Ryan pushed the apartment door closed behind him and let the click hang in the quiet like an exhale. The room smelled faintly of detergent and warm plastic from the cheap lamp beside the bed.
For a moment he just stood there, the city noise leaking in through the thin window like a distant, unimportant radio.
He felt the weight of the last two months gather behind his eyes, heavy and bright at the same time. Then he walked over to the bed and sat down, and a grin found him before he could stop it.
It was the kind of smile that lived in the corners of his mouth first. It spread to his eyes, softening the stubborn lines that had appeared there from nights of worry and planning. He thought of the alley where he had spent the early mornings, of the stairwell with its rusted rail that he had run up when his legs had felt like jelly.
