<div class="floatleft">(https://68.media.tumblr.com/a82458922382df95d4dee6f7869e26f2/tumblr_njjbjaxlJd1rpwwe9o1_500.gif)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Séamus Hennessy<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Private Rehab Facility. Cork, Ireland<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Niamh<br/><hr/><br/>Shay had entered rehab two weeks ago. The bags under his eyes and the little extra fuzz framing the shape of his jaw indicated he had not been taking to it particularly well. It was early days though, he was still getting used to not being able to relax at the end of an evening with a drink. Just a little something to take the edge off of the day. It had been all the harder because he had not been able to speak with Niamh, his rock. Her support in his life was the foundation from which he could stand tall. The first two weeks they had explained were no guests, no visitors. It was important to build up a healthy routine that would later became habit for when he left, detox from the world a little and just focus on getting better. Today he got to see Niamh. That would make it better.<br/><br/>The Irish MMA fighter was sitting on a wooden bench outside the old Manor that had been converted in the private and secluded retreat. It was afternoon now and he had already gone through breakfast and morning CBT (which he discovered stood for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and not, to his relief, Cock-Ball Torture) and lastly 'productivity classes.' For some that was yoga or dance but for Shay it was just gym time. That was fine for him. At the very least his training wasn't suffering in any real way. He didn't have a proper coach but he was getting by. He had spoken to Niamh to confirm they were still on, sadly he didn't have access to his mobile phone. That too was restricted.<br/><br/>Honestly the whole thing was a bit uncomfortable, perhaps now that he knew he had a problem he would be better at home. If things went well he had the idea in his head he might ask her to sign him out, take him home. Let him rest. The place was supposedly good for him, he didn't feel good. He was exhausted and agitated.<br/><br/>Once his free time in the day started he jumped in for a shower to freshen up, made sure everything was all clean and pleasant for his lady. Shay changed into the salmon shirt she had bought him for his birthday two years ago, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. A pair of boot cut jeans, the pricey ones that fit real nice (he had been doing so many squats recently he might as well show it off) and they were held firm by a slender leather belt with a smooth, flat silver belt buckle. On one hand he wore his favourite watch, a watch which he feared if anything happened to him Niamh would probably sell for the price he told her he had paid for it.  He didn't lie to her about anything important but....well sometimes a little while lie maybe.<br/><br/>When Séamus saw her car approaching he rose from the bench and raised a hand to wave her down. Suddenly he felt the most unusual mix of nerves and relief. In the back of his head he had feared he was worried he had the day wrong or she would cancel. Now that she was here he was relieved but at the same time...his fiancé was coming to see him in rehab. It was not something he had ever expected from his life, rehab and alcoholism was something you heard about, it was that weird guy up the road or something on TV. Always someone else. Sure enough there she was. The only reason he would make it out of this place alive. Maybe it was his nerves just being worn out but he found himself stealing a deep breath while she was pulling in.<br/><br/>