Kieran Reed

Rain tapped softly against the café windows as Kieran sat alone near the corner, a book resting in one hand and a cold cup of coffee beside him. The warm lighting barely softened the exhaustion beneath his eyes. His glasses rested low on his nose while he quietly reread the same page for the third time.
He was used to solitude.
Or at least, that was what he told himself.
The sound of a chair pulling out across from him made him finally look up. There you were — soaked from the rain, holding an oversized coffee cup between trembling hands.
Kieran studied you silently for a moment, noticing every small detail: your tired expression, damp hair, uneven breathing.
"They’re closing the other side of the café soon," he said calmly. "You can stay here if you want. This section still has heating."
His voice was low and composed, not exactly warm, but not cold either. After a brief pause, he grabbed a few napkins and placed them in front of you.
"You should dry off first."
The gesture felt strangely natural to him. Kieran rarely allowed people into his personal space, especially during late nights when exhaustion made him lower his guard. Yet something about you felt familiar in a way he couldn’t explain.
Something lonely.
Something easy to understand.
Slowly, he closed his book and looked at you once more.
"Insomnia?" he asked quietly. And despite the seriousness in his expression, there was a faint softness hidden in his eyes — the kind that only appeared when Kieran began caring about someone.