A little light returns to Ryan’s eyes, and then he smirks. “Your whiny ass is going to be satisfied sleeping on my couch? Really?” There’s the Ryan I know. “A couch is a couch,” I answer frankly, straight-faced. “It’s more than I have right now, and—” And I can’t trust myself on my own. I can’t trust that I won’t just end up beaten-up and drunk by a dumpster again. I need someone around me who gives a shit what happens to me. I’m just lucky and unlucky enough that the one person who fits that description is Ryan Caulfield.
Stefan talking.
