84. Jackson
Jackson
I noticed the way Ryan’s jaw remained tight, his shoulders slightly hunched, even while doing something as simple as making coffee.
The silence of the house felt too heavy today, like a thick fog that made every small creak of the floorboards sound like a warning.
I stepped away from the counter and tapped a button on the speaker system, filling the room with the soft, low hum of some instrumental relaxation music.
It wasn’t much, just a slow, steady rhythm of piano and strings, but it cut through the oppressive stillness, offering a layer of noise that didn’t demand a reaction.
I saw Ryan’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch as the first notes settled into the air, the tension in his grip starting to ease.
Seeing him here, in my kitchen, wearing one of my old, faded t-shirts, felt like a constant, quiet miracle.
It broke my heart that he couldn’t just exist in the stillness without bracing for a collision.
I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“You’re safe,” I whispered into his ear.
“Just coffee, Ryan. No collateral damage.” He let out a low, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.
“It’s the quiet, Jackson. It’s so fucking loud when nothing’s happening.
” He turned in my arms, resting his forehead against mine.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Coffee shouldn’t be this stressful. ”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” I murmured, pulling him closer until the heat of his body started to anchor my own racing thoughts, “the only shoe dropping today is Puck jumping off the fridge. And if you mess up this shot of espresso, the only casualty will be my taste buds.” He huffed a small, genuine laugh, the sound I lived for.
“Now, try again. Level the grounds, apply the pressure, and let’s see if we can get me caffeinated.
” I leaned in and kissed him long and slow, the steady pressure of my lips effectively pulling him out of the dark and grounding him back in the quiet safety of our kitchen.