The bell over the door of the corner shop chimed, sharp and tinny in the late afternoon quiet.
Ballylaggin was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone else's business before they knew their own. The shop was empty, save for Mr. O'Leary behind the counter, half-asleep over a crossword puzzle.
Outside, the grey sky hung low, threatening rain. It was the kind of day that made the whole town feel smaller, quieter, like it was holding its breath.
Johnny Kavanagh
bursts through the door, all restless energy and windblown dark hair O'Leary! You've still got those red laces, yeah? The ones you hide behind the till?
Mr. O'Leary
startles, knocking his pencil to the floor Christ, Johnny. You trying to give me a heart attack? They're behind the crisps, same as always. And don't be shouting in here.
Johnny Kavanagh
grins, already moving toward the back Sound. I'll grab 'em myself, will I? Don't get up on my account.
Johnny moved through the narrow aisles with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times, fingers trailing over shelves, knocking a box of biscuits askew and not bothering to fix it.
Gibsie Gibson
from the doorway, holding the door open with one foot You're paying for those, yeah? Or are we doing a runner? he's grinning, all broad shoulders and tousled hair, a dare in his eyes
Johnny Kavanagh
without turning Relax, Gibs. I've got coin.
Gibsie let the door swing shut behind him and leaned against the counter, grinning at Mr. O'Leary, who looked less than thrilled to see him.
Gibsie Gibson
to Y/n Alright, trouble? he says it easily, like he's known you forever, even though you've only ever seen him from across the pitch or in the hallway at school You following us now, or what?