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Saoirse

He crowds out the shadows.

As we walk down the street, away from the hospital, I’ve been struggling to pinpoint the strange new feeling spreading through my chest.

And that’s my conclusion.

Cillian crowds out the shadows.

His presence pushes out all the shit that’s followed me my whole life: Tristan and my father and the space where my mother should be.

Like he’s an eclipse. An eclipse made of sunshine gold hair and serene blue eyes.

I know that doesn’t make sense but it’s the only thing that connects all the dots in my head.

And I’m not naïve, either.

I haven’t been since Mama died.

An eclipse can only block out the sun for so long. When it moves on, the sun remains. Oppressive and vindictive in its heat.

He turns and fixes me with a funny look, head tilted to the side, as if he knows I’m losing myself to thoughts of doom and gloom.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Cillian remarks. “Seems like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s in your eyes.”

I stop short just to stare at him.

“What did you just say?”

He looks taken aback by my reaction. “Woah, who pissed you off?” he asks, clearly confused.

“I, just, uh… What did you mean by that?” I ask, softening my tone a little.

He frowns. “I just meant that I can see the worry in your eyes,” he says. “Everything you need to know about a person is always hidden there.”

I don’t even realize I’ve taken a step towards him until I notice the tiny birthmark on the left side of his jaw. It’s small and light enough that I wouldn’t have noticed it unless I was standing so close.

It feels intimate. Personal. Like a little secret we now share.

And that intimacy terrifies me immediately.

I look away from him at once and resume walking.

“Oi! Earth to Saoirse. You gonna explain what that was about?” he asks, quickly falling into step beside me.

“It’s not a big deal,” I demur. “Just… my mother believed that, too. She used to say it all the time.”

“Used to, huh?” Cillian says, picking up on my phrasing. “When did you lose her?”

“A long time ago.” I look down and away. Anything to avoid meeting his gaze.


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