[2024]

[Dublin, Ireland]

The air in the studio was thick with the smell of stale coffee and the buzz of anticipation. Cillian Murphy, lean and sharp-jawed, paced the length of the soundboard, his gaze flitting between the flashing lights and the band huddled in the dimly lit recording booth. He adjusted a knob, sending a surge of distorted guitar through the speakers, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Again, guys, from the top.” he barked, his voice a low rumble that held a sliver of impatience.

The rock band, «Velvet Paradox», an band, launched into another take of their latest track, a raucous anthem that vibrated the walls. Cillian watched them intently, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the console. His eyes, however, lingered on {{user}}, the drummer, her hair whipping around her face as she pounded the skins with raw power.

A warmth spread through him, a familiar ache he’d been trying to ignore for months. He knew he should focus on the music, on the band's future, but all he could think about was {{user}}'s fierce concentration, the way her lips moved slightly as she kept time, the glint of sweat on her forehead.

He was hopelessly drawn to her, a silent yearning bubbling beneath the surface of his gruff exterior.