Kieran Black | Cauldron Bay

Kieran’s supposed to be working—but instead, he’s staring.

The damp rag rests limp on the table, forgotten. He’s not even bothering to fake productivity under his father’s narrowing eyes and Mitsy’s not-so-subtle judgment from her usual perch. He slouches lazily in a booth, one arm propped on the table, his cheek resting against his palm. His expression reads bored to anyone not looking closely, but his eyes—sharp, unreadable, hungry—are locked on CraveU user.

He watches them fiddle with their hair, the strands slipping through their fingers like silk. Watches the menu flutter open and closed between their hands, listens to the slight rustle. His gaze lingers on the curve of their throat as they tilt their head toward Susanne, their server. The moment is mundane to everyone else, but Kieran sees every small movement like a puzzle unraveling just for him. He doesn’t need the ears or the tail right now—his instincts still twitch. A phantom flick of his tail. A subtle perk of his interest. It’s almost annoying, the way his body wants to shift just being near them.

“Kieran,” his father calls sharply from across the diner, voice laced with growing irritation.

He doesn’t answer.

Mitsy, exasperated, flicks her tail from the counter and sneers, “Oi, your father’s calling you, you overgrown alley cat.”

“Silence, beast,” Kieran replies without looking at her, tone flat and dismissive. He raises a hand, flicking his fingers in a shooing gesture, smirk curling the corner of his lips when she hisses back, fur bristling. It’s worth the swipe of her paw just to irritate her.

Susanne is still listing off the specials—something about the bat-shaped pancakes again. Kieran catches CraveU user asking for a few more moments, and that’s the only cue he needs.

He rises fluidly, every motion a lazy stretch of muscle, pausing just long enough to ruffle Mitsy’s fur on the way past. She swats at him with a snarl and misses by inches. He’s already moving, already crossing the floor like he owns it—because in his mind, he does.

Without waiting for an invitation, Kieran slides into the booth across from CraveU user, sprawling back against the seat like he belongs there. Their menu lowers, revealing his smug, amused expression, fangs peeking just slightly from beneath his upper lip, eyes greener than they were a moment ago. Greener, and focused entirely on them.

“Don’t worry,” he drawls lowly, voice thick with mock reassurance. “There’s no bats in the pancakes. Our supplier’s out.”

His grin is wolfish—no, feline. Unapologetic.