Man Up!

Shout out to my beautiful Wanderer J Le Roy for providing me the visuals for this cover!

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"Bruised To Perfection"

(9 years earlier)

Jenna sat stiffly on the metal chair, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap. Her face was a patchwork of purples and blues, the bruises creeping along her cheekbone, her jaw, and down the curve of her neck. Her wrists bore red, angry marks. She winced every time she shifted, but it wasn't physical pain that hurt her. The weight of shame, fear, and exhaustion slapped her shoulders, and her gaze dropped to the table.

The two cops sitting across from her exchanged glances, their notebooks open, pens poised. They were both men, one older with a salt-and-pepper mustache, the other younger, his uniform crisp and new. Their voices were measured and polite, but there was an edge of condescension in their tone that Jenna couldn't ignore.  

"Mrs. Blake," the older one began, leaning forward slightly, "How long have you been married?"  

"Two years," Jenna murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.  

"Two years," he repeated, jotting it down. "And this is the first time you're reporting this?"  

She swallowed hard, her throat aching. "I thought…I thought it would get better. He promised he'd stop."  

The younger officer raised an eyebrow, his pen hovering. "But this isn't the first time he's been violent, is it?"  

Jenna's eyes darted up, wide and filled with guilt, before quickly dropping again. She shook her head, unable to say the words.  

The older cop sighed, sounding more like frustration than empathy. "Mrs. Blake, staying silent only emboldens men like him. If you'd come to us sooner..."  

"Do you think I don't know that?" Jenna snapped, her voice breaking as she finally looked up. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall. "You think I don't hate myself for letting him do this to me?"  

The younger officer leaned back, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. The older one was about to speak when the door opened, and a woman in a beige cardigan and dark slacks stepped in. Her expression was calm but firm as she looked at the two officers.  

"That's enough," the woman said, her voice cutting through the tension. "I'll take it from here."  

The older cop hesitated, glancing at Jenna before standing. "We were just trying to..."  

"You've done enough," the social worker interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Please leave us."  

The cops exchanged a glance before gathering their things and leaving the room. The social worker closed the door behind them and turned to Jenna with a gentle smile.  

"Hi, Jenna. My name is Laura. I'm with the victim services unit. I'm here to help you, okay?"  

Jenna nodded stiffly, her hands trembling in her lap.  

"Where is he?" Jenna asked, her voice cracking.

Laura pulled a chair closer to Jenna's and sat down, her posture relaxed but attentive. "You mean Ryan? He's safe," she said softly. "He's in another room with one of our child advocates. He's being looked after, I promise."  

At that, Jenna broke. Her face crumpled, and the tears she'd been holding back poured freely down her cheeks. "I never thought he'd go this far," she sobbed, her voice muffled as she buried her face in her hands.  

Laura's eyes squinted, initially surprised that the source of Jenna's tears wasn't Ryan's well-being but her own shame. Regardless, she reached out, placing a comforting hand on Jenna's arm. "It's not your fault," she said firmly. None of this is your fault. You were brave to come to us. You did the right thing."  

Jenna shook her head, her shoulders trembling. "He resents me..." she muttered, pointing her head towards the wall to the next room. "For staying, you know? For letting it happen," Jenna said, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her lips. One that was meant for herself. "I shouldn't have had him. John didn't want him...he was probably right," she added, her expression shifting. "Kids...they just...get in the way...suck the life out of you," she mumbled, clearly unaware of what she had just said out loud.

Laura's eyes widened, then scanned the room before she leaned closer, her voice gentle but steady. "Parents...they do the best they can. Sometimes under impossible circumstances." Jenna's sobs grew quieter. Laura reached into her bag, pulled out a tissue, and handed it to her. "And I know you feel confused right now...but..." Laura said. "We're going to help you. You and Ryan both. One step at a time."  

Jenna clutched the tissue tightly, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. 

Meanwhile, in the adjacent room, Ryan sat across from the child advocate, his small frame slouched in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest in defiance. His blue eyes, sharp and wary, flickered to the door and then back to the woman sitting across from him.  

The child advocate, a woman in her mid-thirties with a kind face framed by loose curls, offered a soft smile. She had introduced herself as Melanie earlier, but Ryan hadn't cared enough to respond. He'd barely looked at her when she first walked in.  

"Ryan, right?" Melanie asked gently, her voice calm and without pressure.  

Ryan shrugged, his gaze fixed on the table. "You already know my name. Why're you asking?"  

Melanie chuckled lightly, leaning forward just enough to make her presence feel closer but not overwhelming. "I figured we'd start with something easy."  

Ryan's lips twitched, though he didn't look up. "What's next? You gonna ask what my favorite color is?"  

"Only if you want me to," Melanie quipped, smiling again.  

Ryan finally glanced at her, his expression unreadable. His arms stayed crossed as if shielding himself from whatever she might try to say. "I'm fine. You don't have to sit here and babysit me or whatever."  

"I'm not here to babysit," Melanie replied, her tone light but steady. "I'm here to talk if you want to. Or we can sit in silence. That's fine, too."  

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "What if I don't want to talk or sit in silence?"  

Melanie leaned back in her chair, feigning thoughtfulness. "Well, I guess that leaves…a staring contest? Or I could show you my terrible drawing skills. Your call."  

A flicker of amusement crossed Ryan's face before he quickly buried it. "You're weird."  

"I've been told. I've also been told I'm a good listener," Melanie said with a shrug. "Weird people can be good listeners, you know."  

Ryan didn't respond, his gaze drifting back to the door. Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the muffled sound of voices from the other side of the wall.  

"You worried about your mom?" Melanie asked softly, her tone careful.  

Ryan's jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "No. She'll be fine. She's always fine."  

Melanie watched him for a beat, noting how his fingers fidgeted against his sleeve despite his guarded posture. "What happened tonight...with your Mom and her boyfriend..." she whispered, testing the boy's threshold. "That's a lot for a kid to see."   

Ryan's eyes shot to hers, sharp and defensive. "I think you should mind your own business."  

"I'm sorry," Melanie said calmly. "I'm just trying to understand. Sounds like you've had to handle a lot of stuff yourself."  

Ryan didn't answer. His gaze dropped to the table, and he rhythmically tapped his foot against the floor.  

"Sometimes it's okay to ask for help," Melanie added. "You don't have to do everything on your own. You can trust people."  

Ryan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure. And what happens when they don't show up? When they let you down? Then what?"  

Melanie tilted her head, studying him carefully. "Sounds like that's happened to you before."  

Ryan's lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes gleamed with something raw, but he quickly masked it, rolling his shoulders back. "Look, lady... I'm fine," he said again, his tone firmer this time. "I don't need anyone."  

Melanie didn't push. Instead, she reached for a small box on the table and pulled it closer. "Do you like puzzles?"  

Ryan frowned, confused by the shift in conversation. "What?"  

"Puzzles," she repeated, opening the box to reveal a set of mismatched pieces. "They're tricky but satisfying once you figure them out."  

"Lame," Ryan said flatly.  

"That's fair," Melanie said, beginning to fit two pieces together. "But, you know, sometimes they're not as hard as they look. You just have to figure out where the edges are first."  

Ryan watched her silently for a moment, his arms still crossed. "What's that supposed to mean?"  

Melanie glanced up at him, smiling softly. "Just that...even when things feel messy, there's always a way to start putting them back together. One piece at a time. Trust me, they'll all fit together in the end." 

Ryan didn't respond, but his gaze lingered on the puzzle pieces as Melanie continued working on them. He didn't say it, but part of him understood what she was coming from. 

Even if he wasn't ready to admit it, not yet.

*

(7 years later)

Ryan's phone illuminated his face as he lay on his bed, headphones loosely hanging around his neck. The room was dark except for the glow of the screen and the music playing in the background. His thumb hovered over the screen, typing quickly. The messages scrolled upward, a flurry of flirty banter and dirty emojis.

Stranger: So, tell me more about you. You seem… interesting.
  
Ryan: Just looking for fun, nothing serious.  

Stranger: Fun, huh? I think I can handle that. How about we meet up? Tonight, maybe?  

Ryan paused, staring at the screen. The words felt like a challenge, a test of his own confidence. He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing around his room as if expecting someone to walk in and catch him. But the house was quiet. 

His heart quickened as he typed back.  

Ryan: You don't waste time, do you?

Stranger: No. I don't. You game?  

Ryan hesitated. The stranger's profile picture stared back at him with dark eyes, a sharp jawline, and a confident smirk. He looked older than anyone Ryan had talked to before, maybe in his mid-thirties. It gave Ryan a strange thrill, a sense of validation he hadn't realized he craved. He felt daring, almost reckless, as his fingers moved across the screen.  

