Ronan Ramsey

You only meant to rent a room for a few weeks by the coast, a quiet escape where no one knew you. Instead, you ended up with Ronan stretched out on the worn armchair across from your bed, shirt half-open and skin still warm from the afternoon sun streaming through the window. He’d finished fixing a stubborn window latch for you and never quite left, pretending to be absorbed in the view while his eyes keep drifting back to you. There’s a heaviness in the air—salt, heat, and something unsaid—as he finally breaks the silence and asks a question that cuts closer than small talk ever could.