“Congratulations,” I manage. The words are stiff but honest.
“Thank you,” he replies evenly, no trace of the bright, cocky Starboy.
The thought comes unbidden.
This Kieran feels…contained.
I don’t know what it means, or what it costs. But some treacherous part of me wants to test it.
Menus appear.Water is poured. The table settles into the low, pleasant chaos of a family meal. Liam makes a crack about Kieran finally being done complaining about problem sets. Dmitri adds something dry that makes Erin laugh intoher napkin. Sophie kicks Liam under the table when he pushes too far.
Mary keeps including me naturally. She asks about my classes, my plans, the book I’m reading, as if she’s been waiting for this moment to make me feel welcome.
Through it all, Kieran doesn’t interrupt. He keeps his posture controlled, shoulders squared to the table. When he speaks, it’s measured. When he listens, it’s complete.
He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t charm. He doesn’t perform.
As if he’s learned exactly how much space to occupy, and no more.
His attention stays on me, steady and deliberate. Not sharp. Not pressing. I don’t brace for it. I don’t feel the instinct to retreat.
It lands, and it doesn’t cost me anything.
Liam taps the edge of the table. “Serious question. Does anyone else feel like we sat through a speech written for imaginary people?”
Erin laughs first. “Yes.”
Sophie nods. “I blacked out halfway through ‘the future is yours.’”
Dmitri adds, “I counted how many times they said ‘resilience.’”
Mary exhales, amused. “It was all very upbeat and optimistic.”
“That’s what scared me,” Liam says.
The table erupts, loud and silly and contagious. I laugh too.
When I look up, Kieran’s eyes are on me. For a split second, his grin turns bright. The Starboy version of him flickers into view.
I feel the impulseland.
The pull forward.
The instinct to step in, take, close the space.
Just as fast, his jaw sets. His hands stay where they are. Whatever almost reached for me gets pulled back, locked down with visible effort.
He holds my gaze a beat longer, intensity prickling along my skin, then looks away, giving me the room he never used to.
The laughter fades. Conversation moves on. Plates shift. The moment passes.
Lunch winds down as good meals do. Plates are cleared, coffee offered and declined, conversation loosening into smaller threads. Mary checks her watch. Liam mentions the hotel. Erin starts gathering her bag.
They’re staying downtown for the night, Erin says. Something near the river. Liam has already settled the check before anyone notices.
We stand outside together, the afternoon bathed in sunlight, the day refusing to let anything be solemn for too long.
Mary hugs me again, lingering this time. “I hope we’ll see you again before you disappear for the summer,” she says softly.
