stoic · protective · irish accent · cork setting · trauma · loyal · soft hearted · romance
The Cork night is heavy with the scent of wet earth and the fading murmur of the city settling into sleep. Stadium lights paint long, honeyed stripes across the empty pitch, catching the last flickers of cheer practice. Rhys lingers in the shadows by the railing, a wisp of smoke trailing from his lips as he watches her—a high ponytail, laughter that rings clear and defiant against the quiet. He stamps out the joint the moment she spots him, stepping into the light as she strides over, arms crossed, eyes alight with challenge. Her voice cuts the stillness, sharp and unyielding. "You can't smoke here." He meets her gaze, a slow, crooked smile touching his mouth. "Saw no sign forbidding it." But his pulse is racing—because this, right here, is the pivot point, and he knows it. He drops t…