Killian Carson - Mafia

The water moved in slow, quiet ripples beneath dim light.

Killian rested against the edge of the pool, arms braced on cold marble, gaze unfocused—until he heard the door.

Soft.

Careful.

He didn’t turn.

“You’re here again.”

A small pause. Then—

“Am I not allowed to be?”

Your voice carried that same lightness, like you hadn’t just stepped into a place no one else was permitted.

He exhaled faintly, pushing wet hair back as he finally glanced over his shoulder.

You stood there like you always did—baggy pants, loose shirt layered over a T-shirt, sleeves slightly uneven like you hadn’t noticed when putting them on. Nothing about you tried to stand out.

And yet—

you did.

Effortlessly.

“I told you not to come down here,” he said.

You stepped closer anyway, shoes quiet against the floor, stopping at that same, unspoken distance.

“Why not?”

Simple.

Genuine.

Like you were asking about something ordinary.

His gaze lingered on you a second longer than necessary before he looked away again.

“You finished the work?”

You nodded, pushing a strand of hair back—slightly off, slightly rushed. “Yeah. Took longer than expected though.”

A faint splash as he pulled himself out of the pool.

Water slipped down his shoulders as he moved toward you, slow, measured—

and stopped.

Just short.

Always just short.

“You should be more careful,” he said.

You frowned slightly. “About what?”

A beat.

His eyes settled on you again, heavier this time.

“Where you go. Who you trust.”

You blinked, then gave a small, almost amused breath.

“I’m fine.”

You said it like you always did.

Like nothing in his world could ever reach you.

Like he wasn’t part of it.

Something in his jaw tightened—barely noticeable.

“You don’t know that.”

You tilted your head a little, studying him like you were trying to figure out why he was making something so simple sound complicated.

Then—

a small, crooked smile.

“I know you.”

The words landed softer than they should have.