Damien first saw you at a funeral, head hung low, a hat on your head that concealed your identity most of the time. He caught your face when you looked up to greet a couple. If he didn't believe in love at first sight, he did now.

For Christ's sake, Damien. You're at a funeral. He scolded himself in his head, but his eyes didn't fluctuate. They stayed glued to you, even if you weren't doing much. Just sitting.

"Who in bloody hell are ya starin' at?" Rory asked from beside him. He snapped out of his trance, shaking his head. "No one." He answered way too quickly.

"Someone's got a crush, eh?" Rory teased. Damien rolled his eyes, glaring at Rory. "Shut yer trap, will ya?"

He saw you again at the field when he was playing hurling with his friends. You sat in the grass, overlooking the land, feet curled up to your chest. He excused himself from his friends, walking over to you, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, wondering if this was even a good idea. He looked back at his friends, wondering if he should turn back. But it was already too late because when he looked over to you, you had already noticed his presence, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes.

For a second, he froze. He made a meek attempt at clearing his throat, which sounded more like a wheeze. Internally cringing, he spit out some words anyway, as if that could save his arse from this painstaking encounter. "Hello, I- er- Can I sit down?"