. The shop owner is a nice elderly woman who trusted me way too soon with the responsibility of this place. Considering I'm only sixteen, fifteen when she just gave me a copy of the keys.

"How dare you, Izzie Donelly? How fucking dare you?" I hear the voice of my coworker before I even see him. My lips twitch up while I turn to the door where he comes in.

"You left me alone for four days. FOUR days!" My coverker bestie let's out. Owen, whom I just clicked on my first day at work and now have a brotherly bond with, storms into the coffee shop like he is about to fight me. His dark curls are a tousled mess, and his shirt is wrinkled like he just got out of bed. I suppress a snort.

I didn't show up to work because of the camping trip and took another two days off. I can take as much off as I want because Batheny, the owner, says I should be living my teenage life and not work myself into an early grave. Have I mentioned how fond I am of Batheny yet?

I don't do it often, though. I like keeping busy.

And now every time I think back at the camping trip, I can only think of Tadhg's annoying face so close to mine. Which makes my stomach flutter in that uncomfortable way.

Ugh.

The moment I got home from that trip, Owen had sent me an outrageous text message, which I'll quote.

Dearest Isabell Orl Donelly,

How dare you, madam, abandon your humble post at the Coffee Emporium for a veritable three days now! Was it not enough to torment me with your absence during the previous fortnight, or must you now indulge in a further display of logorrhea upon my unsuspecting soul? Pray, tell me, how does one survive without the daily charm of your presence, the gentle dispensing of caffeinated elixirs, and your, dare I say it, most engaging chit-chat? I await, nay, yearn for your prompt rectification of this egregious negligence.

Not yours, right now, in caffeinated despair, Owen Flynn Coleman III (not actually the third, but it adds gravity to my suffering).

Me

Owen, the word logorrhea does not mean what you think it does.

Winy bitch

Not the fucking point, private school. Not the point.

And people say I'm dramatic...

But you can't really do anything but like Owen. It's more like a curse, really.

I roll my eyes. "We had shifts where we didn't see each other for weeks, Owen. You survived without me just fine."

He gets his own apron on and shoots me a death glare. "Those are in times of school days, total difference," he argues. "I had to deal with Anna."

I wrinkle my nose. Anna is the laziest worker there is, one of the few adults who work here, too, which makes zero sense.

"Yeah," Owen agrees to my reaction. "She made me take all the orders for the lunch rush. ALL OF THEM."

I suppress a laugh, grabbing a clean towel from the counter. I can't give up an opportunity to tease him. "Owen, that is literally your job. You're aware of that? You signed up for this."

Owen glares at me like I just called his mom's lasagna "meh." "Yes, yes, I signed up for this, alright, but normally you're here to keep me sane. You and me, we have something special, Izzie. I don't think you realise that." He taps his finger at his chest, then at me for emphasising.

I laugh, that dude is an Idiot. School would be so much fun with him. Sadly, he is at BCS.

"We have a system. We know what the other will do before we even do it. We just work. You know who doesn't work, Izzie?"

"You and Anna?" I guess out of the blue, tying my hair back so it won't get in the way while I start prepping the counter.

"Me and fucking Anna." He agrees, stalking over behind the counter, getting the coffee machine working, like I know he would.

I shake my head, smiling at his theatrics. The first hour of our shift is usually our yap hour because not many customers come in then. It's always my favourite time. Owen is easy to be around with, to banter with. Like he said, we just work. Who says the opposite gender can't be friends? Is clearly just not Owen and me.

"At least tell me wherever you were, you've got decent dick. That would make my suffering a little more justified."

I roll my eyes. I don't get what people like about sex so much. Tried it once and it wasn't for me.

"I was on a birthday trip for my friend. Sorry to disappoint."

He grounds. "No excuse."

"Not everyone is a slut like you, Owen." I counter. Then wrinkle my nose, I hate the word slut.

"Whoa, I let you know all of my slutiness I got from my best friend, alright?" He tries to defend.

I snort, leaning onto the counter to talk with him. "The best friend you tried to set me up with? That best friend?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again. "Well, yeah, but you could have changed him. You could change him. I'm certain."

I huff. "A person has to want to change for himself; otherwise, it will never happen."

"I think you could make him want to change for himself." He retorts, looking proud of his answer.

"And I think you're full of shit." I shoot back.

He laughs, "That too." He agrees.

And with that, our yap hour is over because a customer comes in after the other.

The first customer of the day is an older man, the kind who comes here every morning. He nods at me in greeting, already reaching for his wallet.

"Flat white, like always?" I ask.

He beams, "You always remember."

"Not hard when you've ordered the same thing for the last seven months," I reply with a polite smile, already moving to the machine.

Owen leans in next to me, whispering way too loudly, "He totally has a crush on you."

I nearly elbow him in the ribs. "He's, like, seventy."

"Age is just a number, Iz," Owen says, dead serious for about two seconds before snorting at his own joke.

"Shut up and steam the milk before I steam your face."

He gasps, "This handsome thing." He touches his face. "You wouldn't dare."

I shoot him a look, and he grumbles to get the milk.

Owen and I slip into our rhythm easily, him taking orders with dramatic flair and a pack of flirting, me working the machine, sliding drinks down the counter and bringing them to tables. We don't even have to speak most of the time; we just know. He was right about that part.

By the time the day ends, my hair smells like milk and espresso, and I've wiped the same counter at least a hundred times. My feet ache, but honestly, I don't mind. Something is calming about the steady hum of the shop, the hiss of the machine, the soft chatter, even Owen's endless monologues about his 'tragic' love life. This place is kind of a safe space for me.

Today also happens to be payday, which means Batheny leaves a neat little envelope for each of us in the drawer by the till. Most people I know my age have direct deposit, but Bath likes her old-school ways. I don't mind. There's something kind of satisfying about holding the money in my hand for the many hours I've worked this month. Hours I know probably aren't entirely legal for someone my age, but Batheny never says anything, and I don't complain.

I stay behind to close up after Owen leaves, making up for the days I left him alone as I sweep the floor. The bell over the door jingles, and I glance up, already prepared to tell some late-night straggler we're closed.

My stomach drops.

It's not a customer.

"Dad?"

He looks thinner than the last time I saw him, more jittery, pale under the dim lights. His brown curls are getting too long, falling into his eyes, and the circles under them have deepened. I take so much after him. I have his hair and the freckles. My eyes are my mother's, though. Not sure if it makes it better.

His eyes won't quite meet mine, bouncing around the shop like he's looking for an escape hatch.

"Hey, pumpkin," he says, voice too bright, too shaky. He hasn't called me that since I was little.

I swallow, grip tightening on the broom handle. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs like it's casual, like he just happened to be walking by. "Just thought I'd stop in. Say hi to my girl. Place looks nice."

I don't answer. I know why he's here.

His eyes flick to the counter where the pay envelopes sit. Bingo.

He tries for a smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I, uh... I'm in a bit of a bind right now. Bills, you know how it is. Just until next week, pumpkin."

The same words as last time. And the time before that.

My chest tightens. I've given him money before, my money, Batheny's money, tips from the customers,  because I told myself it was for something necessary. Electricity. Rent. Groceries. Things you can't live without. But I know, deep down, what it really goes to, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

I glance at the envelope with my name scrawled on the front. I've worked so many hours for it. More than I should have. And yet here he is, asking again.

"Dad..." My voice cracks, and I hate it.

His smile falters, the brightness dimming into something desperate. "Please, Iz. Just this once. I'll make it up to you. I promise."

I don't know what's worse. How easily the lie falls out of his mouth, or how badly I want to believe it.

"You know," he says, voice sharper than I expected, "you're rich anyway, giving me that won't hurt you."

I bite my cheek, hard, suppressing myself from snapping back or screaming. "My mother is rich. I'm not my mother. The only income I have is this." I gesture around the coffee. 

He shakes his head, jaw tight. "Well, with that logic, no teenager is really rich."

Huh? What? Yeah, that's like exactly how it works.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down the storm in my chest. I want to scream at him, tell him to get the fuck out, to figure out his shit and get back on track. But then I look at him, really look at him, the slump of his shoulders, the hollow look in his eyes that once shone so bright when he read me bedtime stories, and I can't. Not fully. Not when he's standing there, fragile and human, pretending to be fine.

"Please, Isabell, I need it." He whispers despredly.

My eyes fill with tears, but I refuse to shed them.

"You think I don't know what you're going to do with it?" I say, voice low but shaking. "Do you think I don't know what this is?..." I gesture vaguely at the envelope, "...another needle in your arm won't fix your life, dad."

He flinches at my words, and I hate myself for hitting him with the truth so hard. His shoulders slump even more, if that's possible, and he looks away.

"I... I'll be careful, Iz. I promise." His voice is barely a whisper, like he's not even sure if he's allowed to say it.

I hesitate. My hand tightens around the envelope. Every instinct in me screams Don't give it to him, don't let him take this from you. But the other part, the part that remembers the dad I loved before everything cracked, wins just barely.

I set it on the counter in front of him, flat and final. "Here. Just... don't make me regret this."

His eyes flick up, wide, like he's seeing a lifeline in the middle of a storm. He swallows hard, fingers trembling as he picks up the envelope.

"Thanks, Iz... I-" He stops, shakes his head, then mutters, "I'll pay you back, I swear."

"You said that last time," I cut him off sharply, but my voice is quieter now, less fire and more exhaustion. "And the time before that. I'm not holding my breath, Dad."

He nods, swallowing whatever shame he's trying to hide. He tucks the envelope into his jacket like it's the last thing keeping him alive, and maybe it is.

"I... I should go." He steps back toward the door, the bell jingling behind him. He hesitates, as if he wants to say more, then finally mutters, "I love you, pumpkin"

I want to believe him. God, I do. But love feels cheap when it comes with a price tag.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone in the quiet shop. I throw the broom on the ground in rage, and I sink onto the floor behind the counter, resting my forehead in my hands. My heart is pounding in a rhythm I don't recognise, a mixture of anger, guilt, and a strange, empty sadness.

I hate that I just gave him the money.

I hate that I know he will use it for drugs.

I hate that I hope he'll be okay.

I hate that  I care.

And I hate that I know I'll keep doing this. Keep giving, even when it hurts. Because he's my dad. And that's what makes it impossible to hate him.

But damn it, it doesn't make it any easier.

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

"I don't have the money for the window." I blurt it out the second I step into the kitchen, tossing my bag onto the counter. Just wanting to rip off the bandage quickly.

My mother's head snaps up from her phone, perfectly manicured nails scrolling like she hasn't just ignored me for the last hour. "Excuse me?"

I fold my arms, bracing myself. "The window at school I broke. I can't pay for it this month."

My mother sighs tiredly, like she knew this was coming. Like I wouldn't pay her back everything I owe her. Like, I am a burden, which I'm not.

Anger bubbles up in the back of my throat.

"Why am I not surprised, Isabell? For what did you spend your money now? Clothes? Make-up? So you can be past around like the little slut you are?"

I flinch. Did I mention how much I hate that word?

"I don't know, Jennifer. Why aren't you surprised? It's not like you haven't already paid for it, and you would have forgotten about it if I hadn't mentioned it just now." I spit out, ignoring her other comment.

Her lips press into a thin line. "Don't give me that attitude, Isabell. I don't have the patience to deal with your tantrums right now."

My tantrums?

Is she serious?

"My tantrums? My tantrums? I'm not the one screaming the hose down every time something doesn't go as planned." I snap. I hate when my mother treats me like a child. When I take more care of her than she ever took care of me.

Her eyes flash, sharp as broken glass. "Don't you dare compare yourself to me, Isabell. You think you know struggle? You think you know responsibility? You have no-"

"I don't know responsibility? Mother, that is everything I know. Who takes care of you when you can't get out of bed? Who cooks and cleans then? Who gets Helen and Fiona to school, to do their homework, get them to practice, and tuck them in at night? Who, Mom? Because it sure as shit isn't you." I scream back. Because that's what we do.

She barks, I bite.

Her face twists, fury and wounded pride crashing together. "You ungrateful little bitch," she hisses.

Rising from her chair so fast that it nearly falls over. The glass of wine by her elbow sloshes, ruby liquid dripping onto the marble countertop, but she doesn't notice. Or doesn't care.

"You think I don't sacrifice for you? For this family? You think any of this..." she gestures wildly at the kitchen, "...comes for free? You'd all be rotting in a council flat somewhere if it weren't for me!"

I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. "We are rotting, Jennifer. Just in silk sheets instead of secondhand ones."

Her eyes darken, wild and unsteady. "How dare you talk to me like that in my house. Under my roof. You're sixteen, Isabell, sixteen. You know nothing about the world, nothing about men, nothing about loyalty, nothing about-"

"I know about cleaning up your messes!" I shout, cutting her off, the heat in my chest bursting out of me. "I know what it's like to hide the pills from Helen so she doesn't ask why you can't get out of bed! I know what it's like to drag Fiona crying out of the car because you're screaming at her like she is the reason you're life is as miserable as it is for ten minutes straight! I know what it's like to cover for you when you disappear to whatever luxury spa or hotel you're hiding in while I- while I-"

My voice cracks, betraying me.

Her own voice sharp and trembling, the dangerous quiet I hate more than her screaming. "You think you're better than me, don't you? Standing there, judging me. You don't even know who you are without me, Isabell. You're nothing but a shadow of me. My blood. My name. My money."

"I don't want your name," I spit, heart hammering. "And I don't want your money. I don't want your shity blood. I don't need you."

For a second, her face goes blank. Then she laughs. Not the kind of laugh people make when something's funny.No, the kind of laugh that curdles the air, sharp and broken.

"You don't need me?" she repeats, her voice high, trembling with that brittle edge I know too damn well. "You don't need me? Oh, that's rich, darling. That's hysterical."

Her laughter turns into a jagged sob in half a heartbeat. She slams her hand on the counter, wine glass toppling, shattering across the floor. Red streaks across the marble tiles like blood.

"You think you'd last a week without me?" she spits, voice cracking. "You think the world would give a single fuck about you if I weren't who I am? Without me, you're nothing. You're a nobody. You'll never be more than the little accident I should have gotten rid of."

My stomach twists. I've heard variations of that sentence before, but it still punches the air from my lungs every time.

"Stop it," I whisper, my hands trembling even as I clench them into fists.

She paces, barefoot, nearly stepping into the glass shards. "You don't know how hard it is, Isabell. You don't know what it's like to have men rip you apart, to have your whole life picked apart, to claw and fight for every single thing you have. And you stand there, in my house, eating my food, wearing my money, telling me you don't want me?" She snorts, "You're an ungrateful little shit."

"Jennifer-"

"Don't call me that!" she snaps. "You think you're clever with that name. You think you're above me. But you're not. You are me. Every mistake, every ugly part, it's all in you, too. Do you hear me? You can't outrun me!"

"I can certainly fucking try." I spit out.

For a second, the air hangs heavy, thick with the tension that makes my ears ring. My chest heaves, fingers digging into my palms so hard it hurts, and yet I don't care. I refuse to back down.

Her eyes narrow, "Get the fuck out of my sight, Isabell. Before I discipline you like I did when you were a child, or worse..."

"I'm not a child," I say, voice raw. "And I'm not scared of you anymore. So you can do what you want. But don't act surprised when the consequences come crashing down on you." I bite out, grabbing my back. "I'll excuse myself." Storming out of the kitchen because one more second with that woman and I would have strangled her.

I slam the door to my room shut, gritting my teeth.

I lean against the door, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor, legs pulled up to my chest. My hands tremble as I press them over my face, trying to breathe through the rage and the leftover sting of her words.

Some days it was all just too much. Like I'm drowning and I have nothing to hold on to, nothing to pull myself up with. Only people to push me back down.

The room feels smaller than it did five minutes ago, like the walls are closing in, squeezing out any oxygen I had left. My chest heaves in rapid, uneven bursts, and the tears I've been holding back finally slip, hot and angry, streaking down my cheeks.

I don't cry quietly. I never have. The sobs come in sharp bursts, leaving me gasping for air like I've been running underwater. My knuckles are white from clutching my knees, and my heart pounds like it's trying to escape my chest.

I hate that she gets under my skin like this. I hate that her words still have the power to make me feel like nothing. And I hate that part of me still wants her approval, even when I despise her.

I press my forehead to my knees and whisper into the quiet room, "I'm not nothing."

It feels like a mantra, something I have to say out loud so my own ears hear it and maybe, just maybe, I'll start to believe it. But it's fragile. Thin. Easy to crush under the weight of a single word from her.

I don't want to be me right now. I don't want to be right now. Right now, I want to end it.

I always thought that I would die like that. Take an overdose of my mother's pills. Or let gravity do its job.

But I know that is selfish, I know that people need me. My sisters need me, my dad needs me. My mother does too, even though she would never say that out loud. 

So another day it is. One day after the other. One day after the other.

I crawl over to my bed and curl into my blanket. Making me as small as possible, before I cry myself to sleep.

What is one more day?

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'Sidelines' by Phoebe Bridgers

Seven// A lying liar who lies

TADHG LYNCH

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🏑 ⋅.} ────── ⊰

I didn't sleep well last night.

To be fair, I didn't sleep well any night this summer. Or particularly much.

It doesn't matter if I fall asleep at 2 a.m. or 5, I always wake up drenched in cold sweat, my heart pounding, my shirt clinging, my lungs dragging in air like I've been running.

And it's utter bollox. Not once did I get a good night's sleep

....No, that's a lie, actually. Because I did have one night where I slept through. And that night was on a camping trip with no sleeping bag while Isabell fucking Donnelly was holding my arm hostage.

Do you know how pathetic that sounds? That the first full night of sleep I've had in months came courtesy of a girl who'd rather jump off a cliff than admit she doesn't hate me?

But there it is.

I don't get it. I don't get her. One minute she's cursing me out, the next she calls me baby... what was up with that anyway? This infuriating, tiny, weird girl is a phenomenon I will never understand.

And I mean, I know that I can always sleep a bit better with people around, but freckles? Seriously?