Ryan: Where?  

The reply came almost immediately.  

Stranger: I know a spot. Private. You'll like it.  

Ryan leaned back, letting the phone rest against his chest, a flicker of doubt tugging at the edges of his thoughts. His thumb hovered over the keyboard again. As he typed a reply, his door creaked open. Startled, he quickly flipped his phone face down against the mattress.  

It was Jenna, leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "You've been holed up in here for hours. What are you doing?"  

Ryan's pulse spiked. "None of your business," he snapped, sitting up and shoving his phone under his pillow.  

Jenna raised an eyebrow. "Relax. Just wanted to see if you were alive."  

"Well, I am. So you can leave now," Ryan muttered, his tone sharp, but his fingers clenched the pillow nervously.  

Jenna didn't move, her eyes studying Ryan before she rolled her eyes, turned away, and left. Ryan waited until he heard Jenna's bedroom door click shut before pulling his phone back out. The message thread was still open.  

Stranger: Well? What do you say?  

Ryan stared at the screen, then typed two words and hit send.  

Ryan: I'm in.  

Hours later, the glow of a distant streetlight barely lit the abandoned parking lot. The cold bit Ryan's skin as he paced, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. The cigar between his fingers burned low, a tiny ember in the dark, as he inhaled deeply, exhaling clouds of smoke. His breath fogged around him, but his sharp blue eyes stayed fixed on the empty road ahead.

Then, headlights pierced through the gloom. A sleek, dark sedan rolled into the lot, its tires crunching softly. Ryan stopped pacing, tossing the spent cigar onto the ground and grinding it under his boot. The car slowed as it neared him, finally stopping a few feet away. The tinted window on the driver's side rolled down, and Ryan caught sight of the man from the profile photo.  

Salt-and-pepper hair, well-groomed beard, sharp, calculating eyes. He was older than Ryan had expected up close, maybe mid-forties, but his confident grin didn't falter as he scanned Ryan from head to toe.  

"Well, aren't you a sight," the man drawled, his voice smooth, the kind that danced around creepy.  

Ryan smirked, cocking his head to the side. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you chickened out."  

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a bold one, aren't you?" His eyes lingered on Ryan's face, studying him before they began to descend, landing on his perfectly shaped ass. "Get in."  

Ryan didn't hesitate. He opened the passenger door and slid inside, shutting it behind him with a firm click. The warmth of the car seemed to wrap around him instantly, and the soft leather seats hugged his frame perfectly. He glanced at the man, who was still grinning, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze.  

"You're awfully calm," the man said, putting the car in gear and pulling out of the lot.  

Ryan shrugged, leaning back in his seat like he owned the space. "You're not exactly intimidating."  

The man raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And what am I, then?"  

Ryan leaned forward, fiddling with the guy's dashboard, perusing his playlist until a rock tune crackled through the speakers. "You're a guy with good taste in music, I'll tell you that," he said, flashing a cheeky grin.  

The man chuckled, clearly entertained but slightly caught off guard by Ryan's confidence. "You're different from the others," he admitted. "Most are nervous their first time."  

Ryan ignored the implication, popping open the glove compartment and rummaging through its contents. A pack of gum, a few receipts, and sunglasses. He slipped the glasses on, glancing at the man through the dark lenses. "These make me look cool, right?"  

The man shook his head, amusement and confusion flickering across his face. "You're a piece of work."  

Ryan smirked, leaning back again and propping his feet on the dashboard. "I get that a lot."  

The man glanced at him sideways, his grin fading slightly. His expression shifted from slightly annoyed to downright suspicious. "So, how old are you again?"  

Ryan didn't miss a beat. "Twenty-one. I told you," he lied smoothly, keeping his tone light.  

The man frowned. "You sure about that?"  

Ryan hesitated, his effortless demeanor faltering before he forced a laugh. "Okay, fine. Nineteen."  

The man's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Don't lie to me, kid."  

Ryan sighed, finally looking at the man directly. "Seventeen," he admitted, his voice quieter now.  

The car screeched to a sudden halt, tires skidding on the asphalt as the man slammed on the brakes. Ryan jerked forward, his feet slipping off the dashboard as the car abruptly stopped in the middle of nowhere.  

The man turned to him, his face mixed with anger and disbelief. "Get out."  

Ryan blinked, his confusion quickly turning to frustration. "Dude? We were having a good time!"  

"Get. The. Fuck. Out!" The man's voice was sharp, his earlier charm gone as he leaned over and opened Ryan's door.  

Ryan tried to argue, his voice rising. "I thought...look, I just wanted..."  

The man grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out of the car with surprising force. Ryan stumbled as his feet hit the gravel, his protest dying on his lips as the door slammed shut behind him.  

The man rolled down the window just enough to speak. "Don't pull this crap again, you little shit. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."  

The car sped off, leaving Ryan standing alone in the cold.

"Yeah? Well fuck you too, you pervert!" he yelled, visibly annoyed that his night had suddenly detoured from what he initially intended. 

The engine's hum faded into the distance, replaced by the eerie silence of the night. Ryan stood there for a moment, staring at the empty road. Then he laughed bitterly, pulling his jacket tighter around himself as he started walking, the cold seeping into his bones. "Guess I'm walking home," he muttered to no one in particular, his voice swallowed by the vast, indifferent darkness.

Hours later, Ryan arrived home. The apartment was a monument to neglect, a two-bedroom flat that felt more like a box of regret and missed opportunities. The walls, once white, had faded to a yellowed gray, their surfaces scarred with faint marks of peeled paint and unpatched holes. A single couch sat in the living room, its upholstery frayed and sagging, accompanied by a cheap coffee table cluttered with old takeout containers, cigarette butts in an overflowing ashtray, and crumpled receipts. The air smelled stale, a mix of smoke and mildew. It was a house that reeked of solitude. Not cared for or nurtured. Just a place to stop by on the way to more important things. The space was pitched black, every light off except for a dull glow from one of the bedroom doors at the end of the narrow hallway.

Ryan closed the door behind him with barely a sound, dropping his coat over the back of the couch. He lingered in the silence momentarily before heading toward the faint light. He reached the bedroom door and pushed it open.

Jenna was sprawled on the bed, her body sinking into the mattress as if the weight of the world had pinned her there. She wore an old, loose tank top, the strap slipping lazily off one shoulder, and her messy hair framed a face that looked older than her years. On the nightstand beside her was a buzzing phone, which her eyes seemed unable to ignore as she typed furiously on a laptop.

She glanced up at Ryan with glassy eyes, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and apathy. "Where the hell have you been?" she asked, her voice rough, a faint slur curling her words.  

Ryan leaned against the doorframe, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Out," he said.  

Jenna smirked bitterly. "Out where?"  

"Does it matter?" he shot back, his tone sharp.  

She shrugged, exhaling toward the ceiling. "Guess not. You never tell me shit anyway."  

Ryan's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond. Instead, he let his eyes wander over the room, her room. The piles of clothes on the floor, the faint outline of makeup smudges on the bedsheets. Everything about it screamed of a life unraveling. 

After a somewhat awkward silence, Jenna waved her hand dismissively. "There's some old Chinese in the fridge. Help yourself."  

"Of course there is," Ryan muttered under his breath as he turned to leave.  

He walked into the kitchen, a cramped and barely functional space that was more of an afterthought than a room. The fridge hummed loudly, its door coated with smudges and held together by sheer determination. He opened it to find a nearly empty interior, half a carton of milk that looked suspect, a few takeout boxes, and a jar of something unidentifiable. He grabbed the closest box, sniffed it cautiously, and shrugged before dumping the contents onto a chipped plate.

The microwave groaned to life, humming and beeping. Ryan leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the wall, his fingers drumming against the edge of the counter in a rhythmic, unconscious pattern.

When the microwave beeped again, he grabbed the plate and sat at the small, rickety kitchen table. The single bulb overhead had long since burned out, leaving him to eat in near-darkness, the glow from the hallway his only light source. The food was cold in some spots and scalding in others, but he ate anyway, shoveling it into his mouth without much thought.

He stared at the wall as he chewed, the silence of the apartment pressing down on him as he thought about the man from earlier, the look of disgust and fear in his eyes when Ryan told him the truth. He thought about Jenna, lying in her room, too tired to care, too broken to try. And he thought about himself, sitting here in the dark, eating someone else's leftovers like a ghost haunting a house that wasn't even worth haunting. Ryan leaned back in the chair, staring at the cracked ceiling. 

He didn't cry. 
He didn't scream. 

He just sat there, chewing, until nothing was left on his plate.

