Chapter 13 Depressed?
MICHAEL'S POV
I want to yank him to me by his tie and kiss him until the rest of the world drops out. The urge hits fast and reckless, the kind that makes my hands itch....
I saw him before he saw me.
Driving up to the cafe, I passed him on his bike. Almost stopped the car. Almost rolled down the window like an idiot. Instead, I watched him slow, then stop. He leaned forward, hands braced, head dipped like the weight of the morning had finally caught up to him. When I drove past, I caught his face in the side mirror.
Bone-deep exhaustion, and under it, something sharper. Anger, maybe. Or frustration so tightly held it had nowhere to go. It knocked the air out of me. I kept driving, replaying it over and over, telling myself not to read into it. Telling myself I always read into things.
Then he showed up.
He looks a little pale now. Could be nerves, could be the hour. His hand trembles when he lifts his coffee, just barely. I wonder if he notices. I wonder how much of him is habitually ignored....by others, by himself.
I don’t say any of it. I just watch him and feel that same pull tighten in my chest.
“No one wakes up one day and just decides they’ve given up on what they love,” he suddenly says.
I study him over the rim of my cup. He isn’t accusing, isn’t posturing. He’s stating it like a truth he’s learned the hard way.
“What makes you think it was something I loved?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me, the kind of look that makes you feel catalogued. Then his gaze slips away for half a second, like he’s reconsidering whether he’s earned the right to say what he’s about to say. When he looks back, he does it carefully.
“It’s obvious,” he says. “You don’t put that much time and effort into something unless it mattered.”
He hesitates again, then adds, cautiously, “Have you ever considered that you're.... maybe you're….”
I don’t let him finish. I already know where this goes. “What. Depressed?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just nods once. “It’s a possibility.”
“I’m not.”
He hums, thoughtful, then asks, “What makes you so sure?”
I shrug and take a bite of my bagel like this isn’t suddenly a very intimate conversation. I chew, sip my coffee. Buy myself a second. “I took an online quiz,” I then answer casually.
His frown is immediate, almost offended.
“It was definitely thorough, very invasive,” I add. “Asked all the big questions. You know....Do you enjoy sunsets? Do you still laugh at memes? Have you consumed at least one vegetable this week? They really went for the jugular.”
I glance at him. He’s listening despite himself.
“I’m pretty sure I answered at least half of them with something other than ‘not sure,’ which already puts me ahead of most men emotionally. Then it generated my results and said I’m ‘probably not depressed.’”
I smile faintly. “I did have to pay two dollars to unlock that conclusion, so technically speaking, it can’t be wrong.”
He exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh. My chest feels tight.
“Were you happy,” he asks, gently, “...before the emptiness?”
The question lands softer than the others. Worse for it. I actually think about it, then I clear my throat, buy myself a breath. “Sure.”
Ryan tilts his head. Dry and unconvinced. “Wow. Stirring endorsement.”
A beat passes. Then, quieter, he says, “So you weren’t happy.”
The space between us tightens. This isn’t comfortable. This is a stranger whose eyes feel like they already know where the weak joints are. I meet his gaze anyway. I don’t know why, I just know I can. Like whatever I say next won’t be mishandled. “I was satisfied,” I say, and he doesn’t interrupt. That makes me keep going.
“I’ve accomplished a lot. I’ve always been competitive. So I survived by setting a goal, chasing it, beating everyone else to it.” A pause. “Winning sustained me.”
He nods slowly. Then, softly, “Why did it stop? What changed?”
There it is.
Something flickers through me....too quick, too sharp. I blink once. Smile, faint and automatic. That subject. The one I prefer to keep buried under momentum and noise. I hope the moment passes, it doesn’t. Ryan sees it anyway. Whatever slipped. He nods, like he’s confirming a theory rather than pushing me. “So something did happen.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
I hold his eyes, testing the ground. “Does it really matter?”
He answers without hesitation, voice steady but warm. “Of course it does. You don’t go hollow for no reason. Something takes up space first, and then leaves.”
He glances at his watch, quick and almost furtive, like he’s looking for permission to escape.
“I should go.”
He’s on his feet before I can make sense of the shift, chair scraping softly against the floor. I stay seated, thrown, watching him with a crease between my brows. It takes me a second to realize he means it. He’s already halfway out the moment, shoulders pulling in like he’s bracing himself.
I frown, can’t help it. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “No. You didn’t. I’ve....uh....I’ve gotta get to work,” he adds, gesturing vaguely. “I’ve got papers to grade.” Then he pauses, clears his throat like he’s steadying himself. “ Plus I’ve got a lot going on,” he continues, quieter now. “I came because I knew I’d regret not coming. I’m trying to avoid regrets lately.”
He watches his own hands for a second like they might betray him.
“And I’ve got a feeling that staying would be its own kind of regret.”
Something unfamiliar tightens in my chest. I don’t interrupt, I just watch him, this man who looks like he’s walking away from a fire he knows would consume him if he stayed.
He hesitates, then offers a small, careful smile. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he says. “Happiness. You look like you’re long overdue for it.”
It shouldn’t hit the way it does. I huff a quiet laugh, light on the surface. “You’re talking like this is goodbye.”
His eyes hold mine. Steady and resolute. “Because it should be.”
My gaze narrows, focused. “Should,” I repeat, tasting the word, I tilt my head slightly. “That’s the word people use when they’re trying to convince themselves.”
He doesn’t answer. He just extends his hand between us, palm up. “My glasses.”
I glance down at them, still hooked into my pocket, then back at him. Hold his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then I shake my head.
“No. I think I’ll keep them.”
“What?”
A corner of my mouth lifts. Not playful but certain. “I’ve been relying on excuses to see you.... to get close,” I tap the glasses lightly. “And I’ll keep doing it. This one’s just the next in line.”
I lean in just enough for the words to land where they should. “Now you’ll have to come back for them. And I’m sadly very committed to foolish ideas I can justify.”