My dreams seem to get worse by the day, too. Another thing I don't get. Because I'm out of that fucking house. We got away. I've got two guardians who actually give a shit about me, love me even, for Christ's sake.

It should be better now. I should be better. I shouldn't be shaking through the whole night because my brain didn't get the memo.

So instead, I lie there every night, staring at the ceiling, counting down the hours till morning, waiting for the screaming in my head to stop. And it never does. It never fucking does.

Summer was long. Too long. Not just because of the nightmares. Because I spent most of it doing the usual shit, helping Joey in the garage, lifting engines, changing oil. Babysitting AJ, that kid is a maniac, I'm telling you.

And when I wasn't doing that, I was stuck dealing with Owen. The bloke talks more than the radio, and at least the radio's got a knob to turn down. Don't get me wrong, he has my back no matter what. But when he decides I'm his 'summer project' and insists on making me 'more socially functional' by dragging me to every second house party?

Not exactly restful.

And yet here I am. Still in one piece. Still breathing. Still knackered.

I pull my Tommen uniform on after a quick shower. I took Cosmo on a run before the sun came up. Because if I can't sleep might as well be productive. Or something like that.

I make my way down to the kitchen and am greeted with, "Wow, you look like you'd just been raised by the dead. You know, I heard sleeping helps, supposedly," from Ollie, who is sitting by the kitchen island munching on pancakes Edel made.

Ollie is normally nicer in the morning, probably just nervous about second year.

I snort, dropping down next to him and grabbing my own plate. "You mean su-pose-ably?"

"You're not funny, Tadhg," he grumbles.

"I think I'm hilarious. Say telescope, Ols." I mock.

"I can talk normally now, asshole."

I gape. "Did you just curse at me? Little Ollie knows how to do that now?"

I'm very well aware that I am indeed an asshole.

At that moment, Edel decides to join us, carrying sleepy Sean on her arm. Sean's getting a bit too big to be carried around like that, at least for Edel. But I doubt she'd accept it.

"Dellie, Ollie just called me an asshole," I say, at the same time Ollie exclaims, "Mam, Tadhg's poking fun at me again."

Mam. That word hits me every time. Ollie doesn't even think about it, doesn't hesitate, doesn't have to. He can call Edel "Mam" without a second of doubt. And Sean... Sean's never known anything but this, safe, warm, full of love.

As glad as I am for Ollie and Sean to see John and Edel as their parents, I can't help but envy them. The reminder that this isn't where I started. That no matter how many breakfasts I sit at in this kitchen, no matter how many times Edel fusses over me or John asks about my homework like it actually matters, I'm not theirs in the way Ollie and Sean are.

And it's not their fault. They're brilliant, both of them. Christ, I owe them everything. I love them, I do.

But there's always that line in my head, drawn thick and permanent, there'll never be my parents, no matter how much I'd want it. And there is still a part of me that keeps waiting for the whole thing to vanish. Like I'll blink and be back in that house again.

So I do what I always do, bite into my pancake and smirk at Ollie just to wind him up. Because that's safer than letting the thought linger. Safer than admitting that sometimes I'm terrified I'll never really belong anywhere. That I'm already broken beyond repair.

"Be nice to each other, boys," Edel lectures.

"We're always nice to each other." I let her know and hug Ollie close to me, which might be confused with a headlock. Which it definitely isn't.

"You're never nice to me," Ollie grumbles, trying his best to get out of my grip.

I laugh, letting him squirm for a second before releasing him. "That's a matter of perspective, Ols. From my point of view, I'm extremely nice."

He snorts, muttering something about my "twisted logic" and something about "irresponsibility" that I don't quite catch.

I get up to clean my plate and ruffle Sean's hair. "Have a wonderful first day of primary school. That's where life will start to go downwards."

"Tadhg," Edel shoots me a glare.

"I mean upwards. That's what I said, right?"

Sean gives me a thumbs up and a murmured thanks; he isn't really responsible in the morning, which is fair enough.

"Be ready in ten, or I'll let you walk," I tell Ollie.

He huffs, "You can't do that." Then at Edel, "He can't, right?"

"He won't," Dellie confirms, shooting me a look that only a mother can give you.

I smirk at Ollie and shove him lightly toward the stairs. "Ten minutes, Ols. Move it, or I'm leaving without you."

He groans, dragging his feet, muttering under his breath. Edel shakes her head, but the corners of her mouth twitch up anyway.

I'm about to head upstairs and grab my bag, too, but Edel's face turns serious. "Tadhg, pet, a word."

What did I do now?

"Yeah?" I say slowly.

"Don't look at me like that. It's nothing bad." She looks at Sean. "Just nothing for little ears." She presses a kiss to his head and lets him eat breakfast.

We make our way to the gigantic living room. Then Edel sighs. "What's going on, love?"

I frown. "What do you mean?"

Edel folds her hands in front of her, leaning against the edge of the sofa. "You look exhausted, Tadhg. I can tell something is bothering you, and I worry, pet."

I shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral, but she's good at reading me. "I'm fine. Just tired, that's all. Haven't slept well tonight," I say, because what am I supposed to tell her?

Oh yeah, every time I fall asleep, I hear the screams of my mother while my father rapes her. Or the noises Shannen made while she almost got beaten to death, and I couldn't get him to stop.

Yeah, well, that's not the fucked-up kind of thing I want to discuss with her, or anyone, for that matter.

I rub at my eyes. "It's... nothing, really. Just the usual stuff. You know, summer ending, early mornings, late nights, that kind of shite."

Edel studies me for a second longer, her brow furrowed, then nods slowly. "Alright. But Tadhg... you know you can tell me anything, don't you? Anything at all."

"Yeah, I know," I mutter, voice rough. "Thanks."

She doesn't push. She never pushes. And I'm so fucking thankful for it.

"Alright," she says, going back to normal. "Jesus, I ironed that last night. What do you do with it?" She pulls on my collar and arranges my tie.

My lip twitches up; she's back to fussing.

"Where is your blazer?"

I shrug. "In my bag, I think."

She sighs. "We'll never get you to wear it, will we?"

I snort. "Not a chance."

That gets her to smile too, patting my cheek. "Ugh, you've grown so much." Then, with one last tug at my tie, she adds, "Oh, and Tadhg, try not to get into any fights or destroy anything. At least not on the first day, please."

"I'll do my best," I assure her.

I grab my bag and make sure Cosmo's water bowl is filled before heading out the door. Ollie's waiting at the end of the driveway, already checking his watch like he's a businessman running late for a meeting. I roll my eyes and unlock my car.

The Volvo 240 that Joe and I patched up over the summer. I know Edel and John would buy me any car I liked, but there's something about having worked on it myself. About knowing every scratch, every dent, every piece of metal under the hood. It's mine. And when I drive it, it feels mine. Not a hand-me-down, not charity. Just mine.

I throw my car into gear and peel out of the driveway. The drive to Tommen isn't long, and it doesn't give me much time to think, which is probably for the best.

"Tenner that you don't make it till lunch break," Ollie says when I park and shut off the engine.

I snort. "For the sake of Edel's sanity, let's hope you'll lose that bet."

We get out. It's warmer than I expected today.

I glance at Ollie. He's nervously fidgeting with his blazer, trying way too hard to straighten it.

"Hey," I say, nudging him with my elbow, "relax. You'll survive. Probably."

He shoots me a glare as we make our way to the building. "Probably isn't reassuring, Tadhg."

I shrug, but because I'm not completely heartless, I say, "It's the same as last year, Ols. You'll outsmart all of them before I get into my first fight. It'll be grand."

We're halfway across the courtyard when one of the third or fourth year decides to test his path through the crowd. He's clearly not looking where he's going. And, of course, he aims straight at Ollie.

"Watch-" I start, but it's too late.

Bam.

Ollie stumbles back, almost losing his balance. I jerk him back by his shirt so he stays upright.

If I come more after Joey, as many people have told me, then Ollie comes more after Shannan, and with that, the target on his head, too.

The prick barely blinks, just mutters an annoyed "Move, Lynch" like we're invisible.

I step up, eyes narrowing. "You're gonna apologise for that, lad?"

The asshole apparently hasn't noticed me before because his eyes go a bit wide.

Yeah, not as smug now when there's a person twice your size, are ya? Little bitch.

The usual anger I seem to carry around builds up in my chest. My fists clench without me even realising.

"Chill, I didn't mean to." The prick really does have a death wish.

"Does that sound like an apology to ya?"

"Tadhg-" Ollie tries.

"Jeez, sorry, man."

"What? I didn't catch that."

"Sorry," he says louder.

"Now, to my brother, you almost knocked out."

With a glare aimed at my face, he turns to my little brother. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking while walking."

"I accept," Ollie is quick to defuse, and I let him pull me away before he can make good money on that bet.

"You didn't have to."

"The fuck I did." I pull him around a corner, placing my hands on his shoulder. "If someone ever disrespects you like that or pokes fun at you, you come to me, alright?"

"You poke fun at me all the time." He argues.

"Yeah, I'm your big brother, I'm allowed to do that. Other people aren't." I clarify, "Do you hear me, Ols?"

"Yeah, I hear you, Tadhg." He nods.

"Good, now get the fuck out of my sight," I say, shoving him affectionately. He lets out a huff of a laugh.

"Say hi to Isabell for me." He teases, shouldering his bag.

I snort, "For the sake of our bet, let's not."

Ollie just grins, like the little shit he is, and jogs off toward the second-year locker area. He's fine. Nervous, sure, but fine. Smarter than half his year put together, and with that stubborn streak that'll get him through anything. He's a Lynch after all.

I shove my hands into my pockets and cut through the noise, eyes scanning. It's not paranoia if people are actually watching you. Some of the new lads do that thing where they stare and then look away too quickly, like they've heard stories. Fair enough. I've got a past and a reputation, and I'm not about to apologise for it.

I head toward the senior wing, tugging at my tie because it's already choking me.

I catch a glimpse of freckles across the way.

I hate that I notice her before I notice anyone else.

Her dark curls are put up messily, but it still looks more put together than I ever will; her blazer's off, and in one ear is an earpiece listening to music, as she stands next to Niamh, pretending to listen to Fiadh talking. She looks just as happy to be back at school as I am.

Jesus, it's first year all over again.

I force my gaze away, jaw tightening.

Nope. Not today. Not starting the year by staring at Donnelly like some desperate eejit.

Still, my brain's an arsshole.

Baby.

That word's been circling in my head since the camping trip. She tossed it out like a joke, but it stuck. I can hear it in her voice, teasing, mocking, and way too warm for someone who supposedly can't stand me.

I wrench open my locker, ignoring the slam of metal around me.

"Lynchy, my man." I hear the annoying voice of Samuel Sullivan call out.

I turn my head to the source of his voice and see the ginger-headed boy come up to me, Charlie trailing after him. Sam is more Charlie's friend than he is mine, but he's alright. Annoying, sure, but harmless enough. Mostly.

"Sam," I acknowledge flatly, twisting the lock shut a little harder than necessary.

"You look like you crawled out of a grave, mate," Sam grins, clapping me on the shoulder. "Good summer?"

"Something like that," I mutter.

Charlie gives me a nod, "Why aren't you with lover girl, lover boy?" I ask, nodding towards Fiadh.

It's a rare sight to see them apart, not eating each other alive.

"I'm in the doghouse." Is the only information he gives me.

"So shouldn't you do everything to get out of the doghouse?" Hell, I'm no expert on relationships, but I feel like that's how it goes.

He shrugs, "She's gonna come around."

Not what I would do, but who am I to judge?

Sam elbows Charlie. "Or maybe she's just realised she can do better after five years."

Charlie shoots him a look. "You've been single since birth, don't start."

"Hey says the one who has only seen one pussy in his entire life." Sam retorts.

Yeah fuck no, I'm not listening to that.

I move on, I duck into the nearest corridor, hoping to lose them both on my way to my first class. I usually get a bit of sleep in before lunch, and English is the perfect class to doze off to.

I drop my bag by the desk, sinking into the chair in the back row. The classroom fills, and I'm well aware that freckles is in that crowd too.

But I don't care. Why would I?

I'm just about to drift into an uncomfortable sleep when an announcement comes over the speakers. That starts with wishing us a good start into the new school year and ends with: "...And Tadhg Lynch and Isabell Donelly to the principal's office, please." Which gets my eyes to snap open.

An Oooh goes through the class, and my eyes find freckles who's where already on me.

"But we haven't even done anything yet." She says, As confused as I am.

Ollie is gonna win this bet after all.

"Emphasising on yet." Charlie, who apparently has placed himself next to me, mocks.

"Don't start, Charles, you can't even keep your relationship steady. So keep your mouth shut." She counters.

Another wave of "oohs" and laughter erupts. And it pulls a tiny teeny snort out of me.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

"In all seriousness, this is bullshit," I complain.

"I told you two that this year will have harder consequences for both of you. Consider this a punishment still for the window incident." Principal Twomey lectures.

"By sticking us together once again? Because that always worked out so great." I ask. 

"Do not take that tone with me, young man. You both will clean up that wall with your bare hands and sweet if you must, but this wall will be clean by the end of this week."

He's talking about the back wall of this fucking school, which other students have used as a signboard since I've been here.

I know, this is so bizarre.

I look to freckles for help. "You don't have anything to say to this?"

"I really don't care, Tadhg."

Okay... that's new. That's weird, wait, what the actual fuck, Izzie?

"You will begin after school."

"I have hurley practice." I'm quick to defend at the same time, freckles says.

"I have work."

"You can do it during lunch or at any time of the day; I really don't mind. However, this wall must be cleaned, so at least you two can contribute something positive to the school instead of vandalising it. Now, please leave my office before you miss more class time than you already have."

Not like he made us miss that class time, but whatever.

I shove myself up out of the chair, muttering under my breath, "Grand waste of everyone's time, this is."

Freckles gets up too. No snarcky remark, no arguing, not even an annoying huff.

That's not the girl I've been in here since first year. Or maybe I'm just too sleep-deprived and can't see straight. The edges of things blur if I stare too long, and maybe that's what she is right now, blurred. Off somehow.

She walks out first, her back rigid, curls bouncing like they've got more energy than she does. And I follow, slower, trying not to think about how much it bothers me that she didn't bite back.

Because that's the thing about freckles, she fights. She snaps, claws, digs her nails in just to prove a point. And if she's not doing that? Something's wrong.

And I hate, Christ, I hate, that I care enough to notice.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

Okay, maybe I've lied about hurley practice, I don't have them on Mondays.

So here I am standing, after school, in front of this scribbled-on wall with a bucket and a hose.

I stare at the mess of tags, doodles, and a very impressive but highly inappropriate drawing of a horse doing something no horse should ever be drawn doing.

"Oh, so we are both lying liars who lie." I hear freckles voice from behind me, and I have to snort seeing her with a bucket and cleaning agents too.

"Depends on how you see it. Can you elaborate on the lying liars who lie part?"

"A liar who is lying with a lie?" She says slowly.

"Yeah, then you could say I'm a lying liar who lies."

"Exactly." She sets her bucket down with a thunk. "So, what happened to hurley practice, Mr. lying liar who lies?"

I smirk, rolling up my sleeves. "What happened to work, Miss lying liar who lies?"

She sighs, annoyed. "Can we please stop saying lying liar who lies?"

"You started it."

"Yeah, and I'm really regretting it."

"Story of your life, freckles," I mutter, dunking the sponge into the bucket.

I wait for a sharp comeback, a joke on my behalf, but nothing. She's quiet...too quiet.

It throws me off. It annoys me even more than when she would snark at me.

I dip the sponge into the bucket, water already brown with the first swipe across the wall, and she joins in. "So what got your knickers in a twist today?" I ask.

"Your annoying face."

There it is. A spark. A crack. Familiar ground.

"Wait, I take that back, don't ever think you have any effect whatsoever on my knickers."

I snort, "The fact that you mentioned it makes me think I have."

She glances at me, one brow raised, lips twitching like she's fighting a smile. "In your wildest fucking dreams, Tadhg."

In them indeed.

"You still haven't answered my question, freckles."

"Are you ever going to stop calling me that?" she asks, dodging the question once again.

I grin."What? You prefer 'baby'?" The word slips out before I can stop it, and Jesus Christ, the look she gives me could cut through steel.

"You still thinking about that, don't ya? I bet it keeps you awake at night." She throws back.

"It does actually. How did ya know? I wake up at night screaming your name. Oh, Izzie, Oh, freckles. Oh yeah," I moan loudly.

"Oh my god." She lets out, her cheeks heating up into a light shade of a cute pink, throwing her sponge at me. "You are such a fucking pig, Tadhg Lynch."

"Oh, you're dead, freckles," I growl, grabbing the hose with both hands. She screams, a high, sharp sound, and spins around, trying to dodge the first spray. Too late. I give it a twist, and a jet of water arcs over her, soaking the front of her shirt.

"You're going to regret this, asshole!" she yells, managing to grab it, wrestling over it, which gets us both completely shocked. The wall forgotten, it's us now, soaked and slippery, dancing around each other in the late afternoon sunlight like complete idiots.

I don't remember the last time I had this much fun.

"Alright, arlight. Truce! Truce!"I laugh, dropping the hose like it's a weapon.

She narrows her eyes, sponge in hand, and wipes a strand of wet hair from her face. "Truce doesn't mean I trust you, Lynch."

"Oh, I've never claimed you should," I say, and she actually is fucking grinning at me, teeth and all. She has dimples. Cute little dimples on both sides of her cheeks. Why haven't I noticed that before?

Her grin fades quicker than I expect. It's like she catches herself, remembers who she's meant to be when it comes to me. Her face hardens again, even if her cheeks are still pink from laughing. And I catch her eyes drifting down to my very wet, very clingy, very see-through shirt, and my lips twitch up.

Her eyes flick away so fast I almost think I imagined it. Almost.

"You're staring, freckles," I murmur, wringing out the hem of my soaked shirt, but when I look up, I notice that... well... her shirt is also very see-through and her dark blue bra is greeting me hello.

So apparently blue is my new favourite colour.

"Mhm, I'm the one staring?" She says sarcastically.

I drag my eyes up fast, though I already saw more than I should've.

