Work Text:
Ryan didn’t think about club music much. Sometimes it was just there, sometimes it was great, and other times it bordered on infuriating.
It was fine, sitting in the background until it felt like it was trying to rearrange his heartbeat with every thump of the bass or whatever the DJ wanted to call it. An hour and a few drinks ago, it was firmly in the “fine” region. Now the beats were pushing on too much, the lights too bright, and the crowded bodies - each their own smell - were way too close. His state had started to shift from the comfortable fun of a few beers and a couple cocktails to far more unpleasant - the kind that made his skin feel tight and every muscle ache from the game, his thoughts bounding around like a screensaver never hitting the corner. Soon enough the invisible spiders would probably show up and everything that was already bad would get worse.
He needed a break.
And a hit of nicotine, maybe. It would go wonderfully with this. A stranger’s cig or something. Was vaping more popular now?
He weaved his way through the crowd of chattering people, nodding at a couple of teammates if he saw them. It was more instinct than any kind of recognition, his brain too foggy to piece together faces and the names that went with them. He wasn’t that good with names sober, but the Isotopes’ logo on several of their outfits had been burned into his brain next to all the other teams he’d played for. In elementary school, he’d been a grizzly and a panther for flag football and a Little League Angel. When he got older it was the Mater Dei Monarchs, then in college he joined the USC Trojans. And then he got drafted a few years back and was introduced to the Rockies and their system. Recently, he’d been a fucking Yard Goat in Connecticut before getting thrown across the country to be a nuclide. Whatever the hell a Yard Goat was. He snorted.
Just like that he was back in the club and not his head.
His feet were on the upper level, not far from the balcony. However that had happened didn’t matter. A balcony promised a breath of non-beer-scented air and a moment of quiet - or at least quieter than this.
He pushed open the door and was greeted with cool night air. Something smokey hung in the air, like being near a wildfire or something.
Whatever, it was way better than the beer-flavored air inside. He closed his eyes and leaned against the rail, feeling the air on his skin. A droplet of sweat rolled down his neck. He’d need to shower, again. Great. Because twice in a day wasn’t enough to dry out his skin beyond recovery already.
A laugh broke his thoughts. Ryan glanced left, where the sound seemed to have come from. A small group was huddled near the edge of the balcony. Probably too young for what they were doing, or at least they looked it. One was in a bright pink shirt that had seen better days and he blew a small cloud of smoke before handing a blunt to the girl next to him. She looked maybe seventeen at most, with neon hair and an arrangement of DIY fashion statements. If she wasn’t a literal child and had another color of hair, she’d be pretty damn attractive.
The blunt made it back to the pink shirt and messy hair. He caught Ryan’s eye and raised it in a silent offer.
Ryan froze for a moment. He didn’t know these people, not that it seemed to matter to them. He’d always been a little awkward in social situations, and being drunk only smoothed out the rough edges of communication so much. The blunt though - that was another method for taking sander for those edges. He pushed off the railing and walked over, sliding into the circle. Closer now, they all looked too young to be in this club, let alone smoking weed on the balcony. Eh.
“Mind if I...?” he gestured vaguely, already knowing the answer.
Pink-shirt guy smiled, looking seriously wasted, and handed over the blunt. “Go for it, man.”
Ryan took a drag, a light one to keep from coughing. He hadn’t smoked weed since college, but the feeling was a weird kind of comfort. Familiar, sorta. He passed it along to a short girl in a Cookie Monster t-shirt, exhaling slowly. As the light smoke left his lungs, so did the tension in his shoulders. Their conversation buzzed around him-bits of stories, jokes, half-hearted complaints about the DJ. Nothing he should join in on, which was fine by him.
He took another drag, the world blurring in a way that felt so much better than the alcohol alone. His body was warming up against the desert night’s chill, too. It was way easier like this, where he didn’t have to think too hard about how he was standing or keeping his mind on track with the topic of conversation. Even drunk there were still social standards haunting him. The blunt - unlike its name - softened the entire world, including the sharp edges of his awkwardness, dulling it down to manageable.
He had a reason for stopping, probably.
Pink-shirt was rambling a story about something that had happened at his friend’s party last weekend - something about a bet involving karaoke and tequila shots. Ryan nodded along, a part of him listening but more just enjoying the way the guy's voice drifted over him. Would’ve been better if it was a nicer voice - like Ky or somebody - but he was pretty sure Ky wouldn’t be down to smell like weed for a few days no matter how many showers he took.
