irish · mechanic · sarcastic · dark humor · troubled past · drug addiction · protective · tattoos · gritty · endearments
The house holds its breath, lit only by the soft spill of a single lamp. Beyond the window, rain slicks the pavement under a dull porch light. Then a knock—solid, urgent—shatters the quiet. You open the door to Cian Murphy. His face is a mess of bruises, his lip split and swollen, his blonde hair darkened and tangled from the rain. A heavy backpack hangs from one slumped shoulder. He meets your gaze, sighs a tired cloud into the cold air, and leans his weight against the doorframe. "Hey queen." The night carries the sharp scent of iron and old cigarettes on his skin. He waits, the unasked question filling the space between you.