I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the evening ahead. Josh and Leroy had opted to stay behind, Josh claiming he couldn't resist my mom's cooking. I chuckled, knowing how much he adored her meals. "Alright, but don't eat everything," I teased, asking them to wait for me while I headed out.

To my surprise, Michael volunteered to walk with us to the diner just a few blocks from our place. I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions as we set off. Walking between these beautiful creatures made me feel slightly out of place. Rhyian, with her tall, slender frame and ethereal grace, looked like a supermodel—reminiscent of a young Natalia Vodianova, with her striking features and effortless elegance. Beside her, Brigit was equally stunning. With her black hair framing her delicate face, she resembled Sabrina Carpenter, but with an edge, her beauty sharp and magnetic. And then there was Michael, towering over us—well, towering over me, at least—looking like he had stepped out of a dream. His angelic features reminded me of Luke Eisner, his blond hair catching the light and his chiseled face radiating a quiet strength.

As we walked, I could feel a tightness building in my chest. My heart beat faster with each step, not because of the company, but because I knew what awaited me at the diner. Diarmid. The name alone sent a flurry of emotions through me. It had been days since I last saw him, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to face him again. My hands began to sweat as the diner came into view, its warm lights glowing against the cool evening air.

I glanced at Brigit, suddenly overcome with the urge to turn back. I wanted to make an excuse, to retreat into the safety of home. These past days without Diarmid had been strange—my heart had found a steady rhythm, a calmness that I hadn't felt in a long time. And yet, despite the peace, he had never truly left my thoughts. I feared what seeing him again would stir within me. The way he looked at me, the feelings he ignited—it was overwhelming.

Sensing my unease, I suddenly felt a firm but gentle hand on my back. I turned to find Michael looking at me with concern. His eyes softened, and his brow furrowed slightly, as if silently asking, Are you okay?

I swallowed hard and tried to force a smile. It probably came out more as a grimace, but I appreciated Michael's silent support. His presence had always been calming, like a protective barrier against the world. "I'm fine," I murmured, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

He didn't press further, just kept walking alongside me, his hand lightly resting on my back, guiding me forward. I drew strength from him, knowing that whatever happened tonight, I wasn't alone. With one last deep breath, I focused on the path ahead, trying to steady my nerves as we approached the diner's entrance.

As soon as we stepped into the diner, I felt a shift in the air. It wasn't something I could easily explain, but the atmosphere was different—warm, but not suffocating. There was a subtle tension, a quiet buzz that set my nerves on edge, though I couldn't put my finger on why.

Michael's hand tightened slightly on my arm, and I could feel the shift in his energy. It wasn't threatening, but it was unmistakably protective, like he was bracing for something. I glanced up at him, trying to read his expression, but he was focused elsewhere, his jaw set and his gaze fixed ahead.

Brigit walked ahead of us, her pace quickening as she made her way toward the back of the diner, where there was a small balcony with a few scattered tables. I noticed how she moved with purpose, as if something—or someone—was drawing her forward.

As I followed, a soft buzzing sound caught my attention. I turned to Michael to see if he had noticed it too. His jaw was clenched tightly now, the muscles in his face tensing as if he were preparing for something. My stomach tightened. Oh no, what's wrong?

And then, I felt him. Before I even saw him, I felt his presence—the way the air seemed to thicken, the familiar pull in my chest that told me he was near. When Diarmid finally appeared in the doorway, my breath hitched. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. His broad frame filled the space, his gaze sharp and piercing, but it wasn't directed at me. No, it was directed at the person standing beside me—Michael.

I blinked, following Diarmid's gaze, and my heart dropped when I realized both men were locked in a silent standoff. Michael's normally calm demeanor had shifted, his eyes hard and unwavering as he stared back at Diarmid. There was a tension between them that I didn't understand, but it was palpable, like a current of electricity humming just beneath the surface.

Before I could say anything, Rhyian appeared beside me. She gently placed her hand on my arm, her touch soft but grounding. "Come on, let's head to our table," she said, her voice light and calm, though I could sense an underlying worry. Her smile was warm, but there was something behind her eyes—a flicker of concern she was trying to hide.

I hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Michael and Diarmid, both of them still locked in their silent exchange. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, tension building with every second that passed.

"Michael?" Rhyian added softly, her eyes darting to him as if to gently remind him to follow us, to break the moment before it escalated.

Michael didn't move at first, his hand still gripping my arm, his body rigid. But then, with a slow exhale, he relaxed his grip, his gaze shifting from Diarmid to me. His expression softened, though the tension in his jaw remained. "Yeah," he muttered, almost under his breath. He finally broke away, following us as we made our way to the balcony.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me as the standoff ended, though the uneasy feeling in my chest remained. I couldn't help but wonder what had just happened between them—what unspoken history or rivalry existed that I wasn't aware of.

As we settled into our seats on the balcony, the quiet hum of conversation and the soft clatter of dishes filled the air, but my mind was elsewhere. My thoughts kept drifting back to the look in Diarmid's eyes, the tension in Michael's stance. Something had shifted tonight, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this dinner was only the beginning of whatever was brewing between them.

Rhyian, always perceptive, caught my gaze from across the table and gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," she mouthed, though her eyes told a different story. She was worried too—about what, I wasn't sure yet. But for now, I focused on breathing, trying to steady my racing heart as the evening continued, the weight of the unsaid hanging heavy between us.

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As Rhyian guided me to my seat, I felt Michael settle into the chair on my left. The tension in the air hadn't dissipated, but I did my best to push it aside, focusing on the faces around me. Across the table, Roisin and Rhyian sat together, their expressions light but alert. Further left sat Finn and Brigit, engaged in quiet conversation, but I noticed the seat directly to my right was still empty. My heart began to race, and I wasn't sure if it was from nervousness or something deeper. I glanced toward the door, my gaze inevitably drawn to the one person who had been on my mind for days—the one who made my heart pound so loudly it scared me.

Diarmid.

As my eyes found him, standing just a few feet away, I bit my lip, trying to steady my breath. Scared? No, not scared, I told myself. But the mixture of anticipation and uncertainty was undeniable. I was about to shift my gaze back to the table, hoping to collect my thoughts, when I caught his eyes—those deep, intense eyes that seemed to see right through me. The moment our gazes locked, the tension from earlier melted away as if it had never existed. He smiled—a soft, disarming smile that made my chest tighten in a way I couldn't control. I felt my breath catch in my throat as he slowly walked over and took the empty seat beside me.

On my right side.

The air around us seemed to change, as if the room itself had paused, holding its breath in anticipation of what might happen next. I tried to appear calm, but my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Diarmid didn't say anything at first, but his presence was enough to make me feel both reassured and anxious at the same time.

Conversation eventually started, breaking the tension that had settled over the table. I took a deep breath and began introducing Michael to the group. I could still feel the weight of the unspoken tension between him and Diarmid, though both greeted each other with strained smiles, attempting to be civil. Their handshake was firm, the kind that seemed polite on the surface but carried an undercurrent of challenge. I couldn't ignore the flicker of curiosity in Diarmid's eyes as he sized Michael up, and in turn, the way Michael's gaze lingered on Diarmid, as if he were trying to figure out something important but unspoken.

It was hard not to feel the palpable tension between them. Every glance, every movement, seemed to hold an unsaid question, a silent measuring of who held more sway in this moment. The rest of the group seemed to notice too, though they made no direct mention of it. Finn, ever observant, raised an eyebrow as he caught the subtle dynamics playing out. Rhyian, seated across from me, offered me a small, reassuring smile, as if to remind me that things would settle soon enough.

But despite the uneasy atmosphere, Michael remained at the table, deciding not to retreat. His curiosity, especially about Diarmid and the group he was with, was obvious. He wasn't the kind to back down easily, and his determination to stay and observe only added to the thickening tension around us. I could feel the weight of his questions hanging in the air, though none of them were voiced. Why did he seem to command such presence that even Michael, usually so composed, was now on edge?

