Short. A little stiff, maybe. But at least he asked. He hadn't really asked me foranythingsince he got out of the hospital. I offered, and he tolerated, and that was about it.
Rowan had always been careful about asking for help. He'd been through rough patches before, and I'd had to fight to get him to let me do anything for him. Once he let me in, though, he trusted me with everything.
But this last stretch since Marcus... It was like he slammed every door at once and left me pacing in the hallway. So the fact that he reached out on his own now meant something. Maybe he was starting to inch back toward the Rowan that I knew was under that guarded shell.
The wind bit through my jacket as I moved through the quiet street, and everything was damp from the rain earlier that morning. I kept my hands stuffed in my coat pockets, my shoes hitting the pavement with more purpose than usual. I wasn't just checking in or making sure he was eating this time. He'd asked me to show up in a specific, practical way.
I felt more alert than I had in days, despite the chilly and dreary weather. No guessing or waiting for permission to help.I'd been wondering if I was handling this the right way, if having me around was actually helping him or making it harder for him to heal.
But now my mind could focus on something. I finally had a job to do. Nothing dramatic. Just walk with him. Be whatever he needed for the next hour or so. And I hoped I could help him carry some of that stability a few steps farther today.
I reached his building and headed inside. My steps didn't seem to echo so loudly today as I made my way up the stairs, but the first-floor landing creaked under my weight. Just like it always did. When I reached his door, I knocked lightly and leaned closer. "Rowan, it's me."
It didn't take him long to answer. The lock clicked, the deadbolt moved, and the door opened a crack. Then fully.
Rowan stood there already in his jacket. Well... Sort of. He had one arm in the sleeve, but the other hung half off his shoulder. He didn't look panicked or rushed. Just mildly defeated. Though he kept his expression carefully neutral, I could see the tight posture in his shoulders. The way his chest barely moved when he breathed.
I nodded toward the jacket. "Need a hand?"
He didn't exactly respond, but he did give a stiff nod and turned a little to let me reach for the sleeve. I pulled the fabric up and held it in place so he didn't have to chase it while he figured out how to get it the rest of the way on. He flinched once, but eventually, he managed to get his arm in.
Once he'd settled, I adjusted the collar and gave it a quick tug to straighten it out. It didn't need it – my hands just wanted something to do. "There ya go. All sorted."
He gave the smallest huff. I could almost call it a laugh, if I squinted at it sideways.
I stepped back into the hallway and waited for him to follow. "Ready?"
We left the building in silence. Rowan didn't seem keento talk as we stepped outside, so I didn't try to make him. There was a stiffness to the way he held himself that hadn't eased up, and his eyes constantly flicked across the street, the shopfronts, every face we passed.
Granted, we didn't see many people. Most of them chose to stay indoors today. But he still looked like he was waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows.
So that was why he asked me to come with him. He didn't want to walk alone. He felt exposed, and rightfully so. Maybe there was some unease about going to see his GP, but really, he was afraid of who he might encounter between here and there.
I thought about reassuring him that we wouldn't see Marcus, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't even want to bring up the name since I didn't know how Rowan might react to being called out. Instead, I kept my steps even and gave him enough space that he wouldn't feel crowded. But I stayed close enough to be a buffer if he needed one.
Every now and then, I saw him fidget with his glasses. He adjusted them at the bridge, nudged one arm, then the other. They didn't seem to sit right on his face, and the way he kept blinking like they were giving him a headache made me wonder if they were the wrong fit. Knowing Rowan, he just dug out an old spare pair and didn't bother with a proper replacement.
Then I noticed how they sat against the stitches on his face. The frame almost seemed to dig into them. Every time the lens slipped, it probably pressed against the healing skin. It made sense now why he never had them on whenever I visited, even though he was blind as a bat without them.
His jaw tightened each time he reached up to nudge them off the stitches. Between that and the way his eyes never stopped scanning the street, he looked like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower.
I didn't say anything. I just walked beside him. It wasn'tmuch, but I hoped it was enough.
* * *
The exam room was small and overlit, all pale walls and a faint antiseptic tang clinging to the air. Rowan sat on the edge of the bed, stiff-backed like he wasn’t sure if sitting was even allowed. The crinkly paper under him crunched every time he moved, which only seemed to make him freeze up more.
And he still kept fiddling with his glasses. He'd adjust them, sit still for a few seconds, then the whole routine would start again.
I watched in silence for a while from the nearby chair. Eventually, I stood and walked over to him – slowly so I wouldn't startle him. When I got close enough, I reached out and gently slid the glasses off his face. "If it hurts to wear them," I said quietly, "then don't."
He blinked up at me, startled. "They're not – " he started, then kind of gave up halfway.
"You've been messing with them since we left your flat."
He opened his mouth again. Then closed it.
I didn't wait for him to argue. Instead, I lifted the glasses and deliberately perched them upside down on my face. They were crooked and too tight and made the room go blurry. "Shit, Ro. How do you see anything with these?"
