Page 25 of Try Line Hearts
“And you’re underperforming,” Kaine muttered.
They got off near O’Connell Street. The Spire speared the low sky like a needle through felt.
Kaine craned his neck. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Byrne agreed.
“Does it do anything?”
“No.”
“Right.” Kaine nodded solemnly. “Art.”
They walked. The crowd pressed in—office workers, tourists, students with headphones, people moving like the city had a pulse of its own. It was strange, being out here with him. Strange to see Kaine in civilian clothes, blending instead of cutting lines down a pitch like he’d been engineered for it. Strange to share pavement instead of a passing lane.
They drifted toward Grafton Street, where buskers layered sound on sound: a fiddle winding through the cold, a guitar jangling, ahalf-decent cover of a pop song Byrne had never learned the words to. People moved in tides.
Kaine paused to listen, hands shoved under his armpits for warmth. “This is unreal.”
“It’s Tuesday,” Byrne said.
“Exactly.” Kaine’s eyes were bright. “Back home, this would be a festival.”
Back home.
The phrase sat heavy between them.
“Do you miss it?” Byrne asked before he could stop himself.
Kaine’s surprise softened into something thoughtful. “Yeah. Course I do.” He counted on his fingers like a boy listing treasures. “My nan. The sea. The language. The sun, obviously.”
He glanced at Byrne. “But I came here for a reason.”
“To play,” Byrne said automatically.
“To win,” Kaine corrected, voice dropping softer. “And… maybe to be something new.”
Something in Byrne’s chest pinged sharply at that, a note of recognition that felt too personal to name.
Before he could respond, two teenagers approached, tentative but buzzing.
“Sorry,” one blurted, Dublin lilt brightening the word. “Are you—are you Byrne?”
Byrne’s public face slid into place as if it lived under his skin: measured smile, relaxed shoulders, the practiced warmth of a man whose career depended on looking approachable.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hi.”
“And you’re Kaine,” the other girl said, eyes wide. “We saw you in the clips. You’re unreal.”
Kaine’s surprise melted into an easy grin. “Cheers. Appreciate that.”
“Can we…?” The first held up her phone.
“Sure,” Byrne said. “Quick one.”
They crowded in. Byrne instinctively anchored the photo, angling himself so the girls would be fully in frame. Kaine leaned in from the other side, shoulder brushing Byrne’s as he ducked his head to fit.
The camera clicked.
