chapter 4: Too close

The café Daniel had picked wasn’t fancy.

It didn’t try to be. Just dark wood tables, big windows, and the kind of music you didn’t notice until it stopped. A quiet place the kind Ryan liked but never admitted to liking.

They sat near the back, where no one could overhear them. Daniel didn’t even look at a menu. Just ordered a black coffee like it was part of his identity.

Ryan ordered the same, even though he hated black coffee.

It was stupid. But also… not.

They hadn’t spoken much on the walk over. Just side-glances. A small joke about Daniel’s umbrella being broken. And something in the air that felt like it was shifting between them not fast, but definitely changing.

“So,” Daniel said, stirring his coffee even though it didn’t have anything in it. “What’s your endgame?”

Ryan blinked. “What?”

“College. Arkwood. Life. What are you hoping to get out of all this?”

Ryan hesitated. “Survival.”

Daniel tilted his head. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not much either,” Ryan said. “What about you? Planning to be student president, then senator, then king of the world?”

Daniel smirked. “Something like that.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

But Daniel was watching him closely now, like he was trying to read underneath the sarcasm. “You joke a lot when you’re uncomfortable.”

“And you act like a therapist when you want control.”

“Touché,” Daniel said, sipping his coffee.

The truth was… Ryan didn’t mind talking to him anymore.

He didn’t mind the quiet pauses between conversations. The way Daniel never filled the silence just to fill it. The way he noticed things and didn’t immediately say them aloud.

It felt… safe.

Which was dangerous.

Because Ryan had felt safe before. With Jake. At first.

And look where that got him.

They were halfway back to campus when Daniel finally said, “You didn’t report the note, did you?”

Ryan glanced over. “How do you even know about it?”

“I didn’t. But your body language says more than your words.”

Ryan snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

Daniel stopped walking. “He’s escalating, Ryan. You need to see that.”

“I do see it.”

“Then do something.”

Ryan turned to him. “Like what? Go to security and tell them my ex sent me a passive-aggressive love letter?”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “When he grabs your wrist again? Or corners you somewhere you can’t get out of? That won’t be a letter. That’ll be something harder to walk away from.”

Ryan didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Not with the way his chest was tightening.

“Let me help you,” Daniel said quietly. “Let me go with you. Or go for you.”

“You’re not my” Ryan stopped.

Not my what? Not my boyfriend? Not my protector? Not my anything?

Daniel didn’t move. Just waited.

And that silence that complete lack of pressure broke something inside Ryan in the best and worst way.

“…Okay,” Ryan said. “Not yet. But maybe.”

Daniel nodded. Nothing smug. Nothing pushy. Just patient.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

That night, Ryan couldn’t sleep. Again.

But this time it wasn’t dread keeping him up. It was memory.

The way Daniel had stood still, waiting. The way he didn’t flinch when Ryan got defensive. The way he looked at Ryan like he was made of breakable things and like he deserved not to break again.

He checked his phone once. No new messages. No threats. No shadows waiting in the corners.

Just one text from Daniel.

You okay?

Ryan didn’t reply right away.

But an hour later, just before sleep finally came, he sent one back:

I don’t know yet. But I think I’m getting there.

The next day felt like a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The sky was clearer. The air smelled like fallen leaves and coffee. He went to class without looking over his shoulder. He even waved to a girl from his study group.

Then he opened his locker.

And found a photo.

Of himself. Walking out of the café. From behind.

His face wasn’t visible  just the back of his head. And Daniel’s, too. Side by side.

On the back of the photo was a scribbled message:

Still watching. Always will be.

Ryan’s hands went cold.

This wasn’t a note. This was a threat.

And suddenly, the air felt thin again.

He went to Daniel immediately. Found him outside the debate hall with a stack of folders and his name being called from three directions. But when Daniel saw Ryan’s face, he dropped everything.

“What happened?”

Ryan handed him the photo.

Daniel’s eyes darkened. “Where did you get this?”

“My locker.”

Daniel looked around, as if expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. Then he took Ryan’s arm  gently, firmly  and pulled him away from the hallway.

They didn’t speak again until they were in Daniel’s car, parked behind the old rec building.

Daniel sat with the photo between them on the console. “This changes things.”

“No kidding.”

“I need to report it.”

Ryan stared at the dashboard. “I don’t want to become a case study. I don’t want pity.”

“You won’t get pity from me. You’ll get a solution.”

Ryan’s throat was dry. “Do you always fix things?”

Daniel looked at him. “Only the things worth fixing.”

Ryan turned to face him fully.

And for a moment, the air inside the car shifted  like it knew something they didn’t want to say out loud.

“You shouldn’t care this much,” Ryan whispered.

Daniel didn’t move. “And yet here we are.”

They were too close.

Too quiet.

Too much unsaid.

Ryan could feel the pull a breath away from dangerous.

But instead of leaning in, Daniel said softly, “Let me handle this. Please.”

Ryan nodded.

And for the first time since Jake showed up, he felt something that wasn’t fear.

It was trust.

And that, somehow, scared him even more.