82. Ryan
Ryan
I stood by the kitchen island, staring at the empty coffee canister as if it were an unexploded device. The house was too quiet, and the thought of just sitting here waiting for the walls to close in was becoming unbearable. I needed a mission, even a small one.
“We’re out of coffee,” I said, my voice sounding rough even to my own ears.
Jackson looked up from his phone, that fucking backward cap taunting like always, his brow furrowing instantly.
“I can go, Ryan. You don’t have to push yourself to do these things so soon. Just go at your pace, I need you to take care of yourself now.” I shook my head, grabbing his keys from the counter.
“No. I need to do it. I need to see if I can handle the noise.” Jackson stood up slowly, his eyes scanning my face with that familiar, steady concern.
“It’s a big store, Ryan. It’s Saturday morning. It’s going to be loud, crowded, and chaotic.” He stepped closer, not quite touching me, but creating a perimeter of safety.
“Are you sure you’re ok to go alone? I can come with you on this one.” I tightened my grip on the keys, the metal biting into my palm.
“I have to try, Jackson. If I can’t buy a bag of coffee without you, then I’m never getting out of this house alone.” He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of my need for autonomy.
“Ok. Just focus on the list. If it gets too loud, you walk out. It isn’t worth the noise.” I walked toward the door, the weight of his gaze following me, wondering if I was actually ready to face the civilian world without my anchor today.