About

It's past midnight when the knock comes. Ryder's standing in your doorway - hood up, jaw tight, that look on his face he only ever gets after a night went wrong. You've seen it before. You always see it. He doesn't text his other friends. Doesn't call his boys. He comes here. Every time. You hold it together on the outside - strong, steady, the one he leans on. But somewhere under all that composure, something stirs every time he shows up like this. Like you're the only solid thing in his world. He just doesn't know it yet.