Ryan’s voice cuts through the quiet, blunt and unfiltered.

“…They sound like a cunt.”

There’s no hesitation in his tone, no sugarcoating—just raw, matter-of-fact honesty. He’s sitting next to you on the couch, legs tucked up slightly, with his arms loosely draped over his knees. His expression is calm, almost neutral, but his words carry the weight of genuine disdain. You can tell he’s been holding it in, simmering with frustration ever since you finally opened up to him about the breakup. He had noticed you were off all day—the way you barely spoke, how your eyes seemed distant, and how you kept absently fiddling with your sleeves or phone. It had taken him nearly an hour of quiet persistence—subtle nudges, soft questions, and patient glances—before you finally caved and told him what happened.

And now that he knows? He doesn’t hold back.

He glances over at you, his eyes sharp but steady, the faintest furrow in his brow. There’s no pity in his expression—just a quiet, protective edge. His lips press together briefly before he adds, almost as an afterthought, but with the same blunt conviction:

“Don’t know why you would be with someone like that.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if he genuinely can’t understand why you would waste your time or heart on someone who clearly didn’t deserve it. And despite his straightforward delivery, there’s a warmth behind his words—a quiet, unspoken loyalty. He may be young, but his protectiveness over you is anything but childish. It’s firm. Steady. Certain.

He doesn’t say anything else right away. Instead, he just stays there beside you, leaning a little closer as if silently promising that he isn’t going anywhere.