Someone passed him a lighter, and Ryan admired the flickering flame for a second before using it to relight the blunt. He let the smoke curl through his mouth, his eyes unfocused on the glittering city lights. Albuquerque looked good from up here, sprawled out and twinkling like a mess of Christmas lights.
A girl with half her head shaved leaned over the railing, squinting at the city. “Isn’t it weird how all the lights just… blur together?”
Ryan nodded again, feeling the warmth spread from his chest outward. He didn’t know her name, and didn’t really care to ask, but there was a shared camaraderie in the way she gestured loosely at the skyline.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, his voice rough from the smoke. “Like it’s all just… one big thing, you know?”
She laughed, and the sound blended with the background chatter, folding into the night. Ryan took another drag, content to let the conversation wander off without any real direction. He was vaguely aware of the bass thumping through the walls behind him - a muffled reminder of the chaos inside. Out here, though, everything felt muted, softened by the haze of smoke and the lull of casual conversation.
The blunt made its rounds, and Ryan fell into the rhythm—inhale, exhale, pass. The chatter flowed around him, easy, unpressured. Music in the elevator, or the background of an ad. Something he wouldn’t remember in a day or two. Maybe not even in the morning.
Someone asked him a question—something about the game, maybe? Ryan blinked, trying to focus, but his brain was too comfortably fuzzy to catch all the words. He shrugged, and offered a vague answer that seemed to satisfy the group. No one pressed him for more, and he was grateful. Out here, he wasn’t Ryan McMahon the “future hall of famer” or the guy trying to fit in with his teammates. He didn’t know or care if anyone had any clue who he was. As far as he cared, he was just another dude on a balcony, sharing a blunt with strangers and letting the night wash over him.
The girl with the half-shaved head was talking about her art—something about murals and spray paint and how the city was her canvas. Ryan didn’t quite follow, but he nodded along, captivated by the way her words sounded. There was something magical about it. Her passion lit up her dark eyes like a kid’s on christmas morning. Pretty. Attractive if he was honest with himself. But she looked young - too young for him to dare. It was hard to tell if she was even an adult. Still, there was a freedom in the way she moved, gesturing wide as if she was painting the air itself. It fit her perfectly.
Ryan leaned back against the railing, closing his eyes and letting the sounds of the city and the soft hum of conversation blend together. The alcohol buzz had evened out, and the high was just enough to keep his mind from wandering too far into the usual anxious loops. For once, he felt good—really, genuinely good, with no immediate pressure to be anything but what he was in that exact moment.
A couple more drags, a few more laughs with people he’d probably never see again, and Ryan felt lighter than he had in a while.
Soon enough, the last ashes of the blunt were flicked to the ground, and that was that.
The strangers nodded their goodbyes and slipped back inside, a bit of the music inside leaking out with the balcony door open. Either the beat had slowed down, or his pulse had sped up. Whichever it was, the music was pleasant again - maybe even danceable.
He looked down at Albuquerque’s mess of sparkling lights one more time before slipping into the warmth and noise of the club again. The air was still full of the alcohol scent, but eh. His head was wonderfully fogged, and the smell quickly faded from his awareness.
The club was still obnoxiously alive with energy - strobing lights, thrum of bass, and the somewhat fewer and definitely more influenced people having the time of their lives. Ryan grinned to himself. Being tipsy and a bit high were blending together into that precious sweet spot. It felt like college parties, full of kids under the influence of god-knows-what-all and Ryan happily being one of them. If there were any thoughts in any heads, it was something stupid and probably punishable by at least a $100 fine.
The best part of those parties had been the total disappearance of worries. No homework, no classes, no games to prep for, no PT appointments with the trainers. Not that all of that had disappeared now—there were still tapes to watch, stat sheets to decipher—but it felt far away, like something to deal with tomorrow. For now, it was just him and the night.
He took his time getting into the flow on the floor. A sway here, a bounce there. Letting the blasting beats fill his head up and the vibration rattle in his bones. And it did exactly that. He danced without a thought in his head, his body moving however it felt like. Rhythm and pace and all that shit out the proverbial window. He laughed when a girl three heads above him spun him around till he was dizzy and fell into a group of strangers that tugged him back up to his feet and brought him into their circle. A head of pink hair pulled him into the middle and guided him to move through a dance that was probably viral on some corner of the internet.