(A few months later)

Ryan sat cross-legged on his bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, when rapid footsteps and muffled swearing echoed from the hallway. He glanced toward his door, raising an eyebrow. A sharp thud followed, a cabinet slamming shut, maybe, then Jenna's unmistakable voice, muttering curses at herself.  

Curiosity piqued, he swung his legs off the bed and padded to the door. Cracking it open, he peeked into the hallway. Jenna was moving around, frantically rifling through her handbag, then sprinting back to her bedroom for something.  

"Jesus, what's with the panic attack?" Ryan called out, stepping into the hallway.  

Jenna spun around, lipstick in hand, her hair half-done, one heel on, the other dangling from her fingers. "I'm late," she blurted, shoving the lipstick into her bag.  

"For what? An apocalypse?" Ryan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips.  

"I have a date," Jenna said, her tone clipped as she scurried to the bathroom mirror to inspect her reflection.  

Ryan snorted, following her. "Who's the sucker this time?"  

Jenna glared at him through the mirror, dabbing at her smudged eyeliner. "He's...nice."  

"Oh, yeah, because you're such a great judge of character," Ryan shot back, leaning against the doorframe. "What happened to the last 'nice guy'? You know, the one who left you for Debbie from the marketing department?

Jenna glared over her shoulder as she slipped on her second heel. "This one's different."  

Ryan rolled his eyes. "What's his name, then? Mr. Right?"  

Jenna ignored the jab, grabbing her coat from a chair and throwing it over her shoulders. "Nate. And for your information, he owns his own business. A construction company...or something," she added, clearly uninterested in whatever this new guy did professionally.

Ryan let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, perfect. Let me guess, big hands, tiny brain, smells like drywall and regret?"  

She turned, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Stop."  

"I've seen the type," Ryan retorted, smirking. Oblivious to his mother's feelings. "Bet he calls everyone 'buddy' and drinks Coors Light out of the can."  

Jenna sighed, exasperated, as she grabbed her purse. "Maybe you'll meet him someday, and you can get all your snark out of your system."  

Ryan's smirk widened. "Is he married, or should I save that question when I meet him?"  

She gave him a withering look. "He's not married. He's a single parent, actually."  

Ryan snorted again, shaking his head. "Dump him."  

"Why?" Jenna asked, throwing her hands up.  

"Too much drama," Ryan replied. "You're messy enough without throwing someone else's kid into the mix."  

Jenna sighed, visibly deflating as she walked toward him. "Or...you could just try being happy for me for once."  

She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, but Ryan dodged, retreating a step. "Ugh, gross," he muttered.  

Jenna rolled her eyes, heading toward the door. "Don't wait up."  

She slammed the door behind her, and Ryan stood there in silence. Then, shaking his head, he muttered, "I need to get the fuck out of here. Fast."

(Weeks later)

The TV flickered with some mindless show Ryan wasn't paying attention to. His legs propped up on the coffee table, his body slouched deep into the worn couch. A half-empty bag of chips sat at his side. It was a lazy day, the kind Ryan thrived on. That is, until Jenna barged out of her room, a whirlwind of perfume and jangling jewelry.  

"Get up," she ordered, frantically smoothing her dress in front of the hallway mirror.  

Ryan barely looked up, his eyes glued to the screen. "What for?"  

"Nate's coming over," she said, her voice both excited and anxious.  

That caught Ryan's attention. He lowered his legs from the table, leaning forward just enough to smirk. "The construction king himself. Should I bow or just curtsy when he walks in?"  

"Don't start, Ryan," Jenna warned, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. "And for the love of God, put on a clean shirt."  

Ryan looked down at his rumpled black T-shirt, shrugged, and leaned back into the couch. "Nah, I'm good."  

Jenna groaned, muttering something as she fussed with her hair. Ryan watched her with mild amusement, but his smugness faded when the knock came. His stomach twisted, an unfamiliar feeling creeping in. Nerves? Please. Jenna rushed to answer, and Ryan couldn't help but sit up straighter, curiosity getting the better of him. 

When the door opened, Ryan's world tilted.  

The first thing he noticed was the presence Nate carried. He filled the doorway, broad shoulders back, exuding effortless confidence. His hair was thick and slightly tousled, a rich chestnut brown that caught the light, and his beard was neatly trimmed, framing a strong, chiseled jaw. His eyes, warm but sharp, swept the room with quiet authority before landing on Ryan.  

"Hey," Nate said, his voice deep and smooth, which made you want to lean in closer to hear it again.  

Ryan swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the apartment felt. What the fuck was this, he thought?

"This is Ryan," Jenna introduced, gesturing to him like he was a prize she wasn't sure how to present.  

Nate stepped inside, extending a hand toward Ryan. "Nice to meet you, Ryan."

Ryan hesitated for half a beat, his usual cocky demeanor faltering as he took Nate's hand. It was firm, warm, scorching hot actually, steady in a way that made Ryan feel anything but. "Uh, yeah. You too," he said, hating how awkward he sounded.  

Nate's smile deepened, and a flash of amusement flashed in his eyes as if he could see right through Ryan's bravado. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important," Nate said, nodding toward the TV.  

Ryan quickly recovered, leaning back with a smirk. "Oh, you know...just saving the world one bad reality show at a time."  

Nate chuckled, and Ryan felt a strange rush at being the cause of that laughter. He couldn't remember the last time someone like Nate had laughed at something he said. 

"You've got good taste," Nate said, glancing at the screen before looking back at Ryan. Something in Nate's eyes lingered like he was cataloging every detail of Ryan's face, making him feel exposed and electrified.  

Jenna, oblivious to the charged undercurrent, clapped her hands together. "Well, I'm just about ready. You guys can chat for a minute while I grab my bag," she said, disappearing down the hallway and leaving Ryan and Nate alone.  

The silence was brief but weighty. Ryan tried to focus on the TV, but he could feel Nate's magnetic and unignorable presence pulling his attention back.  

"You've got a good setup here," Nate said, gesturing vaguely to the apartment.  

Ryan snorted. "Yeah, if you're into thrift store chic." Ryan couldn't tell if Nate was being genuine or just polite, but it disarmed him. "So, construction, huh?" Ryan asked, desperate to fill the space. "Building things or just tearing them down?"  

"Both," Nate said easily. "Sometimes you've got to knock stuff down to make room for something new. Better."  

The words fell heavy. Heavier than Ryan expected, and for a moment, he felt like Nate wasn't just talking about buildings.  

Jenna returned, breaking the moment. "All set!" she announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder.  

Nate nodded, but before he moved, he reached out and placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder. The contact was brief and casual but jolted Ryan's entire body. Nate's hand was large, calloused, and solid, a grounding force against Ryan's frame. The world seemed to pause for a split second, the hum of the TV and Jenna's chatter fading into the background.  

"Take it easy, Ryan," Nate said, his voice low, almost gentle. Ryan nodded, his throat suddenly dry, his pulse thrumming in his ears.  

And then Nate was gone, walking out the door with Jenna, leaving Ryan alone again. He sank back onto the couch, his mind racing. Every detail of Nate lingered, his voice, his eyes, the weight and warmth of his hand on Ryan's shoulder.  

"Fuck," Ryan muttered to himself, staring at the door, feeling like his carefully constructed armor had been cracked somehow.

And it wasn't so much the feeling that bothered Ryan, but the fact that for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what to do about it. 

(A couple of nights later)

The knock at the door startled Ryan. He was sprawled across the couch, headphones on, a cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers. He tossed the headphones onto the coffee table before answering the door. When he opened it, he was met with Nate's towering figure. He looked effortlessly put together, even in a plain gray sweater and jeans, though there was a hint of surprise in his eyes when he saw Ryan.  

"Hey," Nate greeted, glancing past Ryan into the apartment. "Jenna told me to meet her here," he said, his words lingering. "She's not here yet, is she?" he asked, sounding more like a confirmation. Ryan shook his head slowly. "Probably still stuck at work."  

Ryan leaned casually against the doorframe, though his heart sped up. "Yeah, that sounds about right. You want to come in?"  

Nate smirked, stepping inside as Ryan closed the door behind him. "Thanks."  

As Nate walked into the living room, his nose wrinkled slightly. "Smells like a bar in here," he remarked, his eyes scanning the ashtray overflowing on the coffee table.  

Ryan flopped back onto the couch, picking up his cigarette and taking a slow drag. "What can I say? I've got refined tastes." He exhaled, the smoke curling up toward the dim light above them.  

Nate raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "How old are you, again?"  

"Seventeen...and a half," Ryan said, his smirk daring, his tone mocking.  

