#rl09

You hadn’t meant to see it. That’s what you told yourself over and over again. It wasn’t snooping. 

His phone had lit up beside you on the couch while Ryan was in the kitchen getting drinks. It was instinct, really — just a glance at the sudden brightness in your peripheral vision. But your eyes betrayed you, catching enough of the notification to make your chest tighten.

Brooke Last night was fun! Let’s do it again soon :)

The name hung in your mind, unfamiliar and somehow venomous. Brooke. Not a classmate he’d mentioned, not one of the guys’s girlfriends. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself that Ryan was the most solid, trustworthy man you’d ever known, but curiosity — or was it paranoia? — itched beneath your skin.

You quickly stood, frantically gathering your belongings and shoving them into your bag. You called out to Ryan, telling him you weren’t feeling well and you were going to head back to your dorm. He’d rushed out of the kitchen, catching you just as you were shoving your feet in your boots. 

“A-are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine, just need some rest,” you reassured him, hoping he’d buy your flimsy excuse. The door was open and shut, with you on the other side before Ryan could ask another question. 

The spiral began as soon as you left his apartment. Every glance at your phone felt like a reminder of what you hadn’t asked, hadn’t confronted. You replayed every moment of your relationship in your mind, searching for signs you might have missed. Had he seemed distant? Had he started texting more? Was he pulling away from you?

It wasn’t deliberate at first — not entirely. You told yourself you just needed time to think, to calm down, to process. But each day stretched into the next, the unanswered texts piling up. Hey, is something wrong? turned into Did I do something? and finally Can we please talk? Your heart broke a little more with every message you ignored.

You stopped going to his games, too — a first since you’d started dating. You simply couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in the stands, watching him skate across the ice, wondering if Brooke was sitting somewhere else in the crowd. The thought of it all felt insurmountable. So you stayed home, your own guilt a quiet, gnawing threat.

Ryan’s friends noticed. Of course they did. You’d all become close since you and Ryan started dating, and the change in your behaviours and your absence from games was glaring. Practices were off — Ryan was missing passes, his shots lacked precision, and his usual easy laughter in the locker room was conspicuously absent.

Gabe had always been the observant one, the kind of guy who noticed when something was off long before anyone else caught on. So it didn’t surprise you when he showed up at the library one afternoon, a concerned look etched into his usually easygoing face.

He slid into the seat across from you, ignoring the pile of books and papers scattered in front of you. You tried to put on a smile, but it felt weak, forced.

“How’s it going?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m fine,” you replied, the words coming out automatically. You were fine. You just needed to figure things out, that’s all. You forced yourself to focus on the open textbook in front of you, but Gabe wasn’t buying it.

Gabe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know that’s not true,” he said bluntly. “And before you say anything, I’m not here to grill you or get in the middle of anything. But Ryan’s a mess.”

That got your attention. You looked up, heart thudding uncomfortably in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“He’s barely talking to anyone. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. And on the ice?” Gabe shook his head. “He’s not Ryan. He’s off—like, really off. It’s like his head’s not in the game at all.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, sharp and unrelenting. “I didn’t mean for—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Gabe said. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. And it’s none of my business. But I do know Ryan’s not the kind of guy who lets just anything mess him up like this. He cares about you. A lot.”

You finally let out a shaky breath, trying to steady your emotions. “I found a message on his phone. From someone named Brooke.”

Gabe’s expression morphed into confusion. “Brooke?” he repeated, frowning. “Who the hell is that?”

You shook your head, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard him mention her. And the message... it felt... off. Like something was going on that I didn’t know about.”

Gabe’s brow furrowed as he processed your words. “But Ryan? I can’t see him doing that to you. He’s... he’s not like that. Trust me.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you whispered, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “I can’t just ignore it, Gabe.”

Gabe sat back, tapping his fingers on the table as he thought. “Look, I don’t have all the answers, but you need to talk to him. Maybe there’s a reason for all this. Maybe there’s something you don’t know. But shutting him out isn’t going to help either of you.”

You felt torn. You wanted to believe Gabe, to believe in Ryan and the love you shared. But part of you was terrified of confronting him, of facing the possibility that your fears were real.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Gabe studied you for a long moment before leaning forward again, his voice steady but insistent. “You can. You’re stronger than you think, and this — whatever it is — it’s eating both of you alive. Friendsgiving is at my place, Wednesday night. Ryan’s going to be there, and so are you. No excuses.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Gabe raised a hand to stop you. “I’m serious. You don’t even have to talk to him there if you’re not ready. But seeing each other in person? That’s the first step. Take it.”