Jesus, Tadhg, don't be a fucking creep, you asshole.

But she doesn't look embarrassed like I thought she would. Neither does she look uncomfortable.

And just like that, I'm lost for words. This girl is something else.

She wraps her arms around her, not to cover her up but because she is shivering. She turns to the wall. "Yeah, we are not gonna get this clean." She says, changing the subject, thankfully.

I walk over to my bag. "Not today at least." I grab my blazer.

"Not ever."

I walk back over to her. "What do you suggest then?"

"Paint?"

"Are we allowed to do that?"

"You care?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

I hold out my blazer to her.

She frowns. "What?"

"Take it. You're cold."

"No, I'm not." She says while hugging herself for warmth. Not cold, my ass.

"You're shivering." I point out.

"Yeah... for excitement to paint this wall." She says it more like a question, and I snort.

"Just take the damn thing."

"But it's yours."

"Then where is yours?"

"...I forgot it at home." She confesses.

"See, so take it!" I insist.

She eyes it up and down. "I really don't think I-"

I groan, "Jesus freckles." I'm getting tired of this.

I take a step forward and drag my blazer around her. "Can't let you die of pneumonia now, can I? With whom would I destroy school property then?"

She glares at me, but eventually pulls my blazer tight around her.

She tugs the collar tighter; it's a bit too big for her, muttering, "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

I grin, "Yeah, yeah, you don't have to thank me that much. I'm just that generous and gentlemanly, y'know."

She cracks a smile. "Gentlemanly? You're done sucking you're own dick?"

A laugh rips from my throat. "Alright, so we're painting the wall?"

"Yeah, let's pitch the idea tomorrow to Twomey, because this." She gestures to the buckets. "Is useless."

She is right about that. We didn't get anything off that wall so far, and I don't think that will change.

We start packing up the supplies, the tension from earlier melting into something lighter. For once, there's no fight, no teasing war, just the two of us silently working side by side.

That's new for us, getting actual work done.

This, us, we, feels different since that whole camping trip. I don't know what has shifted, but something definitely has.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

Later that day, I got a single message from a number I didn't recognise, but I know who it is.

Thank you.

Is what it says.

Nothing more.

I don't think her pride would let it say more. My lips curve up anyway, and I spent more time staring at that text than I want to admit.

The other question is, how did Izzie get my number?

And yeah, my body's still exhausted, and my head still feels like it's been run through a grinder. But for the first time in months, the gnawing edge of summer feels just a little softer.

Maybe it's the wall. Maybe it's the text. Maybe it's freckles.

Whatever it is... I'm not sure I want it to go away.

I toss my bag down and catch Cosmo's eager eyes, scratching behind his ears, falling onto my bed next to him.

And yes, I do let him sleep in by bed, deal with it.

Then I pull out my phone again and type back.

Don't lose my blazer.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'THE GREATEST' by Billie Eilish

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Eight//Warmth I shouldn't want

ISABELL DONNELLY

⊱ ────── {.⋅🎨⋅.} ────── ⊰

Don't lose my blazer.

I snort into the silence of my room. Four words. Nothing special. But my stomach flips anyway, which is ridiculous. Totally ridiculous.

It's weird.

It's really weird.

And, weirdly, it's not weird.

Because it should be, it should be the weirdest thing in the world, me, walking around my room with Tadhg Lynch's stupidly big, stupidly warm, stupidly him-smelling blazer hanging off my shoulders like it belongs there.

It doesn't. Obviously.

But it doesn't feel like it doesn't. And that's the part that's messing with my head.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and roll my eyes at myself.

Christ, I look like some cliché from a bad teen drama, girl sneaking around in the bad boy's jacket, pretending she doesn't care. Except I do care. Or maybe I don't? Or maybe I care about the fact that I might care, which is worse.

It's not like I like him. God, no. Tadhg Lynch is... Tadhg Lynch. He's fights-in-the-hallway, sleeping-through-class, smart-mouth-in-every-direction Lynch. I can't stand his annoyingly perfect symmetrical face, and he can't stand me either.

And yet he gave me his blazer because I was cold. As simple as that.

I don't like it. I don't like it at all. Because that was sweet.

And sweet doesn't exist in Tadhg Lynch's universe. Sweet is a glitch in the system. Sweet is confusing. Sweet makes your stomach do things it absolutely should not. And now here I am, standing in the middle of my bedroom with his blazer swallowing me whole, and it smells like him: soap, smoke, spice; messy and rough, but, against all reason, kind of comforting.

Ugh. Get a grip, Izzie.

So I do what I should've done the second I got home. I peel it off me and get it into the washing machine downstairs.

And yet... even as I watch it tumble around with the detergent, a tiny, irrational part of me wants it back immediately.

What is wrong with me?!

I groan and collapse onto my bed when I get back in my room, staring at the ceiling. Why is it so complicated? Why does everything with Tadhg Lynch feel like a puzzle I didn't agree to solve?

And don't get me wrong, I love puzzles, I love a challenge. But I did not sign up for this. I did not sign up for this nauseating, giddy, tingly mess in my stomach that can't decide whether it wants me to throw up or grin like a complete idiot.

And I honestly don't know which would be worse.

I didn't sign up for this constant back and forth, either. Tadhg and I have been on war terms since day one. So why does it suddenly feel... different? I don't want it to feel like anything.

Because he's infuriating. Because he's infuriatingly... Tadhg.

I groan again and bury my face in the pillow. I'm a disaster. A total, irredeemable disaster.

But honestly? That's nothing new for me.

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

"Izzie."

The small voice of my sister rips me violently out of my sleep.

"Mmh? Please tell me Helen didn't wet her bed again?" I murmur into my pillow.

I'd already cleaned Helen's sheets tonight. I really didn't want a round two.

"No... Mam is back," Fiona whispers.

I go rigid.

Of course she is.

I sigh, dragging myself upright. "Fuck."

"Izzie, that's a bad word." Fiona scolds softly, like she's afraid even the walls will tattle. How someone that sweet and rule-following came out of our mother will forever be the eighth wonder of the world.

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. We don't say bad words." I mutter, kissing her on the head. "Go back to sleep, I'll handle it," I guide her out of my room to hers.

"But-"

"Back to bed, Fy Fy, you have school tomorrow."

"So do you."

"I'm older. I run on less sleep." I give her my best big-sister stare.

She pouts but shuffles back down the hall, dragging her feet in protest. I close her door gently, then lean against it, letting my head thump back.

I can already hear my mother downstare.

She bailed on us today. It's not uncommon for her to leave unannounced. Some days it's a whole week, others, like today, it was only one. And I'm left to pick up the pieces once again.

She goes to a fancy hotel and spends her money shopping, drinking, or whatever. I don't actually know what she does, I'm just making assumptions. Probably the same thing every time: live it up, forget there's a family waiting somewhere back home, and pretend we don't exist.

God, sometimes I can't stand that woman.

All because this morning I refused the bacon she made, and she called me an ungrateful little shit with a dozen other affectionate titles before slamming the door.

Mind you, I've been a vegetarian for three years now.

That's why I'd been off at school. Why I'd let myself crack just a little. And of all people, Tadhg Lynch had been the one to patch me back together.

I shake my head violently. Nope. Not going there. Not tonight.

I push off the door, heading downstairs.

The smell hits before I see her: cheap perfume drowned in wine, sharp enough to choke me.

She's leaning against the front doorframe, heels crooked on the tiles, swaying with the grace of a collapsing building. One hand clutches a half-empty bottle. The other grips the wood like it's the only thing keeping her standing.

"Finally," she slurs, giving me a smile that slides right off her face. "I was just thinking about you."

"Bet you were," I say flatly.

Her smile cracks. Her eyes narrow. "You know how much I hate that attitude, Isabell. I'm still your mother."

The word mother tastes bitter. My jaw aches from holding back the retort: Are you?

Instead, I keep my voice level. "Come on, Mam. Let's get you upstairs."

She waves me off, almost tipping the bottle over the floor. "I don't need your help." She laughed as if the thought was hilarious. "I don't need anyone's help. Especially not from a child."

My chest burns.

I stopped being a child a long time ago, but sure. What do I know? I only run the household.

"Clearly," I mutter, sliding under her arm anyway. She stumbles into me, muttering half-apologies, half-complaints. Her weight digs into my shoulder, heavy and unrelenting, but I don't complain. I never do.

Halfway up, her voice slurs again. "You think you're so bloody perfect. Your father-" She cuts herself off, then laughs bitterly. "You're just like him."

"Sure, Mam," I whisper. "Whatever you say."

I decide to take it as a compliment all although I know it's not meant to be one. But my father was a good man once. I doubt my mother can say the same.

Okay, that was mean. Maybe I don't mean that. The only version of my mother I know is this broken one.

She never talks about her childhood. Once, in a blur of wine, she muttered something about a house full of men and left the sentence unfinished. I filled in the rest with the things I've seen.

I hate it. Knowing that my mother was a lost little girl, too, once. That her life has formed her into the woman she is now.

I never pressed on that subject. Because if I knew, I think I couldn't be angry with her any more. And if I can't be angry, what's left?

We finally make it to her room, and I guide her toward the bed. She collapses onto it, the wine bottle rolling from her hand onto the floor with a dull clink.

I pick it up before it spills, setting it on the dresser. I move to pull off her shoes.

She giggles, eyes half-lidded. "Oh, look at you. Playing mommy again."

I want to scream.

I want to scream at her that she still has two little kids in this house who need their mother, scream that she chose to be a mother multiple times. So why can't she be a fucking mother? But what's the point? The words would just bounce off her like they always do.

And the stupidest part? No matter how angry I get with her, no matter how much she screws up, I still take care of her. Because if I don't, no one will.

I tug her heels off and set them neatly beside the bed. I kneel beside her, gently tugging the blanket over her.

She made no effort to lie down, just sitting there. Her head lolls against my shoulder, heavy and fragile.

I freeze.

"You're ridiculous," she murmurs, laugh dissolving into a sob, "Always trying to... fix things."

Fix things?

Fix her. Fix this broken life. I haven't even figured out how to fix myself, and yet here I am.

It's not like I have a choice anyway.

I stay still, letting her lean on me, letting her be heavy.

And then it comes. A hiccuped sob, muffled against my shoulder. Her arms wrap weakly around me.

It feels odd.

It shouldn't feel odd when your mother hugs you, right? I shouldn't feel this distance. The hollow pit in my chest. That makes me feel nothing when my mother shows slight affection.

It shouldn't, but it does.

"Izzie... I'm... I'm sorry," she whispers. Her voice is small, broken, almost childlike.

Part of me wants to pull away, to let her drown in the mess she created. But the bigger part, the part that has always been there, the part that recognises my mother doesn't fully understand what she's doing and that she's navigating life for the first time too, tightens around her.

I press my cheek against the top of her head. "It's okay," I murmur softly, even though it isn't okay. "Shh... It's okay."

"God, Izzie... I screwe everything up..." she whispers, voice breaking.

I hold her, letting her cry into me, though every sob stabs at my chest. Part of me aches to shake her, to scream at her for leaving us, for leaving me, for leaving Fiona and Helen, for leaving everyone to pick up the pieces.

But I don't. Because the truth is, I can't hate her right now. Not fully. Not when she's this small, this fragile, this... lost.

I stroke her hair, slow and careful, my throat burning. "You're drunk, Mam. You're tired. You'll feel better in the morning."

She shakes her head against me, a jerky little movement, her hair brushing my cheek. "No, I won't. I never do."

"Go to sleep, mam," I whisper softly.

Eventually, her breathing steadies, and the weight of her slumping harder against me. I carefully ease her down until she's lying flat, pulling the blanket over her properly this time.

I stand there for a moment, staring at her. At the woman who gave me life, who gave me siblings, who gave me everything she could...and then took most of it away again.

I leave her room, taking the half-empty wine bottle with me down to the kitchen to dump the rest of it in the sink. I watch as the contents spiral down the drain.

I'm getting tired of this shit, I really am.

As I move to get back to my room, I stop. Noticing that the dryer had stopped. I pull the blazer out, the fabric smooth under my fingers.

His blazer.

Still smelling like him even after the wash. Which is infuriating. Because how dare it?

I bury my nose in it, just for a second, just to check if it really is still there, to make sure. And I let you know it indeed is there.

Damn it.

I should fold it up. Put it in my bag. Hand it back tomorrow with a snarky comment, an insult or whatever I normally do.

But instead, I take it back to my room. I've decided I'm not going to think about it anymore. I'm just going to toss it on the chair in the corner of my room and go to bed. Forget about the stupid thing, forget about him, forget about the way my mother looked at me and clung to me.

Except... when I crawl into bed, the chair looks way too far away.

I hesitate.

Then I grab it.

"Just for tonight," I whisper to myself, even though no one's listening. Even though I know I'm lying.

Because in the end, I'll always gonna be a lying liar who lies.

I hug it, holding it against my chest, like I hugged his arm on that camping trip, like a cuddle bunny he mocked me for.

I curl up, pressing my face into the collar, breathing him in. My chest loosens just a little, enough that the knot of anger and exhaustion untangles for the first time tonight.

It's pathetic. I know it is.

But still-

I let myself snuggle deeper into the fabric. I let myself pretend, just for a moment, that I'm not alone.

And for the first time all day, maybe the first time in weeks, I drift off to sleep without feeling like I'm about to break down.

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

"How the hell is she doing this?"

"Shh, I'm trying to think this through."

"I don't think there is anything to think through, Iz. Pretty sure we already lost."

"That's not the mindset I was hoping for when I took you on my side, Enzo. What happened to we are a team?"

"We are a team. A team that's losing right now."

"Guys, you gonna make your next move or what?" Niamh says from the other side of the table, the massacre that is our chessboard mocking me in between us.

I chew on my bottom lip, staring at the chess pieces as if my sleep-deprived brain could come up with something to turn this game around.

To my surprise, it doesn't.

Instead, Enzo reaches out and moves our queen.

"You did not just do that." I put my head in my hands.

"What, why?"

Niamh's next moves, her knight takes out our queen and... "Checkmate, sorry guys." Niamh shrugs as if we aren't doing this dance since third year, I have yet to learn how victory feels.

"That's why," I say, frustrated, leaning back in my chair.

Niamh and I have a free period since our French teacher was a no-show.

Not that I'm complaining. So now we sit in an empty classroom and play chess. What more do you want in life?

Enzo is skipping PE, which, honestly, is fair.

I was a bit surprised, though, Enzo doesn't really look like the skipping type. He is a year below us, and we kind of adopted him in fourth year to our little group. He is also Charlie's cousin.

In my personal opinion, Fiadh chose the wrong Nolen as her boyfriend. But hey, not like I haven't told her that already. Enzo is a genuinely nice guy, which is rare to find in my generation... or maybe in any generation.

Enzo leaned back in his chair, too. "...I'm sorry." He says, and I know he means it.

"Don't be," I wave him off. "Not like I don't know how it feels to lose against Niamh."

Niamh smiles, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "It's not my fault you play like you're trying to write a tragic novel instead of winning a game."

"Excuse you?" I sit up straighter. "There is strategy in tragedy, thank you very much."

"Yeah," Enzo mutters under his breath, "a losing strategy."

I gasp at the two of them dramatically. But my lips twitch up into a smile anyway.

In a room full of people, neither Niamh nor Enzo really talks much. But when they're in friendly territory, their personalities really come out, and I love those moments. Knowing that they feel comfortable enough around me to just be. Warms my heart a little.

"I'll let you know that if I ever were to write a tragic novel, you two won't be mentioned in the acknowledgement. Or better, I'll make you two characters who die like the heartless beasts you are." I shoot back teasingly.

Niamh tilts her head, all innocence, but her grin is wicked. "Fine. Kill me off. I'll come back as a ghost and haunt your precious main character until she loses her mind."

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't enjoy that," I retort, smirking.

Enzo leans his chin on his hand, pretending to look thoughtful. "If she kills me off, I want something dramatic. Like... saving a baby from a burning building, or sacrificing myself to stop a meteor."

"No babies," I say, stabbing a finger for emphasis. "And meteors are tacky. If you go, go with style. Poison. Betrayal. Something Shakespearean."

"Wow." Enzo clutches his chest as if wounded. "You'd have me betrayed?"

"You're too trusting," I say with mock seriousness. "Someone's gotta teach you a lesson."

Niamh shakes her head, amused. "You're terrible."

"Terrible brilliant is the word you seek, I believe." I correct her.

Niamh rolls her eyes, but there's a smile tugging at her mouth. "You mean terribly unhinged."

"Synonyms," I shoot back instantly.

Enzo groans, resting his forehead on the table. "You two are insane."

Niamh cackles."And you are here willingly, dearest Enzo. What does that say about you?"

"That you two are like the only friends I have in this school."

"That's not true, Fiadh is you're friend too," Niamh argues.

"Fiadh is friends with everyone, and everyone is friends with Fiadh. Plus, she's my cousin's girlfriend, so it doesn't really feel like I earned that." He has a point there.

Fiadh has this... effortless social gravity. People just orbit around her without effort.

Niamh shakes her head, disagreeing. "Frenship isn't something that should be... earned."

"I mean, you wouldn't even talk a word to me if you disliked me, and Izzie would... well, she might talk, but it'd be sarcastic, cutting, definitely mean, and I'd probably deserve it," Enzo finishes, shrugging like it's no big deal.

I shouldn't be proud of that.

"But liking or disliking isn't the same as earning, right?" Niamh remarks.

I munch on my bottom lip, considering the question. "I mean... maybe? I don't know. Liking is a feeling. Earning someone... that's effort, right? So you can feel something without having to do a thing. But to... stay? That's earned." I tilt my head to Enzo, "But I don't think frenship works that way. You didn't earn to be our friend; that would imply that we have more worth than you, to decide that. Which would obviously be bullshit. We became friends because of similar hobbies, likes and humour... I mean, the only reason to earn things in a friendship is like if I do something wrong and have to earn up to it, so the friendship can continue, if that makes sense?"

"That... actually makes sense. I think. Maybe. Kinda." Enzo murmurs.