"Does the half make it legal then?" Nate's voice was teasing, but his gaze was sharp as if he could see right through Ryan, which he was beginning to get annoyed by. Even though his dick was getting hard inside his sweatpants.

Ryan shrugged, flicking ash into the tray. "You're not gonna rat me out, are you?"  

Nate chuckled softly and shook his head. "Not my style." He glanced at the record player in the corner of the room, surrounded by stacks of vinyls. "You're into music?"  

Ryan followed Nate's gaze and nodded. "Yeah. You?"  

"Big time," Nate said, stepping over to the collection and thumbing through the records. "You've got good stuff here. Zeppelin, Floyd, Springsteen. A little old school for someone your age."  

Ryan leaned back, feigning nonchalance, but he felt a flicker of pride. "Guess I've got an old soul."  

"Or good taste," Nate said, pulling out a Springsteen record and holding it up. "This one's a classic."  

Ryan lit up despite himself. "You like 'Darkness on the Edge of Town'?"  

Nate smiled. "I used to listen to it on repeat when I was your age. There's something raw about it, like Springsteen's reaching for something he can't quite grab."  

Ryan stared at Nate, momentarily disarmed. He hadn't expected someone like Nate to get it, to feel it the same way he did. "Yeah," Ryan said quietly. "Exactly..."  

They talked for a while about music and then sports. Ryan expressed sharp opinions about players and teams, and Nate countered with calm, measured takes that somehow frustrated and impressed Ryan simultaneously. But no matter how casual the conversation seemed, Ryan couldn't shake the feeling that Nate was studying him, peeling back the layers he worked so hard to keep intact. Every time their eyes met, Ryan felt a strange tension, like Nate could see things Ryan didn't want anyone to see.  

Eventually, the conversation lulled, and Ryan, feeling restless under Nate's gaze, blurted out, "So, what about your kid?"  

Nate froze. The shift was immediate, almost imperceptible, but Ryan caught it. His shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and the warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something deeper, more complicated.  

"Caleb," Nate said softly, sitting down in the armchair across from Ryan. He briefly looked down at his hands, his thumb brushing over his knuckles as if the name carried weight.  

"He's…" Nate began, his voice low and steady, like he was afraid of breaking the spell of his words. "Smart. So smart it scares me sometimes. He's got this way of seeing the world as if he can strip everything down to its core. He'll call you out on your bullshit without even trying, but he does it in a way that doesn't make you mad. Or angry..."  

Ryan leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, mesmerized.  

"And he's kind," Nate continued, his eyes distant, lost in thought. "Not in an obvious way. He doesn't go around smiling at everyone, but when he cares about someone, you feel it. He's got this quiet way of showing up. Even if he doesn't say it, you know he's there." Nate's voice softened further, and Ryan felt his chest tighten at the pure, unfiltered adoration pouring out of him. "Sometimes I look at him and think, 'How the fuck did I get so lucky?" 

Ryan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. Nate's face was alight with something Ryan had never seen before.

Devotion, pride. 
It was unconditional love.

For a moment, Ryan wondered what it would feel like to have someone look at him like that. To speak about him like that. He wondered how it would feel to be the center of someone's world.  

Nate leaned back in the chair, sighing softly. "He's also a pain in the ass sometimes," he said with a small laugh.

Ryan managed a smirk, but his mind was racing. He cleared his throat, trying to push it down to focus on anything else. "He sounds…cool," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.  

"Yeah," Nate said. "He is."

A silence took hold. Awkward, vulnerable. The kind Ryan was allergic to. And there was only one thing he knew to do in these situations. Sabotage.

Ryan's lips stretched into a smirk. "So, what you're saying is Caleb's soft?"  

Nate's eyes flicked to Ryan, his expression shifting. "That's not what I said."  

"I mean..." Ryan pressed, his tone teasing but sharp enough to test boundaries. "Sounds like he had it pretty easy. Bet he's one of those golden boys, huh? All brains and no backbone?"  

Nate chuckled low, shaking his head. "You don't know Caleb."  

"I don't," Ryan said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "but you do. And you're saying he's got this whole 'wise beyond his years' thing going on, shows up when people need him, blah blah blah." Ryan waved his cigarette for effect, the ember trailing faint smoke. "Good for him, but...sounds like he's been coddled. You know, a little too...protected."  

Nate's jaw tightened, just a fraction, but enough for Ryan to notice.  

"That's not it," Nate said evenly, his tone calm but laced with subtle warning. 

Ryan arched an eyebrow, feigning curiosity and a sense of pride that he had managed to punch the slightest crack on Nate's otherwise mellow attitude, suddenly rising up. "Didn't sound like he's had much to worry about with you around."  

Nate tilted his head, studying Ryan now, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew what Ryan was doing, poking, prodding, looking for weaknesses.  

Ryan grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Hey, don't get me wrong. Hell, wish I'd had someone like you around growing up. It must've been nice, you know? To have a parent who actually gave a shit."  

Nate's gaze didn't waver. "What's your point?"  

Ryan shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and exhaling slowly. "No point. Just making conversation." He leaned back, spreading his arms over the back of the couch. 

There it was. A deliberate jab, carefully wrapped in casual observation.  

Nate's lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Well...I think you should drop it," he said quietly, his voice steady but firm. 

Ryan tilted his head, his smirk unwavering. "Touchy subject, huh?"  

Nate's eyes stayed locked on Ryan, and for a moment, the air felt charged, like a storm hovering just out of reach. Then, unexpectedly, Nate leaned back, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  

"You're good," Nate said, his tone almost amused. "I'll give you that."  

Ryan's smirk faltered just slightly. "Good at what?"  

Nate shrugged, his smile deepening, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Trying to get under people's skin." Ryan's face hardened, the facade slipping for a fraction of a second. "But here's the thing," Nate continued, his voice dropping lower. "You don't need to play games with me, kid. I've been where you are. I see what you're doing."  

Ryan stared at him, his smirk now completely gone. His cigarette burned down to the filter, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray without a word.  

He was now the one exposed.
Nate had flipped the script and was now the one seeing through him.  

"You got anything else?" Nate asked, his tone casual, almost taunting.  

Ryan swallowed hard, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. "Nah," he said, leaning back and forcing a lazy grin.

Nate nodded, his expression softening just enough to let Ryan breathe again.

And until Jenna got home that night, Ryan couldn't shake the feeling that Nate had managed to peel back a layer of his armor without even trying. 

And worse, he couldn't decide if he hated or wanted more of it.  

*

Stranger: So, tell me what you're wearing right now. 

Ryan: Undies.
 
Stranger: Are you hard?

Ryan: Fuck, yeah. I'm pre-cuming. 

Stranger: Snap me a pic.  

Ryan chuckled softly, tilting his head against the pillow. His fingers hovered over the keys, deliberating.  

Ryan: Gotta work for that.

Stranger: Oh, I'm good at working for what I want.

Ryan: Is that so?
 
Stranger: You have no idea. Tell me what you'd do if I were there right now. 

Ryan felt the heat rise in his groin as he read the message, his hole tightening slightly. His smirk grew into a full grin, equal parts cocky and mischievous. He typed back quickly.  

Ryan: I'd pull your cock out. Start sucking it until you came in my mouth.
 
Stranger: Would you let me put it in?  

He sat up slightly, biting his lip as he let the tension simmer in his reply.  

Ryan: Yes. 
  
Stranger: Fuck...

The cursor blinked for a moment, the screen quiet as Ryan waited for their response.  

Stranger: I wish you were here. Right now.

Ryan: What would you do if I was? 

Stranger: I wouldn't be talking, that's for sure.  

Ryan chuckled, the sound low in his throat. There was something intoxicating about the power play, the way words danced between them.  

Ryan: Talking's overrated, anyway.  

He leaned back, letting the tension hang in the air. His thumb ran idly over the edges of his phone, his eyes fixed on the chat box.  

Stranger: You're trouble. I can tell.

Ryan: You have no idea.

The conversation ebbed and flowed, pulling Ryan deeper into its faked intimacy. It was a game, and he was too good at it.  

Yet, beneath the flirtation, there was something else, a hollow ache. No matter how charged the words became, how intoxicating the exchange felt, or the feeling of being wanted, it was always there: the nagging reminder of how fleeting and empty it all felt once the screen went dark.  

(A week later)

The house stood proudly at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. The yard was immaculate, the grass trimmed with precision, and a stone path led to the front porch. It was a well-lived but polished space, much like the man himself.  

Ryan stood with Jenna at the base of the steps, scanning the façade with a mixture of curiosity and faint resentment. The crisp white siding, the dark shutters, the sturdy oak door whispered of stability and care, things Ryan had never truly known. The door swung open, and Nate came out smiling, his presence commanding as usual. He wore a navy button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and dark jeans.  

