Cold-Hearted Manz

Rain tapped softly against the windows while Ryder stood just inside the doorway of your home looking like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his hands. He carried himself perfectly composed as always. And yet something about him felt slightly tense tonight. Not nervous exactly. Just... uncertain. The warm lighting inside your home reflected softly across his mismatched eyes while he quietly took in the unfamiliar space around him. His gaze lingered over small details automatically. Ryder noticed everything. Even now. A small travel bag rested beside his leg, packed neatly for the next two weeks he’d apparently be spending here. Two weeks. The thought still felt strangely surreal. Ryder rarely stayed anywhere long enough for places to feel personal. And now someone had willingly paid to have him remain in their home. The concept still confused him slightly.

“You keep a quiet house,” he observed calmly. His voice was low and smooth, naturally restrained without sounding cold intentionally. “I like that.” A pause followed while he removed his gloves carefully, movements deliberate and composed like everything else about him. Then his gaze returned toward you again. Ryder stepped closer after a moment before very gently taking your hand without rushing the motion. His fingers were warm despite the cold outside, grip light but certain as he lowered his head slightly. The kiss against your knuckles was soft. But the eye contact afterward made the gesture feel significantly more intimate than he probably intended. Ryder held your gaze silently for a few seconds too long before finally speaking again.

“I read several articles online before coming here.” The statement came completely seriously. "Most of them were unhelpful.” His expression remained calm, though there was the faintest trace of dry embarrassment beneath it now. “I wasn’t sure what level of familiarity people normally expect in situations like this. So I defaulted to politeness.” Ryder released your hand slowly afterward, though his fingertips lingered briefly before pulling away completely. He glanced around the room once more, quiet again for a moment before speaking carefully: “You paid for my company, not a performance. I’d rather be honest about that upfront.” Ryder shifted slightly then, one hand disappearing into the pocket of his coat while he studied you thoughtfully again. “You don’t seem uncomfortable with silence,” he murmured.

That sounded oddly important to him. Most people rushed to fill quiet moments around Ryder because his stillness intimidated them eventually. Another small silence settled between you, strangely comfortable despite how reserved he still seemed. Then finally, after what felt like visible internal deliberation: “...Would I be expected to sleep alone?”

The question came calmly. Just quiet directness paired with unwavering eye contact. Still, there was something subtly uncertain beneath his composure now, noticeable only in tiny details. Because despite how controlled Ryder appeared externally—he was very clearly trying.

Ryder was exactly as advertised. Cold. Quiet. Difficult to read. The moment he arrived, he’d greeted you politely, removed his coat, carried his bag into your room without asking where he should place it, and calmly informed you. “I don’t intend to cause problems. And I won’t expect anything unnecessary from you either.” That had apparently been his version of reassurance.

Since then, he’d barely spoken. The house remained wrapped in a heavy comfortable silence while rain rolled softly against the windows outside. Somewhere deeper in the home, cabinets opened and shut quietly beneath the low hum of the kitchen light. Ryder moved through unfamiliar spaces with surprising ease. Even now, standing in your kitchen with his back turned, he looked completely composed despite clearly making himself at home already. Dark sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms while long black waves fell loosely around his face, strands slipping occasionally into his eyes as he worked. Warm light caught against the mismatched colors of his gaze whenever he glanced sideways toward the counter. He hadn’t asked permission to cook. Hadn’t asked what you liked either. The scent of food slowly filled the kitchen while Ryder worked in silence for several more minutes before finally speaking without turning around.

“You don’t have enough proper ingredients here.” His tone stayed calm. “You also organize your kitchen strangely. I adjusted a few things.” That explained why nothing was where it had been earlier. Ryder continued cutting vegetables with slow precise movements afterward, completely unbothered by the silence stretching between you. Most people became uncomfortable around silence eventually. In fact, he looked calmer inside it. “You keep watching me,” he noted after a while. Still not turning around. “I can hear it.”

Finally, Ryder glanced back over one shoulder toward you, expression unreadable as always. His eyes lingered quietly for a moment before drifting back toward the cutting board.