"Only you, Iz, would turn this into a whole philosophical monologue," Niamh says after a moment, a bit amused.

"You asked the question," I argue back.

"That wasn't a complaint. I love it when you go all Socrates on me." She grins, and I think she actually means that.

Whenever Niamh grins, her cheeks turn all dark pink. She blushes so easily as well. It's the first detail I noticed about her when we became friends.

"The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing." I quote in an all-knowing voice. "Or my favourite: 'There is only one good, knowledge, and one evil, ignorance.'"

"Why do you know that by heart?" She chuckles.

"Wow, I love that you guys are as uncool as me," Enzo says dryly.

I gape at him in horror. "There is nothing uncool about whisopm," I say, my voice for some unknown reason leaves my Irish accent and turns into an American one.

We burst out in laughter.

It's so much easier to pretend I'm fine when I'm with my friends.

The door flies open, and a Fiadh storms in. "There you are, you two. We have history in like 5 minutes. You're aware of that?"

I frown, then look to the clock.

Oh, shite, we do!

We scramble out of our seats, and Niamh puts her chessboard back in her bag. (And yes, she carries a chessboard with her to school for free periods like that.)

We leave the empty classroom behind, and Enzo leaves for his own next subject. Giving us a 'goodbye, see you at lunch' and Fiadh a wirly nod when she wishes him a good day. It's almost comical how he turns into this awkward, adorable person around everyone who isn't his friend.

"Is it just me, or does he totally have a thing for Niamh?" Fiadh says, turning to me as we walk down the hallway to our next destination.

I have to bite my tongue not to laugh out loud. "Just you," I answer, "You're the best Fi, but learn to read the room."

"What?" She says, confused. "Do you like him?!"

This time, I actually do snort and see Niamh do the same.

"I like him, Enzo is great," I confirm, and Fiadh's eyes basically shine. "As a friend."

She groans. "Not funny, Izzie. You know what big news that would have been. You're finally interested in... anyone romantically. That would make the rest of this school year for me. And it has only begun."

I roll my eyes. It's not like I've never been interested in anyone romantically or attracted to some. I just kept it to myself. Because I wasn't planning on doing anything about it. Besides, I always compare them to Tah-

Nope

...

Forget I said anything...

"He's not my type anyway, and I'm sure I'm not his type either." I share a knowing look with Niamh.

Enzo told us at the end of last school year that he is only attracted to men. He made us promise not to tell anyone. As if we would have ever done that. His choice to tell or not to tell people. As long as he is comfortable.

I know Fiadh wouldn't care if anyone is gay, bi or straight as long as romance is involved, she eats it up.

I doubt I would be friends with her if she didn't exapt it. I hold a small circle of friends as it is. And I don't tolerate ignorance.

"Iz, you're a total ride. Who wouldn't want that?" A man who likes dick?  "And why isn't he your type? He's sweet."

"Yeah, his too sweet."

"Oooh, I forgot our little Izzie is into bad boys." She teases.

Niamh puffs, "I hate that word."

"Second that,"

"Buhh, you guys are so boring." She whines,

"Say the girl who's been running after a boy since first year." I shoot back.

"I'm not running after him! He is my boyfriend. And I'm giving him the silent treatment right now. So if anything, he is running after me."

I look around, "I don't see him running right now. In fact, I don't see him at all."

"Oh my god, Izzie, can you once not hate on him? Because of things like that, he has an inferiority issue."

"He has a lot more issues than that," I murmur.

"You are so mean."She says, insulted.

Niamh shoots me a look, half warning, half amused, like she's silently telling me not to start.

And I try to bite my tongue, I really do, but for some reason I never can. But maybe that's just who I am, incapable of letting things go, even when my heart and my head both scream at me to shut up and move on.

This isn't about Fiadh and Charlie.

I shrug, "Well, honesty can be mean sometimes."

"No, Izzie, you're just mean." She corrects dryly.

"What did he do this time that made you give him the silent treatment again?" Niamh cuts in before this escalates, changing the topic.

Fiadh huffs, "He forgot our anniversary." Then adds, "But it's not that big a deal."

"You're giving him the silent treatment; of course, it's a big deal for you," I argue back.

"He didn't do it on purpose." She defends,

"Nobody ever forgets something on purpose, Fi. But it's important for you, so it should be important for him." I shoot back.

Fiadh sighs, flopping dramatically against the lockers. "I know, I know. I just... I don't want to be that girl who nags. Or makes a big deal out of everything."

"You're not nagging," Niamh points out, opening her locker to shove her bag in and pull out our history book. "You're setting boundaries. And making him know how it feels."

"It's okay to express that you are upset, Fiadh," I add, getting my own shite out of my locker.

Fiadh groans, burying her face in her hands. "Ugh, fine. I know you're right, guys. But it still sucks."

"Yeah, and he holds the fault for that." I remind her as we make ur way to history.

She sighs. "I hate that you can't get along with him."

"I got along with him on your birthday just fine. Name one time I said something bad about him on that camping trip. Because you can't."

Niamh snorts. "Yeah, we can't, but the only reason for that is someone who starts with T and ends with -adhg."

I shoot her a glare. "What?" They can't possibly know that I slept in his tent that night, right? I told them that I slept by the fire.

"He alone held your wrath through those two days." Fiadh agrees, "There wasn't much room for others."

Oh, that's what they mean. Our pickering.

"My wrath?" I snort, "He holds my annoyance at best. He isn't that special."

Not like I cuddled his blazer through the entire last night, special...

I shove that thought away because it never happened, and it won't happen ever again.

Matter of fact, I can't even recall what I was just thinking about.

"Besides, nobody got hurt, was pushed off a cliff, or drowned. So I believe we've got a long greatly. I mean, we're gonna paint a wall together. If that doesn't speak for true friendship, what does?"

This morning, I proposed the idea of 'painting the wall instead' to Principal Twomey. (Alone by the way, because the great Tadhg Lynch apparently couldn't bear to show his face.) Twomey agreed as long as it would happen, he didn't care what methods we'd use.

Niamh snickers. "Iz, you're being forced to paint that wall. The day you and Lynchy become friends, hell freezes over."

"He's good in bed, though, or that's at least what I heard."

Both Niamh's and my head snap to Fiadh. I'm not surprised that she knows those things with the amount of company she has in this school. But eww

I blink at Fiadh, slowly, deliberately, "What?"

For some unknown reason, it irritated me that that's like basic gossip.

She shrugs, "Apparently, he's picky too."

"Picky? What the hell does that even mean? Like... what, he grades people? Gives them a bloody rubric? 'Sorry, love, you're a six out of ten on the kinky scale, can't shag you.'" I try to mimic his voice.

Niamh snorts so hard she has to cover her mouth.

"Ohmigod, Iz, you can't say things like that." Fiadh exclaims, "But I don't know the exact details. I just hear things. People talk. You know how it is."

"Yeah, well, people also talk about aliens building the pyramids, so maybe don't believe every brainless soundbite you hear," I shoot back, but my voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.

Niamh side-eyes me while we move to our history classroom. "Why do you sound so defensive, hmm?"

"I don't," I snap instantly. Too instantly. "I sound like someone who has working brain cells, unlike half this school."

Niamh's lips twitch. She's watching me too closely. Way too closely.

"Anyway, if Lynchy is so picky, good for him. Means fewer people on earth have to suffer through his personality and annoyance." I say dropping onto a chair and getting my stuff onto the table. "And can we please stop talking about his sex life? I did not consent to this conversation."

"About whose sex life?" My head moves up to see Charlie standing there, followed by the hyperactive Sam, and the blonde guy we were just philosophising about, who, for some reason, narrows his eyes on me.

"Clearly not yours. Because yours is nonexistent right now. 'Cause you can't memorise basic dates and need gentle parenting from your girlfriend in any situation in life." I answer Charlie.

"Christ, I only ask a question." Charlie murmurs at the same time as Fiadh protests with a sharp, "Izzie!"

"What? You'd never tell him that. Someone has to." I say to Fiadh, who only groans.

"Good day to you, too, ladies," Sam says sarcastically, moving to the sets behind us, Charlie and Tadhg following.

I glance at Tadhg out of the corner of my eye; he has settled himself right behind me. He looks exhausted, more so than yesterday.

Not that I'm keeping score.

But his lips twitch up into a smirk when he catches me looking anyway, asshole. "Who pissed in your front yard today, freckles?"

I shoot him a look.

"Figuratively speaking, of course." He clarifies.

"Well, starting with you obviously."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"But I've only been here like half a minute." He says, amused.

"Exactly, I've had to pitch the idea to Twomey alone. We can paint the wall by the way, no thanks to you."

He shrugs, lazily, "I've overslept, not like you needed me anyway. Seems like it worked out just fine."

"Not the point," I mutter, "You were supposed to be there. It was our punishment, not mine."

"Aw, were you lonely without me?" he mocks, leaning back in his chair like the smug bastard he is.

Before I can say anything back, Miss Kelly steps into the class and starts her lesson.

I shoot Tadhg a last sharp glare, which he returns with a smirk, and I have the sudden need to jump off a building before I turn around to participate in the lesson.

I also let you know that I didn't care that he was sitting right behind me, and definitely didn't have a hard time concentrating because of that.

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

The paint arrived on the next Monday.

So, the whole big dramatic speech Principal Twomey gave about the wall being cleaned up in one week?

Pure, unfiltered bullshit.

Not like that surprised me. The man lost my respect sometime back in second year, when he gave out about my skirt length while a bunch of lads were literally throwing each other into the lockers across the hall. I was fourteen back then. Priorities, right? Since then, it's been all downhill.

And speaking of downhill, my mother hasn't come out of her room since the night she staggered home, drunk and sobbing into my shoulder.

Door closed, curtains shut, lights out.

I bring her tea and food; sometimes she eats it, sometimes she doesn't. I make her take her medication even though she fights me all the way.

Sometimes I hear her crying. Sometimes I hear nothing at all.

Fiona and Helen knock on her door every morning before school, like clockwork, and get nothing but silence back. I tell them that she just isn't feeling well and needs time to rest.

I cook, clean, make my sisters' lunches, sign their permission slips, tie Helen's shoelaces, and remind Fiona not to forget her flute for music practice.

Yeah. Me. Surprise, surprise.

And I do it, of course I do it, because who else will?

But I can feel the weight of it pressing on me harder than usual. Like someone's stacking bricks on my chest one by one, and it's getting harder to breathe by the second.

The only good part (if I can even call it that) is that Mam being shut away means fewer screaming matches. But even silence feels loud sometimes, y'know?

And speaking of screaming, there's the other thing that's been clawing at my brain.

The blazer.

Yes, the stupid bloody blazer.

It's still in my room. And yeah, fine, I'll admit it, I've cuddled with it every night since. Not because of him, obviously.

God, no. That would be pathetic. It's just... It's warm. And heavy. And comforting in a way my own blanket isn't.

It stopped smelling like him by night two, anyway. So it's not like it's about him.

Totally not about him.

I've also been avoiding him for days (I mean, not like I ever was willingly in his presence), but I go out of my way to not be anywhere near him, which I've never done before. And I'm well aware that it's extremely petty. But when I see him, I have to think about the fact that I'm cuddling his fucking blazer in my sleep, and I do everything in my power to suppress that thought.

But that ends today, anyway.

Because the wall won't paint itself, and Principal Twomey isn't going to magically decide this is optional. Sadly.

So here I am after a full day of school, standing in front of the wall, hair tied up in a bun, wearing an old shirt so my uniform doesn't get wrecked. The bucket of paint sits beside me, my bag slumped against the ground.

I take a breath, dip the brush, and start slapping broad, messy strokes across the graffiti. The smell is sharp, chemical. The act itself is... oddly satisfying, in a brainless kind of way.

That is, until a tall shadow falls over my shoulder.

"Good morning," he says casually.

"It's half five in the evening," I deadpan.

"Good afternoon, then." His voice is amused, too amused, as he picks up his own brush and joins in.

I roll my eyes and keep covering over the words Never trust evil pussy. Real classy, whoever wrote that one.

"You're supposed to say it back," he remarks after a beat.

"What?"

"I said good afternoon."

"Oh. Right. Good afternoon to you, too." My brain is already spinning off into what I'm going to make for dinner at home. Something Fiona will eat. Something Helen won't demand ketchup for. Something meatless because, hi, still vegetarian. Maybe pasta, but-

"I don't like it."

His voice slices through my thoughts.

I frown. "Yeah, painting walls isn't exactly thrilling."

"No." He shakes his head, eyes on me. "I mean you. Avoiding me."

I freeze for a half-second, then scoff. "I'm not avoiding you."

"Sure as shit feels like it."

"Get off your high horse, blondie."

"Is this about the blazer?"

"Oh my god." I groan.

"It doesn't have to be a thing, ya know."

"I swear to God, if you don't stop talking, I'll burn your house down."

It's meant as a meaningless threat, like the ones I've thrown at Tadhg a million times by now. It leaves my mouth without grasping the meaning behind them.

Relising kicks in a second after I said that, and I snap my head to him.

His green eyes are cold now, and my lips part to form an apology, but he's faster.

"Don't let me stop you." He says codly, and a shiver goes through my body. "At least I have a functional household now."

I take a stab back. "What?"

"The whole neighbourhood hears what a mess yours is."

My throat goes dry. "Shut up."

"Oh, now you're offended?"

"I said shut up, Tadhg." I snap. 

"What aren't you, the one who's always preaching about the truth? No matter how harsh?" He shot back.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood.

I nod, I drop my brush straight into the bucket, paint splattering onto the concrete. "Fuck this."

I go to my bag, yank his blazer out, and shove it into his chest. "I'm sorry, alright?" My voice is sharp. "I didn't mean to say that because, regardless of what you think of me, I'm not a completely heartless bitch. So I'm sorry for saying it. It slipped off my tongue. I wasn't thinking. But you're no better than me. So go fuck yourself."

Dropping the blazer in his hands, I add. "I washed it by the way, now I wish I hadn't." 

And then I'm gone, bag over my shoulder, boots smacking against the pavement.

"Izzie!" he calls after me, but I don't look back.

He can rot in hell for all I care.

I hate him.

And I hate myself for letting him affect me like this.

If anyone else had said that, I would have rolled my eyes and told them to piss off. I couldn't care less about what people think about me.

But Tadhg...

I cuddled with his blazer the whole last week, for fuck sake.

And of course, that was about him. Because he is all I ever think about.

I don't know what I was thinking or hoping to get out of it.

My boots smack against the pavement as I march away, the evening air biting at my face.

I'm not crying. I'm not.

I refuse. I'm not the crying type.

God, why does it have to be him? Why does it have to be Lynch who gets under my skin like this?

The whole world can call me a bitch, a screw-up, a mess, and I'll laugh it off. I've done it before. I can take it. I can survive it.

But that mentality flies out of the window when he is around, apparently.

And the worst part?

I know exactly why.

But I refuse to acknowledge that.

I refuse to feel that.

•| ⊱✿⊰ |•

The next day, the wall was fully painted. 

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'Something, Somehow, Someday' by ROLE MODEL

Nine// Sorry kids, Mammy and Daddy are getting a divorce

TADHG LYNCH

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🏑 ⋅.} ────── ⊰

I'm an asshole.

Not really ground-breaking news, I know.

But I've outdone myself today, apparently.

Freckles gets under my skin like nobody else. Always has. Always will, probably.

And I'm still standing here with my fucking blazer in my hands, paint on my shoes, trying to decide if I'm more pissed at her or at myself.

I'll burn your house down.

That's what she said. Like it was nothing. Like it was funny.

And I was supposed to laugh, right? That's how it's always been. Insults, jabs, sarcasm. They're supposed to slide off, never hit, never linger.

Except this one did.

Of course it did. The second it landed in my ears, I was already back in the dream I had this morning. Flames curling, smoke choking, my mother screaming, the crack of timber snapping under heat that devours everything... the fire that finally burned the hellhouse down.

I wasn't even there, I didn't see it happen, but it's in my chest anyway, clawing, screaming, echoing.

So yeah, it hit. Right in the gut. Right where I don't want anyone, especially her, to see.

And all I could think was, of course, she'd go there. Of course, she'd twist the knife.

So I twisted back.

Shot into the dark, and wouldn't you know it? Direct hit.

I don't know much about Isabell's family. Not really. Just the scraps everyone knows, the whispers, the slammed doors and muffled fights that travel across our street. But other than that, her family always looked perfect to me. Sometimes, even too perfect. I mean, that's just from the impression I have from their winter gala, Edel drags me to every year.

...Time to think of it, I don't know much about freckles at all.

Because the look she gave me when I said it-

Jesus.

Like I slapped her in the face without a warning.

I scrub a hand over my jaw, smearing paint on my cheek without meaning to. Not knowing what to do with myself.

She apologised, she was angry, sure, but she apologised like she meant it. Like she actually cared that she hurt me.

Which makes it worse, somehow.

Because I didn't even get a chance to respond, to untangle this mess, to apologise or argue or fix anything. She was gone. Out of sight. Over the hills. And all I can do is stand there with my blazer in hand, watching the distance swallow her up.

I hate that.

I hate that I'm standing here, wanting to run after her. Wanting to shout, to beg, to apologise, to ruin everything by saying too much or too little. Wanting to know why I care at all, because we're not friends, right?

We don't like each other. We don't care.

God, I'm so fucking pathetic.

I sigh, dragging the sound out like it might somehow clear the tension from my chest, but it doesn't. Nothing ever does.

So what I do instead is, I throw my blazer near my bag, dip the brush in the paint again and start slapping it on the wall. One stroke. Two strokes. A thousand strokes.

It's quiet. But the quiet... It's loud. Too loud.

I don't get her.

But do I even want to get her? Do I want to know her? Do I want to unravel-

Christ, I'm too tired for this shite.

I finish the wall and wrap up my stuff. I fish a cigarette out of my pocket.

I don't smoke often because of the whole athlete thing, and Joey would probably kick my hole.  But sometimes I just need my mind to be quiet, and that's the fastest way.

I fumble with the lighter while I make my way to my car.

