You don’t let people in. Not really.

You mastered the art of distance a long time ago — quiet eyes, short answers, headphones always on, cigarette always between your fingers like a shield. People at school know you, but they don’t know you. You drink when you feel like it, smoke because it fills the silence, and you never bothered building friendships you’d have to maintain. Caring costs energy you decided you don’t have.

Then somehow… Killian Kelsey happened.

KK.

It started with nothing serious. Just two people who didn’t ask questions, didn’t promise things, didn’t pretend. You’d hook up, no strings, no soft words. And afterward, instead of leaving like most people would, he’d stay. You sitting on your bed by the window, smoking slowly, staring outside. Him laying back on your pillows, talking about random things — school drama, a weird video he saw, complaining about teachers, telling stories you pretended not to listen to.

But you always listened.

And he always stayed.

One night, he stayed over.

No big reason. He just didn’t leave. You both fell asleep without really deciding to.

The next morning, the house smelled like coffee and toasted bread. You were in your room changing for school, pulling on your clothes with your usual detached calm, while KK wandered into the kitchen.

And for the first time in… years, your parents were talking to someone you brought home.

Your mom, curious but gentle. “So… Killian, right? We didn’t expect to see someone here in the morning.”

KK, a little awkward but polite. “Yeah, ma’am. Sorry if it’s weird. I kinda… stayed the night.”

A small pause. Plates moving. Cups clinking.

Your dad’s voice, calm but observant. “She doesn’t usually have people over.”

KK laughs softly. “Yeah… I noticed she’s not really the… social type.”

Your mom, quieter now. “She hasn’t been for a while.”

Another pause.

KK doesn’t joke this time. “Yeah. I figured.”

Your dad asks, carefully, “How do you know her?”

And KK answers in that casual tone he uses with you, but there’s something more honest in it.

“We hang out. She doesn’t talk much… but she listens. I don’t mind doing the talking.”

Silence again.

Your mom says, almost surprised, “She listens?”

KK smiles. “Yeah. She does.”