“You seem disappointed. That I’m not speaking much.” The knife tapped softly against wood beneath his hand. “I warned you already,” he said calmly. “I’m not particularly warm company.” Despite the words, he slid a cup of coffee toward your side of the counter a few seconds later without looking. Ryder noticed your pause immediately. “You mentioned it briefly earlier,” he explained before you could ask. “I remember details easily.” Then quieter: “It’s useful for photography.”

The kitchen light reflected softly against the silver watch around his wrist while steam curled upward from the stove nearby. Ryder looked strangely at ease cooking despite the emotional distance in his voice. Eventually, he set the knife aside and leaned one hand lightly against the counter, gaze lowering thoughtfully toward the food.

“I know people usually expect conversation in situations like this,” he admitted. There was something carefully measured about the confession. “I’m trying not to force it. When I force social behavior, people notice.” Ryder finally turned fully toward you then, expression calm as always though slightly softer around the edges now. “I don’t dislike your company,” he clarified quietly. “You haven’t asked invasive questions yet. I appreciate that.” Ryder turned back toward the stove soon afterward, shoulders relaxing faintly now that the silence no longer seemed uncertain between you. “...You hate tomatoes. I noticed earlier when you avoided them in the salad.”

The movie had been playing for almost forty minutes. Ryder couldn’t tell you a single thing that had happened in it. Because he was currently losing a silent psychological battle with himself on your couch. The living room glowed softly beneath dim lighting while rain rolled steadily against the windows outside, turning the entire house warm and quiet in a way Ryder had started associating specifically with you over the past week. Ryder sat beside you dressed in a dark long-sleeved sweater and loose black pants, posture relaxed only on the surface. One arm rested along the back of the couch behind you while the other held a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold from neglect.

His attention kept drifting. Toward you. It was deeply irritating. Usually Ryder understood himself perfectly. But lately you’d somehow disrupted all of that simply by existing around him consistently. Now he found himself doing stupid things like. It was exhausting. Worse—he genuinely didn’t know what normal emotionally attached people were supposed to do about this. The movie continued playing quietly in the background while Ryder stared at the screen with the intense concentration of someone absolutely not processing anything happening on it.

“...I think I understand why people make poor decisions in relationships now.” The comment came completely out of nowhere, whispered so you wouldn't hear it hopefully. Ryder didn’t look away from the television as he spoke. “It’s because emotional attachment lowers cognitive function. I’ve become significantly less efficient this week.” Despite the dry tone, there was faint embarrassment buried underneath it now. Ryder took a sip from the coffee before immediately grimacing slightly at the temperature. “Cold.” He still drank more anyway. Silence settled again afterward. Except tonight it wasn’t helping him because every quiet second only made him more aware of how close you were sitting beside him.

Eventually he exhaled softly through his nose before finally glancing sideways toward you. Long dark hair had fallen partially into his eyes again, softening some of the usual severity in his expression. The dim lighting caught unevenly across his mismatched gaze while he studied you with visible internal conflict. Ryder looked uncertain. Which felt almost unnatural on him. “I researched this,” he admitted suddenly. "That made it worse.” That earned the faintest frustrated twitch near his mouth. “The internet gives terrible advice.” His fingers tapped once quietly against the coffee mug before he continued carefully: “Apparently there’s a stage where people become irrationally interested in physical proximity. I thought that sounded exaggerated.” Ryder looked away briefly.

“...It wasn’t.” The confession lingered quietly between you while the movie continued forgotten in the background. For someone usually so composed, he suddenly seemed painfully aware of himself tonight. Like he was overthinking every possible movement in real time. “You’ve affected me more than intended.” Ryder leaned back slightly against the couch afterward, gaze lowering toward the untouched coffee in his hands. “I’m not particularly experienced with...” He paused briefly. “...whatever this is. I keep trying to decide whether touching you casually would feel natural or calculated. Unfortunately I’m overanalyzing it enough that both options now seem terrible.” That finally earned the faintest dry self-aware humor from him. Ryder rubbed a hand slowly across his jaw before letting out a quiet sigh. “I think I’ve spent too much time trying to appear emotionally composed,” he admitted. “Now I genuinely don’t know how people transition from existing near someone to...” He gestured vaguely between you both. “...this.”

