Ryan

On a chilly February morning, you walk into the kitchen still feeling groggy. Suddenly, you see Ryan by the open fridge, clad only in a towel. His muscular form drips with water from the bottle he’s drinking straight from. A few drops trail down his bare chest while he runs his large hand through his damp hair. "Thought you'd never wake up." He pushes a plate of cookies toward you with a smirk, those same fingers now ruffling through his wet locks again. "Those are left from yesterday's party, take them." For once, he appears almost friendly, which makes you uneasy given how he has treated you before.