The evening air in the apartment smelled faintly of rain and coffee. I sat curled on the couch, flipping through the pages of a small book Rylan had left beside me.

It was about anxiety coping mechanisms, mindful exercises, and journaling techniques. I hadn’t realized he had noticed just how much I struggled, even when I tried to hide it.

I traced the cover with my finger, heart tightening. He… really pays attention.

Rylan leaned against the doorway, watching me quietly. “Thought it might help,” he said softly, as if afraid his words might shatter the fragile bubble around us.

“It… it really does,” I said, voice low, but genuine. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, trying to look casual, but the slight tension in his jaw betrayed him. “Don’t mention it. Just… don’t forget to use it, alright?”

I nodded, feeling an odd warmth in my chest. There was no grand gesture, no dramatic confessions just this quiet, attentive care. It was… comforting.

Then my phone buzzed. Felix.

“Hey, Kai! Just checking in,” his cheerful voice came through, completely unaware of the delicate tension in the room.

I answered quickly, smiling faintly. “Hey… yeah, I’m okay.”

Rylan shifted, just a little, his arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly, though he didn’t speak. I caught the subtle flash of something in his expression irritation? Jealousy? Protective instinct? I couldn’t tell.

My whole focus on Rylan , i forgot i'm on call.

“Yeah… I’ll try that technique today. Thanks for reminding me.” i replied him 

Rylan’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He didn’t leave, didn’t interfere, but the way he watched me, the silent intensity in his eyes, made my chest constrict. I felt guilty for some reason guilty for leaning on Felix even from afar, guilty that I couldn’t articulate the strange pull I felt toward Rylan in that quiet room.

I hung up, placing the phone on the coffee table. Rylan’s gaze followed every movement.

“You… you don’t have to watch me,” I said, trying to lighten the tension.

He gave a faint smirk, though his eyes didn’t soften. “I know. I just… like knowing you’re safe.”

It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. Not words anyway. But the undercurrent was there, the unspoken claim, the silent insistence that he wanted to be the one I leaned on, the one I trusted even if I didn’t realize it yet.

I opened the book again, flipping to a page with exercises for grounding during panic attacks. Rylan leaned a little closer, peering over my shoulder, careful not to crowd me, yet impossibly close.

“Try this,” he suggested quietly. “I know you’ve been having trouble with… everything.”

I nodded, words failing me. Instead, I just let him be there. Quiet, watchful, steady.

Felix’s absence had left a space, but it wasn’t empty. Rylan was filling it awkwardly, carefully, with small gestures, soft care, and a presence I couldn’t ignore. And somehow… that scared me more than the panic ever had.

Because leaning on him felt safe. Too safe.

And I didn’t know if I wanted to stop.

The apartment felt unusually still, almost suspended in time. Rain had left the streets glistening outside, reflecting the dim city lights. I sat at the table, the book Rylan had given me open in front of me. Exercises for grounding, for handling panic, for understanding my anxiety.

I traced my finger over the words, unsure if they would help, but grateful that he had thought of it.

Rylan leaned against the doorway again, watching me. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said lightly, almost teasing, though I could tell from the twitch of his lips he was only half-joking.

“I… I don’t know if I’m doing it right,” I admitted. “It’s… hard.”

He came closer, crouching slightly so we were at eye level. “You’re not supposed to be perfect. Just… try. That’s enough.”

His presence was heavier than it had been before. Not imposing, but deliberate. Watching me. Waiting. Making me feel seen in a way that was… unnervingly comforting.

I glanced at him, words catching in my throat. “I… I don’t know how to lean on anyone,” I whispered, voice barely audible.

His eyes softened, though the faint flicker of something darker lingered possessiveness, maybe. “You don’t have to know how yet. Just… let yourself. Let me help.”

I felt my chest tighten, the weight of his words pressing against the fragile walls I’d built around myself. I wanted to argue, to pull away, but instead I nodded. Small. Hesitant.

Minutes passed, and we sat in silence, the only sound the occasional turning of a page or the faint tapping of rain on the window. I tried one of the grounding exercises, breathing slowly as the book instructed, feeling my tension ease just slightly.

Rylan stayed close, unspoken, letting me do it at my own pace. He didn’t hover, didn’t pressure, but I could feel the intensity in his gaze, a silent warning, a quiet claim.

“Better?” he asked quietly after a while.

I nodded, cheeks warm. “Yeah… better.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave a small, tight smile and shifted back a little. Not leaving, just… letting me breathe in the space between us.

And I realized something I hadn’t admitted even to myself: I was starting to rely on him. Not entirely, not yet. But enough that the thought of Felix being away didn’t feel as suffocating.

Rylan noticed it too, I could tell. The way he watched, the slight tension in his shoulders, the faint shadow in his eyes. He didn’t speak of it; he never had to. The claim was in the quiet moments, the deliberate closeness, the silent assurance that he would be there.

I leaned back, letting the warmth of that presence seep in, fragile but comforting. The exercises in the book could only do so much. The real anchor was here, in the same room, and I didn’t know if I could ever let go of it again.

And Rylan… I could tell he felt it too. That quiet, protective insistence. The same flicker of possessiveness I had seen in his eyes when Felix had called.

We didn’t say it. We didn’t need to. But the bridge between us, tentative and awkward, was slowly being built one silent moment, one shared glance at a time.

And somehow, that was enough.