I take a slow drag, letting the smoke stay in my lungs a bit longer than necessary.

And yet, she's still there.

Her button-like brown eyes. Her pouty lips she likes to chew on. The way she smiled at me when we cleaned the wall, and then the way she glared at me when we painted it.

I hate her.

No. That's a lie.

I hate that she makes me feel like this. That she twists everything inside me into knots I can't undo. That she leaves, and even when she's gone, she's there.

I don't know what this is. I don't know why it matters. I don't know how I got here. But one thing is clear: I'm not letting her walk away that easily next time.

Next time.

And there will be a next time.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

By the time I get to school, the only thing still burning is me.

A whole week has passed, and if freckles has avoided me before (which she, by the way, definitely did). She's straight-up ignoring me now.

And it drives me fucking nuts.

Her avoidance isn't subtle either. She makes sure she doesn't pass by my locker, she takes a different route to class, and she even somehow manages to sit as far from me as humanly possible in the cafeteria. It's actually impressive. I'll give her that. Strategic. Calculated. Frustrating as balls.

Because she has never done this before.

Before, we fought. Constantly. Sharp words, eye-rolls, muttered insults under our breath, sometimes louder than under our breath. We'd circle each other like wolves, always ready to bare our teeth. But it was still something.

It was alive at least.

Now? It's like I don't exist. And if there is one thing I hate than it's being ignored.

I hate it. I hate how much I hate it.

Ahhh, I'm going insane.

I'm going insane over a girl I don't even like.

I slam my locker door shut a little too hard, the clang echoing down the hall.

Charlie shoots me a look, eyebrows raised. "What the fuck did that locker ever do to ya?"

"Shut up," I snap.

He smirks, because of course he does, but at least he's an asshole who knows when to shut up. Unlike the other one.

"Mate," says Ron Weasley on crack, only proving my point. "What's got you all moody lately, Lynchy? You've been, like, extra pissy. And that's saying something, 'cause you're always pissy."

I don't even glance at him. "Want to keep your front teeth, Sullivan?"

Sam throws up his hands. "Alright, Christ, sorry for breathing, lad."

Charlie snorts. "Don't take it personal. Lynch is in one of his moods again."

"Is it that time of the month, Lnychy?" Sam mocks.

I glare at them both, but I can't even summon the energy to snap properly. The truth? I'm too wound up to focus, too tangled in my own mess to care about their bullshit commentary.

I'm also sleep-deprived as fuck. Jesus Christ.

"Shut it," I mutter, voice low. 

Charlie and Sam exchange one of their looks.

"Tadhg," Sam says, his voice dripping with fake innocence, "answer me honestly, alright? No bullshitting. Does that mood of yours have anything to do with a certain very hot, very untouchable, very freckled, curly-haired girl who is, for some reason, ignoring you?"

He throws an arm around my shoulders as we walk down the corridor, which he removes a second later because I shoot him a glare.

Freckles was labelled untouchable by the rugby team because she wouldn't date any of those fools; it was part of a whole bet last year.

Yes, the rugby team isn't what it used to be. That's for fucking sure. 

"Ever been told you have a punchable face?" I grumble.

"All the time."The bastard's grinning from ear to ear.  "Wanna hear about the touchdown I made last week?" He asks cheerfully, dropping the subject for his sake.

"No," I answer.

"Amazing, I'll tell you anyway."

Before Sam can recount his entire glorious sports career, I'm saved by Charlie, who stops walking abruptly. "Guys, she just texted me!"

"Who?"

"Fiadh, my girlfriend, who else?" Charlie shoots back.

I blink."You still haven't made up with her?"

"Jesus, you really don't keep up with our lives, do ya?" Sam pips in.

I shrug. What can I say? I've been a bit distracted by other thoughts lately. Like a very hot, very untouchable, very freckled, curly-haired girl. (Sam's words, not mine.)

"So what's she saying?" Sam asks, practically vibrating.

Charlie looks down at his phone. "That she is ready to talk things out if I am, and that she is in the art room B45."

"Art room? She does art?" Sam questions, confused.

Charlie shakes his head. "Not that I know of, but she says she's with some friends."

Friends? Could freckles be one of those friends?

"So what are we waiting for? Let's get your girl back." Sam encourages, happily, squeezing Charlie's shoulders. 

I let Sam drag me with him and Charlie. To this so-called art room B45. We have at least a good fifteen minutes before class starts. But finding that room turns out to be a more difficult task than expected.  

The art room is located in the farthest part of the school, and I genuinely don't think I've ever been here before. But yet again, this school is massive, and even though I've been here five years now, I still get lost on a regular basis.

It's quieter here. The entire back wing seems deserted, in a peaceful kind of way.

We loop around a corner, pass a few other art rooms, and finally spot a door wide open at the end of the hall. Muffled voices drift out, laughter soft and light.

Charlie clears his throat, smoothing his shirt like this is some big formal event and then strides inside.

Sam and I follow.

The room smells like paint and turpentine, sharp and clean, but with this undertone of something softer, paper, maybe. There's a scattering of canvases, easels pushed against the wall, jars of brushes half-dipped in cloudy water.

And my eyes find her first.

They always do.

Freckles is sitting on the far table, curls loose around her shoulders, tumbling down her back, arms crossed, listening to Fiadh talk. Niamh's perched nearby, and there's a boy I think is Charlie's cousin. Name's something with a D? Dasment, maybe? Dilyn?

Sam closes the door behind him and-

"Don't! The door-" Freckles snaps, eyes wide, but it's too late. The door slams into the casing with a loud, echoing click.

"What? What?" Sam asks, already panicked, staring at the -now that I'm noticing- metal door.

Freckles exhales sharply. "The latch only opens from the outside."

"What?!" Charlie exclaims, echoing everyone's panic.

"The door only opens from the outside," she repeats, slower this time. "This room used to be a panic room back in the eighties." She explains wanting to rub her eyes, but then thinks better of it.

Sam's face goes white. "You're joking. You're fucking joking." He tugs at the handle, shoves it, pulls again. Nothing. The door doesn't budge.

"Why would I be joking about that?" She deadpans.

Now Charlie joins in the useless door struggle, and the two of them look like idiots trying to pull a mountain open.

"So, let's just call someone, right?" I say, because that seems like the only logical option.

Fiadh shakes her head. "No signal in here. There's a reason this is Izzie's hideout."

Freckles glares at her for that.

Her hideout?

Like she needs one. Like she has things she's hiding from.

Like she's not already lodged under every part of my fucking skin.

Sam throws his arms up. "Hideout? Who the fuck has a hideout? And why not tell us not to close the door?"

Freckles narrows her eyes at him. "Because first of all, I mostly come here alone, so why tell anyone? Secondly, there is a big red sign in front of the door that says do not close the door!"

There is?

"So I don't know how much more obvious you need it, Sullivan? But it's not hard to read a sign, is it? Why are you even here?" She says, gesturing to Sam and Charlie.

Even in this situation, she's ignoring me, seriously? This is getting childish fast.

"I texted Char to come and talk it out with me. I didn't know he would bring them." Fiadh speaks up.

Freckles shoots her a look. "You've got to be kidding me," she mutters.

"You texted that you have friends with you, so it's only fair that I have mine too." Charlie defends himself.

Fiadh huffs, and freckles pinches the bridge of her nose like she's seconds away from a migraine.

Meanwhile, Sam's pacing like a caged animal. "We're actually stuck. Like, properly stuck. No signal. No windows. Fuck, we're going to starve in here."

"It's been two minutes, Sam," I say, shaking my head. "You'll live."

"Yeah, maybe until lunch break," he mutters dramatically, collapsing into a chair like he's on death row.

"But seriously? What are we gonna do? I don't want to be made responsible for this." Dasment or Dilyn or whatever the lad's name is murmurs.

Out of all of us, he looks the most frightened, making himself smaller, behind his big glasses, than he is.

"Relax, Enzo, nobody's gonna make you responsible for this. Nobody, in fact, is responsible for this. It's an accident, accidents happen." Freckles reasuere, her voice soft.

Enzo.

Of course. First of all, I was so far off with Dilyn. Secondly, who the fuck is this guy to get her comfort?

My jaw tightens, and I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. It's not jealousy. No. I'm not... It's just, she shouldn't be soothing him like that. I never saw freckles comfort anyone, and it annoys me that it's this boy and not... I don't know.

Like I said, I'm going insane.

"Besides, we won't spend more than a day in here." She continues, and she actually puts her hand on his arm. His fucking arm.

"How would you know that? Isabell." Charlie asks roughly.

"Logic, Charles," She shoots back. "You know the thing you do with your brain. Teachers can't ignore that seven students are missing unexcused; they'll call our parents and will look for us. If that won't do it, the cleaning staff will find us at the end of the day."

Sam groans. "End of the day? You're saying we could be stuck in here for, like, six bloody hours?"

"Yes, Sam. Six hours of your whining. Tragic," I say flatly.

He glares at me. "What, and you're fine with this? With being locked in a literal panic room? What if the air runs out?"

I blink at him. "... I don't even have words for that?"

"People die in tight spaces, Lynchy!"

"For fuck's sake," I mutter, "someone please tell this fucker that's not how it works."

Charlie sighs like he's aged ten years. He sits down on a stool near Fiadh, who won't quite look at him but also doesn't tell him to piss off, which is progress, I guess.

Fiadh groans, like she is used to Sam's behaviour, which she probably is. "Sam, it's a classroom. It's got vents. You're not gonna suffocate."

"How do you know?" he demands.

"Because if people could suffocate in here, they wouldn't let students use it as a bloody art room."

Freckles, bored, says, "It's not officially an art room. More like... a converted storage space for art."

Still sitting at the table, legs crossed and leaning back, her hands supporting her weight. Not touching Enzo anymore, thank God, who now has some colour back in his face.

Sam's eyes widen again, and I swear if he starts hyperventilating, I'll throttle him. "So we could die?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "For fuck's sake why would you tell him that?"

"What? People do paint in here, and it does, in fact, have vents, so air is not a problem." Freckles says, like it's obvious, her eyes snapping, to mine. And for the first time in a week, those brown eyes land on me and stay there.

I try my best not to stumble where I stand.

"Oh, so she can look at me?" I say flat, taunting.

"Oh my god." She lets out, annoyed. "What are you even one about, Lynch?"

"What am I on about?" I repeat, voice a little harsher than intended. "Oh, I don't know, maybe you're pretending that I don't exist for the last two weeks straight?"

She tilts her head, narrow eyes screaming really? here?

Yes. Fucking here.

"Don't flatter yourself, blondie. I just have better shit to do than argue with you all the time."  She snaps back.

"You literally made us take a different route to English yesterday," Fiadh points out.

Freckles glares daggers at her.

I lean against the wall, smug. "So I was right."

To which freckles just rolls her eyes. "It's not like that. The world doesn't revolve around you, Lynch."

"Well, yours apparently does, Donnelly." I point out with sharp words.

She lets out a dry laugh. "Says the one who's been acting like he's obsessed with me."

It's my time to let out a dry laugh. "Me obsessed with you?!"

"Guys," Sam says from his chair, "mommy and daddy are fighting again. Everyone, grab your blankets and headphones." Sam jokes, seeming to have calmed down. Enjoying the show like the rest of them.

"Shut up." Freckles and I snap at the same time, then glare at each other again.

We stare, and for a second, the words hang between us like smoke. Sharp, sticky, impossible to ignore. The room feels smaller, tighter, hotter.

"I don't know how to say this," Sam pipes up again, "but I think mommy and daddy are getting a divorce."

"I swear to god, Samuel, if you call me mommy again, I'm gonna gut you." Freckles warns, breaking eye contact first.

"Hey, what's with all the death threats today?" Sam protests.

"I didn't death-threaten you," I mutter.

"You threatened to punch my teeth out."

"Yeah," I shrug, not seeing anything wrong with that. "No death inclidest."

Sam smirks. "A threat's a threat." Then, grinning at Freckles, "Besides, you're not mommy, he is." He nods at me. "Your daddy."

"The fuck?" I say, confused.

Freckles pauses, then nods. "I'm oddly okay with that. Being a dad is so much easier. I can just go grab some milk or something."

I gape at her. "You'd just leave me alone with all of this?", gesturing around our group.

She shrugs unbothered, "Well, your fault for getting knocked up by me so often." She says sarcastically, keeping a straight face.

"What?! I'll have you know it takes two to make a child!" I find myself arguing, god knows why.

Fiadh sighs loudly, "I never know if you guys get along or not, and it's so confusing."

Freckles snorts softly, brushing a curl behind her ear. "Depends on your definition of 'get along,' Fiadh."

"Depends on who's asking," I mutter under my breath, and she glances at me, eyebrow raised.

I shrug. "Just saying."

And with that, the subject was dropped. Because neither of us wants to talk about what happened at the wall, the ignoring or the apology I still have to make, in front of the whole group, while locked up in a former panic room. Well, at least I didn't.

First hour.

I'll spare you the details because that was suffering on another level. Fiadh and Charlie 'talked it out,' if you can call it that. It was mostly Fiadh speaking in essays, Charlie nodding, occasionally opening his mouth just to upset her again and backtracking to apologise.

And I'd never wanted to scratch my ears out more than in that hour. And I've listened to Gibsie, that fat motherfucker, explaining the difference between glaze and fondant.

Now Fiadh's back in his lap, giggling like nothing ever happened.

I never remotely tried to understand either of them.

Second hour.

Boredom sets in quickly. We have eaten all the snacks we had, which included a packet of crisps. Freckles had Rolos with her and even shared them with me.

We take turns playing chess because Niamh has a chessboard with her for some reason.

Later on, we find a card game I'm pretty sure is not played the way we played it.

"Intelligence 7, Coelophysis bitch." Sam throws his card down.

I throw my card down too because my Stegosaurus only had a one. The other ones do too.

"You know that dinosaurs actually didn't look like that, because-" Freckles starts.

"They most likely had feathers and fur. Also, more mussels and stuff." continue, muttering.

Fereckles narrows her eyes from the other side of the table at me. "And how would you know that?"

"I have a brother who's obsessed with dinosaurs."

"No, I have a sister who's obsessed with dinosaurs."

We glare at each other for a moment. And I'm sure Sean knows more than her sister, I just can't prove it yet.

Fiadh clears her throat. "It's a common topic to obsess over as a child." She says slowly. "What is going on with you two. You've been acting so weird lately."

"Ask freckles," I say at the same time Izzie says.

"Ask blondie."

Third hour.

Time becomes something thick and stupid, like honey that won't drip off the spoon.

We've done everything. Cards. Chess. Watching Sam pretend to die of starvation (twice). I even counted the ceiling tiles. Eighty-two. One's cracked.

And now, for reasons unknown to humanity, we're talking about Romeo and Juliet.

It started because Niamh found her copy of it in her bag. Apparently, we're reading it in English class right now.

"I think it's romantic," Fiadh says, still in Charlie's lap.

"Yeah, suicide, real romantic," I say dryly, still staring at the ceiling. That's literally all I know about that book.

Fiadh huffs, "Not like that. I mean, because they can't live without each other."

"They knew each other for like a week and died over a minor miscommunication. They were already suicidal and just needed an excuse." Freckles murmurs flatly, not looking up from her little sketchbook.

"They were star-crossed lovers." Fiadhg tries to defend.

I snort. "Yeah, okay. Star-crossed lovers, sure. But let's be real, they're morons. Absolute morons."

Freckles finally looks up from her sketchbook. Her brown eyes catch mine for a split second, sharp and calculating. "And what would you know about romance, Lynch?"

I glance at her, tilt my head. "Enough to know that people who throw themselves off balconies after a week are not my role models."

She snorts, "Want to make it even more obvious that you didn't read the book, blondie?" She taunts.

I shrug, leaning back against the table, letting my fingers drum the wood. "Look, I know tragedy when I see it. I don't need a Bard to point it out."

"You guys sound like people who've never been in love before." Fiadh points out. "If you'd had you'd get it." Emphasise that with cuddling into Charlie.

I suppress an eye roll. "If suicide comes with love, I might have to overthink it."

"Ohmigod, Tadhg, you can't say that," Fiadh says, horrified, but I'm too busy watching freckles.

Because she lets out a soft laugh, not mocking, just... amused. My stomach does something unpleasant. And I have to dart my eyes away before someone notices.

Damn it.

Fourth hour.

We're all losing our minds. Slowly but surely.

Freckles and I aren't talking again. Sam's still trying to start drama. Charlie and Fiadh have entered their "we're so in love" era again, which makes me want to claw my eyes out. Enzo's reading Romeo and Juliet, and Niamh is playing chess with herself; I do believe she's winning.

"Guys," Niamh says finally, turning around. "What if no one finds us?"

"Don't," Enzo says immediately. "Don't even joke."

"I really need to pee." Sam murmurs.

"I'm not joking," she says seriously. "It's been hours."

Freckles sighs, setting down her pencil. "They'll find us. I promise."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I just want her to look at me again.

And she does. Her eyes lock on mine, steady and warm. "Because," she says quietly, "someone always does. It's just a matter of time."

"I'm so hungryyy," Charlie grumbles. "Who'll sacrifice himself for the other so we can survive?" 

"We're not gonna eat each other." Fiadh lectures at the same time freckles says. "I vote for Tadhg."

I flash her a smirk. "'Know you'd want a piece of me, freckles."

Her eyes narrow, and she throws her pencil at me.

I duck, laughing under my breath, careful not to let it show too much, "Just stating facts."

But before freckles can snap back, Sam says aloud. "I really fucking need to pee, guys."

"Yeah? Maybe you shouldn't have had three cans of Coke before school even started." Charlie points out.

"How should I've known that we'd be stuck in a fucking art-panic room!?"He counters, standing up. "I'm gonna pee in the sink."

"Don't you fucking dare, asshole."  Charlie rores, while covering his girlfriend's eyes.

We all avert our eyes from Sam as quickly as possible.

"Eww." Niamh just says and covers her ears. We others follow her example.

Fifth and sixth hour.

I slept those two hours, actually, through.

