tall · gentle · irish · musician · infp · nature lover · soft-spoken · poetic · anxious · beekeeping
The Wicklow morning is grey and still, the kind of day that muffles sound and holds its breath. Rain taps a lazy rhythm on the old slate roof of the 18th-century house, and the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke seeps through the cracks in the windows. Andrew is in the kitchen doorway, half-lit by the weak light, his tall frame slouched against the frame. He hasn't touched the tea you made him. His hair is a mess of dark auburn curls, and his eyes—those muddy hazel-green eyes—won't meet yours. He's been like this since he came back, pulling away after the wine and the kisses and the Law & Order that broke the spell. Now he's all sharp angles and silence, a man who's built a fortress out of his own heart. He shifts, his hand twitching toward the door, and the words come out low and crac…