As he danced, Ryan’s eyes landed on the pink shirt guy from the balcony, along with the girls. They’d apparently drifted inside too, the same rebelliousness still buzzing about them. But as he watched, Pink Shirt pulled out another blunt from a girl’s purse, and a moment later sparking it right there in the middle of the dance floor. Ryan raised an eyebrow, shaking his head with a smirk as they passed it around, clearly pushing their luck.
Sure enough, moments later, a bouncer stormed over. He was a large man with wide frame, and pushed through the people towards the idiots. his expression was all business as he motioned for them to put it out and follow him outside. The group groaned and complained but eventually shuffled off, leaving behind a haze of smoke and a trail of laughter.
Ryan shook his head. Oh, to be a kid so naive again.
He tilted his head back, breathing the music into his lungs.
His high was wearing off, aches and pains coming back through the fading haze. Alcohol wasn’t doing much to fill the gap. The carefree vibrations were starting to lose their spark, and Ryan could feel the boredom creeping in.
He scanned the room, looking for something - or someone - to keep the trip going. The lights flashed, music pulsed, but it wasn’t the same. It felt repetitive. The peak had come and gone, and he was now on the slow slide down. He watched people clinking glasses, laughing and dancing. But his own drink was heavy in his hand. He took another sip, and set it to the side.
Something stronger, maybe.
Or a few drunk cigarettes.
He wasn’t sure. But he refused to let the night just end. Not until he passed out somewhere and woke up in the hospital or police station.
Ryan pushed through the crowd, growing heat of bodies pressing in on him as he moved. Not enough to rekindle that buzz. The music was still just as loud and thumping as before. But it was blending together now, fading into the background and not hitting the same as it had - he looked at his wrist.
No watch.
Did he put it on after hitting the showers post game?
He liked that watch…
The bar caught his eye, the bottles lined up like promises, not that a drink would do much for him. Not after the weed had faded and left him in this weird limbo. He didn’t learn a lot in college, outside baseball, but he sure did learn a few things.
Ryan wandered over to the edge of the dance floor and leaned against a wall. He watched people moving about, faces flushed with the nightlife thrill. A group of girls dancing close together and taking turns spinning each other around. Some guy in a corner was sloppily trying to flirt with a bartender, and failing hilariously. The bartender just kept working, pouring drinks with robotic accuracy and speed. The whole thing felt like background noise.
He could feel the boredom seeping in deeper.
Pulled out his phone, aimlessly scrolling through messages and notifications. Nothing exciting there either. The night was weighing on him and getting heavier. Everything was getting heavier, early excitement sliding further away with each passing minute.
The haze slid over him even more.
Then, through the haze of sound and light, a voice cut through - familiar, casual, and right behind him. Deepened with alcohol, too. Because it wasn’t already deep enough to get his muscles trilling on their own.
“Hey, what’re you up to?”
Ryan turned, blinking as the form and features became a person. Kyle, grinning. Cheeks flushed with the same nightlife buzz. That extra inch ky had on him felt like a ton more under the dim lights. He looked fresh off the dance floor himself, all energy and happiness radiating off of him.
He felt that rush of something - attraction, sure, but more than that. Ky had that pull about him, and pretty much everyone knew it. Hell of a lot of people felt it. Ryan wasn’t immune, but he was usually content to let it sit there. Usually.
“Thinking about bumming a cig off somebody.” He tried to sound casual but it definitely came out flat.
Ky’s smile widened, and he slid closer into Ryan's space like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Nuh-uh.”
Automatically, despite the whole thing never being a real plan, Ryan was going to defend it to the bitter end. “Yeah-huh.”
Ky chuckled, shaking his head. “Not happening, babe. We cut out drunk cigarettes in Hartford, remember?”
That word, babe. It hit him probably harder than it should have. He swallowed. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m plenty fun,” Ky answered. “Morning after that shit? Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”
Ryan could feel the pitcher’s body heat radiating through his clothes. His heartbeat sped up. Ky’s proximity was doing things to him he didn’t want to admit. The attraction rush hit again, even harder this time. He might as well have been pinned to the spot.
“But it’ll be fun now.” He complained, infinitely weaker than normal.
Ky’s eyes flicked lower, taking him in with that easy confidence that drove Ryan crazy sometimes. “It's not as nice as you remember.”
Incredibly cliche as it was, time slowed down for a minute as they stood there - a little too close, just a little too tense. Ryan could feel the heat of ky’s body in the small space between them, smell the faint traces of sweat and cologne and jesus.