The next evening, you found yourself hesitating on the porch of Gabe’s house, the soft hum of laughter and conversation drifting out through the windows. Your stomach churned with nerves as you clutched the bottles of wine you brought, the glass cool and grounding against your fingers. You hadn’t seen Ryan in weeks. You didn’t even know how to begin to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.

Before you could turn and flee, Gabe opened the door, grinning like he’d been waiting for you. “There she is! Get in here, we’re just getting started.”

The warmth of the house wrapped around you as you stepped inside, your heart pounding. The inside was warm and chaotic in the way only Friendsgiving could be — mismatched chairs pulled around a too-small table, dishes precariously balanced in a potluck array, laughter and voices overlapping in the candlelight.

You caught sight of Ryan the moment you stepped through the door, standing near the kitchen with a beer in hand. His eyes met yours briefly, widening in surprise. He looked tired — pale, shadows under his eyes, and his usual easy confidence replaced by something far more hesitant. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Jacob intercepted him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and pulling him into a conversation.

Throughout dinner, you found yourself hyper-aware of Ryan’s presence at the opposite end of the table. Occasionally, your eyes would meet, but neither of you spoke. He seemed quieter than usual, laughing at jokes that didn’t quite reach his eyes and pushing food around his plate more than eating it.

After dinner, you ushered everyone into the living room, volunteering to handle the dishes. Your offer was driven partly by a desire to help and partly by a need for a quiet moment to collect your thoughts. A few protested, but you insisted, retreating to the kitchen before anyone could argue further. The rhythmic sound of running water and clinking plates was soothing, a brief respite from the tension.

You didn’t hear Ryan approach at first. It wasn’t until his voice, quiet and hesitant, broke the silence that you turned.

“Need a hand?” Ryan’s voice was quiet, almost tentative.

You glanced over your shoulder. He was standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking at you like he was afraid you might tell him to leave. After a beat, you nodded. “Sure.”

Ryan stepped closer, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and taking his place beside you at the sink. For a while, neither of you spoke, the clink of dishes and the rush of water filling the silence. You stole glances at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed weighed down.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “I don’t know what I did, but… whatever it is, I’m sorry.” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “And I know I should know what I did wrong, but I’ve wracked my brain and I just don’t know what I did. But please tell me… let me fix whatever I did.”

You gripped the dishcloth tightly, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. Ryan had always been the kind of person to face things head-on, but hearing the crack in his voice—seeing the way his shoulders slumped like he’d been carrying the world—broke something inside you.

“It’s not your fault,” you said, your voice trembling. “I—God, I’ve been such a mess, Ryan. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was push you away.”

Ryan paused, setting the plate he was drying onto the counter. His eyes searched your face, a mix of confusion and hurt. “Protecting yourself from what?”

You swallowed hard, knowing there was no turning back now. “I saw a message. On your phone. From someone named Brooke. It said, ‘Last night was fun. Let’s do it again soon.’ And I — I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know who she was or what it meant, and instead of asking you, I let it get to me.”

Confusion flickered across his face, then realization. “Brooke?” he repeated. “That’s — God, that’s nothing. She’s my mom’s friend’s daughter. She just started at Boston College, and my mom asked me to show her around. That’s all it was, I swear.”

His words came out in a rush, like he needed you to understand, like he needed to erase every doubt that had built up in your mind. “We grabbed coffee, and I showed her some places on campus. That’s it. I didn’t think it was a big deal, so I didn’t mention it. I never meant for it to come across as something… more.”

Your throat tightened as his explanation sank in. “So… you’re not—”

“No,” Ryan said firmly, stepping closer. “I’m not cheating on you. I would never, ever do that to you.”

The weight you’d been carrying for weeks suddenly felt unbearable, tears springing to your eyes before you could stop them. “Ryan, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I should’ve come to you. I should’ve trusted you. God, I’m so fucking stupid. I got inside my own head and I-I hurt you.”

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. His hands found yours, damp from the soapy water. “You didn’t ruin anything. Yeah, it hurt, but I get it. I just wish you’d come to me instead of dealing with it on your own.”

“I was scared,” you admitted, tears spilling over. “Scared of losing you, scared of finding out I wasn’t enough.”