Which is unexpected but welcomed nonetheless.

But when I wake up, everyone stands in front of me, Sam with a marker in hand, and I know for sure that fucker drew on my face.

Freckles just pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of me, looking way too pleased with herself.

"Seriously?" I groan, sitting up fully. "Seriously, you little-"

"Oh my god, Tadhg," she laughs, quiet, amused, just... happy. The sound makes my chest tighten once again. "You look ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."

I want to punch him. Sam. I want to punch him so badly, but I can't stop looking at freckles. She's still holding the phone, smirking, and for some ungodly reason, it makes me feel... alive?

"Don't you dare laugh," I growl, because apparently that's my default response to being humiliated, and also because I can't look at her too long without losing control of my own face.

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you," she says softly, voice low, mocking. "I'm laughing with you."

Charlis's cousin gives me a tissue to get the marker off my face. "I tried to stop them." He admits.

At least one person is on my side here. Then I remember freckles' hands on his arm, and I immediately take that statement back.

Still, I grumble a small thank you and take the goddamn thing to get the shite off my face.

Seventh hour.

I've just about scrubbed the last smudge off when there's a knock on the door.

At first, I think, I imagined it. I'm that far gone.

Then it happens again. A real knock.

Everyone freezes.

No one breathes.

Then Sam whispers, "Did anyone else hear that, or am I finally hallucinating?"

Fiadh practically launches off Charlie's lap. "HELLO?!" she yells, sprinting toward the door like a woman gone mad. "WE'RE STUCK IN HERE!"

There's some muffled talking on the other side, something about janitors and keys and "how long have you been in there?"

"Seven fucking hours!" Sam shrieks. "I'VE PEED IN THE SINK!"

Freckles groans, dragging a hand down her face. "Please, stop talking."

I'm already standing, arms crossed, because finally, finally, we're getting out of this godforsaken box.

A metallic scrape, a click, and the door swings open with the kind of dramatic slowness that would've been funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

The janitor, a short, grey-haired man who's seen way too much, looks at us like we're a pack of escaped lunatics. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the donkey. What were ye doing in there?"

"Group therapy," I mutter.

Freckles elbows me hard in the ribs before smiling sweetly at him. "It was an accident. The latch closed from the outside."

He squints. "There's a sign on the door."

Sam groans. "Don't start..."

"You all aren't by any chance the students the whole school is looking for?" The janitor's eyebrow lifts so high it nearly disappears into his nonexistent hairline. "Whole school's been up in arms for hours," he says, stepping back to let us out. "Teachers running around like headless chickens, the principal's losing his marbles, a blonde woman is screaming down his whole office demanding where her son is."

"Yeah, that's...em that's probably mine," I nod, not a bit surprised that Edel would react that way.

Charlie just laughs weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, thanks for the rescue, Mr Byrne. You're a lifesaver."

"Wouldn't go that far," the janitor mutters, waving a hand. "Get out before I change my mind and lock ye back in."

We spill out into the corridor like prisoners blinking in the sunlight after years underground.

Sam stretches his arms dramatically, falling onto his knees. "Freedom! Sweet, sweet freedom!"

"Get up, you big eejit," Charlie grumbles, pulling him up by his collar.

"Most of you're parents are down at the office, make sure ya give them a big hug. They've been worried sick." He shuffles off muttering something about retirement.

We don't even have a second to take our new freedom before our history teacher, Miss Kelly, storms into the hallway, immediately spotting us.

"There you are!" she cries, hand clutching her chest. "The seven missing students! Do you have any idea the chaos you've caused?"

"We didn't exactly plan it," Fiadh says, lifting her hands. "The door-"

"Locked from the outside," Freckles finishes smoothly.

Miss Kelly squints at her. "You lot were in the old panic room?"

Sam nods gravely. "Yes, ma'am. Trapped. Starving. Suffering. I-"

"Don't," Freckles warns. "Just don't."

"I peed in the sink," he finishes anyway.

Miss Kelly makes a strangled noise, somewhere between horror and disbelief. "Mr Sullivan-!"

"Technically," Charlie cuts in, trying to save him, "that was a survival tactic."

"Technically," Freckles mutters under her breath, "I'll be moving schools."

My lips twitch up.

Miss Kelly exhales like she's seconds from resigning on the spot. "Off to Principal Twomey's office. Now."

Oh boy. Here we go.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

I hear Edel before I see her. "No!" she snaps, most likely at Twomey. "You people lost seven children! Seven!"

"THERE THEY ARE!" A woman, I think, who's Charlie's mother, cries out when she spots us.

Running to her son, the other parents follow fast.

Edel storms up to me.

"Tadhg Anthony Lynch!"

I freeze. Full name. Never good.

She's marching toward me, heels clacking, blond hair immaculate, fury radiating like a solar flare. "Seven hours? SEVEN HOURS? Where in God's name were you?"

"I didn't exactly plan to get locked in a panic room." I try to defend.

Her eyes narrow. "Panic room? Panic room? You got yourself locked in the bloody panic room? Do you have any idea what you've put me through? I called the Gardaí!"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Dellie," I start, but she's already hugging me, hard enough to crack ribs.

"Don't 'Dellie' me," she snaps. "Do you know what it's like hearing from the school that your son's missing? Seven missing children! I nearly had a heart attack. I thought-" She cuts herself off, inhaling sharply. "I thought something happened to you."

That knocks the wind out of me a little. For two reasons, first because it falls off her lips so easily, my son, I know Edel sees me as hers, and of course, I see her as a mother figure, too.

But she's not my mother, and sometimes that hurts even more.

And second, because I made her worry, and I hate seeing her worry.

So I hug her back. "I'm grand, Dellie, promise."

Her eyes soften for the briefest moment, scanning my face as if trying to read every unspoken word. Then she shakes her head, letting go of me and muttering, relieved. "You're unbelievable, Tadhg. Unbelievable."

I can't help the small smirk that creeps onto my face.

Behind me, the rest of the group is slowly getting sorted by their parents as well. Fiadh's parents are bossily fussing over snacks and questioning what sort of 'hideout' the school has. Charlie's ma is giving him the death glare of a thousand suns, while Charlie's too busy grinning sheepishly to care. Enzo's parents pat his arm and talk to him at the same time. Sam's mam is muttering something about "never trusting children again," and Niamh's pa hasn't let go of a tight embrace.

And then there's freckles...? I have to look around to find her.

She's standing just a step away from the crowd, hands tucked into the pockets of her blazer. I catch her eyes on me for a brief, sharp moment before she looks away. Has she been watching me the whole time?

I frown, because I know that look she gave me, that wanting, almost sad look. I just couldn't place it where from.

Her ma isn't here, nor is her pa. Actually, I have never seen her father. Does she even have one? I feel like that's a detail I should know about Izzie.

But before I can say or do anything, we are all trailing into Twomey's office.

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

After a whole hour of explaining, arguing, and Edel threatening to call John and fight this out in court, we are all finally excused to go home, no consequences, and a formal apology from Twomey, might I add.

We all walked to the parking lot together. Parents chatting, Fiadh glued to Charlie's arm, Sam taking Enzo's ear off.

And my eyes couldn't stop moving towards freckels, who's been quiet.

Too quiet.

"So..." I start, because quiet drives me mad. Especially her's. "You gonna tell me why you were hiding in a panic room?"

"Mh?" Her head snaps up to me from her phone, then answers anyway. "Former panic room." She corrects. "And I wasn't hiding. It's just quiet there. Peaceful."

"Yeah, peaceful until someone closes the door."

She gives a small huff, soft but real. "I wasn't expecting an entire rescue mission."

"Neither was I," I say, then add. "Sam peed in the sink."

A small laugh, "Yeah," she says, wrinkling her nose in disgust, "I noticed."

My lips twitch up too.

There's a pause. She looks at me then, really looks at me, and for a moment, it's like everything stops. The air. The hum of cars. The noise in my own damn head.

She opens her mouth to say something, but Edel cuts her off. "Izzie! How have you been, love?"

We both snap our heads to Dellie, like where just been caught in something we shouldn't be doing. I notice that the others have already left, so it's only us three.

Lovely.

Edel pulls freckles into an embrace, and the sheer shock on Izzie's face is priceless. "Em I've, I've been good."

Edel hugs her like she's known her for years, which, to be fair, she kind of has.

Izzie stands there stiff as a board, blinking at Dellie like she doesn't know what to do with her arms. It's almost funny. Almost.

"Sweetheart," Edel says, holding her at arm's length to look at her properly. "You've gotten taller. Or maybe I've gotten shorter."

There's a soft, nervous laugh from freckles. "I... doubt that." Edel still has three good feet on freckles.

Edel beams at her like she's sunlight. "Are you taking the bus home, pet?"

"Uh... yeah. I was just gonna-"

"No, no. Not a chance." Edel waves a hand like that's the silliest idea she's ever heard. "Tadhg can take you. I don't want you walking around alone at this hour."

Izzie blinks again, caught off guard, taking a quick look at me, then back to Edel. "Em... I'm fine, no worries. I actually like taking the bus... It's nice. And I'm sure Tadhg doesn't really want to- "

"Sure, no problem," I say, because that's a good opportunity to finally have her alone.

"See, he-" She pauses, then snaps her head to me. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," I say, a little too casually. "No problem. We live on the same street anyway, right?"

Freckles' eyes widen just enough to betray how thrown off she is. "No problem?" she echoes, like she's waiting for me to laugh and say just kidding.

"Brilliant. Sorted so." Edel smiles.

"Wait, no, hold on a sec," Izzie stammers, turning back to Edel like she might still have a chance at escape. "It's really fine. I like the bus. I have... a system?"

Edel just laughs. "Ah, don't be daft. It's not up for discussion, love. I'll sleep better knowing you're not out there on your own."

Izzie presses her lips together, shoulders stiff. She knows there's no winning against Edel when she decides something. No one does.

I tilt my head slightly, enjoying this more than I probably should. "Looks like you're stuck with me, freckles."

She shoots me a look that could peel paint off a wall. "Lucky me."

My lips form into a smirk. "Damn right."

Edel claps her hands once, satisfied. "Good. Then that's settled. I'll see you at home, Tadhg. Don't drive like a maniac."

"I never drive like a maniac," I say, but she's already waving me off like she doesn't believe a single word.

She leaves before I can defend myself, heels clicking against the pavement, the sound fading with the soft slam of her car door.

And then it's just me and freckles.

Well. Shite.

For a second, neither of us moves.

She's hugging her arms around herself, hair falling forward like she's trying to build a wall between us. I shove my hands into my pockets, leaning my weight onto one foot, trying to look more relaxed than I feel.

"You don't have to," she says finally, voice quieter now.

I shrug. "Dellie's already decided. I value my life too much to argue with her."

That earns me the smallest twitch of her mouth. Barely there. But it's something.

"Come on, freckles." I jerk my chin toward the car. "Unless you wanna camp here all night."

She hesitates as if to consider it. But then she walks past me, chin high, like she's pretending I don't have any kind of effect on her. Like she hasn't spent the last week avoiding me.

But I see the way she fiddles with the ends of her skirt as she walks.

I unlock the car and drop into the driver's seat. I watch as she slides into the passenger seat.

She tucks her legs in slightly, fingers fidgeting with the seatbelt strap. Her hair falls over her shoulder, curls catching the last bit of late afternoon light through the windshield. She looks around, and I'm suddenly really grateful I cleaned the car last week.

"You're always this talkative?" I finally say.

My fingers drum on the steering wheel as I pull out of the school parking lot. The streetlights are flickering on one by one, the October air already turning sharp with that late-autumn bite.

"I just spent seven hours locked in a room with you," she mutters. "You'll survive a few minutes of quiet, blondie."

There it is. That sharp edge of hers. The one that somehow makes my chest feel like it's being poked with something hot and stupid.

I think if I weren't this fucked up and rotten inside, I would want someone who gives me as good as I give, who has this lazy confidence, who's too intelligent for her own good, who can banter for hours on end, who calls me out on my bullshit and doesn't let it slide, who challenges me all the way. I would go for someone like freckles.

"Fair enough," I say, but my mouth twitches upward anyway.

She settles in, making herself comfortable. "I like it," she decides. "The car, I mean."

"Yeah?" I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

She nods once. "Yeah. It's... not like the copy everyone in our neighbourhood has, holds character."

I glance over at her, smirking. "Not everyone appreciates a classic."

She quirks an eyebrow. "A... classic?"

"Yeah," I say, turning slightly so she can see the dashboard. "Volvo 240. Solid '80s Swedish engineering. You won't find this in any flashy new model. My brother and I spent ages working on it, engine tuning, suspension tweaks, replaced the fuel lines, rebuilt the brakes..."

She just nods.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do ya?" I ask, amused.

Her nod turns into a shake of her head. "Absolutely none. I couldn't care less about cars if I wanted to. I don't even have a license."

"Why not?"

"Would crash a car into a tree in the first second." She says with no doubt.

"I don't believe that," I say, glancing at her. She's watching the blur of streetlights slide past, the fading sun catching on her freckles, making them look like someone took a paintbrush and dotted gold across her skin.

She huffs, quiet but real. "Then you'd be the only one."

"Not a bad title," I mutter.

She goes quiet for a second after that, but not the sharp kind of quiet we've had between us lately. This one is... softer. Thicker. Like the air between us is filled with something I can't name, and I don't really want to.

"You're gonna address the elephant in the room, or should I?" She then says Suddenly.

I sigh, I kinda was trying to ignore that for as long as possible. But we do have to talk about what we said at the wall.

"I've already apologised. But I don't quite think it counts." She says, looking down at her lap, chewing her lip. "It was a shity thing to say and a low blow even for me."

Her voice is quiet, but not weak. Never weak. Just steady. Careful. Like every word is being weighed before it leaves her mouth.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, staring straight ahead. I'm not good at this. Talking. Feelings. Apologies. Especially not when it's her.

"I didn't know..." she starts, then cuts herself off, chewing her lip again. "About... the fire. I mean, I know something happened. People talk. But I didn't know it was like that."

"It's not something I hand out on leaflets, freckles," I say quietly.

"I know," she whispers. "Still."

Then she looks at me. "I'm sorry," Not defensive. Not sharp. Just honest.

I exhale through my nose, then glance over at her. "Yeah. Me too."

For the first time in weeks, she actually looks at me. Really looks.

The kind of look that makes my chest feel too small and too big all at once.

"I don't know shit about your family, like you said, people talk. But I had no right to say shit like that."

"What, exactly, do they 'talk'?" she asks slyly.

I shrug, "You know, arguments and some fights with your ma and stepfather."

"Oh... yeah, stepfather. Yeah em he's a bit of a complicated person." She mutters, and alarm bells go off in my head. Cause she's not sounding really convincing right now.

"Complicated...?" I ask slowly.

"Well, so is my mother. They are kind of perfect for each other," then adds quickly, "I mean complicated in the sense of a bit of arguments here and there. And a bit of passive aggressiveness, but that's about it."

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, not quite buying the way she says it.

A bit of arguments. A bit of passive aggressiveness. That's the kind of thing people say when it's a lot more than just 'a bit'. And I should know.

"Uh-huh," I say slowly.

"Don't give me that look." She says, defensively.

"What look?"

"The one that says you don't believe a single word I just said."

I huff out a breath because she's not wrong. "Maybe because you sound like someone reading from a very bad script."

"You know what's also a very bad script, Tadhg? Being locked up in a panic room for seven hours straight. And yet it happened. Not every family is perfect; we all have our problems. So what's the issue?" She shoots back, too defensive, too sharp.

I take a slow breath, letting the hum of the engine fill the silence for a second. "Nothing," I say, dropping the issue. Because I don't know nearly enough about her family or her.

And if she says it's nothing, that, sure, let's believe that... for now.

"So we're good?" She asks after a moment.

I shoot her a look, and she rolls her eyes.

"As good as we can be?" She rephrases.

"As good as we can be," I echo, letting my voice drop low. "For now."

"For now?" she huffs. "'That a threat, blondie?'"

I glance at her, a smirk teasing the corner of my mouth. "Depends. Take it as a promise, or a threat. Your call."

She lets out a small laugh, "How very generous of you." She says, sarcastically.

And just like that, the whole weight from the last two weeks has lifted, and we're back to normal.

Well, our normal.

I find myself matching her smile when I pull up in her driveway.

The street is quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of gravel under the tyres. I cut the engine and lean back for a second, just watching her through the windshield. She's fiddling with her seatbelt, shoulders still stiff, but there's something lighter in her posture now. Something like she's finally allowed herself to breathe a little.

I reach over and unlock the door for her. She glances at me, one eyebrow raised like she's ready to argue, but doesn't. She just opens it and steps out, her curls bouncing with the motion.

"Thanks for the ride," she says softly, leaning halfway still in the car.

It's so stupidly simple that it shouldn't hit as hard as it does. But it does.

I nod, keeping my voice steady. "Anytime, freckles."

She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curve up. "Don't push your luck, blondie."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say, even though we both know I would.

"Have a horrible night." She tells me almost in a teasing way.

"Of course I will, I don't even have a cuddle bunny."

She lets out a very long sigh. "You know, I'm just gonna decide that you didn't say that. And that the whole cuddle bunny thing never happened. So, night."

I chuckle when she closes the door, making her way to her house.

I pull down my window and call out her name.

She turns around.

"I'll be seeing ya."

She just flips me off, but I can see the grin on her face.

And I fucking love it.

This girl is something else.

I only start the engine again when she is fully disapirt in to her house.

I have the feeling this school year will be a hell of a lot different, and I could feel the anticipation bubble up in my chest.

I pull away, the engine humming low, and for the first time in weeks, the tight knot in my chest loosens. Somehow, I know this isn't the end, it's just the beginning. And for once, I don't mind the chaos that comes with her.

Because hell, calm's never been my thing anyway.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter Text

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'Mama's Boy by Dominic Fike

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Ten// I just need a minute

ISABELL DONNELLY

⊱ ────── {.⋅🎨⋅.} ────── ⊰

I'm not sure what's worse, the quiet of this house when it's too still,

or the noise in my own head when it isn't.

