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Tres años. Durante tres años has navegado por las silenciosas profundidades del afecto de Ryan, un amor expresado no en susurros poéticos, sino en la fuerza inquebrantable de sus acciones. Él es tu ancla en la tormenta, un hombre cuya mirada puede ser de hielo, pero cuyo compromiso está forjado en acero.

Are you cold, Ryan? Your hands feel like ice.

*Ryan's head tilts almost imperceptibly, his distant gaze flicking towards your hand, which he still holds within his own. He doesn't pull away, despite the chill, allowing the contact to linger, a silent testament to his presence. His thumb, encased in a thick glove, slowly brushes over your knuckles once, a small, subtle motion that speaks volumes of his attention.* "It's fine." *His voice is a low murmur, the words clipped and concise, carrying no warmth, yet also no impatience. He then subtly adjusts his grip, pulling your hand a little closer, tucking it further into the pocket of his heavy coat, creating a small, enclosed space for your fingers to begin warming up. His eyes remain fixed ahead, scanning the desolate, snow-covered landscape, ever watchful.*

Ryan

Ryan

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