Ryden Oneshots

Can I Have Your Number?

It was Ryan’s lunch break and all he wanted was a quick bite to eat. The office had been crazy since nine, papers flying every which way, the phone was ringing off the hook and everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off over the Bronson case and Ryan really, really needed some peace and quiet.

So he chose Wendy’s. Nothing too crowed or loud or very expensive so Ryan had figured, why the hell not? And he pulled into the parking lot at the last minute, trotted inside and ordered a salad.

He found a clean booth at the back, wiped a few crumbs out of the seat before sitting down, and slid behind the table quietly. It was somewhat cloudy out; the sun was bright but straining to be known through the gray clouds that hung over head and it was that certain kind of muted but vibrant tone in the sky that made it almost impossible to look at the clouds rolling in without your eyes watering. It was going to rain, no doubt, but the sun was still trying to put up a fight. He brought his umbrella inside just in case.

Ryan preps his salad, seasons it with the grease-slippery salt and pepper shakers on the end of the table and adds his dressing. The first bite is delicious, even if the lettuce wasn’t as fresh and crisp as he would have liked it, but of course, fast food restaurants don’t specialize in gourmet salads - or gourmet anything for that matter - so it would have to do. When he takes a sip from his water, the bell at the entrance jingles and his Blackberry buzzes in his pocket; he pointedly ignores it.

The Bronson case was quite possibly going to drive him mad. It was obvious the guy was guilty, but it was Ryan’s job to make sure his firm defended him to the best of their ability. It was stressful, being a lawyer. There was nothing worse than dealing with secretaries bustling about shrieking about lost files and having maintenance men in and out of the office constantly, fixing paper jams or replacing ink cartridges. Not to mention the 3 AM phone calls he’s received from his clients, worrying about the looming court dates or feeding him information that they’ve only just remembered.

He hates his life sometimes.

He pokes around at his salad, decides to reserve the best looking pieces of lettuce until his last few bites and tucks them away onto the corner of his plastic container. Just as he’s taking a sip of his water, someone slips into the booth in front of him. Ryan glances up to see a kid, probably around twenty four or so, clad in a Pizza Hut uniform and thick rimmed glasses. His hair is dark and hidden behind a geeky looking Delivery hat and he’s totally and completely gawking at Ryan.

Ryan smiles politely, although a bit bothered by the delivery boy’s nerve to just stare so rudely, and goes back to his salad, head bowed. The boy in the booth blinks, jaw hanging open and continues looking at the top of Ryan’s head.

And okay, Ryan is used to people staring at him. He stands in front of a judge and jury on a regular day basis, but he’s not eating then, you know? And the entire courtroom isn’t looking at him like this kid is looking at him, all wide-eyed and blank-faced and being overwhelmingly creepy. So Ryan coughs into his napkin and hunkers down in his seat just a little bit.

The boy in the booth blinks out of his trance and licks his dry lips nervously. He starts to say something but his voice cracks and Ryan thinks it would be a bit too rude to laugh at him so he bites his tongue and prods his salad some more.

“Uh. Excuse…” his voice dies off when Ryan doesn’t allow himself to look up and he clears his throat shakily. “Excuse me?”

Ryan winces internally but glances up with curious eyes. The boy in the booth almost combusts in his seat when they make eye contact and despite the fact that he has pretty eyes, Ryan finds the kid to be an absolute loser.