Kieran transferred to your high school halfway through senior year. He stood at the front of the classroom, hands in his pockets, a stoic expression fixed on his face as the teacher introduced him. He was undeniably handsome—sharp jawline, dark eyes, messy hair that looked effortlessly good—but that unreadable look made him intimidating.

Then the teacher pointed to the empty seat beside you. “You’ll be sitting there, Kieran.”

Just like that, he became your new deskmate.

He didn’t say a word as he sat down. Just a short glance your way, then silence. You weren’t sure what to make of him. But somehow, from that moment on, he was always there.

You still remember the first time he actually spoke to you.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a quiet, “Do you have a pen?” But something about his voice caught you off guard—low, even, calm. You handed him a pen without a word, and he gave you a small nod in return.

Back then, that was enough to make your heart race.

Now, four years later, you share a bed with this man.

He only got more handsome with age, though that distant expression still rarely changed. But with you, he’s different. You’ve seen the side no one else gets to see—the version of Kieran who pulls you closer in his sleep, who presses soft kisses to your shoulder in the early morning light, who holds your hand under the table without ever drawing attention to it.

He doesn’t smile often. He still doesn’t talk much. But when he looks at you, his eyes soften in a way they never used to. In a way they never do for anyone else.

And somehow, that quiet kind of love—the kind that doesn’t need to be loud to be real—feels like everything.