When his head stopped spinning enough to form a sentence: “Wow, without me?”
Ky’s expression softened, apology in his eyes. “Sorry.”
Shit, his eyes.
“You’re so fucking hot, Free.” It was out of his mouth before it was a thought in his head.
God damn it.
Ky blinked, eyes wide. “Mac-”
Oh well. It was all fucked anyway. Why not keep going?
Ryan took ky’s hand and guided it to his waist, daring him. Do something. Anything.
He froze for a beat, but the choice came quick. Whatever uncertainty he had was long gone. His other hand came up to Ryan’s face, making that inch disappear.
It was soft at first, testing the waters. But not for long. Ryan responded, his hands finding ky’s body and pulling him in. It deepened instantly. Ky’s grip tightened around his waist bringing them together until there was no space left.
Ryan’s head spun. The tension had been building and building, it was going to break eventually. Like a damn glowstick. But instead of glow it was the built up heat exploding at fucking last. It felt so good. So damn good, and Ryan couldn’t overthink it if he was psychotic enough to want to.
Then, Ky pushed forward, his body pressing Mac’s back against the wall, pinning him there with just the right amount of force.
The sudden shift made Mac gasp, breaking the kiss for just a second, but Ky didn’t stop. His hands slid to Mac’s hips, holding him in place as if daring him to move. The wall behind him was cool compared to the heat radiating between them, grounding him while everything else felt like it was about to spin out of control.
Mac’s breath hitched. Ky’s lips were back on his, harder now, more desperate. Pinned like this, Mac couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.
Ky’s hands slipped under Ryan's shirt, teasing at his skin. Ryan gasped again, deeper, pulling his head back. Given the opening, Ky took his mouth to the skin of his neck.
The club still spurred on, but in the complete background.
Ky hummed against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Let's get out of here,” he whispered, low and full of promise.
Shit, didn’t need to tell him twice. “Yeah,” he breathed.
Ky pulled back just enough to grab Ryan’s hand, and before he could catch his breath, he was being led through the crowd. The bass still thumped through the floor, lights flashing all around, but everything outside their bubble faded to nothing. Ky navigated them effortlessly toward the exit, never letting go, his grip firm and possessive.
“Y’know,” Ky started, his arm strewn across the back of the seat. “You’re not all that great an actor.”
“You’ve got a talent for being insufferable, you know that?”
He chuckled softly, the one that ryan hated and loved, that low rumble. “Just sayin’ babe.” His hand shifted and he started drawing lazy, anything-but-innocent circles just above ryan’s knee.
Ryan shifted in his seat, trying to focus on his breathing, the scenery, - anything to not react near as much as he wanted to because they might as well still be in public, for god’s sake. But there was no stopping it now, Ky was on a roll.
“You’re already so worked up for me, huh baby?” His voice was teasing, a playful lilt that made Ryan want to combust.
The things Ryan would do to keep hearing Ky call him that. “You’re so full of shit”
“Am I?” The teasing had graduated to taunting, his fingers still tracing those goddamn maddening circles. “I think you like it.”
Ryan swallowed hard, forcing himself not to make a filthy sound when Ky drifted a little closer, his hand brushing dangerously low before pulling back just as quickly. Fully aware of what he was doing. “You’re killing me.”
“Shh, darling,” Ky whispered, leaning closer still, his voice a velvet drawl that sent shivers down Ryan’s spine. “I’m just getting started.”
Ryan gave up on what was left of decency, voice dropping low, almost a growl. “You better fuck me so good.”
Ky’s grin spread, wicked and full of promises. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Ryan’s ear. “Just you wait,” he whispered, low and dripping with intent. “I’ll make your legs shake.”
---
Exploding out of the cab as soon as it stopped, Ryan stumbled a little bit, legs shaky underneath him for several reasons.
The driver called out to them; “hey! That’s still $25 for the ride!”
Ryan cursed, frantically patting his pockets. Shit. Where on God's green earth- did he get it back from the bouncer?
ky sighed, the smile on his face unmoved. “you’re hopeless,” he breathed, reaching around to Ryan’s back pocket and brushing dangerously close - enough to send Ryan’s pulse even further into space.
If he could keep them there he would. Hell, on him at all. No hesitation.
ky gave a few bills to the driver through the open window.
“Keep the change.” Satisfied, the driver rolled up his window and took off into the night.
