Chapter 24 Pride vs Exhaustion
My fingers curl around his jaw, a quiet assertion, one that feels necessary. I tilt his face to meet mine, keeping him still just a fraction of a second longer than he'd want, just enough for me to read him. I want to understand what’s lurking behind those eyes.
There’s something there, I can feel it, even if he keeps it locked away. Something darker than a mere moment of hesitation. I saw it the first time I looked into those eyes. Something that doesn’t belong in someone so seemingly put together.
I could ask.... I should ask. But I don’t. Not yet, not while he’s looking at me like that, not with the subtle, fleeting fear in his gaze.
His breath is shallow, almost like he’s holding back something more. I wait, tilt my head slightly, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Let me guess.... it's personal, huh?"
His gaze shifts, and for a second, I think he’s going to pull away. I don’t let him. I’ve seen that look before......something between confusion and a faint plea for something. I don’t know what, but it’s there.
“Come on, Ryan.” My voice softens, coaxing now, but I don’t loosen my grip. “If you want me to leave you alone, you have to speak up. Say it. Say the words. Because if you don’t, I’ll assume you like having me around.”
I wonder if he’s going to tell me to go, wondering if he’ll finally put up that wall again. He holds my hand with a strange kind of tenderness, guiding it slowly from his jaw to his lips. I watch him, mesmerized, as he presses a soft kiss to the center of my palm. The contact sends a sharp jolt through me, a spark I can’t ignore. I can’t quite suppress the soft exhale that escapes, my lips parting as I feel the heat of his kiss lingering on my skin. It’s intimate and quiet.
“I need to get home and feed Ember,” he says afterwards.
I can’t help but wonder if this is him trying to run off again. The thought clenches in my gut, and I feel the familiar need to keep him here, to make him stay if only for a moment longer. My mind starts working overtime, calculating my next move, already thinking of what to say or do to stop him from slipping away. But then he speaks again, “Will you drop me off?”
I give a small nod, trying to keep my composure, to hide my immense relief. “Of course.”
He stands, his grip on my hand still firm. For a moment, it’s like we’re frozen, and I’m not sure if I should let go, but I don’t. Neither of us does. There’s something unspoken in the tension between us, and for all the words we haven’t said, it lingers. He turns to me, his gaze searching, like he’s looking for answers he’s not sure I can give. He hesitates before speaking, the vulnerability creeping in like a shadow.
"Do you even know what this is, Michael?" he asks. "Do you even know if what you feel for me is real, or if you're just burnt out.... chasing some distraction to fill the empty space?"
I take a step closer, my hand still holding his, unwilling to let go yet, but needing to reassure him. Or maybe myself.
“Of course it's real. I don’t know why this feels like it does,” a breathless exhale escapes me. “I wish I could explain it better Ryan, but I can't. What I do know is it's not some phase, or a distraction. And I'm sure you know that too.”
He nods once, a barely perceptible shift in his demeanor as he pulls away from me. He takes a moment to gather his folder and stuff it under his arm, and without another word, he heads for the door. I can only follow. Outside, the air’s still cool, a touch of breeze catching the edge of my jacket.
Ryan slides into the passenger seat of my car. For a moment, I just watch him, unsure of how to bridge the gap that’s grown between us in the last few minutes. But then I hear a low chuckle, and I turn to find him holding ‘A Body Made of Quiet Things’ in his hands, flipping through the pages like he’s been lost in it.
I let out a breath and smile, the tension in my chest easing just a little. I'd left the book on the passenger seat.
"I was reading it while I waited for classes to end." I admit. He glances up, his lips curling in a faint smirk. "Really now?" he flips the pages to where the bookmark is, clearly five chapters in. "I thought you said you were a slow reader."
I lean back in my seat, my eyes never leaving his, a flicker of something dangerous dancing in the depths of my gaze. "Well," I say with a quiet chuckle, "...when I want time to move faster, my reading speed tends to multiply. It's a survival tactic."
He nods curtly, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “Ah,” he utters, but the slight spark in his eyes tells me he’s not just acknowledging it....he’s watching me now, like he’s figuring something out. “So, what do you think of it?”
I shrug, the movement slow. “I didn’t know the book discussed the six patients one by one. Thought it was more focused on the broader context, you know? The condition, the impact. Didn’t realize it went that deep into their personal stories.”
A small smile pulls at his lips, almost like he's amused. "How else would you connect with them?" He asks, then turns the page, his eyes scanning over the words for a moment before he looks back at me, a subtle challenge in his gaze. "So, you're reading about Steven at the moment?"
"I am," I reply, my voice steady. There's something in the way he’s looking at me that makes the answer feel heavier than it should.
He raises an eyebrow, his fingers tap lightly on the book's spine. "I see," he says, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "How are you finding it?"
"It's.... intense."
Ryan nods again. I can see the way his thoughts shift, and it makes me wonder if he’s thinking about something more than just the book. After a beat, he mutters under his breath, almost like it’s an internal thought that slipped out, "He’s bad at asking for help..."
I watch him for a second, letting the words linger in the air. His gaze is still fixed on the book, but I can tell his mind has wandered. I shake my head slightly. "He's bad at admitting he needs it," I say.
He glances at me, his brow furrowing, almost like he’s about to argue. "It’s the same thing," his tone is insistent, but there’s a quiet hesitation behind it.
"No," I reply, my voice firm. "One’s pride. The other’s exhaustion. Asking for help is a sign of weakness for some people. It makes them feel exposed, vulnerable, like they're admitting they can’t handle things. But the exhaustion... It's different. It’s the kind of weight that wears you down until you can’t breathe. Until you stop fighting against it and just let it drag you down. In this case, he just.... " I pause for a beat, watching the way Ryan's fingers hover over the pages, how his expression shifts just slightly.
"....He was already so buried under the weight of his own situation that even asking for help felt like another burden he couldn’t carry. It’s not that he didn’t want to ask. It’s that the hopelessness had already crept in, suffocating him. He let it take control. He convinced himself that if he just stayed quiet long enough, the weight would either disappear or.... it would break him. And in his mind, that was easier than confronting it."
I let the words settle between us, feeling the gravity of what I just said. Ryan doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at the book, like the words on the page are suddenly too much to read. Then he lets out a soft, hollow laugh, his eyes briefly flicking to the window as if searching for something outside the car to focus on. It’s a fleeting moment, but it’s enough to make my chest tighten just a little. Something’s there, and I’m starting to think I’m the only one who’s noticing it.
"You’ve put a lot of thought into that," he says, voice light, but I can hear the underlying note of.... something.
I chuckle softly, the sound quiet in the space between us. "I overthink recreationally. It’s what made me excel at my job."
"Figures," he mutters, shaking his head slightly, as if my answer fits a pattern he’s already come to know. I want to say something, anything, but I let the silence stretch, let him decide if he wants to fill it with more.