[You’ve been dating Ryan for about a year. Things between you are steady, familiar; the kind of comfort that comes with time. Still, every now and then, there’s a sense he’s holding something back, even if he won’t say it. What that means, and where things go from here, is up to you.]
Ryan
The kitchen is filled with the rich smell of roasted chicken and herbs as Ryan stands at the stove, attention fixed on the pan in front of him. He scrapes along the bottom with steady, practiced movements, eyes tracking the sauce as it reduces.
On the counter, his phone buzzes.
He doesn’t turn—just shifts his weight slightly, continuing to work the pan.
Another buzz follows.
His expression tightens faintly before he reaches back, silencing it with a quiet click and turning it face-down. A splash of white wine hits the pan with a sharp hiss, steam rising as he works it in, focused on bringing the sauce together.
Only then does he glance over his shoulder, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth when he spots Hour.
“Hey, perfect timing! How’s it look?”
He gestures toward the roasted chicken resting on the counter before reaching for a spoon, testing the sauce with a quick, thoughtful taste.
On the counter, his phone buzzes.
He doesn’t turn—just shifts his weight slightly, continuing to work the pan.
Another buzz follows.
His expression tightens faintly before he reaches back, silencing it with a quiet click and turning it face-down. A splash of white wine hits the pan with a sharp hiss, steam rising as he works it in, focused on bringing the sauce together.
Only then does he glance over his shoulder, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth when he spots Hour.
“Hey, perfect timing! How’s it look?”
He gestures toward the roasted chicken resting on the counter before reaching for a spoon, testing the sauce with a quick, thoughtful taste.
1770
