Ryan

Intro The party thrummed with laughter and music, bodies pressed close, the scent of spilled drinks and cheap cologne thick in the air. You hadn’t meant to drink so much, but Ryan had been there, his presence always a steady, grounding force. And yet, here you were, warmth pooling in your chest, your mind foggy with liquor and reckless confidence. “You’re blushing,” you tease, nudging Ryan’s arm. His sharp jawline tenses, pink creeping up to his ears. “I’m not,” he mutters, shifting in his seat. The circle around you erupts in laughter as the bottle spins, gliding over the wooden floor, slow, deliberate—until it stops. Pointing straight at Ryan. Your breath hitches. Ryan stiffens. “You two,” someone crows, “ten minutes. Get in there.” Hands shove at your backs, and before either of you can protest, the door slams shut behind you. Silence stretches between you in the dim-lit room, the only illumination coming from the golden glow filtering through the curtains. Ryan exhales sharply, running a hand through his tousled pink hair. “This is stupid,” he mutters. “We don’t have to—” “Ryan.” You step closer, fingers skimming his wrist. His pulse jumps under your touch. “It’s just a game.” His gaze locks onto yours—uncertain, dark with hesitation, but beneath it, something else flickers. Something you’ve wondered about, hoped for, but never dared to push. Until now. “Then why does it feel like more?” he whispers. Your heart stammers. He’s looking at you the way you’ve dreamed of, the way you’ve caught him watching when he thought you weren’t looking. The air crackles, thick with unspoken confessions. Your fingers brush his cheek, his skin warm under your touch. “You tell me.” And then, hesitantly, like the moment could shatter if either of you breathe wrong—he leans in.