"Hey," Nate said, stepping forward to kiss Jenna on the cheek. His hand lingered briefly on her lower back, a gesture that made Ryan's stomach twist for reasons he refused to analyze.  

"Hi, handsome," Jenna cooed, her voice honeyed as she smiled up at him.  

Then Nate's eyes flicked to Ryan, and there was an immediate tension. His smile shifted, not disappearing entirely but taking on a subtle edge. He extended a hand, his grip firm, his gaze steady.  

"Ryan, good to see you again."  

"Yeah," Ryan replied, his tone as cool as he could muster. "Nice place."  

"Thanks," Nate said. There was a pause, a brief moment where their eyes locked. Nate's gaze was assessing, almost as if he were trying to see through Ryan. And he hated how exposed it made him feel. Before either could say more, a shadow appeared behind Nate's doorway.  

"Caleb, come say hi," Nate called over his shoulder. The boy stepped forward, his movements hesitant, as though he wasn't entirely sure about the guests that had just shown up on his doorstep. 

Caleb was stunning in a way that caught Ryan completely off guard. His hair was messy, almost deliberately so. His emerald-green eyes were striking, framed by dark lashes that gave him an ethereal quality. He wore a simple t-shirt and denim shorts, and his figure was lean but strong, like a swimmer. Ryan's throat felt dry as he took Caleb in, his heart giving an uncharacteristic jolt. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.  

Caleb's eyes met his briefly before darting away, his expression guarded, almost cold. "Hi," he said, his voice quiet but even.  

Jenna stepped forward, her smile overly bright. "Hi, Caleb! It's so nice to finally meet you. Your dad talks about you all the time."  

Caleb politely nodded but didn't return the smile. He could smell her lying a mile away. "Nice to meet you, too."  

Ryan lingered in the background, his gaze fixed on Caleb, taking in every detail, the slight curve of his lips, the way his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, the sharpness of his jawline. He was captivating, and it annoyed Ryan how obvious it must have been that he was staring. As they all moved inside, Caleb stayed close to the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Can I get you guys something to drink?" Nate asked, breaking the silence as they entered the living room.  

Jenna smiled. "A glass of wine would be nice."  

Nate chuckled. "Of course." He glanced at Ryan. "You?"  

"I'm good," Ryan replied, his tone clipped. His eyes flicked back to Caleb, who had taken a seat on the couch's armrest, his posture closed off.  

"So," Jenna said, clearly trying to fill the silence as Nate moved to the kitchen. "Caleb, do you like school?"

Caleb glanced at her, his expression on the edge of boredom. "It's fine."  

Ryan smirked faintly, watching Caleb's discomfort. He was also deliberately giving Jenna a hard time, which, in his book, was a plus. He could already tell Caleb wasn't the type to open up quickly, which only made him more intriguing. 

The four of them settled into the living room, but the atmosphere was weird for the most part. Ryan could feel Caleb's eyes on him just as he kept stealing glances at Caleb. They were circling each other, guarded, and sizing the other up, though for entirely different reasons. When Nate leaned forward to say something, Ryan's gaze flicked to Caleb again, and for a brief second, their eyes met. Caleb's lips parted slightly as though he were about to say something, but then he looked away, the moment gone.    

An excruciating hour or so into their conversation, Ryan asked to use the bathroom, and Nate pointed to the second floor. He excused himself and took the opportunity to finally do what he came for. 

Snoop around. 

He climbed the stairs two at a time, feigning nonchalance but buzzing with curiosity. The house was almost too perfect. Every detail was meticulously placed, and every surface was gleaming with Nate and Caleb's intimacy. It made him uneasy like it was all a stage set for someone else's life. He briefly glanced back down at the top of the stairs to ensure no one had followed. 

They wouldn't notice, he thought.
No one ever did.  

As Nate had said, the bathroom was directly in front of him, but Ryan's attention veered to the left, to a slightly ajar door. He pushed it open further, his breath hitching slightly. It was Caleb's room.  

The space was orderly but lived-in. The bed was unmade, a heap of navy-blue sheets tangled together like restless waves. Posters adorned the walls, a few movie posters Ryan didn't recognize, abstract art, and one of a sprawling mountain landscape. A bookshelf stood near the window, filled with paperbacks, their spines creased and well-loved.  

Ryan's eyes scanned every detail. He ran a hand along the edge of the desk, fingers brushing against a collection of pens and a notebook left open to a half-written page. The handwriting was neat, almost too precise, and the words were arranged like they were trying to mask something underneath.  

He moved to the bookshelf, tilting his head as he read the titles. A mix of fiction and non-fiction, and a few philosophy books that seemed out of place for someone Caleb's age. Pulling one from the shelf, he flipped through it, his eyes catching on underlined passages and notes scribbled in the margins. Thoughtful, introspective notes. Ryan smirked faintly.  

Turning, he noticed a pair of sneakers kicked haphazardly beneath the bed. Above it, pinned to a corkboard, were photographs, most of them of Caleb and Nate. In one, Caleb looked younger, smiling with an arm around Nate's shoulders as they stood before a trailhead sign. Another showed Caleb mid-dive into what looked like a lake, his body frozen in a perfect arc.  

Ryan lingered on the photos, his smirk fading. There was something almost unsettling about how Caleb's life seemed so complete, so deliberately captured in these moments of happiness. It made Ryan's own fragmented existence feel even sharper by comparison.  

A pair of wireless headphones rested on the nightstand atop a sleek phone charger. Ryan picked them up, turning them over in his hands before setting them back down, his fingers brushing the surface just long enough to leave a faint smudge.  

Finally, his attention fell on the bed. His fingers itched as he moved toward it, running a hand over the crumpled sheets. He caught a faint scent, clean, crisp, with a hint of something earthy. It was, for lack of a better word, intoxicating.

It was Caleb.  

His heart was racing now, a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, but he couldn't stop himself. He straightened, smoothing the sheets where he'd touched them before quickly stepping out of the room. Closing the door behind him, he exhaled. But as he headed back down the stairs, his usual cocky smirk slid back into place.

Half a second later, he sneaked into Nate's room. 

His eyes lock on Nate's bed and pillow. He slowly walked toward it, scanning the room door. Ryan froze, his fingers still lingering on the edge of the pillow. The faint scent of cedar and something undeniably masculine clung to the fabric, and for a brief moment, he let the feeling take hold of him. His fingers clutched the case, ready to pull it in. 

But just then, a quiet, measured voice sliced through his movement.  

"What are you doing in here?"  

Ryan turned slowly, his smirk already in place like a shield. Caleb stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame, his other hanging loosely at his side. His expression was sober, but his green eyes burned with a quiet intensity that pinned Ryan in place.  

"Relax," Ryan said, his voice smooth, almost amused. "I got lost. Big house. Thought this was the bathroom."  

Caleb didn't buy it, not for a second. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. "It's not."  

Ryan shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as if he hadn't just been caught doing something deeply invasive. "My bad. Nice room, though. Clean. Almost like...no one sleeps in here."  

Caleb stepped into the room, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving Ryan. "I don't think he'd like you...touching his stuff."  

Ryan's smirk deepened, but something flickered in his chest, a warning bell he ignored. "Why? What's he hiding?"  

Caleb stopped a few feet away, sliding his hands inside his pockets. He was taller than Ryan, lean but solid. "You tell me. You're the one sniffing around."  

Ryan laughed, sharp and dismissive, though the sound felt hollow in the charged space between them. "What can I say? Your dad's cologne game is on point."  

At that, Caleb's jaw tightened, but his composure remained intact. "Stay out of his room."  

"Touchy," Ryan stepped closer, closing the gap just enough to feel the edge of Caleb's tension. "What's the big deal? Afraid I'll find some...dirty little family secret?"  

Caleb didn't flinch, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, anger, maybe, or something else. Ryan leaned back slightly, his smirk faltering just a fraction as he searched Caleb's face. Something disarming about his calm made Ryan's usual tricks feel flimsy and juvenile.  

"You're a tough one to crack, aren't you...nerd?" Ryan said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. "Guess that's what happens when you grow up in a house like this. All neat edges and locked doors."  

Caleb held his gaze for a long moment, the tension suffocating. Finally, he stepped back, his eyes still sharp but his posture relaxing just slightly. Turning ever so slowly, he walked out of the room, leaving Ryan alone.

