#ft. ryan

ryan && bruna — an aesthetic ;;

“ --- from what i can recall, you were the one who said they want to hold my dumb hand, so… that one’s kind of on you, isn’t it?    --- you’re going to use that against me till the end of time, aren’t you? ”

ryan: you can’t refuse to leave work and then text me this not even an hour later.

ryan: i don’t have time for you to be indecisive.

ryan: i’ll see you when you actually come home.

ellie: well i mean do you even want me home at this point

priya lingers longer than she should in the stairwell, hands curled tight around the railing as if the metal might anchor her. the hospital air carries that ever-present mix of sanitizer and exhaustion, and she swears it's starting to seep into her skin. restructuring. downsizing. words that have been floating through every whispered conversation in the cafeteria. words that kept finding her no matter how she tried to dodge them.

of all the people she could run into here, it had to be ryan, someone who seems entirely too steady for the chaos priya feels gnawing under her ribs. she straightens automatically, bracing herself the way she always does in front of authority, rehearsing excuses in her head even before he says anything. she isn't supposed to be here while on the clock, she knows that, but she also knows she needs a breath before she falls apart in front of the wrong person.

“i’m fine,” she blurts, too quickly, before he even asks. the echo of her voice off the concrete walls makes it sound ridiculous. her grip on the railing tightens. “i just needed a second. everything feels like it’s… closing in. like the walls are moving.” she gives a half-laugh, brittle and sharp, then glances at him sidelong.