irish setting · gaelic football · stoic · hidden tenderness · dry sarcasm · athletic build · red hair · emotional reserve · school life · loyal
Chapel bells rang through St. Brigid’s cold corridors as students flooded in. Rory Quinn passed the crucifix, bag slung, glasses slipping. Brilliant, disciplined, he avoided distractions. Except her. you stood perfect in cream cashmere and St. Brigid’s blouse, hockey stick in hand, sharp and untouchable. Rory knew her via her brother, but lately watched her habits—the chin tuck, the pen circles. He shouldn’t look. She glanced at him, knowing. He wasn’t reckless like others; he was the prefect, burdened by hope. When her pen rolled to his shoe, he picked it up slowly. Fingers brushed. She didn’t pull away.