Chapter 5: **The Art of Disruption**

**Ryan Collins**

6:00 AM sharp. My alarm blares like a military command, rousing me from a dreamless sleep. Perfect. I reach for my phone and hit snooze, not because I need more rest but out of habit. Everything in my life runs on precision, down to this five-minute grace period.

6:05 AM: Feet hit the floor.

6:10 AM: I’m in the kitchen, my Keurig already humming to life. I pour exactly twelve ounces of black coffee into my favorite mug, the one with “World’s Most Efficient Architect” etched on it, courtesy of my sister. I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or an insult, but either way, it’s accurate.

This morning, however, something feels off. I step into the living room and freeze mid-sip.

There’s Mia Thompson.

She’s bundled on my couch, resembling something between a burrito and a sloth. Her mouth slightly agape, a thin line of drool pooling onto my leather cushion. A pile of photography magazines surrounds her, some teetering on the edge of the coffee table, threatening to tumble onto the floor at any moment. To make matters worse, there’s a half-empty carton of almond milk — almond milk! — sitting on my counter.

I blink at the sight before me, trying to process the disaster zone my previously pristine apartment has become.

“Mia?” I attempt, but it comes out more like a croak.

“Mmmf.” She shifts, but that’s it. No acknowledgment.

“Mia, wake up,” I say, louder this time.

She grumbles something unintelligible about “five more minutes” and tightens her blanket cocoon. I check the time. It’s 6:15 AM, and I’m already fifteen minutes behind schedule. My entire day feels off-kilter. For the life of me, I cannot understand how someone can exist in such chaos.

With a resigned sigh, I head to the shower, mumbling under my breath about the importance of structure.

---

**Mia Thompson**

I’m not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. So, when I wake up to Ryan standing over me like some sort of alarm clock drill sergeant, glaring at the magazines I left out, I groan and burrow deeper into my blanket.

“Five more minutes,” I mumble. Sleep is a precious commodity, especially when you stayed up late editing photos until the caffeine wore off.

But no. Ryan Collins is the definition of early bird. By the time I peel myself off the couch, he’s already dressed, showered, and sitting at his laptop, looking like a poster child for corporate America.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I quip, sauntering over to the kitchen in search of more coffee. I open the fridge and frown. Where’s my almond milk?

“You left it out,” Ryan mutters from behind his screen, without even looking up.

I glance at the counter. Oops.

“Right,” I say, grabbing it and giving him a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to grimace. The man runs his life with a ruler and compass. One stray item out of place, and he looks like someone’s replaced his coffee with decaf.

I stifle a laugh, imagining him dealing with me long-term. Poor guy.

---

**Ryan Collins**

Later that afternoon, I sit in my office, enjoying the quiet. Everything is back in order — my desk cleared, files neatly stacked, laptop open to my calendar. All is right with the world.

Until Mia barges in.

I should’ve expected it. I really should have. But somehow, I’d convinced myself that the morning chaos was a one-off. Wrong. She bursts through the door, arms full of photography gear, drops her bag onto the couch, and starts pulling out lenses, memory cards, and camera bodies like a tornado in motion.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“Editing,” she says, as if that explains why she’s turning my organized workspace into her personal studio.

“Here?”

She glances at me, grinning. “Yeah. Your light in this office is amazing. Perfect for reviewing these shots.”

I sigh. There’s no point in arguing, is there? Mia works best in chaos. I, on the other hand, work best in, well… not chaos.

As she spreads out her equipment like an artist prepping for a masterpiece, I take a deep breath and attempt to focus on my emails. But every time I glance up, there’s a new item scattered across my couch — lenses here, a tripod there. The worst part? I can’t bring myself to be mad.

---

**Mia Thompson**

I love Ryan’s office. Everything’s neat, clean, and bathed in gorgeous natural light, which makes it the perfect place to review my latest work. The best part? Watching him try not to twitch as I spread my gear across his meticulously organized space.

“This lens is amazing,” I say, holding up one of my favorites. “It gets the crispest shots, but the bokeh… ugh, to die for.”

“Bokeh?” Ryan repeats, clearly unfamiliar with the term.

“Yeah, it’s the blur in the background of a photo. Adds depth, makes the subject pop.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You take a lot of photos of… blurry things?”

I chuckle, pulling out my laptop. “No, I take photos of people. The blur just makes it… artsy.”

Ryan nods, but I can tell he doesn’t fully get it. Still, I appreciate that he’s trying to understand. Even if he did flinch when I knocked a lens cap off the couch.

---

**Ryan Collins**

It’s a few days later when Mia insists we go out for breakfast. Normally, I have my entire week’s meals planned and prepped, but Mia’s been raving about some pancake food truck that only appears on Fridays.

I resist, but she’s persistent.

“You’ll love it,” she promises. “Trust me.”

Trusting Mia is like trusting a cat with a laser pointer — you’re going to end up chasing chaos.

Against my better judgment, I agree. Twenty minutes later, we’re in the middle of a street fair. I had no idea it even existed.

Mia’s like a kid in a candy store, dragging me from booth to booth. I’m trying to keep track of everything, but it’s impossible. One minute we’re admiring hand-painted scarves, and the next, she’s snapping photos of a street performer juggling fire.

“Look at this!” she exclaims, pointing her camera at a musician playing a makeshift drum kit.

I’m not used to this kind of spontaneity. I usually plan my days down to the minute, but watching Mia move through the world, camera in hand, capturing every little moment… it’s fascinating.

We finally make it to the pancake truck, where she orders some insane combination of toppings. I stick with plain pancakes. No need to complicate things.

As we sit down to eat, I realize something. I’m actually having fun.

---

**Mia Thompson**

It’s always fun watching Ryan out of his element. The man thrives on schedules, but throw a street fair his way, and it’s like watching a robot trying to figure out human emotions.

I snap a few photos of him, pretending not to notice when he catches me.

“You’re photographing me?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. You’re adorable when you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused,” he insists, though the look on his face says otherwise.

We settle at a small table with our pancakes, and I watch as he methodically eats his — no syrup, no toppings, just straight-up plain. I’m not sure if I should admire his discipline or feel sorry for him.

“You’re missing out,” I say, taking a bite of my strawberry-chocolate-chip-banana creation. “Life’s too short for boring pancakes.”

Ryan gives me a half-smile, one that’s both amused and resigned. “I’ll leave the chaos to you.”

---

By the time we make it back to the apartment, I can see a shift in Ryan. It’s small, but it’s there. He’s loosening up, even if it’s just a little. And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to appreciate a bit of order in my life.

But only a little. I wouldn’t want him getting too comfortable.

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