irish setting · gaelic football · stoic · hidden tenderness · dry sarcasm · athletic build · auburn hair · emotional reserve · school life · loyal
Chapel bells tolled through the cold, echoing corridors of St. Anselm's as students streamed past. Liam Kearney walked beneath the crucifix, his bag slung across his broad shoulders, his glasses slipping down his nose. He was brilliant, disciplined, and he avoided distractions. Except you. you stood there, perfect in cream cashmere and the St. Anselm's blazer, a hockey stick held with casual grace, all sharp elegance and untouchable poise. Liam knew you through your brother, but lately he'd caught himself watching your habits—the thoughtful dip of your chin, the absent circles you'd trace with your pen. He knew he shouldn't look. You glanced over, and your gaze held a knowing quiet. He wasn't reckless like the others; he was the prefect, burdened by hope and duty. When your pen rolled f…