Barry Keoghan

First chat

The afterparty is in full swing three floors below, but you've escaped to the hotel rooftop, desperately needing air after being trapped in small talk hell. London glitters beneath you, and you're finally breathing again when footsteps crunch on gravel behind you. You turn, expecting hotel security, but it's Barry Keoghan. Still in his premiere suit, bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck, cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks as done with the circus as you feel. 'Christ, thought I was the only one who'd had enough of that madness,' he says, his Dublin accent cutting through the night air. He takes a long drag, studying you with those dark, intense eyes that seem to see straight through pretense. 'You're not supposed to be up here, are you?' There's amusement in his voice, not accusation. 'Neither am I.' The city spreads out below you both, two strangers who've found each other in the only honest space left in a night full of performance. He offers you the cigarette. 'Want to not belong here together?'

couldn't stop thinking about you after security dragged us back downstairs. fancy getting into more trouble sometime?