Ryan exhaled, slow and sharp, like steam hissing out from under a lid. His fingers flexed, then stilled at his side.
"Fine," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair and already walking toward the low, battered couch that sagged in the corner of the studio like it knew too many sins. "Let's talk."
As Luna trailed behind, Ryan flicked his phone open and typed fast with one thumb.
"Leave clothes at the door. Do not come in."
—R.
He hit send. The message to Elizabeth disappeared, and with it, so did any remaining illusion of distance.
Ryan dropped onto the couch with that same unshaken calm, one leg folded lazily over the other, lean arms stretched across the backrest, his binder peeking from beneath the wifebeater. He looked like someone ready to listen—or ready to be disappointed.
"Well?" he said, voice low and almost bored. "Go ahead. Say what you came to say."
Luna stood awkwardly for a second, then slowly sat beside him, careful to keep space between them. His jaw worked for a moment, struggling to push the words out, until finally, he met Ryan's gaze.
"I've been thinking," Luna started, voice tight. "About what happened. About us."
Ryan didn't move. Not a twitch. But something sharp flickered behind his eyes.
Luna swallowed. "I talked to Rachel. About… everything. About what we did."
That caught Ryan's interest. A muscle in his jaw ticked. "And what did she say?"
"She said she was okay with it." Luna laughed, short and humorless. "Can you believe that?"
Ryan arched an eyebrow, not speaking.
"But I'm not," Luna continued, voice cracking just a little. "Not really. I mean, I can't just… keep doing this. Sleeping with you behind her back—even if she says it's fine. It feels wrong. Like I'm cheating. Like I'm… betraying someone I actually respect."
Ryan tilted his head, lips parting ever so slightly. "Even though you know she's fine with it?"
"Yes," Luna snapped. "Because I'm not."
The confession hung between them like a blade.
Ryan's jaw flexed as Luna spoke, each word tightening something beneath his skin. When Luna finished, silence reigned—for a moment.
"I don't want to ruin what little we have," Luna added, softer now. "Me and her. It's already awkward. Fragile. I'm trying to do right by her."
Ryan leaned forward just slightly, the lines of his body coiled like a spring held in check.
"So you're telling me," he said, voice velvet and venom, "you'd rather cling to that cold little farce of an engagement than keep touching something that actually makes you feel alive?"
Then Ryan chuckled. Low. Dangerous.
"Do you really believe…" he said, voice like warm honey dripped over broken glass. "...that this pretend engagement means more than what we have?"
He stood smoothly, eyes locked onto Luna's like he was sighting prey. Before Luna could shift, Ryan reached out and grabbed him firmly by the forearm.
"Come with me."
"Ryan—" Luna protested, caught off-guard, but he let himself be pulled.
Ryan led him to the other side of the room, to the lit-up corner where an unfinished painting still sat on the easel: a dusky, dreamlike portrait of the park, shadows and golden light playing in the brushstrokes. Ryan spun the chair around and pushed Luna gently but firmly into it, his hands lingering at Luna's shoulders.
"Here. Sit." Ryan's voice dropped to a whisper, almost tender. "You wanted to see Rachel's art so badly. Well—look."
Luna looked. The painting was soft and intimate, unmistakably emotional. But before he could speak, Ryan stepped in behind him. Close. Too close.
"You know," Ryan murmured by his ear, his breath warm against Luna's skin, "my cousin's always hiding behind something. Behind a voice that isn't hers. Behind rules that aren't hers. Behind people—like you."
He leaned down, lips brushing Luna's neck like a sigh, then trailing slowly up to the sensitive dip just below his ear.
"But here—" Ryan whispered, his hands sliding to Luna's hips, his body heat blooming like fire against his back, "—there's no one else. Just you and me. So why," his teeth grazed the shell of Luna's ear, "does she have to exist right now?"
Luna swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the painting, then to the darkness just beyond the light.
"Go on," Ryan purred. "Look at it. Take it in. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Luna stared at the canvas, heart thundering.
And behind him, Ryan's voice dipped into pure temptation.
"If you're so determined to pretend there's nothing between us… then pretend I'm not touching you either."
His hands tightened on Luna's shoulders, voice velvet over sin.
"Go ahead, Luna. Pretend."