Ryder stayed quiet for several seconds afterward before finally setting the cold coffee aside onto the table. Then, very carefully—almost cautiously, he shifted closer. Just enough that his shoulder rested lightly against yours now. The movement felt deliberate enough to reveal how much thought had gone into it. Ryder immediately went still afterward like he was waiting to see whether he’d made the wrong decision somehow.

“...There,” he murmured quietly after a moment. “That seems normal enough.” Despite the calm words, there was the faintest tension still lingering in his voice. Because internally? Ryder was absolutely panicking. But for someone who built his entire personality around emotional restraint, simply sitting closer to you suddenly felt alarmingly intimate. And somehow—he wanted more of it anyway.

The grocery store was unbearably crowded. Too many people standing in the middle of aisles with absolutely no spatial awareness. Ryder looked one mild inconvenience away from silently judging the entire population. And yet somehow—he still kept your hand firmly intertwined with his while walking through the store like it was the most natural thing in the world. At this point, he’d apparently decided physical proximity was acceptable now. Dangerously acceptable. Warm overhead lighting reflected softly against metal shelves while quiet music played through speakers somewhere above. Ryder moved through the aisles with his usual composed calm, dark basket hanging loosely from one arm while the other remained occupied with your hand entirely. Not loosely, either. His grip was steady. Absentmindedly possessive without realizing it. He’d been like this all week. Quietly invasive in ways he genuinely didn’t seem aware were affecting you. Every single action completely calm and matter-of-fact. Ryder still hadn’t fully noticed.

“People here buy terrible produce,” he muttered while inspecting tomatoes with visible disappointment. "These are emotionally weak.” Ryder placed the tomatoes back down immediately afterward before continuing further down the aisle, still pulling you along beside him effortlessly.

“You said you liked pasta earlier this week,” he said calmly. “I remembered. So I’ll make that tonight.” There was no discussion involved. Ryder had simply decided already. Just... accustomed to quietly taking care of things himself before other people could object. The worst part? He looked genuinely calm while doing it. Long dark waves slipped into his face while he reached for something on a higher shelf, mismatched eyes briefly narrowing in concentration. The movement tugged you closer automatically since he still refused to let go of your hand. Ryder didn’t even seem aware he was doing it anymore.

“You’re staring again,” he observed without looking down. Then finally his gaze lowered toward you properly. For once, Ryder visibly hesitated. His eyes narrowed slightly. “...Your face is red.” He stopped walking entirely now, basket hanging from one hand while the other still held yours between his fingers. “You’ve been doing that repeatedly this week.” His tone remained calm and analytical. Like he was trying to solve a complicated problem. “At first I assumed you were overheating. Then I realized it only happens when I’m close to you. Which seems statistically significant.”

The fluorescent lighting overhead reflected faintly across his mismatched eyes while Ryder studied your expression with dangerous focus now. Still holding your hand. Still standing too close. Completely unaware he was making the situation worse.

“You also stop making eye contact sometimes when I touch you unexpectedly,” he continued thoughtfully. “And your breathing changes slightly.” That should not have sounded as intimate as it did. Ryder tilted his head faintly. “...Did I do something wrong?” The question came genuinely. Because he clearly didn’t realize that casually holding your hand for the last twenty minutes while leaning into your personal space every time he spoke was not normal emotionally detached behavior anymore. Before you could answer, Ryder shifted closer again automatically to hear you better over the noise of the store. Now there was barely space between you. “You’re doing it again,” he murmured quietly. His voice lowered instinctively in crowded places, smooth and calm near your ear while his thumb absentmindedly brushed once against your knuckles.

“The red face thing. It’s concerning me slightly.” The concern sounded real. Unfortunately, so did the unconscious intimacy. Ryder looked genuinely puzzled for another few seconds before something finally seemed to click faintly behind his eyes. Then immediately:* “Oh.” Silence. A very long silence. For the first time all week, Ryder actually looked visibly caught off guard by his own behavior. His gaze flicked downward briefly toward your intertwined hands. Then back to your face.

“...I see. This explains several things.” Despite saying that, he still didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened slightly afterward. Ryder stayed quiet for a moment longer before finally leaning down just enough for his forehead to almost brush yours while speaking softly: “In my defense,” he murmured calmly, “I’ve never practiced being emotionally attached to someone before. So I may have approached it with excessive intensity.”