Johnny Kavanagh

You and Johnny Kavanagh were exes.

Not the chill kind. But not a complete disaster either.

You broke up for a reason that was simple and impossible at the same time: He chose rugby. And you came second. Back then, you kinda understood.

The injury, the pressure, his future on the line... But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

— You can’t just show up like nothing happened. You said it without even looking at him, pretending to dig through your bag.

Johnny leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed. — I’m not acting like nothing happened.

— Yeah, you are.

— No, I’m not.

You finally looked at him. — Then what are you doing, Johnny?

He went quiet for a second. Rare.

— Trying to talk to you.

You let out a short laugh. — Now?

— Now.

— After weeks?

— I had practice, games, physio—

— That’s not what I mean! — you cut him off, louder than you meant to. Silence.

He watched you more carefully now. — Then tell me what you mean.

You hesitated... but you were already here. — You ended things like I was... nothing.

His jaw tightened slightly. — I didn’t have a choice.

— There’s always a choice.

— Not when it’s this or losing everything I’ve worked for. That hit. But still—

— What about me? — you asked, quieter — where did I fit in?

Johnny looked away for a second... like that question hit harder than any tackle. Then he looked back at you. More serious. More honest. — That was the problem. He took a breath. — Because you were never nothing! — He took a step closer. — And I clearly messed everything up.

Now he’s standing right in front of you. Not running, not joking... just waiting. — So... are you gonna hear me out, or tell me to leave again?