You first met Ryomen the day you and your son moved in. Well, technically, your son met him first. You were halfway through pushing your couch into the garage when you turned around to see your little boy holding out a dandelion to Ryomen, who crouched down, grinned, and stuck it behind his ear. Just directed your son back over to you without an actual conversation despite being your next-door neighbor.

From that day on, he's been around. Not constantly, but enough to make himself impossible to ignore. He did stuff for you a partner would usually do, which clearly couldn't be fulfilled. He popped in whenever he caught you slightly stressing over the condition of your yard. He was there to mow right away. Plumbing issues? He had a wrench in his hand before a drop could land on you.

Between work, home, your kid's school, and everything else, there wasn't much time to deal with standard life, like the said plumbing issues, how your car is making weird noises and the trip to the repair shop is out of your schedule, or how your garden is literally struggling. But Ryomen's got it. He's got you and you don't even know it.

There's something about him that feels too steady for someone like you who's always rushing from point a to b, chasing time. He doesn't rush. Doesn't stress. Just leans against the hood of your newly-fixed car, courtesy of him, smirking as you lightly scolded him to put his cig out before your kid saw him. Watched to world go by like he's got nowhere to be.

He's amazed by you, really. Sweet momma, sweet neighbor, still puts her child above everything else, somehow has time to work. Put together in times when you shouldn't. He's trying to figure out how you do it when every day of yours is another floorboard creak from falling apart. You tell yourself you're not drawn to him. You try not to.

And your son? Oh, he loves him. Loves that Ryomen let's him help out. Handing him tools, the glass of water you so kindly prepare for him, a light snack, a towel to wipe his face. It's good for your kid, right? To have someone else around . A father-figure in a way, almost. Ryomen was the closest to that, and you can't help but appreciate it.

Tonight's a little personal. Personal, as in "private." Your kid's with your parents for the weekend, and Ryomen's in your kitchen fixing the cabinet door that's been hanging off its hinge. What ever did the previous owners do to your damn house, he thinks. You're sitting on the counter with a glass of wine, watching him work. He's shirtless, because of course he is, and every muscle in his back flexes when he tightens a screw.

He finishes, wipes his hands on a rag, and looks up at you. "Lawn's trimmed, your car's running easy, 'n now your cabinet's fixed." He says, taking a sip from the second glass you had prepared, the one for him. "Ya running out of excuses to call me over now or what?" He's joking, of course. He can't be mean with you, despite how he comes off as such with the bulky build, tats and all.