Ky draped his arm over Ryan’s shoulders, effectively killing the miniscule space between them. An inch’s difference in height felt like so much more - ky always had that power and Ryan could swear he was shrinking.
Ryan shakily led the way - as best he could lead really - up the half flight of stairs and down the grim hallway. Thank God for the distracted morning, there was no way he could fish out a key right now, let alone aim it at a lock.
“You leave your door unlocked?”
“Just shut up”
ky chuckled. “fair enough.” and a second later Ryan was pinned to his front door.
Hands under his shirt again, tugging it over his head in one motion. Ky wasted no time getting to the newly exposed skin - kissing, biting, sucking.
He heard the sound start to escape before biting it down automatically.
Ky’s lips hovered just below his ear, breath hot on his skin. “let me hear you, baby,” he practically purred.
Oh, fuck it. He was under the influence and absolutely bricked.
They stumbled further into the apartment, crashing into something along the way. A lamp? Who knew. They laughed about it for a split second before Ky pulled Ryan toward the bedroom. Somehow, Ky managed to guide them through the apartment backward with ease, all while keeping Ryan on the hook, knowing Ryan would chase after him without a second thought.
Here’s the revised version with Ky’s line moved after Mac's request to turn his head off:
Finally, Ky shoved Mac onto the bed, firm but playful. Mac immediately pushed himself back up on reflex, but Ky pushed him down again, his voice dropping into something commanding. “Stay.”
Shit. That’s hot. Mac's brain scrambled at the command, triggering something deep within him. Suddenly, he was willing to do just about anything Ky asked, and right now, that meant lying there, completely still, utterly obedient.
Ky pulled his own shirt off, the faint light catching on his skin and the tattoos that Mac hadn’t had a chance to truly admire until now. The way Ky moved, with complete confidence, made Ryan's breath hitch again.
“You like that, huh, babe?” Ky's voice was smooth, a knowing grin playing on his lips as his hands traveled down Mac's chest.
God, he's so hot. Mac couldn’t stop staring, desperate for more contact. “Shit, Ky—you’re so—god,” he managed to get out, his voice strained with want.
Ky smiled, leaving teasing caresses down Mac's torso. “Shh, beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Mac's hip, pulling a whimper from him. “It's okay.”
He left sloppy kisses and a few subtle marks, watching Mac with a pained expression, as if he couldn’t decide whether to savor the moment or lose himself in it.
“Use your words for me, Mac,” Ky murmured, his breath hot against Mac’s skin. Mac was lost in an overwhelming mush of thoughts that didn’t quite coalesce into coherent speech. He felt a pulse of something—*I love you*, maybe, but that was just for him to know.
Ky met his eyes without really stopping, and Mac thought, Mark me, make me yours for the night, before looking away.
“Hey.” Ky gently guided Mac's gaze back to him.
“Turn my head off,” Mac blurted out.
A flicker of concern crossed Ky's face. “As you wish, darling. I’ll pull you back up in a little while.”
---
Ky pressed a soft kiss to Ryan’s shoulder, the touch lingering just enough to send a faint warmth through him. Ryan exhaled slowly, the last of the tension melting away. The adrenaline, the high, it was all fading now, leaving behind the heavy, tired satisfaction that settled deep in his bones.
He heard Ky move, felt the shift in weight beside him, but it was distant, like a gentle hum in the background. Ryan’s eyes stayed half-open, barely able to track him through the haze. Ky was cleaning up, moving around the room in that smooth, effortless way he did everything. It should’ve made Ryan want to help, but all he could manage was to lie there, too spent and content to care.
The sheets felt good against his skin, cool and grounding after the heat of everything. His body was heavy with exhaustion, every muscle relaxed, pliant. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Ky was taking care of him. Picking up the pieces of the night in that unspoken, easy way. It felt natural. Like Ky always knew what to do, how to handle things without making a big deal out of it.
Ryan blinked, barely keeping his eyes open as he watched Ky. The careful movements, the way he stayed quiet and calm—it hit Ryan in a way he didn’t expect. It was comforting. He didn’t have to think or say anything. Ky had it covered.
When Ky came back, sliding into bed next to him, Ryan shifted closer instinctively. His head found its place against Ky’s chest, the warmth of his body pulling Ryan in like gravity. Ky’s hand slipped into his hair, fingers threading through it in slow, gentle strokes. It was the perfect mix of comfort and intiRyany, enough to lull Ryan even further into the softness of the moment.