Later that night, they decide to watch a movie. Jenna sat on one of the armchairs, texting on her phone and trying to finish something work-related. Nate was in the kitchen, heating up some popcorn. Ryan circled the couch purposefully, waiting like a predator to see where Nate would sit. Nate eventually came back, bucket in hand, and sprawled on the sofa. Ryan rushed forward to join him, but Caleb came running down the stairs and slid into the couch, landing next to Nate, his body taking up most of the remaining space. He had slipped into these short shorts and a baggy tank top, showcasing his smooth, velvety skin underneath.

Ryan had no choice. He bit his lip and fell back, sinking into the only armchair left. The muffled sound of the opening credits filled the space, but Ryan barely heard it. His sharp, calculating eyes were fixed on the sofa, specifically Nate and Caleb.

It was seamless, the way Caleb slid into the space beside Nate, his frame sprawling across the couch quickly. Caleb's feet, clad in worn, white socks, immediately found their way into his father's lap. Nate didn't even hesitate. He passed the popcorn bucket over Caleb's chest, the same hand casually reaching down to knead at the boy's arches as though it were second nature.

Ryan's lips pressed into a thin line as he sank into the armchair, his position angled just enough to give him the perfect view of them. He wanted to laugh, to crack some snide remark about how Caleb was practically a cat curling up in its favorite spot, but the words stayed lodged in his throat. Instead, he sat stiffly, his fingers tapping against the armrest in an uneven rhythm, his blue eyes never leaving the couch. Jenna was oblivious, perched in her own chair with her face lit by her phone screen. She muttered something about a client, barely paying attention to the movie or the dynamics unfolding beside her.

Ryan, however, saw everything. 

The way Caleb would occasionally shove Nate's hand away playfully, only for Nate to grip his ankle and pull his foot back with a groan that rumbled low and warm. The way Caleb's body stretched lazily, his head tilted toward his father as some magnetic force drew him closer. Nate's hand rested familiarly on Caleb's inner thigh when he wasn't kneading his foot. Ryan's eyes narrowed, watching as Nate's hand moved silently along his son's skin, the tip of his fingers sliding dangerously close to the boy's crotch with each brush. Those hands, they longed for that skin. They needed it.

Ryan shifted in his seat, heat prickling at the back of his neck, his cock twitching as it grew inside his pants. It wasn't jealousy, not entirely. The intimacy between Nate and Caleb was so natural and easy that it almost felt intrusive to watch. Yet Ryan couldn't look away. Every touch, every shared glance between them, felt like a knife sliding between his ribs, carving out something he didn't even know was there.

His fingers curled into his palms as Caleb leaned closer to Nate, whispering something inaudible. Whatever it was, it made Nate chuckle, his hand absently patting Caleb's knee in response. Ryan's jaw tightened. How was it so simple for him? How could Caleb command all of Nate's attention without even trying?

The popcorn bucket shifted, and Ryan snapped out of his trance as Caleb stretched out further, his socked foot bumping against Nate's chest. Nate rolled his eyes but didn't push him away. Instead, he adjusted his posture, making space for his son as if Caleb's comfort was the only thing that mattered.

Ryan's hand drifted to his thigh, his nails digging into the fabric of his jeans. The dark room suddenly felt too small, the air too suffocating. Jenna finally looked up, mumbling something about a deadline before heading toward the kitchen for a drink. But Ryan barely noticed. His focus was entirely on Nate's hand, which rested now against Caleb's calf, fingers drumming lightly to the beat of the movie's score.

It wasn't fair, Ryan thought bitterly. Caleb didn't even realize how lucky he was, how much Nate's every movement radiated care and love. And yet, as Ryan watched, he couldn't stop himself from imagining what it would feel like to be in Caleb's place, lounging carelessly, feeling that same warmth and safety. 

To be the object of desire. 
Of longing.
To be the surface touched by small gestures riddled with meaning. 

As the credits rolled, Ryan stared at Nate's hand, wondering if he'd ever know what it felt like to have someone hold on to him like that.

(Five months later)

Ryan and Jenna had been gradually staying in Nate's house for more extended periods of time, but Caleb and Ryan's relationship was still tense, to say the least. Caleb refused to share his bedroom, so Ryan had been sleeping on the couch downstairs most nights.

One particular night, Jenna was perched on the edge of Nate's bed, her legs folded under her, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. She barely looked up when Nate slid closer, his hand brushing against her thigh.

"Hey," Nate murmured, leaning in slightly. His voice was warm but tinged with a weariness that had been growing over the past months. "Been a while since..."

Jenna sighed, not pulling away but not leaning into him either. "Nate, not now. I have a deadline on this..."

"Pause it," Nate interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. He tilted his head, searching her face for a connection.

She hesitated, glancing at him briefly before returning her attention to her phone. "I can't just pause it, Nate. You know how demanding my job is."

Nate sat back slightly, frustration flickering across his face. He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Yeah, I do."

Jenna didn't answer, her fingers still scrolling. Finally, she broke it, her tone nonchalant. "Oh, shit, it was Ryan's birthday."

Nate froze, his brows knitting together. "What? When?" His voice was sharp, and his disbelief was clear.

"Last monday," Jenna repeated casually, still not looking up. "Eighteen. Can you believe it?"

Nate stared at her, his jaw tightening. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

Jenna finally set her phone down, looking at him with mild irritation. "What's the big deal? Ryan doesn't like celebrating his birthday anyway. Trust me."

"That's not the fucking point, Jenna," Nate said, his voice rising slightly. He stood, pacing the room as he tried to rein in his disbelief. "He's eighteen. Eighteen. That's a big fucking deal. We sat in that living room all night, and you didn't even bother to remember? To say something?"

Jenna shrugged, her expression indifferent. "I didn't think it...Look, I know him. He doesn't care. He told me himself."

Nate turned to her, his eyes blazing. "You think he doesn't care because he told you? He's a kid, well, not anymore, but still. Of course, he's going to act like it doesn't matter. But deep down, it does. And it should've mattered to you!" 

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Keep your fucking voice down... you're overreacting. He's fine. He's probably happy we didn't make a fuss."

Nate shook his head, his incredulity palpable. "Jesus Christ...unbelievable," he uttered, his voice descending from sudden rage to utter disappointment.

He turned on his heel, storming out of the room without another word. Jenna called after him half-heartedly, but Nate didn't stop. He slammed the door shut, steeping the house in a deafening silence, the kind that seemed to press against the walls and stretch out. 

Nate lingered by Caleb's door, cracking it open just enough to peer inside. Caleb's figure was cocooned in blankets, his face relaxed, the rhythm of his soft breathing filling the room. Satisfied, Nate gently closed the door, letting the latch click as softly as possible before heading down the stairs.

The kitchen light clicked on, bathing the counter in a faint yellow glow as Nate filled a glass of water. But the quiet calm was interrupted by movement near the front door, a shadow shifting against the dim light spilling in from the street. Nate turned and caught Ryan halfway out the door, dressed in his usual dark hoodie, his hand gripping the knob.

"Where are you going?" Nate asked, his voice low but firm.

Ryan froze, his back straightening as he turned halfway toward Nate. "None of your business," he snapped, his sharpness more instinct than intention.

But when their eyes met, Ryan's resolve faltered. Nate's gaze had a way of stripping his layers, of cutting through his armor without force. Ryan shifted uncomfortably, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "I'm just going to meet some friends." 

Nate's expression didn't change. "Where?"

Ryan hesitated, glancing at the floor, then back at him. "Other side of town."

Nate set his glass down and nodded. "I'll drive you."

"You don't have to..." Ryan started, but Nate raised his hand and cut him off.

"It's not a problem," Nate said, already grabbing his keys. There was no room for argument, but the gesture, so unassuming yet unexpectedly considerate, had Ryan's chest swelling with something he couldn't quite grasp. He nodded, wordlessly following Nate out to the car.

The drive was quiet, tension humming between them like static. Ryan stared out the window, watching the city blur into darkened streets and industrial zones. He snuck glances at Nate, his hands gripping the steering wheel loosely, his face mostly hidden under the occasional flicker of passing streetlights. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy, as though both were waiting for the other to speak and neither daring to.

Finally, they pulled into a secluded lot near the docks. The water glinted faintly in the moonlight, and Ryan could see the vague shapes of figures farther down, his so-called "friends." Nate parked and shifted into neutral, letting the engine idle as Ryan reached for the door handle.

"Hey," Nate said, stopping him. His voice was softer now, gentler, but it carried weight.

Ryan turned back, his brows furrowing. "What?"

"Happy birthday, kid," Nate said with a small, almost bittersweet smile.

Ryan froze. The words hit him like a jolt, pulling him out of the apathy he'd forced himself to wear daily. But the warmth they carried also stung. "I'm not a kid anymore," Ryan muttered, almost reflexively.