Ryan’s grip on your hands tightened, his thumbs brushing gently over your knuckles. His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable softness in it, a warmth that wrapped around your heart. “You are enough,” he said firmly. “You’ve always been enough. You’re all I want. Nothing — no one — could ever change that.”

Tears streamed freely down your face now, but Ryan didn’t seem to care. He released one of your hands and reached up to gently wipe the tears away with his thumb. “I was so stupid,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I should have trusted you. I should have talked to you instead of running away.”

Ryan shook his head, a small, sad smile on his lips. “Hey, we all mess up. Relationships aren’t perfect. But we don’t have to let this break us. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

You looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your chest ache. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know us,” he said simply. “I know what we have. And I know we can get through this, as long as we’re honest with each other. No more shutting each other out. Deal?”

You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Deal.”

Ryan let out a soft sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. “You scared me,” he admitted quietly. “When you pulled away like that, I thought… I thought I was losing you. And that terrified me.”

The idea that you’d made him feel even a fraction of the fear and doubt you’d been drowning in made your heartache. “You’ll never lose me,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “Not if I can help it. I’m sorry for putting you through this, for doubting you when you’ve never given me a reason to.”

Ryan smiled softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re okay,” he murmured against your skin. “We’ll be okay.”

The first snow of December drifted lazily outside the bay window of your shared home, the streetlamps casting a golden glow onto the fresh powder below. Inside, the strong scent of pine fills the air as you sat by the tree rearranging branches. Yours and Ryan's home was slowly housing more of a Christmas spirit as the soft hum of holiday music played through the speaker and the flames crackled in the fireplace. The two of you were in the process of decorating your home for the first time for Christmas, which seemed like an innocent enough activity at first.

Boxes of Christmas decorations sat open on the floor, a mess of mismatched ornaments, strings of lights, and an absurdly large tangle of tinsel that Ryan was currently attempting to wrestle into submission.

“How does it even get like this?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed as he held up the knot of silver, squinting as though the strands might untangle themselves if he stared hard enough.

“I don’t know… it just happens.” you replied without looking up. You were on your knees by the tree, carefully fluffing the artificial branches into a perfect shape. Each limb needed to look full and balanced before you could even think about adding ornaments.

Ryan finally surrendered with a sigh, dropping the tangle of tinsel into a pile. “Alright, I’m done with this thing. Maybe we don’t need tinsel this year.”

You glanced over, biting back a comment about how tinsel made the tree look finished. “Fine, but we’re doing the lights next. And they have to be evenly spaced, no clumps.”

“Evenly spaced, got it,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands and giving you a mocked salute. “Captain Christmas has spoken.”

Ryan set to work stringing the lights along the tree, his movements careful but a bit haphazard. The warm glow of the tiny bulbs illuminated the room in a soft golden light as he looped them around the branches, whistling along to the holiday music playing softly in the background.

You watched him for a moment, hands on your hips, before tilting your head critically.

“Wait, no,” you said, stepping forward. “That section right there — there’s way too much space between the lights.”

Ryan stopped mid-loop, looking at where you were pointing. “What? It looks fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough,” you replied firmly, plucking the strand from his hands. “See, here’s the problem. You’ve looped the lights too many times around this branch, then just draped it over this section so it looks like a huge gap. It throws everything off.”

He leaned back, arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow at you. “Throws everything off, huh? I didn’t realize we were aiming for perfection.”

You ignored the teasing tone, unwinding the strand slightly and reworking the section in question. “Of course, we are. It’s our first Christmas in this house — it has to be perfect.”

Ryan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped back to let you work your magic. “I see how it is. You’re a Christmas tree tyrant.”

“I prefer enthusiast,” you said without looking up, focused on spacing the lights evenly. “This tree is going to be the centerpiece of the house. People will see it when they visit.”

Ryan couldn’t help but snort at your answer, which caused you to shoot him a glare. He grinned in response, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. No more jokes. Just tell me where you need me.”

You ask him to get the boxes of ornaments, and once the lights were finished and met your approval, you began to decorate the tree. You started placing them carefully, each one balanced in size, shape, and color to create the perfect spread. Ryan, meanwhile, hung ornaments with the kind of carefree abandon that made you twitch. A tiny Santa was placed too low, and a sparkly reindeer ended up hidden behind a branch.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your side of the tree, but eventually, the urge became too strong. While Ryan stepped away to grab another ornament, you subtly moved to fix his last couple of decorations.

