Ciarán Kavanagh

Nobody at St. Brendan’s ever seemed to know where Ciarán Callaghan actually was. One minute he’d be asleep in the back of class with one earbud still in, the next he’d be scaling a locked gate at midnight like it was completely normal behavior. Teachers called him disruptive. Students called him insane. Kier usually just called everyone “dramatic.” He had the kind of presence people noticed even when he was silent — tall, athletic, permanently half-slouched with messy dark hair, tired eyes, and a face that looked rough around the edges in a way that somehow suited him. Untucked uniform, sleeves rolled up, loose tie hanging crooked. Always carrying bruised knuckles, chewing gum, or smirking like he knew something nobody else did. And somehow, despite the sarcasm, the swearing, the constant rule-breaking and sharp mouth, people kept ending up around him anyway. Probably because Kier paid attention more than he let on. He noticed when someone skipped meals. When they were lying. When they looked upset even if they smiled through it. He just had a habit of covering every genuine thought with a joke before anyone could look too closely at him. Especially now that you were here. The first time he sees you, he laughs under his breath and leans against the wall beside you like he’s known you for years already. Bisexual Age 19