As the night progressed, I couldn't help but feel caught between two worlds—Michael's protective, grounded energy and Diarmid's mysterious, magnetic pull. Both of them were forces in their own right, and I found myself sitting right in the middle of it, unsure of what might happen next. All I could do was hold onto the hope that the evening would unfold without any confrontation, though the silent tension told me otherwise.

Diarmid's hand rested casually on the table beside mine, not touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of his skin. It was a subtle reminder of his presence, his closeness, and it made my heart race even faster. I glanced up at him, and for a brief moment, he caught my gaze again. There was something unreadable in his eyes, a swirl of emotions that I couldn't quite place. And yet, despite everything, his smile remained—calm, assured, like he knew something the rest of us didn't.

Meanwhile, Michael's eyes stayed sharp, never straying far from Diarmid, as if watching, waiting. Whatever was happening between them, it wasn't over—not by a long shot. But for now, we all played our parts, sitting around the table, sharing polite conversation, while the air around us buzzed with the tension of what was left unsaid.

The atmosphere at the table was a strange mix of casual conversation and underlying tension. I made sure to engage with everyone, answering their questions and keeping the flow of the evening light and comfortable. But the weight of Diarmid's presence lingered beside me, even though he remained mostly silent, observing more than speaking. He didn't need words to make his presence felt. Every small movement he made seemed deliberately timed to remind me of how close he was—like when his arm brushed against mine as he reached for his drink, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine. I noticed how the tiny hairs on my arms stood on end, a response I couldn't control. When I glanced at Diarmid, I saw the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Michael, ever the watchful protector, kept the conversation going. His questions were polite, measured, but there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity in his voice—he wanted to understand this group, especially Diarmid. "So," Michael began, his tone neutral but probing, "are you all from around here? Or are you visiting?" His gaze flicked between Diarmid and Finn, clearly trying to gauge who would answer.

Finn, as calm and collected as always, took it upon himself to respond. "We're from out of town," he said smoothly, flashing a polite smile. "Just testing the waters here you know, taking in the local sights."

Michael nodded, maintaining his cordial demeanor. "I see. And where exactly are you from?" The question hung in the air for a moment, and I could feel a slight shift in the energy at the table, though Michael's tone remained polite. He wasn't being confrontational—he never would be—but there was an underlying tension, a need to understand the people sitting with us, especially Diarmid.

Finn, ever the diplomat, answered easily, "We've been traveling a bit. Originally, though, we're from Ireland. Diarmid here—well, he's got a bit of a mixed background." He chuckled softly, casting a knowing glance at Diarmid, who hadn't spoken much up until now.

Michael's eyes flickered with curiosity, but he didn't push the subject too far. Instead, he offered a polite smile and said, "I'm Nick's best friend. I've been looking out for Arwen since... well, since everything happened." His voice was steady, but the mention of Nick brought a certain weight to the table, a reminder of the unspoken emotions that had been hanging over me.

Diarmid's eyes darkened slightly at the mention of Nick, though he remained quiet, his attention now fully focused on Michael. There was an intensity there that wasn't lost on anyone, least of all me. But before the tension could build any further, Brigit chimed in, her voice warm and light, trying to ease the moment. "That's why I asked Arwen to come out with us tonight," she said, smiling brightly. "We thought it would be good for her to get away for a bit, you know? Take her mind off things."

I could sense Brigit's attempt to defuse the situation, and I appreciated it. She had this way of lightening the mood without forcing it. Her eyes flitted from me to Michael, her soft expression full of understanding. "Arwen's been through a lot," she added, her tone gentle but firm. "We just wanted to make sure she had some time to relax and unwind."

Michael nodded, his posture relaxing just slightly, though I could tell he wasn't fully convinced. Still, he appreciated the sentiment. "I get it," he said, his voice softer now. "She needs people around her who care."

I couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the protective energy surrounding me—from both Michael and Diarmid, in very different ways. It was almost suffocating, though in some strange way, comforting too. The rest of the dinner went on without incident, but the tension between Michael and Diarmid was palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. Neither one was outright confrontational, but there was a silent battle happening in the spaces between words, in the looks exchanged when they thought I wasn't paying attention.