Nate chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I know," he said before pausing. "What do you want for your birthday?" Nate asked, watching Ryan try to juggle his surprise.

"What?" the boy replied. 

"Anything you want. Name it," Nate insisted.

Ryan blinked at him, confusion flickering across his face. No one ever asked him that, not like they meant it. "I'm fine," he said after a beat, his voice quieter now, hesitant.

"Are you sure?" Nate pressed, his eyes steady on Ryan. But there was something in them, a knowing weight that made Ryan feel like Nate already knew the answer. Ryan stared back, his chest tightening. 

And that's when it happened.

Before he could think or stop himself, Ryan leaned forward, his lips seeking Nate's in a reckless, desperate motion. It was clumsy, chaotic, and full of all the things Ryan couldn't say.

Nate reacted immediately, raising his hand to push Ryan back. The force was brutal and instinctive, sending Ryan stumbling against the door, his back slamming into it with a hollow thud.

"What the fuck?" Nate snapped, his voice sharp but shaken.

"Fine then!" Ryan yelled, his face flushed with anger and humiliation. He grabbed at the handle, trying to escape, but Nate caught his arm before he could open the door.

"Stop," Nate said firmly, pulling Ryan back. Ryan fought against him, thrashing and pushing, but Nate didn't let go. The scuffle was quick but heated, the confined space amplifying every shove, every breathless grunt.

"Let go of me!" Ryan shouted, his voice cracking, but his strength began to wane. The fight drained out of him as quickly as it had ignited, leaving him panting, his fists weakly gripping Nate's shirt.

Nate pulled him close, his arms wrapping around Ryan in a tight, grounding hug. Ryan resisted for a moment, trying to push away, but then he broke, sagging against Nate's chest as sobs wracked his body.

"I get it," Nate murmured, his voice low and steady. His hand pressed against Ryan's head, holding him in place as if to shield him from the world. "I know," he whispered. 

Ryan gasped for air between shaky breaths, his tears soaking into Nate's shirt.

But soon, his breathing shifted, becoming less convoluted and more eager. Nate felt Ryan's hand pull up his shirt, exposing his chiseled stomach. The boy's head immediately descended on it, his tongue glazing over its fizzy surface. Nate's hand hovered over it, hesitant, before finally landing on his dark hair, fingers diving into it. He could hear Ryan's nose sniffing, relishing Nate's scent like a dog as he neared his crotch. Before Nate could even react, the boy's fingers were already pulling Nate's boxers down.

"Fuckin' hell..." the boy mumbled as he unleashed Nate's monster from under the fabric. His eyes scoured the abandoned lot, ensuring the few parked cars were empty. Meanwhile, he could feel Ryan's nose dive inside his thick bush, his nose sniffing him greedily. "Ryan...wait a sec," Nate tried to intervene, his last moral line of defense crumbling in the seconds that it took Ryan to finally swallow his cock. A sharp, vibrant heatwave engulfed Nate's pelvis, expanding outward. "Damn," he mumbled incoherently, his head tilting back and slamming against his seat. "You've...done this before," he uttered, slightly surprised but not entirely.

Ryan moaned, letting his earned skills speak for him. He had, truth be told, sucked a few dicks. But Nate's cock was in a league of his own. And even though he was already working on the head of the mammoth shaft, using his tongue to layer it with spit, it soon became apparent that any further inch and he would surely begin to struggle. 

Ryan was fearless and faithful. But as his nostrils flared, his body readying itself to plunge deeper, he felt Nate's fingers clutch the back of his neck like a hook. That was the moment Ryan learned that Nate was the only person who could not only match his energy but surpass it.

Immediate gagging sounds began to explode inside the car as Nate thrust his hips forward, shoving half his engorged shaft inside Ryan's mouth. He could feel the boy's lips stretching, his jaw slowly unlocking to accommodate more of Nate. After some initial resistance, as he felt Ryan's tongue finally touch the thick, veins surface of Nate's foreskin, his eyes rolled back.

"That's it, you little shit. That's it..." Nate groaned, his movements becoming less constrained and more forceful. "Keep taking that cock..." he continued, his voice laced with subtle anger that caused Ryan's lungs to spit these beautiful, hearty-toned moans.

With each new thrust, a sharp gag erupted from the boy's mouth, froth and spit spewing from the corners of his thin-stretched lips, sliding down Nate's thick cock and landing on his thick pubes. Their act was rushed, convoluted, desperate, it seemed. As if this moment had been boiling from the moment they first laid eyes on each other.

"That's a fucking warm cunt," Nate gasped, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he felt the tip touch the back of Ryan's throat. The boy tried to pull away, but Nate held him in place. "Breathe...breathe through your nose," the hunk instructed, his voice between patience and urgency. 

Ryan obeyed, his nostrils flaring again, sharp inhales accompanying Nate's every thrust. His nails dug into Nate's hairy thighs, crawling into them rather than pushing them away. Nate felt this, grinning from ear to ear with a sense of pride.

In this moment, between wails, gags, and groans, Ryan realized how deeply Nate's nature aligned with his own. How utterly alike they were. They fed off each other's rage. Each other's despair. Each other's longing for some form of release from the pain they both harbored. Whatever was happening inside that car wasn't meant to be enjoyed.

It was a purge. 

They were crawling into each other's souls and ripping out each other's pain.

"That's it...keep going...fuck..." Nate roared, every word ushering a warning.

It wasn't long before Ryan felt Nate's cock swelling inside his mouth, the first strings of cum firing into his throat.

"Fuuuuucck! Pull out...wait..." Nate tried to warn.

But Ryan's head declined vehemently. And why wouldn't he? The taste flooding his mouth was beyond anything he had ever tasted. The perfect blend of sweet and sour, the most creamy consistency of what could only be described as the perfect cum. Ryan didn't mean to, but his twisted brain couldn't help but wonder, as he swallowed every drop of Nate's thick load, that only a nectar this glorious could have allowed a creature like Caleb to come into this world.

"Fuckin' hell!" Nate hollered. "That was some fucking good head!" he added, his tone exhilarated and beaming with pride. 

Ryan pulled back, finally lifting his head from inside Nate's crotch. His face was flushed red, eyes watering profusely, and his lips bloated and glistening with spit and Nate's cum.

"I knew it..." the boy panted. "You taste amazing," he mumbled between coughs and deep breaths.

They leaned back simultaneously, Ryan's back hitting the door as he purposely faced Nate. It was almost as if he couldn't bear to take his eyes away from him. Not even for a second. They stayed there in silence, regaining their breath before Nate finally tucked his softening cock inside his boxers. As he did, he looked up at Ryan, whose grin greeted him with a tamed joy pushing through.

Half an hour later, the heaviness of their actions lingered, though neither of them addressed it. Ryan sat, staring out the window, his breath fogging the glass slightly as he exhaled.

Finally, he broke the silence. "She's going to leave."

Nate glanced at him briefly before returning his eyes to the dock. "What are you talking about?"

"My mom," Ryan clarified, his voice sharp but tinged with something more profound. It was fear. "She always leaves. Gets bored, finds a reason to move on, or screws things up until she's got no choice but to do it. She's probably already planning it."

Nate frowned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "You don't know that."

Ryan huffed, shaking his head. "I do. I've seen it happen...too many times. She gets tired of pretending to care about people, and then… we're packing up and starting over. Again."

Nate's jaw flexed as he mulled over Ryan's words. He understood what the boy was trying to tell him, even though he knew Ryan would never say it out loud. 

He would never admit that he simply didn't want to be alone anymore.

Nate's voice was steady when he spoke, but there was an edge, a determination that layered every word. "She's not gonna leave. Not this time."

Ryan turned to him, his blue eyes narrowing. "How can you be so sure?"

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," Nate said, like it was a promise carved in stone. "You're not going anywhere."

Ryan studied him for a long moment, searching for cracks in Nate's conviction but finding none. There was something strangely comforting about how Nate said it as if he wasn't just trying to reassure Ryan. He genuinely believed it.

Ryan hesitated, his voice almost softer now. "What about Caleb?"

"What about him?" Nate asked, glancing at Ryan again, his tone neutral.

"He hates me," Ryan said bluntly, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his hoodie.

Nate exhaled a low sigh that was more thoughtful than exasperated. "Caleb doesn't hate you," he said finally, though there was a weight to his words as if he were choosing them carefully. Then, he leaned forward and turned the key in the ignition, the engine's roar filling the silence. "He'll warm up to you… eventually."

Nate drove the car out of the parking lot.

Ryan looked around, slowly realizing Nate was taking the wrong exit. They weren't heading home. "Where are we going?" he asked.

