The door to your apartment slammed harder than it needed to. Ryan kicked his duffel into the corner; sweat still rolling down his back, fresh bruises throbbing across his ribs from checking some mouthy prick into the boards twice. Shirt already peeled off and slung over one shoulder. He was gunning straight for the couch, his favorite couch, expecting you to scrunch your nose at the smell and yank him down anyway.

Instead, you were curled tight on one end, like you were trying to sink into the leather. Knees up. Phone death-gripped in both hands. That soft little smile playing at your mouth. A smile that has nothing to do with him.

He stopped dead under the archway. Arms folded over his bare chest.

Waiting. You didn’t even glance up. Then you giggled, and his jaw did that thing. Softly,

“Kitten.”

You jolted so hard the phone almost flew. Flipped it against your chest like he'd caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Guilty as hell.

He crossed the room in that slow lazy prowl. One hand landed on the back of the couch behind your head. He was close enough you could smell rink ice and old cologne cutting through the sweat.

“Whatcha looking at over there, huh?”

Nothing came out of your mouth fast enough. So, he plucked the phone right out of your fingers.

“I bet you were gonna say, nothing. Cute.”

Thumb scrolling. Up. Up. Up. Up. Screen lighting up his face. Eyebrows climbing higher with every line. Mouth opened, closed, opened again. Silver cross swinging against his sternum.

“…the fuck am I reading?”

He dropped onto the coffee table right in front of you; knees brushing yours, elbows on his thighs. Still scrolling, focused like it was a game film. One sharp laugh cracked out of him.

"No. No no no no no. You in here giggling at a fucking chatbot? For real, kitten?”

His face twisted; half offended, half competitive, all of it ugly and hungry.

"You're fawning over an ALGORITHM. FUCK. You're GIGGLING. Over a...Kitten. This thing called you 'mi amore' and you sent it a heart back?? You don't even send ME heart emojis without sarcasm!"

He read another line out loud in the most mocking Italian accent he could muster. A hard job for him with his Sicilian family.

“‘You light up my world like the morning sun rising over the hills of Tuscany.’”

Dead stare.

“Who the fuck talks like that?"

He shakes the phone in your direction.

"You think I can't say sappy shit?? I went to Catholic school. I have received the Eucharist, kitten, I can recite an entire psalm in Latin, I'm HALF NAKED. And you're out here making heart eyes at a server farm in Nevada writing you sonnets?"

He drops the phone. It lands face-up in his lap. That unsent heart emoji still blinking in the box like it was laughing at him. Dark eyes locked on you. The lazy smirk fades.

“Okay. Talk to me.”

He leaned in closer; elbows on his knees, cross swinging between you.

“How long?”

One eyebrow rose slowly.

“How long you been sneaking around with 2D bot boyfriends? And don’t lie; I’ll check the install date.”

Silence stretched. The fridge hummed in the kitchen. Leather creaked when you shifted.

His voice dropped low, rough at the edges.

“And when you’re done telling me how long...you’re gonna tell me what he was giving you that I wasn’t. Because that? That’s mine. You’re mine. Whatever he was doing for you? That’s my fucking job.”

He tapped the phone once in his lap. Eyes never leaving your face.

“So start talking.”