Chapter 25 Unfortunately
We’re parked outside the building, engine ticking softly as it cools. I half-expect Ryan to say thank you, open the door, and disappear. Instead, he asks, almost casually, “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
What I don’t say is that even if I were, I’d probably still risk hives, wheezing, whatever it took, just to stay in his orbit a bit more. We get out of the car and head inside, the elevator waiting at the end of the hall. The doors slide shut behind us with a soft, final sound, trapping us in this box of silence as it starts its slow climb to the third floor. He says nothing. I ask something small and safe.
“How long have you lived here?”
“About seven years,” he says easily, like it’s nothing.
Seven years in the same state. About forty minutes apart. Entire lives overlapping without touching. I can’t help wondering, if we’d crossed paths earlier, back when I was more myself, less worn down at the edges.... would it have felt like this too? That same pull, that immediate recognition? Or is this something we only collide into once we’ve both been broken in just the right places?
He unlocks the door to his apartment and steps aside, ushering me in. The door shuts behind us with a quiet finality, and the thought hits me all at once.... I’m in his space, not neutral ground. Not a hallway or a car. His.
The living room opens up, and then there’s movement. A flash of orange fur comes padding toward us, tail high, voice loud. Ember announces herself immediately, weaving around Ryan’s legs, brushing against him like she needs to confirm he’s real. He fondly murmurs something soft to her.
Then she notices me.
Her attention shifts, curious, and she crosses the distance and circles my legs, sniffs, presses her side against me with complete confidence.
I laugh, dropping down onto my haunches so I’m closer to her level. “Well, hello there.”
She leans into my hand when I reach out, purring like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “She’s very friendly,” I say, scratching under her chin.
“I found her outside,” Ryan explains. “She was a kitten and it was cold. Kept wandering too close to the street.”
I glance up at him, smiling without thinking, and catch the way he’s watching me. Like he’s taking something in and measuring it quietly. Ember nudges harder into my palm, and for a moment everything feels strangely, dangerously right. Then he calls after her as he heads toward the kitchen, her name barely out of his mouth before she’s trotting after him, meowing loudly. Her tail flicks once in my direction, then she disappears around the corner.
It gives me a moment and I take it.
The apartment is stupidly clean. Not sterile, not showroom-perfect, but intentional. Everything has a place, and everything is in it. Shoes lined up neatly by the door. A throw folded just so over the arm of the couch. The air smells faintly like something citrusy. There are plants everywhere....on shelves, by the windows, trailing gently from hanging pots. It feels lived-in in a quiet way. Like someone who needs their space to make sense when the rest of the world doesn’t.
Very Ryan.
I drift toward a wall lined with bookshelves. They’re properly full, spines aligned, grouped by size and subject, some alphabetized, some clearly organized by feel rather than logic. I own a lot of books too, but mine are chaos incarnate. Stacked sideways, double-layered, shoved wherever they fit. These are cared for.
I start scanning titles, pulling one out, then another, thumbing pages before sliding them back into place.
“You’ve got good taste,” I call out, not looking away from the shelf. I hear movement behind me, softer now, and when I turn, Ryan’s walking back into the room. His suit jacket is gone, tie loosened and completely off, top button undone. The change does something stupid to my chest, like I’ve just been shown a version of him I wasn’t supposed to see yet.
He stops beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth, his gaze following mine as he looks over the shelves. His eyes dart, quick and thoughtful, like he’s cataloguing what I might be noticing.
“Have you read all of them?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I haven't....Unfortunately.”
The word ‘unfortunately’ makes me smile. There’s a brief pause, then he clears his throat. “Would you like something to drink?”
I watch his face as he says it. The way his eyes slide past mine, how his focus lands somewhere over my shoulder instead. It’s intentional. Like if he looks at me too long, something might tip.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’d like that.”
He nods once and turns away immediately, already moving toward the kitchen like he’s relieved to have an excuse to put distance between us.
I don’t let him.
I reach out and catch his wrist. He stills instantly, breath hitching just enough that I feel it more than hear it. I tug him back until his back meets the bookshelf with a soft thud of displaced air. Then I step in close.
One arm lifts and plants against the shelf beside his head, wood cool beneath my palm. My other hand drops away from his wrist, leaving him unrestrained. Not trapped, just.... framed. The illusion of being caged without the reality of it. He could walk away if he wanted to. We both know that. He looks up at me now, eyes sharp with nerves and something darker underneath.
“What now?” he asks.
I smile, just a little. Not soft and definitely not reassuring. “Well,” I say, lowering my voice, “...now that I know exactly where you live,” I tilt my head, studying him. “...you can expect me to drop by uninvited. Frequently.”
His lips part before he can stop it. I lean in just enough to make the space between us charged, my arm still braced beside him, my body close but not touching where it counts.
“Question is, am I allowed to do that?”
I don’t move, I don’t give him an out. I let the choice sit entirely with him.
He swallows once. I watch his throat move, the way his body betrays him even when his face doesn’t.
“That depends,” he says, voice too steady. “Are you planning on announcing yourself, or just appearing?”
I hum, low and thoughtful. “I don’t really strike you as the announcing type, do I?”
He shifts his weight, shoulder brushing the bookshelf behind him like he’s only just realized it’s there. Like he’s running out of room.
“And what if I say no?”
I lean in so that the words have to travel through shared air. “Then I’d respect it.”
He looks at me for a beat, then exhales. “No, you wouldn’t.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “No,” I admit easily. “I wouldn’t.”
He lets out a slow breath, like that confirmation costs him something. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Only when I’m interested in....”
“In what?”
I meet his eyes. Hold them. “People who hide behind ignorance when they know damn well they’re being desired.”
He folds his arms across his chest, a defensive posture that doesn’t quite land when his pulse is jumping in his neck. “You’re very comfortable here for someone who just arrived.”
“I adapt quickly. Especially when the view’s worth it.”
He scoffs, but there’s no heat in it, just nerves.
“You can’t just show up,” he says. “People need warning.”
“Okay,” I nod, serious now. “How much of a warning?”
He blinks. “That’s not—”
“An hour?” I offer. “Ten minutes? Or do you prefer dramatic entrances where I text I’m downstairs and let you spiral?”
His jaw tightens. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
He shakes his head once, like he’s trying to reset himself. “And you’re not subtle.”
“No,” I agree. “But I am patient.”
“That’s debatable.”
I lean in just enough that my words brush the space near his mouth, not quite touching, but close enough that I might as well be. “You’ve been standing here this whole time though. And something tells me your silence is just you daring me. And I don’t know, Ryan....I’ve always been up for a challenge.”
“Michael,” it's a warning meant just for me.
“Yes?”
He swallows again. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to kiss me again.”
I shrug. “Technically, you kissed me earlier. And yeah,” I add quietly, letting the moment stretch until it hums. “I’m definitely thinking about it.”