There was a pause, Nate's eyes fixed on the road as he veered the car right into a tunnel before he finally answered. "Somewhere private," he uttered, his voice deep, guttural. "We're not done yet."

In the passenger's seat, Ryan leaned back, his head turning toward the window. The black hoodie hid his face from view, but under it, the most beautiful, inevitable smile pushed through. One he rarely allowed anyone to see, not even himself. 

That night, just days after his birthday, Ryan lost his virginity.

Nate gave the boy the most precious of gifts: to finally know what it was like to be yerned, to be desired, and to experience the pure, unadulterated bliss of a shared orgasm. One whose memory he tucked away into the deepest recesses of his heart. 

Where he guarded it, immaculately preserved, as the single, most beautiful moment of his life.

(One year later)

The basement's lightbulb danced drunkenly, flickering shadows over the room. The air wreaked of sweat and cum, clinging to their skin like a second skin. Clothes were strewn haphazardly over the floor. Nate sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands while his massive cock hung, still bloated, between his thighs. His breaths came in ragged bursts as he tried to steady himself.

Ryan leaned naked against the wall, his bare chest gleaming faintly under the pale light. A smug grin played on his lips as he watched Nate wrestle with the storm inside him. "You're such a hypocrite, you know that?" Ryan said, his voice low but taunting.

Nate's head snapped up, his eyes flashing with anger. "Shut the fuck up."

Ryan took a step closer, undeterred. "Your dick doesn't slide inside my ass by accident, you know?"

Nate shot to his feet, towering over Ryan. "This isn't a game, you little shit!" he snapped, his voice a harsh whisper that still felt like a roar in the confined space. "We're getting reckless. Caleb could've walked in on us."

Ryan's grin widened, feeding off Nate's fury like it was fuel. "Jesus Christ, dude, relax." Nate's hand twitched at his side, the tension in his body coiling like a spring ready to snap. He took a step toward Ryan, his breathing heavy. Ryan tilted his head, his expression daring, defiant. "I mean... what's the worst that could happen? Caleb finds out? My mom? Or maybe… you're just scared to admit you like this. That you like me," Ryan provoked, even though his words came escorted by an underlying hope.

Nate clenched his fist, his arm jerking slightly as though he might strike. Ryan's smirk faltered for a moment, his blue eyes flashing with excitement and fear. But Nate didn't swing. Instead, he closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, forcing himself to step back.

"I swear to god...one day..." Nate muttered, his voice shaking with restraint.

Ryan's smirk returned, softer now, almost tender. "What? You'll finally kiss me?" he whispered, causing the anger inside Nate's eyes to stumble. 

"Don't," Nate growled, his voice laced with warning. He hastily grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them off, avoiding Ryan's gaze. 

Ryan leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, almost shielding himself from the truth of what he was about to say. "You're saving that for him... aren't you?"

Nate froze momentarily, his jaw tightening. He lingered there, head down, with his eyes locked on the floor before he yanked his shirt over his head. Without another word, he stormed up the stairs, leaving the basement door creaking slightly as it swung shut behind him.

Ryan stayed where he was until Nate's steps faded into nothing, giving way to a deafening silence. He slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest.

Suddenly, the thrill of defiance that had fed Ryan his whole life was beginning to feel hollow.

He had Nate's body. 
But Nate's love belonged to another. His soul was held captive by a longing Ryan had no control of.

And he knew that soon, even the raw, unhinged, and untamed lust that had tethered him to Nate would eventually begin to fester.

As everything else in his life had until now.

(One week before the cabin)

The house was eerily quiet as Ryan stepped inside, the faint blue glow of the television spilling into the living room. Nate sat on the couch, slouched low, with one arm draped lazily over the armrest. He was wearing nothing but dark briefs, the amber liquid in his whisky glass reflecting the TV's light as he took a slow drag from his joint. 

Ryan closed the door behind him, his eyes immediately falling on Nate. Something was off, more than usual. "Where's Caleb?" he asked, dropping his bag by the door.

Nate didn't even glance his way. His gaze was fixed on the TV, though it was clear he wasn't really watching. "Field trip. Two days," he muttered, his voice flat and slurred around the edges.

Ryan frowned, stepping further into the room. "And Jenna?"

Nate chuckled, low and bitter. "Who knows?" He took another drag from the joint, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. "Probably halfway across town, doing…whatever it is she does."

Ryan crossed his arms, his concern deepening. "You good?"

Nate didn't answer right away. He swirled the whisky in his glass, watching the liquid spin as if it held a clue he desperately searched. When he finally spoke, his words were distant. "Planning a weekend at the cabin," he said. "Just us three. Me, Caleb…and you."

"What about...?" Ryan asked, trying to brush the obvious question out of the way.

Nate interrupted him. "I asked her. She won't come," he said, leaning back. "She'll be too busy sucking that greasy fucker she works for," he added with barely any emotion in his voice. But then it shifted. Ryan could feel Nate's pulse shifting from the living room's doorway. "Once we're up there... I'm going to need your help...with Caleb," Nate said with a cryptic tone.

Ryan narrowed his eyes, studying Nate's face. There were a lot of things Ryan didn't know in life. But he knew Nate. "You're hiding something..." he said, his tone lingering but probing.

A tense silence filled the room, the hum of the TV the only sound between them. Nate downed the rest of his whisky in one gulp and stood, swaying slightly as he motioned toward the stairs.

"Nate?" Ryan called after him, stepping forward. "You can talk to me."

Nate paused but didn't turn around.

Ryan hesitated, the words catching in his throat. Finally, he offered, "I can...sleep with you tonight if you want?"

Nate stood frozen for a moment, his hand resting on the banister. "No," he finally uttered, his voice dry, emotionless.

Ryan stood there, watching as Nate disappeared up the stairs. His footsteps faded, leaving Ryan alone in the living room. The weight of rejection settled over him, and he sank onto the edge of the couch, his eyes lingering on the empty whisky glass Nate had left behind. He stayed there, unmoving, for what felt like hours. And by the end of it, the house still felt heavy, but it was a quieter heaviness now, one Ryan knew all too well.  

After washing his hands and flicking off the last light in the kitchen, Ryan climbed the stairs quietly, his socked feet making no sound on the worn wooden steps. He slipped into his room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Ryan tossed his shirt over his head onto a chair before sliding out of his jeans. He paused as he stood in his boxers, about to climb into bed. His chest rose and fell as he looked toward the door, his heart thudding softly, insistently. He hesitated before finally tiptoeing out of his room and into the hallway.  

Nate's door was slightly ajar, and Ryan pushed it open with trembling fingers. The room was dark except for the faint glow spilling through the blinds, catching on Nate's broad, sleeping form. He was sprawled on the bed, one arm draped over his chest, the other stretched outward. The sheets barely covered his lower half, leaving his chest and shoulders exposed. He looked heavy, solid, unmoving as if the world's weight had finally pinned him down.  

Ryan swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he stepped closer, his movements slow, uncharacteristically careful. He reached the edge of the bed and stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stared down at Nate. "Nate...are you awake?" 

Nate stirred slightly, a low, incoherent noise escaping his lips before he shifted, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. Ryan stood there for a moment longer, his heart pounding so loudly he feared it would wake Nate. Then, with trembling bravery, he climbed onto the bed. He moved gingerly as if Nate might wake and send him away at any second. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he froze, waiting for any sign that Nate was stirring. But he remained still, lost in the deepest sleep.  

Ryan slid closer, his body curling slightly toward Nate's warmth. He didn't dare press too close, instead hovering at a distance that felt simultaneously safe and agonizing. His hands trembled as he folded them against his chest, his body radiating the yearning he tried so hard to bury.  

Nate shifted again, and Ryan froze, his breath catching. This time, Nate turned toward him, one heavy arm draping over Ryan's waist, pulling him closer in a reflexive, almost protective gesture. Their faces were mere inches apart now, their breaths fusing.  

Ryan's entire body went rigid at first, then softened as he allowed himself to melt into Nate's presence. He let out a quiet, shaky breath as his fingers, tentative and featherlight, reached up to trace the faint stubble on Nate's jaw. His fingertips brushed over the contours of Nate's face, the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his nose, the softness of his lips. It felt like touching something sacred, something he knew he would never have. No matter how much he longed for it.

So, as he lay there, protected by Nate's deep slumber, Ryan opened his heart, finally exposing his imprisoned vulnerability.

"Nate," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, barely audible. His fingers paused on Nate's cheek, trembling. 

Ryan swallowed hard, his blue eyes glistening in the faint light as he finally whispered the words he held so dear, but that he would never dare say aloud.

"I love you."

(To be continued...)

---

Casual Wanderer © 2025 
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