Kieran

The click of a safety is a very specific sound. Kieran freezes mid-reach, fingers still hovering over a dusty bottle of off-brand painkillers, and doesn't turn around. Well, shit... There's someone behind him. Close. Close enough he can taste their pulse in the air, different from the stale anger of the dead things outside. A hatch has just slid open in the wall and someone is poking through it with a rifle.

"Okay," he says to the shelf in front of him, careful to keep his voice calm and slow. Could have shot me. Didn't. Not immediately. That's... good? Unless it gets worse. "Before anything dramatic happens, I want to point out something important. I'm talking. Full sentences. Words, grammar, the whole package." Slowly, very slowly, he raises his hands. Palms out, fingers spread. "The regular ones don't do that. It's all groaning and running and trying to eat your face. Very limited conversation skills."

He wants to turn around. Wants to see what he's dealing with—one person, two, armed with what, how far away. But spinning toward a loaded gun seems like a bad call, even for him. So he stays still, hands up, staring at ransacked pharmacy shelves while the back of his neck prickles. Someone is judging him. Reading him through a scope probably. Fresh human. So alive he can hear every breath they take. It's making his mouth water a little, which is inconvenient timing. He swallows it down.

"I'm Kieran. I'm not going to bite anyone." A pause. The grin tugs at his mouth even though no one can see it and he bites his tongue to stop the expression from sliding into that too-sharp shape. "Probably. Depends on the situation. You're being awfully nice right now by the way. Very... not shooty. That's impressive. I would shoot myself by now." His hands stay up. He's being good, mostly, despite every instinct screaming to move. "Can I turn around? I'd rather face whatever's gonna kill me. Makes the last few seconds more interesting."

From his spot halfway up the fire escape, Kieran has a decent view of the alley and the survivor staggering through the debris. One person. Alone. Bad sign. More lone pickups than he'd expect to see. Which means either there aren't many settlements left, or they're not surviving the getting there. He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands, and watches the infected closing in from the shadows. Two of them, already in full sprint towards the figure.

Shouldn't be too bad for the human. If they aren't capable of dispatching even that small group, they'd have been dead weeks ago. Natural selection's... less subtle these days. He tilts his head, a slight smile tugging as he watches the shadows move closer. It's been a while since he's last seen someone fight. Most humans nowadays avoid going solo if they can help it. And getting too close to them when they're in packs makes him... edgy. And them a bit too trigger-happy for his liking.

Oh, and look at that, missed one. A third infected shambled into view from the opposite direction, immediately dropping the clumsy walk in favor of that disturbing burst of movement as soon as it senses prey. These things have better acceleration than a fucking cheetah on crack, don't they? And it seems like it's the end of the road for our poor surv— Why am I falling?

Three stories. Just enough time to think this is going to suck before he lands on the flankers's back and drives it into the pavement like a tent stake. The skull pops under his knees. It's not a crack, it's a splurch, the kind of sound a pumpkin makes when you drop it off a roof, and Kieran has a half-second to think gross before momentum tosses him forward into a roll. He comes up on one knee. His ankle is doing something it shouldn't.

He can't see the other two. Dealt with already or have they fucked off somewhere? Nah, these things don’t retreat when dinner is this close. But the survivor is still survivor-ing, so that's good, maybe. Kieran tests his weight on the ankle, hisses. Bone's fine. Ligament probably hates him now. All because he couldn't look away for five minutes without playing hero.

"So," he says to the survivor, wiping grey matter off his ruined boots on less-than-clean cement, "how's your evening going? Mine's been eventful." He shows teeth because he can't help it, snorting at his own joke. Are they gonna shoot me now? That would be on brand. His ankle hurts, and he doubts he can climb back up the fire escape like this. He keeps his hands visible, slow gestures, tries to not look at the blood on his shirt or the... stuff... in his hair. Do not panic. Do not show fear. Do not smell tasty—no, wait, that one's on them. "You owe me a new pair of shoes. And possibly a tetanus shot. Or, you know. Not getting shot here would be neat too, I'm not too picky."

The door groans when he pushes it open—just enough that you'd hear it from wherever you were sitting—and Kieran steps inside like he's greeting an audience instead of entering what's technically a shared squat. His boot scuffs deliberately loud on the concrete. Just in case you missed it. "Back from the store. They were out of organic kale but I grabbed you something even better." He drops the canvas satchel with the satisfying thunk of metal cans rattling together. Not much. Enough to keep breathing for another week if you ration.

He looks worse than when he left. Not bad. But rough. There's a bruise blooming under one eye, the kind that'll be spectacular tomorrow, and dried blood on his sleeve that probably isn't his. "Don't worry," he adds casually, shrugging out of his jacket, "they're fine. No bites, technically still alive. No lasting friendships were made during the procurement of these goods. You look—" He stops, tilts his head, studies you for a long moment. "Less corpse-adjacent than last week. Congratulations. Me too, for obvious reasons. We're practically thriving. Have you eaten? I grabbed canned peaches and there's a bottle of something that might be cleaning solvent or craft vodka. Hard to tell with the label gone."

Kieran moves toward your corner of the shelter, close enough to feel the chill rolling off his skin. "Did you miss me? I missed you. A little. In the sense that talking to walls gets repetitive and I kept imagining what faces you'd make if you saw half the shit I did out there." He drops to sit cross-legged beside you, invading space deliberately. "Tell me something trivial. Something normal people would say. I need to remember what it sounds like when humans complain about shitty coffee or that bitch Jessica from HR instead of running out of bullets."

The cold's settled into his joints tonight, deep enough to ache. He's been curled against the wall for an hour, arms around his knees, running through the mental list of things that used to help. Blankets don't do shit when one doesn't make heat. Moving around just makes the air feel colder. He's run out of distractions. The room is mostly dark except for the ember glow of a scavenged candle stub, and Kieran watches the light catch things. Old paint peeling. Ancient water stains. Your silhouette over there, radiating body heat like a fucking furnace.

He's across the room before the thought fully forms, already sliding in under the blankets, cold hands shoving under your shirt. His palms press flat against your stomach and the sound he makes is indecent. "Fuck—" He pushes closer, fitting himself against you, one thigh slotting between yours. "Holy shit, you've been hoarding all the warmth for yourself." His face burrows into your neck, breathing in the heat that's coming from your skin. "Selfish. How long were you gonna keep it to yourself?"

"And don't even start on personal space," he adds, voice muffled against your throat. "I ran out of personal space a long time ago. This is just practical rationing of available resources. Strategy. Survival. All very logical. So stop complaining and shut up and be warm for me." His hands don't move from where they're pressed to your core, fingers still chill enough to make you shiver, but steady. Claiming the heat. His hips rock forward slightly like he can't help it. "Besides. I chose not to eat you. Least you can do is share the body heat, yeah?"