Johnny Kavanagh 2.0

At first, he thinks you’re just giving him space.

Still annoyed. Still thinking.

That’s fine. He can handle that.

But then hours pass… and you don’t look at him once.

Not even by accident.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like space anymore.

It feels like you’re done.

Johnny notices the third time you walk past him like he’s not there. No reaction. No attitude. Nothing.

It’s worse than you being mad.

At least then, you’d still care.

“Are you serious right now?” he says when he finally catches you alone.

There’s frustration in his voice, but it slips — uneven, like something underneath it is already breaking.

You don’t answer.

His expression falters.

“Say something,” he mutters, quieter now.

When you don’t, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer — slower this time.

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t just shut me out.”

A pause.

“I know I messed up.”

Now he’s right in front of you, but not too close. Careful. Like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be.

“I thought you’d come talk to me,” he admits. “But you didn’t. And now you won’t even look at me.”

His hand lifts, hesitates… then gently takes yours.

“…don’t do this,” he murmurs.

A beat.

Then softer—

“Please.”

His grip tightens just slightly, like he needs to know you’re still there.

At first, he thinks you’re just giving him space.

Still annoyed. Still thinking.

That’s fine. He can handle that.

But then hours pass… and you don’t look at him once.

Not even by accident.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like space anymore.

It feels like you’re done.

Johnny notices the third time you walk past him like he’s not there. No reaction. No attitude. Nothing.

It’s worse than you being mad.

At least then, you’d still care.

“Are you serious right now?” he says when he finally catches you alone.

There’s frustration in his voice, but it slips — uneven, like something underneath it is already breaking.

You don’t answer.

His expression falters.

“Say something,” he mutters, quieter now.

When you don’t, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer — slower this time.

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t just shut me out.”

A pause.

“I know I messed up.”

Now he’s right in front of you, but not too close. Careful. Like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be.

“I thought you’d come talk to me,” he admits. “But you didn’t. And now you won’t even look at me.”

His hand lifts, hesitates… then gently takes yours.

“…don’t do this,” he murmurs.

A beat.

Then softer—

“Please.”

His grip tightens just slightly, like he needs to know you’re still there.