Silence in this place doesn't feel peaceful. It never has.

It's heavy. It presses against the walls, fills the cracks in the floorboards, slides under the door like smoke. It's the kind of quiet that makes you hold your breath without realising it. The kind that makes every little sound feel too loud, too violent.

The kind of quiet before a storm.

When I came home, my mother actually managed to get out of her bed.

I've texted her, called even. To come pick me up. Thinking that perhaps she would care enough about me to be even slightly worried that her daughter was missing.

...but of course, she wasn't. She didn't even pick up.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Even when I was still a kid, she couldn't find the energy to care.

I like to pretend that it didn't hurt seeing all the parents rush to my classmates.

...but it did.

Of course, it did.

The worst part is how familiar that sting is. I've worn it so many times it's practically stitched into my skin, this quiet, invisible ache that no one ever seems to notice.

They don't see the way my throat tightens when I watch other kids get pulled into arms that are steady and safe and there. They don't see the way I swallow it down, every single time, like it's nothing.

I've become so good at pretending that it feels like muscle memory now. Smile. Shrug. Make a joke. Let them think you don't need anyone. Let them believe it's your choice.

I don't remember a time when it wasn't like that.

I don't remember much of my childhood, but the parts I do... I was alone. Playing alone. Sitting alone. Reading alone.

Tara was fighting with our mam constantly and had to take care of the babies, who were Fiona and Helen back then. Betty, my other older sister, my mam's favourite, needed all the attention she could get. So there wasn't much space left for me.

I tried not to be a burden. Tried to help out where I could. Tara always called me an angel because I was easy to deal with and mature for my young age.

I tried to be the perfect daughter. Getting good grades, winning spelling contests, and volunteering for every little thing. Hoping that my mother would finally notice me. But for some reason, she hates me out of all her daughters the most.

And after that didn't work, I turned it around. Getting into trouble, arguing back, speaking my mind. Because then my mother had to notice me. Even if it was only to scold me. Even if it was only to glare or hit me. Even if it was only to sigh and mutter my name under her breath, dragging it out like it tasted bitter. Anything.

Attention was attention, and at least it proved I existed.

But it never felt like enough. Never the kind of enough that filled the emptiness in my chest. Never the kind of enough that made me feel safe, or seen, or wanted. Just... noticed. And noticed was never the same as loved. Not really.

So I learned how to stand up for myself, knowing no one else would. I started to talk back to my bullies in primary school. Started to stand up for others, too. Knowing how it feels to be on your own. Even used violence once or twice to get my point across.

My dad wasn't a big help either, falling into drug abuse when I was only little. I knew he was struggling, but I couldn't do anything. I was only ten, what could I have done?

He wasn't there. Not really. Not mentally. And when he was, it was half a dad at best, laughing too loud, yelling too sharply, leaving me wondering which version I'd get when I walked through the door of his house.

His house...

Don't have good memories of that either.

I learned early that I couldn't rely on anyone. Not on my parents, not on friends, not even on the people who promised they'd be there. People leave, people forget, people disappoint. That's the rule of life.

Now I'm staring at the ceiling of my room. Having Helen tucked under my right arm and Fiona on my left, I can hear them quietly snoring and murmuring in their sleep.

Our mother told them, for god knows why, that I left them. Not picking up my calls but telling lies.

Like I would ever leave them. I'd rather cut my hand off.

No, forget that; I'd rather bomb this whole town. Then leave them. I'll make sure they know that for their rest of their lives.

I should sleep. I know I should. But my mind keeps wandering to him.

I shouldn't be thinking about his stupid smirk.

Or the way his voice dropped when he said I'll be seeing ya.

Or the way my chest betrayed me, fluttering, screaming to go back even as I walked into my house.

I know it's stupid.

I've spent years perfecting the art of not giving a damn about him. Of rolling my eyes, sharpening my tongue, and keeping him at arm's length where he belongs.

And yet...

Here I am. Thinking about him anyway. Thinking about the way his eyes seem to read me, like he knows there's more under my skin than even I want to admit. The way he moves, the careless confidence that somehow gets under my defences. The stupid, infuriating way I want to see him again.

All of him.

Wanting to know what goes on in his head, what he's like when no one is watching. The quiet moments he doesn't show anyone. The part of him that isn't loud or sarcastic or infuriatingly confident.

And it terrifies me. Because I know the second I let myself care, really care, I'll be standing at the edge of a cliff I can't climb back from.

But I can't help but replay the whole car ride in my head like a broken record. Every word, every glance, every stupid, infuriating little smirk he gave me. The way he was suspicious of my lie about my family. Looked right through it.

I guess it makes sense with his background. But the things I heard about it were much worse than the things I have to live with.

Sure, I lied about my mam and stepfather fighting because my stepfather is more often away than he's there. And that the fights are mostly just with my mam and me.

But it's none of his business.

I am none of his business.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to push the thought away, the thought of him. But I don't succeed.

So, I give myself another minute to think about this boy.

Only a minute, and then I'll go to sleep and forget this whole day.

Just one more minute.

One more minute off him.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'Gilded Lily' by Cults

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Ten// I just need a second

TADHG LYNCH

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🏑 ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"I'll sleep with you."

For fuck sake.

"I'm just saying, if it's getting so bad, I can sleep with you."

I huff and pull my sweater over my head. "You're not sleeping with me."

"Why not? If it helps you."

"I'm not letting you anywhere near me, Owen."

Owen, who's putting on his jeans, rolls his eyes. "Pull your head out of the gutter, Tadhg. You're not my type, you know that." He says, shoving his hurley into his gear bag. Then adds as if it wasn't clear, "I mean in the sense of being in he room with ya, asshole."

I snort and have to blink a couple of times to see the changing room clearly. "I'm grand."

"Yeah, because falling asleep the moment you stop moving screams grand," Owen says, slinging his gear bag over his shoulder. "If I hadn't pulled you back, you'd fallen right into Coach."

I blink, trying to process that. "Right... thanks for... saving my ass, then, I guess."

Owen smirks, leaning against the locker like he's got all the time in the world. "Anytime, mate. Though if you keep passing out like that, I might start charging for my services."

I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't this tired, tugging my jacket back on. "Yeah, very funny. You should consider stand-up, Owen. Really. You'd clear rooms in seconds."

Owen snorts, "That's incredibly rude. I'll let you know, people would pay good money to see that."

"Yeah, sure they would," I mutter, yanking my bag off the bench. The strap slips through my fingers, and for a second, my vision swims, just enough to make the ground feel a little too far away. I grit my teeth and steady myself, hoping he doesn't notice.

Of course, he notices.

"Jesus, Tadhg," Owen says, stepping forward. "You look like shit."

"Cheers, mate. Real confidence boost, that."

"No, seriously. When was the last time you actually slept?"

I shove past him toward the door, because the last thing I need is another one of Owen's well-meaning interventions. He's been on my back about this for weeks now, and it's starting to get on my nerves.

"Couple of hours here and there," I mumble, saying goodbye to a couple of lads on the team before I push through the door.

Owen's still hot on my heels.

"'A couple of hours here and there,'" he mimics, lowering his voice like some pissed-off mam. "That's not sleeping, that's little naps, at best."

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and keep walking. The floodlights from the GAA ground spill over the car park, too bright, too white. Everything feels too loud. My head's been running on overdrive for days, weeks, probably.

Owen doesn't stop. "You know, there's a point where not sleeping actually makes you go insane. Like, proper brain-meltdown shit."

"Thanks for the diagnosis, Doc," I mutter, "I'll keep that in mind."

He huffs out a breath, but I can tell he's worried. Owen's not subtle. He never has been.

"It's the nightmares, right?"

I stop in my tracks.

His voice softens, and that's almost worse. "Tadhg."

"Drop it."

"Tadhg."

"Seriously, Owen."

"You can't just-"

"I said drop it, Owen." I snap, getting into his face and shoving him into his chest, and he shoves right back.

Owen's jaw clenches, but he doesn't back down. Like me, he never does. A reason we stayed friends this long.

"Jesus, look at yourself, mate. I'm not your fucking enemy. I'm your best friend. So get your knickers out of a twist and talk to me, fucker." Owen is all fun and games until it's about the people he cares about.

And I know he means well, but I can't do this tonight, not tonight.

"It's not a big deal," I mutter, brushing past him.

"Yeah," Owen says, following, "because being so wrecked you nearly face-plant into Coach's arse is totally normal."

I give him a look. He ignores it. Typical.

"Look," he says, quieter now, "I get that you don't want to talk. But you can't keep going like this. You're running yourself into the fucking ground, lad."

"Just drop it," I say, too exhausted to fight with him.

Owen sighs, muttering something under his breath before saying. "Fine. Don't talk. But I'm still coming over."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"We have school tomorrow."

"As if you care."

"What about your ma?"

That makes him shut up. Because his ma needs him, and we both know it.

"Then let me drive you home. Because I'm not letting you behind the wheel to pass out and drive into the nearest tree."

"And your car?"

He shrugs, "I'll take the bus back here."

That's a compromise I can live with, because I know he won't let it go otherwise. I pull my keys out of my jacket, muttering, "Fucking paraside," under my breath and throw them to him.

Grinning, he catches them. "Good boy." He mocks and practically runs to my car to get himself to safety.

Fucking eejit.

But my lips twitch up, because truth be told, it's easier with Owen. Always has.

By the time I haul myself into the passenger seat, Owen's already rifling through the stack of CDs he bunkers in my car, and "Be Quiet and Drive" by Deftones starts playing. The engine rumbles to life, headlights slicing through the damp dark of the car park.

We are, in fact, quiet the entire ride home.

"Want me to tuck you in?" Owen teases as he pulls up in my driveway.

"Want a fist to your face?" I shoot back, getting out of the car at the same time Owen does.

The parasite smirks. "Maybe, then I'd let myself be babied by Mommy K."

I narrow my eyes. "Get anywhere near her and the last thing you'll worry about will be your face."

Owen laughs, loud and obnoxious. "No offence, lad, but you're a second away from passing out. Not exactly threatening. So if you don't get better, nothing is stopping me from fucking your ma."

"Keep talking like that and you won't be fucking anyone at all, after I cut your dick off," I threaten, meaning it. Catching my keys, he threw back to me. "But sure, go right ahead. I'll be coming for lovely Grace then."

"Whoa! Now hold up."

"Yeah, not very funny when I turn it around, is it? And the chances I'd succeed are higher than yours, because unlike Edel, your ma isn't taken," I add, locking the car.

"I was only trying to give you a motivation to sleep and get better. You didn't have to escalate like that, man." He whines. "I was only trying to be a good friend here."

I snort, "Go home, Owen."

"Go to sleep, Tadhg." He says and starts walking down the path to the bus. "I mean it." He calls out. "Call me and I'll sing you a lullaby." He adds, like the fucker he is.

I just gave him my middle finger, and he clutched his chest pretending that he was hurt.

Why am I friends with that guy, again?

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

If I told you I got a full night of sleep, would you believe me?

No?

Yeah, me neither.

I got a total of one hour. One measly, pathetic hour. And I'm pretty sure my dead father is watching me from the other side of this classroom...

Yeah, I know how that sounds.

The bell for lunch sounded too loud. My stomach twists, my head pounds, and everything at the edges of my vision swims. My limbs feel like they've been stuffed with concrete.

I have no idea how to fix this. How do I fix this?

I slowly drag myself to my locker, bumping into more people than I would like.

I take a deep breath, pressing my forehead against the cool metal of my locker. It's grounded in a way. My eyes fall shut, and I'm sure I look like a total eejit right now. But I can find the energy to care.

I don't know how long I've already been standing here, but the hallway seems to have cleared out or at least quieted down, when voices break through the noise in my head.

At first, I think I'm imagining them, the low snickers, the half-mumbled words bouncing down the hall, until I catch her name.

"...Donnelly, right?"

The second voice laughs. "Yeah, that one. She's got that hard-to-get act, but you just know she's filthy underneath."

My stomach flips. My fists curl. My brain lags behind my body.

"...bet Lynch already had a go," the first one says, mocking. "Saw her gettin' into his car last week. The look on his face..."

A sharp pulse hits the back of my skull. My heartbeat slams in my ears. How oblivious are people? I'm standing right fucking here.

They keep walking. Loud. Laughing. Every word is a spark on dry grass.

"She's not even that fit," one of them adds, and I snort, though it tastes bitter. "Just got that little tease thing going, like she thinks she's better than everyone. I'd still show her a good time, though."

What a gobshit.

I don't think. I just move.

The noise of my bag hitting the ground is the only warning they get before I grab the closer one by the shoulder, turn him around and slam him against the lockers, my forearm across his chest.

Finley Connor, one of the rugby pricks, stares back at me, laughter dying in his throat.

"What did you just say?" I hiss, pressing my arm harder into his chest. "I didn't hear ya. Want to repeat that for me so I can get the joke too?" I taunt.

The other lad, O'something, steps forward, puffed up like he thinks he's a big, big man.

"Jesus, Lynch, calm the fuck down-"

"Calm down?" I bite out, words shaking. "You think I'll calm down after that disrespectful shit you just said? Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, prick?"

"Wasn't serious, man!" Finley pips in, half-laughing, half-nervous now. "Christ, you're losing it."

Losing it

Maybe I am.

Maybe I've been losing it for a while now.

The laugh that slips out of me is sharp and wrong, like glass in my throat. Finley flinches, and good, he should.

"Go on then," I say low. "Say it again."

His grin is infuriating. "What part? That she's a filthy whore, or that we both know I could give her a good time?"

Okay, now he's just asking for it.

Before I even think, my fist shoots out, connecting with Finley's jaw. He stumbles back, falling onto his hole.

"Oi!" the other lad lunges forward, trying to grab me, but I'm faster. I shove him back, too, hard enough that he crashes into the lockers with a thud.

"You're so fucking dead, Lynch." Finley roars, getting back up and charging at me, tackling me to the ground.

The impact knocks the wind out of me, but I push back, driving my weight into his chest. My head spins from exhaustion, vision blurry. But I come out on top anyway.

But before I can swing again, hands grab me from behind, hurling me up and away from the asshole.

"What the fuck, Lynchy?" Charlie says from my right.

"Get that psycho away from me, Sam." Finley basically screams, like the little bitch he is.

It needs both Sam and Charlie to drag me away. "If you so much as speak her name again, Connor," I growl, "you won't have anyone coming to your rescue, princess."

"Christ, you've lost it," he spits, holding his jaw, and there's blood on his lip now. "All this over some slag? You really must've fucked her good-"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" I roar, lunging forward, but Charlie and Sam got a death grip on me, arms locked across my chest.

"Enough, Tadhg!" Charlie shoves me back again, his voice low but sharp. "He's not worth it, lad. Leave it."

Finley laughs, but it's thin now. "What, can't take a joke?"

"You have a big mouth for someone who can't take a punch. You didn't even land a hit," I shoot back.

And I'm sure Finley would come up with an even more annoying answer to piss me off, but I'm already dragged around the next corridor.

"What's going on with ya?"

"Don't touch me," I say, pulling myself out of their grip.

"Who were you talking about?" Sam asks with genuine concern in his voice, which pisses me off even more.

I don't need his fucking pity.

He says something else, but I'm not listening.

Because I see him.

Right at the end of the hallway. Green eyes staring at me. My green eyes.

My ears are ringing, and my throat feels tight.

I know he's not real. I know that it's only what my sleep-deprived brain comes up with.

So why can't I get a breath in?

Why does my chest tighten?

Why do I feel like hiding?

"Stop!" I scream, beating my fists against him."You're killing her."

But he doesn't stop, my effort is for nothing, I'm not as big as him or Joey.

I'm not as strong. Why can't I be strong?

I watch helplessly as he beats my big sister over and over again.

She collapses to the floor, and I throw my arms around her broken body. "Leave her alone," I sob, trying to shield her, trying to save her. "Please don't hurt her."

I scream when he drags me away.

And his boot came down on her face.

So much blood, her blood.

"Shannon!"

No

No

No

No

Please don't.

Leave me alone.

I couldn't do anything; I thought she was dying. And I couldn't stop him.

I felt so helpless.

I still do.

"Tadhg." Charlie grabs my arm when I stumble back.

"I said don't fucking touch me!" Pushing him away.

I need space. Air. Something. Anything

"Get off my brother."

Joey, gasping for air.

"Tadhg, put down the knife," Mam strangles out. "Please, baby."

"Fuck you," I scream back, "Get. Off. My. Brother."

"Don't be stupid, boy." He threatens.

"I'm not stupid, and I'm not Joey. I won't stop just because Shannon says so."

I should have done it. I had the chance to stop it.

All of it.

I should have fucking done it.

Should have put that bastard of a father down before..

before...

I gasp for air.

"Tadhg? Calm down, just... just breathe, lad." Sam takes a stap torts me again, and I hold up a hand.

"Just leave me alone. I just need a second. Just give me a fuckin' second." I choked out.

Getting away before they can stop me.

What is happening? Why can't I breathe?

Just breathe fucker.

It's not that hard.

Use your lungs, asshole.

"Tadhg," Joey chokes out, dying. "It's okay. Just take it easy."

"It's not okay, Joe." Tears, hot and angry, burn down my cheek.

"What are you going to do, boy?" The monster taunts. "Stab me?"

"Yes."

He thinks I'm bluffing when he moves, but I'm prepared.

I'm ready for it.

"Jesus Christ, Tadhg." Clutching his throat. "You cut me."

"This ends now," I growl, "Get off my brother, and get out of this house for good, or I'll slit your fucking throat."

I should have cut deeper. Let him bleed out right then and there. It would have done us all a hell of a favour.

My hands are shaking, and the whole hallway feels like it's closing in on me.

My chest's so heavy.

How do I breathe?

"Ollie!" I whisper-hiss. "What about mam."

"I don't care," Ollie cries, opening the door to get to the safety that is my sister's boyfriend. "I don't want to be here."

"What about my mam?" I ask Johnny, eyes warily. "Can she come, too?"

