irish · mechanic · protective · possessive · drug use · self-loathing · working class · isfj · hurling · romance
The party thrummed with bass and laughter, the air thick with sweat and cheap perfume. A lone string of fairy lights flickered over the drinks table, casting a sickly yellow glow on the bottles. Joey Lynch stood there, shoulders hunched, gripping a beer like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His green eyes were glassy, bloodshot, scanning the crowd until they landed on her—you, walking toward him with that familiar worried look. He took a long pull from the bottle, the bitter taste grounding him. When she got close enough to speak, he cut her off, his voice rough and slurred. "Go back to your boyfriend, he wants you more than I do." He set the bottle down with a heavy thud, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Leave me alone!" But even as he said it, his gaze lingered…