Everything outside, the noise of the city, the remnants of the night—they were fading fast, blurring at the edges until it was just the two of them. Ryan could feel his body sinking deeper into the bed, the pull of sleep impossible to fight. Ky’s hand in his hair slowed to a lazy rhythm, and Ryan let himself sink into it completely.
His last conscious thought was how safe it felt. How easy it was to be here, like this, with Ky beside him. Safe in a way he wasn’t used to.
---
"Ryan let out a long breath, his heartbeat finally slowing as he watched Ky’s chest rise and fall in sleep. For a few minutes, he stayed like that—just watching. It had been reckless, wild, a blur of heat and sensation, and yet here they were, wrapped in the quiet aftermath.
The edge of Ky’s tattoo peeked out from under the sheets, catching Ryan’s eye. He traced the words with his gaze, the familiar ink stirring something in him, though he wasn’t sure what. A part of him still felt like this was right. Like nothing had changed.
Katie.
The name hit him like a ton of bricks. sharp and sudden, like being dunked in cold water. The tattoo blurred in his vision, his stomach twisting. What had he done? Ryan's chest tightened, guilt slamming into him with unexpected force. He wasn’t just dealing with his own feelings here; there was Katie—Ky’s girlfriend—who was likely wondering where Ky was, if he was okay, if he was with someone else. Ryan’s stomach twisted painfully. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This apartment, this bed—none of it was his. He was intruding, and it made everything feel even more wrong.
He needed to get out of there, to escape the weight of his own guilt. Pulling his shirt over his head, Ryan moved quickly, almost stumbling as he fumbled with his clothes. His heart was racing, and each thud of his pulse seemed to echo in the too-quiet apartment. The sight of Ky lying there so peacefully, the mess of last night sprawled across Ryan’s own bed, was a stark reminder of how much he had overstepped.
Katie was probably losing her mind right now. Ryan could almost hear her voice in his head, asking where Ky was, what was taking him so long. He wasn’t just a random guy Ky picked up at a bar. They were friends. And this, whatever had happened last night, was a betrayal. A mistake. A colossal screw-up.
“Get dressed,” Ryan said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady, as he turned and headed for the kitchen. The guilt gnawed at him like an insistent pest, and the normalcy of the apartment made it all the more unbearable. This was supposed to be a place of comfort, but now it felt like a prison.
Ryan moved through the kitchen with mechanical precision. The coffee maker sputtered to life, the sound filling the oppressive silence. He grabbed the leftover waffles from the fridge and shoved them into the microwave, the beeping almost too loud in the stillness. The smell of warming food did nothing to ease his discomfort. If anything, it made him feel more isolated, more out of place.
The apartment was too small, too familiar. Ryan felt like a stranger in his own home. He glanced around, taking in the clutter of the living room, the personal touches that were all his, but now felt alien. It wasn’t his bed Ky was waking up in; it was his. The sense of being out of his element was overwhelming.
The microwave beeped again, and Ryan pulled out the waffles, but his appetite had vanished. The thought of Katie, of how this situation would play out, consumed him. He had no idea how to face Ky when he woke up. What would he say? How would he explain this mess? He was caught between wanting to avoid the confrontation and needing to make things right.
Ryan glanced nervously at the coffee maker, wishing it would hurry up. The rhythmic drip of brewing coffee seemed louder than usual, filling the silence with an almost mocking cadence. Every little sound, from the clinking of dishes to the hum of the microwave, grated on his nerves. He paced the small kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck as if the pressure of his own thoughts might physically disappear if he could just press hard enough.
He turned back to the counter, grabbing a mug and trying to distract himself by pouring coffee. His hands were shaky, and the coffee sloshed over the sides, creating a dark stain on the countertop. He sighed, wiping it up with a kitchen towel and feeling more and more out of place in his own space. How had he gone from a night of reckless fun to this overwhelming mess? The contrast was jarring.
A sudden crash from the bedroom made him jump. Ryan’s heart raced as he turned toward the sound, his stomach twisting into knots. Ky must be waking up. What if he didn’t remember everything? Or worse, what if he did remember but didn’t want to face Ryan? The tension between them was going to be unbearable. The apartment felt like it was shrinking around him, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.
The microwave beeped again, and Ryan pulled out the waffles, staring at them blankly. His thoughts kept spiraling, pulling him further into a pit of guilt and regret. Katie’s image flashed in his mind—her face when she found out. Was she even expecting Ky back this morning? What if Ky’s disappearance led to a fight or worse?
