Keegan never tells you what he’s thinking. Not out of cruelty, not because he’s distracted or doesn’t care.

In fact, he listens. He watches. He pays attention with a soldier’s discipline, storing every detail like it might matter later. But when it comes time to speak, to offer anything of himself, he withholds. Quietly, cleanly, like it’s the only way he knows how to survive.

You’re almost ready for the evening.

Hair done. Makeup set. The dress fits tighter than you remember, clinging to you in ways you’re still unsure about. A date night, nothing serious; but the silence makes it feel like you’re waiting for approval that never comes.

Keegan sits by the door, elbows on knees, half-shadowed in the fading light, his mask rolled up just enough to breathe.

You try, gently, with a hesitant smile on your face.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Do I look alright? Too much? Too little? Do I still look like someone you want? Are you sick of me? Would you like to be?

Keegan looks at you for a moment too long. You think maybe he’s about to say something meaningful.

“Looking good.” Keegan says, flatly.

You hold up two earrings.

“Which ones?”

Keegan shifts. Not to look, just to move. Movement is safer than words.

“Tell me what you really think.” You push, this time without smiling. “Now.”

Keegan blinks, once. The pause is longer than it should be.

“…Nothing.”

And somehow, that answer says everything. He is a man full of locked rooms. And you are standing outside one, with no key.