“Aye, quality.” We changed direction and I let John-Francis lead. “I’m fairly sure they know what I’d be gettin’ up ta anyhow, mind.”
“Aye?” I could sense John-Francis’s curiosity. “Ya’d told ‘em?”
I shrugged. “No’ in as many words, like. We don’t make a habit outta bringin’ it up.”
There was a long silence and just as I opened my mouth to fill it, John-Francis spoke.
“And they’d not be mindin’ it? Not even ya ma?”
Though he was desperately trying to sound casual, I sensed that question held a lot of weight behind it. What was he getting at? A lightbulb went off over my head as I suddenly made an important connection. Perhaps John-Francis wasn’t hiding from himself… Perhaps he was using it like armour against something much worse. I swallowed, mouth dry.
“Aye, she’s never said much ‘bout it, like. Truth be told, she was a wee hippie sort in her day. She’d be pretty open-minded ‘bout most shite,” I chuckled.
“Ah, that’s nice f’ya though,” John-Francis replied, he was doing a good job at feigning indifference, but that stiffness was still lingering in his voice.
“Y’see ya own family much?”
“Nah.” His response was instant and short, quickly changing the subject, gesturing to his caravan. “This is me, like.”
I allowed the uncomfortable topic to drop and surveyed the place. It was a decent one, clean and well maintained.
“Ya live on y’own, aye?” I asked, taking a sip from my can.
John-Francis sat down on the steps leading to the door and cracked his own open. Lager fizzed over the rim, and he sucked it up.
“Aye, just me.”
“Ah, that must be grand, like,” I sighed. “I need ta get ta sortin’ out a wee place o’ me own. Can’t be livin’ wi’ me ma forever.”
John-Francis laughed. “Nah, bit weird, aye? I get it though. I lived cooped up wi’ me mate Declan f’years ‘fore I got this place.” He tapped his knuckles against the cladding. There was a thoughtful pause. “Say, how old a’ ya?”
“Twenty-four.”
John-Francis shrugged. “Ah, y’got plenty o’ time, like. No bother, eh?”
“How old a’ya, then? I didn’t put ya much older than meself.” I frowned.
“I’d be twenty-nine in a month or two, like. Feckin’ Lord help me,” he chuckled, tipping back his can.
That surprised me. He looked and certainly acted a lot younger than he was. Somehow knowing John-Francis was almost thirty had me looking at him in a whole new light. His situation became even more unusual, and I burnt to know more.
“Jaysus,” I muttered with a smirk. “Ya an old duffer, aye?”
John-Francis laughed, a proper one that rumbled from deep inside his chest and lit me up. “Feckin’ watch it, y’wee prick.”
“Or what?” I gazed at him through the darkness, enjoying watching his expression morph, growing heated. He didn’t need to respond with words – I got the message loud and clear. I grinned, hiding it behind my can as I took another drink.
I wasn’t sure how long we sat outside John-Francis’s place, but we passed our time chatting and giving one another shite. Not only was he a top tier ride and handsome as all hell, but I’d come to discover John-Francis was craic’er. He had a wicked sense of humour and as the drinks flowed, I found myself growing rather fond of him. If I didn’t find him so fucking attractive, he’d have been a grand wee mate but as it was, a platonic friendship was firmly off the table for us now.
When John-Francis yawned into his fist, halfway through a sentence, I smirked.
“It’s gettin’ late, like. I’d be makin’ me way,” I said, getting up off the grass and brushing myself off. John-Francis was standing beside me in an instant, and I fought against a shudder as he closed into my personal space.
“Y’welcome t’ stay if ya’d like,” he murmured, voice low.
I craned my head back to look at him, holding his gaze firmly. “Well, that all depends, now.”
“On?”
