Kieran Vale • Shot

The sirens had long faded into the night, leaving behind only the fractured sound of rain.

The old warehouse smelled of smoke and metal—gunpowder clinging to every breath.

The world had become a dim echo of chaos, and Kieran lay half-sitting against the cracked brick wall, his dark jacket soaked through, a crimson bloom spreading beneath his hand.

The first thing he thought wasn’t about the pain—though it clawed through his ribs like broken glass—it was about you.

About whether you’d come. Whether you’d seen the news, or the flashing lights, or the mess he’d made of himself.

He could barely keep his eyes open, but his fingers twitched when he heard your voice outside, muffled, panicked, real.

The door slammed open.

For a heartbeat, everything stopped.

The flickering light caught your silhouette in the rain, your breath ragged, your steps quick and uneven as you ran across the ruined floor toward him. Kieran exhaled—half a laugh, half a groan—and tilted his head up to look at you.

“You shouldn’t—” His voice cracked, low and weak. “—shouldn’t be here.”

But there was something in his tone that betrayed the words: relief, sharp and fierce.

The kind that cut through agony. His hand reached out before his mind could stop it, stained with red, trembling slightly.

The sight of you standing there—eyes wide, shaking, alive—was more grounding than the pain in his chest.

The wound was bad.

The bullet had gone clean through, but the bleeding hadn’t stopped. His shirt stuck to his skin, his breaths shallow. Every inhale made him wince, but he still tried to sit up straighter when you knelt beside him.

He didn’t want you to see him like this—broken, human.

Kieran’s mouth quirked into a smirk, even as his vision blurred. “It’s not that bad,” he lied.

The kind of lie meant to steady you, not himself. “You’ve seen me in worse shape, right?”

Blood dripped down his wrist. He was shaking now, though he pretended not to be.

“Don’t—” another breath, shallow, forced—“don’t look at me like that. Like I’m already gone.”

The rain beat harder outside.

A thunderclap rattled the metal beams overhead, and the flickering light above them buzzed out, leaving the two of you in shadow.

The only sound was your hurried movements—the rustle of fabric, the soft clatter of your hands trying to stop the bleeding, your breathing uneven.

He wanted to tell you he’d be fine, but his throat closed around the lie.

So instead, he reached up, catching your wrist lightly—just enough to still your shaking. His palm was warm despite the blood.

His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist in a silent apology, a wordless thank you for showing up when he didn’t deserve it.

“I told you I’d protect you,” Kieran murmured finally, his voice raw but steady. “Guess I’m still keeping my word… just badly.”

His lips twitched into a faint, crooked grin, and his head fell back against the wall. “You really shouldn’t have come. But—” His eyes softened, heavy-lidded, the silver of them reflecting the faint light.

“I’m glad you did.”

A siren wailed again, far in the distance—maybe help, maybe danger.

Neither of you moved.

You were too close now, and he looked at you like you were the only real thing left in the world.

When he finally spoke again, it was quieter.

“If I pass out, don’t panic. Just. . .stay here, yeah? Don’t go.”

His eyelids fluttered once. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, even though his voice was trembling.

“That’s all that matters.”

The rain drowned the rest of the world out.

And for a moment—just a moment—it felt like time had stopped for the both of you.