I start noticing that Kieran is always here, just… around.
He's here every morning, somehow already at the small station before I'm fully awake. The sunlight drifts through the single window, casting warm light across my face, and there he is, leaning against the bars, ready to start the day. Without fail, he brings extra food, claiming every time that he accidentally bought too much.
With my stomach grumbling and my throat parched, I accept without much hesitation.
It doesn't help that every time I eat, he watches me with this smug little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. I thank him, choosing to ignore his excuses and the way his gaze lingers on me. Maybe he feels guilty for keeping me locked in a cell—small, cramped, and undeniably uncomfortable. But what do I know? I'm a prisoner here, with no sign of a court date or an official sheriff even coming to speak to me.
In the afternoon, he's back with lunch, using the same excuse as in the morning.
It's like he's almost… visiting. He even brings books, a deck of cards, a couple of puzzles, and once he brought in a little radio and told me I could keep it. For someone supposedly "doing his duty," he's spending a lot of time just being here with me.
Then there are the nights. Kieran stays longer than he needs to, chatting and sharing random stories, as if the dim station is the perfect place to catch up on everything from favorite meals to the colors he hates. He's got this need to fill every silence, like it's physically uncomfortable for him, as if he has to keep me entertained or I'll break apart without him here.
And it makes me laugh—this overgrown, intense guy who can't even sit through a few minutes of quiet. He's nervous about something, always moving, always trying to keep the moment from settling. But he does it well. He distracts me in ways I didn't think possible.
We talk about the weirdest things. He asks me about my work, about whether it made me happy, why I was considering leaving. Things I would have discussed with Evan, back before everything went sideways. Talking about it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would, probably because Kieran never pries; he just lets me talk.
Every once in a while, I throw in a detail about my life, and he immediately matches it with some fact about himself. By now, I know his birthday, his favorite color, what he does on weekends, and the exact way he likes his eggs in the morning. He talks about his life like we're sharing a history—like somehow, by knowing him, I'm grounding myself here. It should bother me, the way he's constantly trying to pull me into these chats, but instead, it feels… steadying.
Sometimes, I want to ask him to let me go. But then I think of him, always here, always showing up with something I might need, a meal, a book, a pillow.
One evening, after another of his random questions, he laughs, watching me with raised brows and an amused tilt to his head. "So, you really told him that, huh?"
"Yes! Hard to believe, right? The guy had the nerve to tell me he didn't like how my reports looked, and I said, 'Fine, do them yourself!' I was doing him a favor, and I wasn't even getting paid extra. He needed me, not the other way around."
"It's not unbelievable." Kieran's mouth quirks in a half-smile, his focus flicking back to the book he's holding. "I just wouldn't have pegged you for someone who'd speak their mind like that."
I scoff. "Do I look that nice to you?"
"Want an honest answer?" He lifts his head, and when our eyes meet, the room grows still. There's something in his gaze, a tension that goes beyond the joking back-and-forth. He looks away quickly, face flushing red as he lifts the book to cover himself, clearly embarrassed.
Kieran, it turns out, blushes easily too.
As evening fades to night, the room grows darker. With no clock in the station and my phone long gone—courtesy of Kieran's less-than-gentle handling—I have to rely on the moon's rise to mark the time. I yawn, stretching out and feeling the sore spots from the too-thin mattress. Kieran notices right away, eyeing my drooping lids.
He stands, heading for the door as if he's finally about to leave.
But I sit up, cracking my back with a loud pop that echoes through the quiet room. Kieran stops in his tracks, his hand gripping the door as he glances back at me, his expression caught between concern and curiosity.
"Sleep okay in there?" he asks quietly.
I laugh, scratching my cheek, feeling a strange warmth at the way he's looking at me. "I don't know about okay. This bed is metal, and the mattress is about as thick as a sheet of paper. I miss my bed back home. Feather pillows, two fluffy blankets, and a soft mattress. Here?" I glance at the thin pillow and scratchy blanket, trying not to cringe. "Not so much."
Kieran looks thoughtful for a moment. "So…" he says slowly, like he's piecing together a puzzle. "You're having trouble falling asleep."
"Pretty much," I admit, shrugging. "But don't worry. It's not just the bed. It's… everything. I haven't really slept right since I lost Evan."
The mention of Evan sends a flash of something across Kieran's face—anger? Discomfort? He makes a quiet scoff, his expression tightening as he turns sharply, letting the door close behind him with a rough shove.
I sink back onto the bed, feeling the weight of the day press down on me, making it hard to breathe. For some reason, just mentioning Evan in front of Kieran makes me feel uneasy. He either ignores me when I bring Evan up or bristles like I've said something offensive, something he'd rather pretend doesn't exist.
The fan hums softly above me, blending with the quiet symphony of crickets chirping outside, a lullaby I try to focus on to block out the confusion brewing inside me.
A moment later, the door creaks open.
Kieran enters again, arms laden with blankets and a small mountain of pillows, more than I thought even existed in this tiny place. He silently pushes them through the bars of my cell, his face set in an odd expression.
"Oh my god, Kieran! You didn't have to!" I can't hold back my smile as I reach for the soft bundle, the warmth and weight instantly comforting.
He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks flushed red. "Don't mention it."
While I arrange the pillows and spread the blanket over the cot, Kieran finds a book, settling into his chair with it. It's one of the books he left behind for me, his quiet gesture of making sure I wasn't bored in here. I catch his eyes as I settle back against the newly cushioned bed, and a surprising sense of gratitude wells up in me.
"These smell so nice," I say, inhaling deeply. The warmth of the blankets wraps around me, and I close my eyes, smiling. "What do you use? It's like… lavender and fresh rain."
Kieran freezes, a low sound escaping his throat, like a growl caught before it fully formed. I glance up, laughing, but he startles, and a sudden movement makes him drop the book, letting out a string of muttered curses as he bends to pick it up.
A deep red stains his cheeks, and he clutches his finger, where a line of blood beads from a fresh paper cut.
"Oh, ouch—come here," I call, pressing against the bars, my hand stretched out. "Let me see."
Kieran hesitates, muttering, "It's nothing, Haven."
"Please? Just… let me help."
He steps forward, reluctantly holding out his hand, and I reach through the bars, gently wrapping my fingers around his. A strange warmth spreads from the contact, a prickling warmth that settles in my chest.
"Just press it a bit," I say softly, holding his hand firmly, noticing his eyes lingering on mine, filled with an intensity that takes me by surprise.
I look up, smiling despite the awkwardness of the situation. "You good? Is there something on my face?"
But Kieran says nothing, his gaze fixed on me with a quiet reverence, as if he's seeing something he can't believe is real.
Instead of answering, he rests his cheek lightly against my hand, his eyes fluttering shut, and for a moment, he looks almost… at peace.
A strange tenderness rises within me, confusing and quiet, but undeniably present.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as he straightens and pulls away, his face tinged with a shy smile. He walks toward the door, pausing only briefly to look back, his eyes meeting mine one last time.
The warmth lingers, even after he's gone, a quiet hum that fills the space he left behind. I close my eyes, breathing in the comforting scent he's brought into this lonely cell, and for reasons I can't quite name, the darkness doesn't seem so heavy tonight.