When he returned, you were caught red-handed, adjusting the placement of the snowman he had just placed. He froze, holding a delicate glass snowflake, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Are you… moving my ornaments?”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “This one was about to fall off the branch.”

He laughed, deep and warm, and came to stand beside you. “You totally are! This one was up on this branch, and that candy cane was about four inches to the right. What’s wrong with how I’m doing it?”

“Nothing! There’s nothing wrong.” you answered, placing a hand on his forearm. You met Ryan’s gaze that was clearly not buying what you were saying. You sighed, lowering your volume. “It’s just… they’re not in the right spots.”

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “So, what I’m hearing is: I’m terrible at this, and you should just do it all yourself?”

“No!” you protested, though your guilt was evident in your voice. “I mean… maybe I’m being a little controlling.”

“A little?” he asked, grinning.

“Fine, a lot.” you corrected. “But it’s our first tree and I want us to decorate it together… I’ll back off a little.”

You resumed decorating, which went well for a few minutes, until Ryan could see you eyeing his every move. When he placed a glittery penguin ornament on a branch by the top, he saw you visibly cringe. An idea popped into Ryan’s head, turning to you.

“I don’t think I like the penguin there, where do you think I should put it?” he asked you.

“He should go… maybe a little higher, near the middle. Balance out the ornaments with all the gold and red around it.” you tell him.

Ryan nodded thoughtfully, taking the ornament down and holding it out to you. “Here, you do it. You’ve got the vision.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the penguin. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he said, leaning against the arm of the couch with a sly smile. “You're clearly the expert.”

With a sheepish grin, you took the ornament and placed it exactly where you’d envisioned, stepping back to admire your work. “Perfect.”

Ryan watched you with an amused glint in his eyes. The gears in his mind were turning, and as you turned back to the box of ornaments, he picked up another. This time, a sparkling gingerbread man.

“Hey,” he called, holding it up. “What do you think about this guy? Where does he belong?”

You looked up, your eyes darting over the tree for the ideal spot. “He should probably go somewhere lower, to balance the heavier ornaments near the bottom.”

“Right, makes sense,” Ryan replied, walking toward the tree. Instead of hanging it, though, he handed it to you with a grin. “Here, you’d better do it.”

You gave him a look but couldn’t resist taking the ornament. The pattern repeated itself. Each time Ryan picked up an ornament, he’d stop and ask your opinion, nodding sagely at your suggestions before handing it over with a smug smile. Soon enough, you were practically decorating the entire tree by proxy.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing the gold star tree topper from the bin and handing it to Ryan. “You do the honors.”

Ryan reaches up slightly, carefully placing the star on the top of the tree. When he stepped back, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in close as you both admired the completed tree.

The tree was, without a doubt, stunning, each ornament shimmering in the glow of the twinkling lights. It looked like something out of a Christmas catalog—perfectly curated, yet undeniably warm and personal.

“You know,” you said, leaning into Ryan's side with a soft smile, “I knew exactly what you were doing, getting me to decorate for you.”

Ryan grinned, his dimples deepening as he glanced down at you. “Oh, you knew, huh? And here I thought I was being so subtle.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him. “I mean, if you were trying to avoid decorating, you might’ve just said so.”

“Not avoiding,” he countered, his tone laced with teasing. “Just… delegating. You’ve got the eye for this stuff. I’m a humble assistant to your artistic vision.”

A laugh escaped you, but it faded into a quiet moment of reflection. “I’m sorry if I was being a little… okay, a lot controlling. I just—”

“Wanted it to be perfect,” Ryan finished for you, his voice gentle. “And it is. Look at it, babe. The tree’s amazing because of you.”

His words softened the lingering guilt in your chest. You rested your head against his shoulder, watching the lights twinkle like tiny stars. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Not at all.” He kissed the top of your head, his lips warm and lingering. “I love that you care so much. You make everything special.”

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence, taking in the sight of your newly decorated space. Snow continued to fall outside, a pristine blanket of white forming across the lawn. The glow of the tree illuminated the room, casting a soft, golden light over the cozy chaos of unpacked boxes and loose decorations still strewn about.

Ryan pulled back slightly, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now, about those cookies we were supposed to bake…”

You groaned dramatically. “Cookies? After all this? Do I have to do that by proxy too?”