The sound of shuffling footsteps approached the kitchen, and Ryan's heart skipped a beat. He set the waffles down on the counter and turned around to see Ky emerging from the hallway, still looking half-asleep, his hair sticking up in every direction. He was dressed in the same clothes from last night, his movements sluggish, and he squinted against the light.
“Hey,” Ky mumbled, his voice rough. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”
Ryan forced a small, tight-lipped smile. “Morning. Coffee’s ready if you want some.” He tried to sound casual, but the strain was evident in his tone.
Ky looked around, his gaze settling on the half-eaten waffles, a tiny smile forming. “You’ve got quite the breakfast spread going on here.”
“Yeah, just leftovers,” Ryan said, his voice a little too sharp. He hated how awkward this felt, how the normalcy of the morning was completely overshadowed by last night’s events. “Sorry if I’m moving around too much. I - I needed to get up.”
Ky stretched, still groggy, and shuffled over to pour himself a cup of coffee. “No worries. I’m just...a bit out of it.”
Ryan watched him, trying to read the look on Ky’s face, but the lingering haze of sleep made it difficult. The more he moved around, the more his own heart rate seemed to ratchet up, and not in a fun way. The apartment felt too small, too intimate for the conversation that was coming.
As Ky poured his coffee, Ryan’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of which seemed coherent. He was stuck between wanting to get this conversation over with and not wanting to deal with the fallout of last night’s mistakes. He didn’t know how to balance his feelings of guilt with the need to be honest.
Ky grabbed his coffee and took a sip, his eyes still adjusting to the morning light. “Man, I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Ryan managed a weak smile, though the tension in his chest remained. “Yeah, tell me about it. You look pretty put together though.”
Ky blinked, still half-asleep. “Yeah, I’ve left a few things here over the years. Easier than dragging stuff back and forth.”
Ryan nodded, feeling a pang of guilt as he looked around the apartment. It was true. Ky’s stuff was scattered around—an extra hoodie draped over the back of a chair, a pair of sneakers tucked into the corner by the door, and a toothbrush in the bathroom. It was like Ky was a permanent fixture in his life, even if their interactions had been more sporadic.
Ky leaned against the counter, eyeing Ryan curiously. “So, what’s this about? You seemed pretty serious when you said we needed to talk.”
Ryan took another deep breath, trying to muster the courage to address the elephant in the room. “Yeah, we do need to talk. About last night.”
Ky’s expression shifted to one of concern, and he set his coffee down on the counter. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Ryan’s heart raced as he struggled to find the right words. “Look, last night was… a mistake. I mean, I really enjoyed it and all, but we both know this isn’t right.”
Ky’s eyebrows furrowed. “What-” He swallowed. “What do you mean? We were both into it, weren’t we?”
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a wave of shame wash over him. “Yeah, we were. But I can’t ignore the fact that you’ve got a girlfriend. And she’s probably wondering where the hell you are right about now.”
“Katie. Right. Girlfriend” Ky looked down, his fingers drumming on the counter. “I didn’t think of her. But Mac, I don’t regret it.”
Ryan’s gut twisted. The possibilities sitting under there. “What about her? She’s been talking about moving in with you. She’s probably going absolutely crazy right now.”
Ky met his gaze, his eyes steady. “I’m not saying I don’t care about her. I do. But last night was... special. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Ryan’s mind raced. He could feel the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him. “So, what are you saying?
“I’m saying I'd do it - do you - again.”
Ryan blinked. Did he mean that? “Oh really?”
“Shut up.” Ky gave him a playful shove. “We’re still friends right?”
Ryan smiled. “Friends that fuck sometimes.”
“Good.” He smiled back. “On a different note, are you going to eat those waffles, or can I just take them?”
Ryan’s protective instinct flared, and he immediately grabbed the container. “No damn way! These are my waffles. Get your own breakfast.”
Ky laughed, the sound light and easy. “Alright, alright. I’ll get my own. Just don’t let me catch you sneaking any of my shit in the future.”
Ryan smirked, feeling a bit more at ease. “Noted.”
He raised an eyebrow, but moved into the kitchen anyway. “I’m watching you.”
Ryan shrugged. “If it's in my house it’s basically mine.”
Ky rummaged through the silverware drawer. “Dude, where the hell are all your spoons?”