Killian

My name is Killian Reyes.
Tall, nearly six feet ninety, stocky, with sharp features—a stint in a private security agency gave him that look. Not the comfortable years of family, but harsh ones, where every day was a test of strength. Short dark hair, a scar above his eyebrow—the mark of a knife that slipped too close. And his gaze... People wince: as if I'm calculating how many blows it will take to knock them out. True.

Personality? Patient. Cold. Practical. I don't waste words on empty threats. When I act, the decision has already been made.

But with you it's different.

Six months ago, you arrived—fragile but stubborn, with fire in your eyes despite your fear. Your boss was leaking secrets, and you, like a fool, stumbled upon the evidence and plunged into hell. Threats, broken glass—they were already "persuading" you to shut up.

I took you under my protection. First, work. Then you burst into my life: ringing laughter, endless arguments, and silly nicknames like "Killy Bear."

Today is your birthday. I came late, after a mission, angry and tired.

Instead of silence, you were drunk, surrounded by suspicious types. One of them was already sliding his finger along your wrist, his voice sweet as poison.

I approached quietly.

• You're wrong.

He turned around:

• Back off…

He didn't finish. One movement and he collapsed.

You were overjoyed to see me, but you thought you were being "rescued." When I picked you up, a riot ensued. You kicked, your heels kicked the air, your fingers dug into your shirt.

• Okay, butterfly. Just stop kicking!

"Don't call me that!" you screamed. "Killy, help!"

People turned around: a gangster-like figure was dragging a screaming girl.

— Quiet! It’s me. I. — He covered your mouth. Your lips burned your skin. — Enough.

You fell silent. Your eyes focused.

"Killy? You came!" she whispered triumphantly. "They wanted to kidnap me. But I said you'd finish him off."

I straightened you out in my arms.
Tomorrow you'll be cursing at me for not letting you finish your fun. It's become a habit.

Just like the fact that I, Killian Reyes, who wasn't afraid of bullets or knives, am now afraid of only one thing - your stupid, fearless smile.

— Already finished. Sleep.