"If she wants," Johnny forces out. "But I have to get you out without your da seeing us first, okay? Then I'll come back for her." He adds, trying to reason with me. "I'll take you to my place, and then I promise I'll come back and get your ma."

"Really?"

"Really."

He promised

He promised to get her.

I push through the door of a random classroom, sinking against the door.

Crowling on my chest like it would somehow open up and let air back in.

Jesus Christ, how do I stop this?

"Tadhg?" A soft voice.

Fuck my life.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

'Lacy' by Olivia Rodrigo

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Ten// I just need to shut up sometimes

ISABELL DONNELLY

⊱ ────── {.⋅🎨⋅.} ────── ⊰

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

"So I was thinking for this Halloween. A whole group costume?" Fiadh says, letting herself fall into her chair.

We sit in the lunch hall, like always, at the far end for a bit more privacy.

"Wasn't that the plan for last year, too?" Niamh asks, moving her chess piece on the board.

"True," I say, adding. "But someone needed to dress up as Tinkerbell and Peter Pan." Shooting Fiadh a look, then taking Niamh's Rook with my Knight.

Which I realised was incredibly stupid because it was protected by her queen, so I can say goodbye to my Knight.

He will be missed, brave soldier.

"Hey! You guys rocked as Tyler Durden." Fiadh protests, eating her salad.

"Of cures we did. But it was very spontaneous because, you missy." I say, pointing my Knight at her. "Just changed the plans."

Enzo snorts, sitting to my right, reading the picture of Dorian Grey. "Sorry, just remembering, Charlie in tights."

Niamh and I have to snicker.

"He looked good in them," Fiadh grumbles.

"Only you think that," Niamh says, taking my other Knight, fuck.

"Anyway, last year was last year and this year is this year, so any ideas?" Fiadh says, twirling her fork.

Enzo looks up from his book, deadpan. "What about Twilight? Seems like you're kind of cringe."

"Excuse me?" Fiadh glares. "You mean our kind of cringe. Everyone and their granny's watching it this year."

"Not me," Niamh says. "I'd rather be waterboarded than sparkle. The books were better anyway."

"You sparkle naturally, babe," I tease, and she flips me off without looking up from the chessboard.

Fiadh ignores us and leans forward. "No, but actually, imagine it. Me as Rosalie, obviously. Isabell as Bella, Niamh-"

"Why do I have to be Bella?"

"'Cause you're the only brunette we have."

"I do not want a sparkly boyfriend."

Fiadh gasps, "So you're team Jacob?"

"I'm team leave that underage girl alone." I shoot back, making my next move.

"Alright, alright, no Twilight then," Fiadh grumbles, stabbing at a tomato like it insulted her personally.

"Good," Enzo mutters, turning a page. "If I see one more fella in fake vampire teeth, I'm transferring schools."

"You're just jealous no one would bite you, Nolan," I say, shooting him a grin.

He doesn't even look up. "You're all insane."

"Facts," Niamh says, stealing my last pawn. "And I'm winning again."

"Hey, nothing is decided yet," I say, but the chances that I turn this game around are slim to none.

Before Niamh can answer, a high-pitched voice cuts through the easy rhythm of our table.

"Ohmigod, Fiadh! There you are."

We all glance up.

Holly, all perfect blond hair and lip gloss, struts toward us with her tray, followed closely by Elena, her minion.

"Hey, Holly," Fiadh pipes up when they both join us at our table. "What are you going as this Halloween?"

Holly plops down across from Fiadh. Elena slides in beside her, carefully balancing her tray, eyes darting between us like she's afraid of making a wrong move.

"We were thinking about going as vampires," Holly answers, and I have to suppress a snort, focusing on the chassbord.

"This year, Sam's throwing the party, right?"

Fiadh nods, "Yeah, it's his turn."

The guys on the rugby team always take turns when it comes to parties. At least the ones for holidays.

"You'd think Tadhg will be there?" Holly as Fiadh slyly.

My stomach nods only at the mention of his name.

And suddenly, I'm paying way too much attention. I don't want to. But I do.

Fiadh shrugs, leaning back in her chair. "I don't know. I can ask Charlie. Why?" Then her face lights up. "Wait, do you like him?"

Holly raises an eyebrow, all smug smiles. "Do I like him? Pfft. Maybe," she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I mean... he's cute, yeah. Who wouldn't? And we already had, you know, a nice night together."

"A nice night?" I ask, joining the conversation.

I want to punch myself. Because why can't I just shut the fuck up once in a while?

Holly smirks like she knows exactly what she's doing. "Yeah, you know... the thing," she says, twirling her hair again, all casual like it's no big deal. "Had fun. Laughs. Drinks. The whole vibe."

Fiadh gasp, grinning, "You never told me."

"It was magical."

I'm going to throw up.

I'm not surprised, Holly is gorgeous after all. And blonds always were his type, right?

Holly is literally the opposite of me.

I make my last move that I know will end this game because my king is in checkmate.

"Good game, Iz." Niamh say cleaning the chessboard up.

"I seriously don't know why you still play with her." Enzo murmurs.

Niamh answers for me. "Because no one else wants to play with me, and Izzie is a saint."

I snort, ready to tell her otherwise, but Holly apparently is faster. "If Izzie is a saint, I'm the pope."

I bite back a retort, my fingers curling around the edge of the table like I might need it to keep myself grounded. I'm way too easy to provoke, I'm well aware. But it's not really a thing I can control.

Fiadh rolls her eyes at Holly. "Please. You barely even know Izzie."

"Barely know her?" Holly repeats, tilting her head like she's sizing me up. "I think I know enough."

I sigh, "Please enlighten me, what do you think is enough for you to judge me?"

Holly smiles, all sweet edges and sharp undertones. "Oh, come on. I'm not judging you. But y'know... the usual. The 'thinks she's better than anyone'. Like's making people feel dumb."

I raise an eyebrow, generously confused. "How exactly do I make people feel dumb?" I feel dumb half the time.

"It's just the way you act." She huffs.

"Oh, sorry, but not everybody changes their personality every time they talk to another person," I remark sharply. "I actually like to keep mine."

"Izzie!" Fiadh warns, but neither Holly nor I acknowledge it.

"See you doing it again. Acting all high and mighty, above us all, huh? But you're not that special, Izzie. Far from it. Truth is? You're just another girl trying way too hard."

"Holly!" Fiadh trys again.

My mouth moves before my brain can catch up. "Trying too hard? I've never attempted to be anyone but myself. Unlike some people, I don't need to bring others down to feel relevant. I don't rely on others to define who I am. I'm just as special as everyone else. But you can't quite understand that, can you? In your world, there has to be a hierarchy, right? And for some reason, you feel threatened by me."

"Izzie," Fiadh exclames.

"I'm almost done," I say, grabbing my things to stand up. "So go on, Brannen, call me names, call me high and mighty. I do not give a single shit. But stop pretending that the whole world revolves around you. I can smell the insecurities all around you. And I can gladly be the punching bag for ya. But don't expect me to just take it like all your minions."

I leave a dumbfounded Holly at the table and get out of the lunch hall. Just needing to be alone.

I hate when people assume things about me without knowing me.

And I hate that I said all that to Holly. Because I don't know her either. But I can never hold my tongue.

I can never shut up. It feels like I would explode if I hold it in. There's this constant urge to speak my mind.

I get mean pretty often, I know that. And it's unfair for the people around me.

But sometimes anger is all I have.

I push through a door into a classroom I know will be empty for the rest of the day.

Another toxic trait I have, curiosity.

I spent the first years at Tommen just going into any door I hadn't been inside yet, which got me into trouble enough times to stop.

I never did, though.

I need to know where I can escape to when I need quiet. People exhaust me sometimes. And if I'm alone, I have no one to snap at.

I sigh, sitting down in the last row. Pulling my small sketchbook out.

It helps.

Sketching, I mean, calms my thoughts, untangles them and lets me figure them out. Have been doing that since I was a kid.

But when I go to the last page I've been working on, it's not really helping.

Because it's Tadhg sitting on the chair in the panic room we've been trapped in, looking up at the ceiling.

I blame it on my lack of creativity, on that I wanted to do something with my hands in the time we were stuck in there.

The drawing isn't finished yet, so I pick up where I left off. Because maybe if I'm done, he'll be out of my head.

He's just a boy after all, right?

Just a boy, I can't stand.

Just a boy whose stupid smirk is living rent-free under my skin.

Just a boy who apparently hooks up with girls like Holly without batting an eye.

On a scale from one to ten, how screwed am I?

I stare at the sketch, at the angle of his jaw, the shadow under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, I hadn't even realised I captured. It's too real. Too observant. Too much something.

Definitely a twelve.

Maybe a thirteen.

I drop my head onto the table. Maybe I should skip my last two classes, the debate club, too.

But to do what?

I don't want to go home. Helen will be at ballet, and Fiona will be with her grandmother. I'd be alone with my mother.

And no thanks to that.

So I sit up, breathing out through my nose, trying to get a grip. My heartbeat slows as my pencil scratches across the page again, hair, collar, shadows. Anything but the eyes. If I draw the eyes, I'll be done for.

The classroom is silent for all of ten seconds before the door swings open.

I clutch my sketchbook to my chest like a teenage boy who's just been caught watching pornography.

But to my surprise, he doesn't even notice me as he slides down the door.

He's panicking?

I frown, "Tadhg?"

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'This Side of Paradise' by Coyote Theory

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

Ten// I just need her to keep talking

TADHG LYNCH

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🏑 ⋅.} ────── ⊰

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"Tadhg?"

The sound of her voice cuts through the fog in my head.

I shake my head. I don't want her here. I don't want her to see me like that. "Just... Just leave." My voice doesn't sound like mine.

I can't breathe. Not properly. My chest feels like it's being squeezed. My vision swims, the lines of the classroom warping like water.

I hear my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. Too fast. Too loud. Too everything.

"Hey... hey, Tadhg," her voice is closer now. Calm. Soft. Human. She's not listening to me. Of course, she isn't. It's freckles after all.

"I said leave," I grit out, barely more than a rasp.

The room feels tilted, as if I lift my head too fast, I'll pass out or throw up or both. The air is too thick. Too thin. Wrong entirely.

She kneels down beside.

"Hey," she says again, not touching me but close enough that I feel it anyway. "Just look at me, alright? Breathe with me."

I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut. "I don't... I can't-"

The words are fracture. Everything fractures.

That smell again, smoke in my throat, burning in my lungs, too real to be a dream.

I wasn't there; I never saw the fire. This isn't real. My panic isn't real. So why can't I breathe? Why can't I ...

Why can't-

"Tadhg." Her voice slices through the panic again, firm, grounding.

There's a hand hovering near my arm, not quite touching. She's careful. Why is she being careful?

"Look at me." She says with a softness I don't think I deserve.

When I don't, I feel her hands grasp my face, and my eyes snap open automatically.

All I can see is her.

Her dark brown button-like eyes stare into mine.

And instead of trying to breathe, I'm holding it now.

"Listen," she murmurs, "You're alright. We're alright. We're on the flow in this empty classroom. It's just us."

Just us.

Like that's supposed to help.

It does.

Fuck.

Then she does something that throws me even more off. She takes my hand in hers and places it on her chest.

I can feel her heart beat, her breathing, the warmth of her skin through her sweater.

"You feel that?"

I just nod, lost for words.

I don't know how the hell she's doing this, walking right into the middle of the mess in my head without flinching, but she is.

"Good," she whispers. "Now breathe with me, alright?"

She inhales slowly, exaggerated, like she's showing me how, and I follow because her thumb is brushing my jaw, and I physically can't do anything else.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Her heartbeat is steady against my palm. Strong. Real. Not fire. Not screaming. Not blood.

Just her.

I focus on that.

In.

Hold.

Out.

I feel my chest loosen ever so slightly. Just enough to remind me that air still exists. That panic is not permanent. That she's here, not letting it consume me.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Her fingers are still on my jaw, gentle but certain, like she's anchoring me to the present. Like she refuses to let me drift anywhere else.

I swallow, throat raw. My hand remains on her chest because she hasn't told me to move it.

Because I don't want to.

Her pulse beats against my palm, steady, steady, steady, and something inside me begins to match it.

The world stops tilting.

The fire recedes.

The smoke clears.

And there's just... breathing.

Our breathing.

When my vision finally sharpens again, I realise how close she is. Knees touching my thigh, faces barely inches apart. I could just grab her and pull her onto my lap.

Why is that my first thought?

I should move. I should pull away before I make this weird. Before she realises how weak I am.
Before she sees too much.

But she's still looking at me like... that.

"Better?" she asks, voice softer than I ever heard it from her.

I nod, even though my chest still hurts a little.

"The first panic attack is always the worst."

I blink at her, caught off guard. "...How'd you-?"

"I've seen it enough times to recognise."

I huff. "How often do you deal with lad's having one, huh?"

She tilts her head, all serious, "All the time, you didn't see the line outside?"

And fuck that girl, she actually gets a smile out of me. Her lips twitch up, too.

"It was Tara." She clarifies. Tara as in her big sister. And for some reason, it feels like a stone falls from my heart. Because I didn't like the thought of her helping another lad with that stuff.

"She struggled with them quite a lot when she was still in school. I'd tried to help." She adds, slowly pulling her hand from my jaw, and I immediately miss the feeling, sitting herself beside me against the door. The hand that was on her chest is still in her hand, our hands intertwined, our shoulders touching.

But we don't acknowledge that, if we did, it would make it real.

"You helped Tara with that stuff?" I murmur. "You were, what, twelve?"

She nods, "Twelve and thirteen, till she left for university. She doesn't have them anymore." She shrugs. "Or she hasn't told me."

I nod slowly, trying to process it. My hand still tangled with hers, her shoulder brushing mine, the quiet hum of the classroom around us, I can feel the tiredness kicking in.

"That's... a lot," I mutter, voice low, barely more than a rasp.

"Well, I didn't want to be useless." Then she turns her head as if to remember something. "If you have one again. Try to ground yourself; distraction helps. Count backwards or do math. Try not to be alone. Holding cold things supposedly helps, too, but I forgot the reason why. Don't consume too much caffeine; that just makes your body more hyperaware."

My lips form into a smirk."Please tell me you researched all of that."

"Of course, I didn't want to be unprepared."

God, that's such a freckles thing to say.

"Freckles," I mutter, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."

She quirks an eyebrow, the tiniest smirk tugging at her lips. "Me? The ridiculous one? Fuck you, asshole."

I can't help the chuckle that escapes, low and half-amused. She grins properly now, that slow, teasing smile that makes the edges of her eyes crinkle, and my chest does that stupid, traitorous flutter again because her dimples are showing. By all seriousness, fuck me.

"Whoa, not nice, Izzie. I let you know I just had a panic attack. Be nice to me." I tease, feeling more like myself than I have in a long time.

She laughs, soft, like she's teasing me but also genuinely amused. "I could... but where's the fun in that?"

I glance at her, incredulous. "Fun? You think me nearly choking on my own panic is fun?"

Her hand tightens around mine, a subtle anchor. "Not fun... enlightening. Educational. Life experience," she says, mock-serious. Then she grins, the kind of grin that makes the corners of your chest ache. "Mostly for you, though."

"Fantastic," I mutter, letting my shoulder brush against hers again. Just a little. "Life lessons from Izzie Donnelly. I'm honoured."

"Call me your therapist," she says, tilting her head, eyes sparkling. "I'm excellent at it. And cheap. Very affordable."

I snort, trying not to sound as soft as I feel. "Yeah? And what's the fine print, huh? One session, free panic attack, second session...?"

"Second session, I make fun of you mercilessly while giving advice," she says with a shrug. "You've been warned."

I tilt my head, mock suspicion creeping into my voice. "You enjoy this way too much, don't ya?"

She bites her lip to hide her smile, eyes darting down for a second before flicking back up. "Maybe," she admits, voice low. "But it's working."

And fuck it is working.

She's right, distraction helps, and Isabell Donnelly is a hell of a distraction.

My breathing isn't perfect, but it's breathing. My brain isn't fine, but it's quiet enough to hear her. Enough to want to keep hearing her.

"Don't stop," I murmur.

She pauses, just a beat, her eyes flicking over my face like she's searching for something there. Her thumb still lightly brushes my knuckles, absentminded or maybe very intentional. I can't tell which one would wreck me more.

"Talking?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Talking."

"I can do that," her lips tilt up into a small smile, "What do you want to hear?"

Everything

What you like, what you dislike, what makes you happy, what makes you sad,

...what you think of me.

Jesus, what's wrong with me?

"Something, I don't care," I say instead.

She hums like she's actually thinking about what to give me.

"Alright," she says finally."Did you know Napoleon was once attacked by rabbits?"

I blink at her.

That's what she went with?

"Rabbits," I repeat.

She nods, righteous as ever. "Hundreds of them. Swarmed him. Little fluffy assassins. His whole hunting party was overrun."

A laugh escapes me, small, reluctant, but real. "You're takin' the piss."

"I'm not!" she insists, eyes wide with triumphant delight. "It's recorded history. He tried to look all powerful and 'Emperor of Everything,' and instead he got bodied by a bunch of bunnies."

I stare at her, letting it sink in.

Letting her sink in.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, shaking my head. "That's the most pathetic downfall I've ever heard."

"Oh no," she says quickly, leaning a little closer, eyes sparkling, "that honour still goes to the time King Charles VI of France had a full-on breakdown because he thought he was made of glass," she continues, "Like, literally, he refused to touch anyone or anything because he was terrified he'd shatter."

I snort, "Reminds me of another Charles I know."

She chuckles, soft and warm.

This girl is entirely something else.

She goes one, fact by fact and gives her opinion on it, which is, by the way, one of the funniest things ever.

Freckles has a way with words. When she talks, people listen. And it's fascinating how she can hold a conversation completely by herself.

My eyes get heavy because I'm still so fucking tired.

And Izzie's voice is relaxing, comforting even.

So when my eyes fall shut and I fall to the side, I'm expecting to meet the hard floor. But when I'm hit with something soft and smelling like cinnamon and coffee and something else I can't name.

I let myself drift off to much-needed sleep.

And I'm not even fighting it.

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