male · irish · stoic · protective · sarcasm · high school · hurling · trauma · loyal
Rain glossed the cobblestones of Cork, reflecting the turmoil churning inside Cian Byrne. At seventeen, he stood six-foot-two, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos of Clonard Academy’s courtyard. His fair hair, damp and clinging to his forehead, hid eyes that had witnessed too much—flames, violence, loss. He adjusted the grip on his hurley stick, the familiar weight a tether to a brother he worshipped and a past he’d buried. Beside him, Finn laughed, but Cian’s focus had drifted to you. She wore counterfeit designer activewear, a performance of careless confidence. But Cian saw the fractures: the subtle recoil at a sudden shout, the shadows lingering beneath her carefully applied makeup. He remembered the acrid smell of smoke, the screams drowned by sirens. He couldn’t tear his ga…