There was a man. Thin. Pale. Eyes blown wide with panic. His hand, wrapped around my plushie keychain. The same one that had been hanging from my grocery bag.
Kieran had him by the wrist.
The air shifted.
Everything warm and soft vanished.
Kieran didn't just look dangerous, he became it. In a blink.
His fingers tightened around the man's wrist with a lazy sort of cruelty that made my spine lock. The man whimpered, mouth stammering something, but I couldn't even hear it. Couldn't take my eyes off Kieran's face.
The way his jaw ticked. The dark look in his eyes. Sharp. Merciless. Not loud or violent, just terrifyingly calm.
The predator he really was… had surfaced.
It was like someone peeled the playful smirk off and revealed something far more ancient underneath. Something that didn't flinch at pain. Something that dealt it.
"What were you doing?" Kieran asked, voice calm. Too calm.
The man shook. Literally shook. "I—I swear, I saw it fall. The little plush. I just—just wanted to give it back."
My keychain. Right. He was still holding it, crushed in the same hand Kieran had caged in his own.
Kieran didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there with that disarming stillness that made it even scarier, like violence was one flick of his wrist away.
His fingers tightened.
The man let out a small cry, face scrunching in pain.
"Kieran," I breathed, taking a step forward, heart thudding. "Let him go. He's just… he was just trying to help."
He didn't look at me at first. Just stared down at the man like he was trying to decide if a broken wrist would be enough to teach a lesson, or if he'd have to do more.
But then his gaze finally shifted.
To me.
And something in his face changed. Slightly.
Just enough.
The tension in his jaw loosened. His fingers loosened.
The man whimpered again and fumbled to shove the plush keychain into my hand before stumbling back, clutching his wrist like it was made of glass.
"I—I'm sorry," he said, still backing away.
Kieran didn't say a word.
Not until the guy turned a corner and vanished like he'd never been there.
And even then, he just exhaled, slow and sharp.
I clutched the keychain in my palm. My fingers trembled slightly.
"That was too much," I said quietly.
Kieran didn't meet my eyes. Just started walking again, slow and steady like he hadn't almost committed casual wrist homicide in the middle of the street.
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe next time, it won't just be a keychain."
I didn't answer.
We didn't speak much on the walk home after that.
I tried to. God, I tried. I made dumb comments about how heavy the bags were and how I could feel my arms mutating into Hulk limbs. I even joked that if he dropped dead on the sidewalk, I'd have to drag his body and leave a dramatic Yelp review for fate.
But Kieran? He just smiled.
That same quiet, unreadable smile.
The one that didn't reach his eyes.
By the time we got back to the apartment, the sun had dipped completely, the glow traded in for that dim city wash of blue shadows and flickering street lights. I set the groceries down, immediately busying myself with organizing, milk, eggs, the mountain of ramen I'd heroically snuck into the cart. Anything to not feel his presence behind me.
But I could feel it.
I could feel the chill of earlier, clinging to my skin like invisible fingers.
The moment we'd stepped inside, something had shifted in me. Something I couldn't shake. That look in his eyes, the calm cruelty, the complete lack of hesitation. It was like I'd been thrown back to that first night, standing in the alley with a man bleeding out and pointing a gun at me, and I realized all over again just how much danger I'd willingly invited into my home.
My fingers fumbled a can of tuna, and it rolled across the floor with a dull clink. I didn't even chase after it.
Kieran picked it up.
He didn't say a word.
Just placed it quietly on the counter like it wasn't soaked in tension and silent panic.
And then...
"I'm going out," he said.
I turned, eyes wide. "What? Why?"
"I need air."
"You should be resting. You—you got shot, remember?" I winced at how thin my voice sounded, like a single string pulled too tight.
He looked at me for a long moment. Not sharp. Not flirty. Just… still.
And then his lips curved, faint but tired. "You should worry about yourself, princess."
"Kieran—"
"I won't be long."
And then he was gone.
No teasing smirk. No parting joke.
Just the sound of the door closing behind him.
And silence.
I stood in the middle of my kitchen, surrounded by bags of groceries and the cold hum of the fridge, gripping the edge of the counter like it could stop the tremble working its way up my spine.