𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || Cillian Murphy ¹

eighteen (edited)

"Let me take you out tonight," Cillian said, watching Auden closely. "Somewhere nice."

They were in her office, tucked away from the chaos outside. Auden was on her lunch break, and lately, Cillian had made a habit of stopping by — sometimes with food, sometimes just to sit with her. Today, he'd surprised her with a small bouquet of purple irises, setting them in a vase on her desk without a word. She had noticed him being extra attentive lately, soft in a way that felt deliberate. He was trying to lift her spirits.

Auden raised an eyebrow as she bit into an apple. "Somewhere nice?"

Cillian, perched on the edge of her desk, idly adjusted the flowers. "Well, we've been seeing each other for a month now, and I realized — I haven't taken you out on a proper date."

"That's because the press is having a field day with us," she said, the crisp snap of the apple punctuating her words.

He couldn't argue with that. Since the news broke, they had been careful — too careful. People lingered outside the gallery, hoping to catch a glimpse of them together. Fortunately, they hadn't yet discovered the back terrace entrance yet.

Their "dates" had been reduced to nights in, sharing takeout, watching movies, or playing Mario Kart with Charlie when he was around. It wasn't much, but it was safe.

Still, the press had found ways to get what they wanted. Some had staked out Cillian's place, capturing ultra-HD shots of Auden arriving late at night. Brigid had sent her one of the articles, accompanied by an exasperated "Don't read the comments."

But Auden had read them anyway.

The speculation about her age, her appearance — it was vicious. Comparisons to Jenni were inevitable. Where Jenni was tall and effortlessly elegant, Auden was shorter, curvier, and, according to the internet, a downgrade.

She told herself it didn't matter. She told herself she didn't care. But the truth was, it chipped away at her, piece by piece.

And now, with the anniversary of her father's death creeping closer, it was all becoming harder to ignore. Some mornings, she struggled to get out of bed. Some nights, she felt undeserving of even the smallest comforts. If it weren't for Cillian's steady presence — his quiet insistence that she eat, that she shower, that she step outside — she wasn't sure how far she would let herself slip.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she said finally, leaning back in her chair.

Cillian reached over, plucking the apple from her hand and taking a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, as if choosing his next words with care. "We can't let the press keep us from the world forever."

She knew he was right. But Charles had been clear — keep the relationship under control. A public date would only add fuel to the fire. Then again, a night out didn't sound so terrible. As long as they didn't give anyone a reason to snap another headline-worthy photo, maybe — just maybe — it wouldn't be a disaster.