"Hello."
Just that. Just one word in that low, deep, slightly rough voice of his, and it cracked me wide open.
The tears came again before I could stop them, hot and stupid and ugly.
I turned my face to the side, away from the street, away from anyone who might catch a glimpse of me falling apart.
And I hated that it was his voice, his, that had become the one thing tethering me to the edge of sanity. This man who I had dragged into my apartment out of some dumb impulse to help, who refused to leave, who acted like he owned the floor he limped across but was now also the only thing that felt warm in my freezing little world.
And just as I let myself feel that, just as I leaned into the stupid, dumb comfort of hearing his voice again he shattered it.
"Are you planning to stay out all night again?" His tone was flat. Irritated.
I blinked, confused. "Huh?"
"Like you did three days ago? Or was that a one-time thing?"
My stomach twisted with guilt. That night I had stayed with Aaron, drinking late until I passed out. The next morning I slipped home with my tail between my legs and found him already awake, already watching. Of course he remembered.
"I had to work overtime," I muttered, scrubbing at my cheek again. "And I missed the last train. So I'm just… walking halfway back. Trying to clear my head."
There was a pause on the line. I could hear him breathe. Once. Twice.
"Where are you?" he asked. His voice had changed. Lower. Tighter.
I looked around. "Um… I'm by the—hold on, I don't know the street name. There's this intersection near the old general hospital. You know it right?"
"Wait there," he said immediately. "Don't move."
I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to—"
"Kina."
The way he said my name made my heart skip. Not soft, not harsh. Just… commanding.
"Fine, I'll wait," I muttered, already regretting it.
---
He pulled up in a yellow cab barely ten minutes later. I hadn't even realized I'd started pacing until he stepped out, his dark hoodie pulled low and even with the mask on I could tell he had that familiar scowl already on his face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Excuse me?" I scoffed, taking a step back. "You didn't have to come out here like some dramatic knight—"
"You missed the last train, you're out here alone, and you didn't even text anyone."
"I didn't know I needed to!" I snapped back. "Why do you even care—"
Before I could finish, he crossed the space between us and grabbed me. And then, like I weighed absolutely nothing, like I was a sack of stupid potatoes, he picked me up.
"Put me down!" I yelped, squirming in his arms. "You're going to break your stitches or something—"
"You're lighter than your attitude. Relax."
"I'm serious! Everyone's staring—Kieran, I'm wearing a skirt—Kieran, I'm begging you—"
"Begging now?" He smirked without looking at me. "That was fast."
"I'll listen! I swear I'll listen! Just please put me down. This is embarrassing!"
He snorted but finally set me down, gently, as if I'd crack. I didn't meet anyone's eyes. I couldn't. My entire face was on fire.
He opened the cab door for me and just waited. No smugness. No teasing. Just… waiting.
So I got in. Quietly. And as the door shut, I leaned my head against the window, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
....
The ride home was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't need permission, just settled between us like an old friend neither of us wanted to acknowledge. The air in the cab felt warmer than it should've, not from heat but from something thick and unspoken.
When we finally got to the apartment, I slipped my shoes off and tried to act like I wasn't affected. Like the evening hadn't just peeled my soul inside out.
But the moment I stepped in, the warmth of the apartment, the smell of something faint and homely, the soft click of the door behind me, it all just hit me. I was tired. So fucking tired. Not just physically. All of me felt brittle. Like I'd been walking with my bones rattling loose and now they were finally settling into place just to collapse.
I started toward my room, desperate to curl up and disappear for a bit.
"Have you had dinner?" Kieran's voice stopped me mid-step.
I froze, back still turned. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be fine. I wanted him to believe I was okay without having to keep picking up my pieces. So I said, "Yeah. I ate something earlier."
But my stomach betrayed me with a loud, hungry growl that echoed like a damn microphone had been planted there. The silence that followed was humiliating.
Kieran sighed softly, almost in disbelief. "Even your own body's crying for help now."
I didn't say anything. I didn't have anything to say.
"Go shower," he said. "Come back when you're done."
And for once, I didn't argue. I dragged my tired limbs into the bathroom, letting the steam and water wash over me like a soft scolding. I scrubbed harder than I needed to, rinsed slower than I should've, and stared at myself in the foggy mirror long after I'd dried off.
When I came back out, the entire coffee table was filled.
I stopped at the doorway, blinking. Rice. Grilled fish. Sliced vegetables. A bowl of soup that still steamed. There was even juice, for God's sake. Juice.
I didn't even realize I was salivating until I swallowed it down, trying not to look as hungry as I was.
Kieran didn't say anything. He just handed me a spoon and sat across from me, already digging in like this was some normal Tuesday night.
We ate in silence.
And then the sky cracked open.
Wind came first, soft and eerie, whispering through the window panes.
Then rain. Heavy, merciless rain. Like the sky had its own emotional breakdown and decided to join the party.
I paused, spoon halfway to my mouth, and watched the droplets beat down against the glass like a thousand tiny fists.
Kieran didn't flinch. He just chewed his food and occasionally flicked his gaze toward me, like he could read all the things I wasn't saying. Like he already knew the storm outside wasn't half as loud as the one in my chest.
And for some reason, that made the food taste even better.
I think maybe, for the first time in a long time, I felt full. Not just from the food, but from… being noticed.
Being fed.
Being seen.
Even if it was by someone who still called me a brat.
We finished dinner in silence, too. Still not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. I stood, took the dishes to the sink before he could stop me, and rolled up my sleeves with a quiet determination. He didn't argue, he just joined me, drying whatever I washed.
Still silence.
It should've been fine. I mean, I liked silence. But not like this. Not when I was used to him teasing me, prodding at me, getting under my skin like a mosquito bite I couldn't reach.
So I opened my mouth, trying to find something to say, but he beat me to it.
"If you're ever gonna be late at work again, just call me."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"I'll come get you."
"You don't have to—"
"It's not a big deal. And it's the least I can do since I'm the one squatting in your apartment."
Squatting. That made me roll my eyes, but the corners of my lips tugged up slightly. I didn't know how to argue with that, especially not when my chest was blooming with a warmth I didn't expect.
I looked at him then. Really looked at him.
He was… big. Not just tall, but broad, with shoulders that made door frames look too small. His arms were littered with tattoos, his neck too. His face had the kind of intensity that made strangers cross the street. Menacing, cold, dangerous-looking.
And yet here he was. Being thoughtful. Cooking. Offering rides. Drying dishes.
Gentle.
He looked down at me, and his head tilted slightly, his lips twitching.
"You just had a dirty thought again, didn't you?"
My eyes widened. "What? No!"
"Yes, you did," he said smugly. "You looked at me, got all pink, then looked away like I caught you in the act. What were you imagining this time, princess?"
I wanted to disappear. "Shut up."
He leaned a little closer, voice dipped low, eyes dark and amused. "Me in an apron? Or me in nothing but an apron?"
"You're unbelievable," I muttered, yanking the dish towel out of his hand and tossing it on the counter.
"Awww," he crooned playfully. "Don't be shy now."
I waved him off, too warm in the face to stay in that kitchen a second longer. "Goodnight, Kieran."
He called after me just as I stepped toward my room.
"If you want to share the couch again… the invitation's still open."
I didn't turn around. Didn't say anything.
But he probably caught the twitch at the corner of my mouth before I disappeared inside.