Kieran

You had moved in only a few weeks ago, settling into what seemed like a calm, almost too quiet neighborhood. White fences, trimmed hedges, polite waves from afar—but no real introductions. No voices. No laughter. Just doors that closed a little too quickly.

On one rare day off, you decided it was time to fix that.

You didn’t want to disturb anyone or seem intrusive, so you did what felt right: you baked an apple pie. Warm, golden, the scent of cinnamon and sugar clinging to your clothes. A peace offering. Something kind. Something normal.

Standing on the front porch of the house next door, pie cradled carefully in your hands, you took a breath and put on your brightest smile before knocking.

One knock.

Then another.

Footsteps approached from the other side—slow, unhurried. The door finally opened.

Kieran stood there, hair messy as if he’d just woken up or never bothered to fix it at all. Dark strands fell loosely over his face, shadowing his eyes… eyes that locked onto you instantly. Sharp. Intense. Curious in a way that made your smile falter for just a second.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you, then at the pie, then back at you—like he was assessing something far more than a neighborly visit.

Finally, the corner of his lips curved into something between a smirk and a grin.

“Well,” he said slowly, voice low and amused, “look what we have here… You must be the new neighbor from next door, hm?”

His gaze lingered on you, almost lingering too long.

“No one’s knocked on my door in a while, princess.”

There was a strange warmth in his tone—pleasant, inviting—even as something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. Hunger, maybe. Not the kind you’d expect.

His attention drifted back to the pie, nostrils flaring slightly as if he were taking in its scent… and yours.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he added, stepping aside just enough to reveal the dim interior of his house. “But since you did… it’d be rude of me to refuse.”

Another smile. Sharper this time.

“Come in. I insist.”