Chapter 21 （Eli）
Eli
I slipped my phone back into my pocket as I crossed the street. Rowan's message still lingered in my mind: Any chance you'd go with me?
Short. A little stiff, maybe. But at least he asked. He hadn't really asked me for anything since 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 keen to 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't much, 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?"
He gave me a flat look. "You're wearing them wrong, genius."
"Am I?" I sank back into the chair and looked at him over the frame. "They feel right to me."
That almost-laugh from earlier tugged faintly at the edge of his mouth again. It didn't quite make it, but it hovered for a second longer than the first time.
I'd take it.
The doctor knocked once before letting himself in. He was an older fellow, polite but brisk. Probably did half a dozen stitch removals before lunch. He gave a quick greeting, then motioned for Rowan to tilt his head toward the light.
Rowan obeyed without a word and tipped his chin so the doctor could get a better look at the cut. I lifted the glasses off my nose to set them on top of my head as I watched. Even from where I sat, I could see the skin was still red and a little puffy. Not angry, really. Just healing.
"Good. Looks clean," the doctor said, already snapping on gloves. "Let's get those out."
He pulled a small tray toward him and started working. There were only three or four stitches, so it wouldn't take long. But I couldn't stop watching the way Rowan held himself.
He sat perfectly still. Shoulders still, jaw set, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap so tight his knuckles went pale. The doctor wasn't rough, so it wasn't pain that had him on edge. It was the proximity. A stranger leaning in close enough to have scissors near his face.
I wished I could take some of that tension from him. Take the edge out of the moment so he didn't have to white-knuckle his way through something so minor.
The doctor worked quietly, his gloved hands moving quick and steady. I heard the faint snip of the scissors, the soft clink of the tweezers as he set them in the metal tray.
"There we go. That's the last of them." He peeled open a small plaster and pressed it gently over the spot. "Keep it clean and dry for a day or two. After that, you're in the clear."
Rowan gave a silent nod.
The doctor smiled briefly, said he'd update the chart, and left with a soft click of the door behind him.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then Rowan reached up and brushed his fingers gently over his face.
I tilted my head. "Feel weird without them?"
He shrugged. "A little."
"If you start to miss them, I'm sure we can find some spare thread and a stapler."
His eyes cut toward me – dry, unimpressed, and vaguely offended. But his lips twitched, too. Just a bit. Like he was trying not to give me the satisfaction.
I smiled to myself. You're still in there, Ro. Just buried.
He rolled his eyes at me, then pushed himself carefully off the exam bed, one hand bracing his side as he straightened up. "I'll take my glasses back, please."
Though I reached up to take them off my head, I hesitated. "You sure? If they hurt before, they'll definitely hurt now."
"I'd rather not be blind on the walk home."
His tone wasn't sharp. Just matter-of-fact. And I could understand where he was coming from. Feeling exposed outside was bad enough. Doing it half-blind would be worse. So I didn't argue.
I stood and stepped in close, careful not to crowd him. He didn't flinch or pull away. That had to be a good sign, right?
I eased the glasses onto his face and lined them up carefully. The bruises around his jaw and temple had mostly faded, but up close, I could still see the faintest hint of discolouration where they had been. I tried not to touch him too much, but it happened, anyway.
His eyes flicked to mine when my fingers brushed against his skin. His shoulders tightened, and I could tell by the way his chest moved that he was trying to keep his breathing under control.
That familiar pull flared up again. I caught myself fighting with the part of me that wanted to close that last bit of distance. But even if Rowan had been in the headspace to accept it, this wasn't the place for that.
I adjusted the frames to make sure they didn't press too much against his face. "Better?"
He quickly looked away and adjusted them a bit. "Yeah."
I gave a small nod toward the door. "Come on, then. Let's get out of here."
* * *
Back at the flat, I helped Rowan out of his jacket.
He moved slow with a pained look on his face as he worked one arm free, then the other.
I kept a hand near his back in case his balance wavered, but he managed it without needing the support.
Still, I didn't back off until he made his way toward the sofa.
I watched him as I tossed the jacket over a chair. Every single step he took was stiff and measured. By the time he sank into the cushions, he looked like he'd just run a marathon. I could almost feel a quiet, drained kind of exhaustion settle into his bones and not leave room for much else.
I shrugged out of my own jacket, but Rowan didn't even seem to notice I was still there.
He leaned forward slowly and rested his elbows on his knees, pressing his face into his hands.
A second later, he flinched and pulled back.
His fingers twitched near where the stitches used to be, and then he pulled his glasses off and set them on the table.
I checked my watch. "When are you next due your pain meds?"
He squinted at the wall clock. "About an hour, I think."
"Alright. How about I cook tonight? Something simple. We've had enough terrible curry to last a year."
He just gave a vague nod, still slouched forward and too far gone to reply.
I turned toward the kitchen – then stopped.
Something about the way he sat there tugged at me. He wasn't just tired. He looked hollowed out, the kind of worn down that came from the long, dragging weight of too many bad days in a row. And he wasn't hiding it.
So instead of heading to the stove, I turned back and walked over to kneel in front of him. "Hey... You okay?"
He stayed in that hunched position, head low, shoulders drawn tight. At last, he muttered, "Today took more out of me than I expected."
I kept quiet and waited for him to continue.
"I almost cancelled. I didn't want to leave the flat. I didn't want to be out there at all." He finally lifted his head a bit, but he wouldn't look at me. "It's stupid, I know. I couldn't even manage ten minutes down the road on my own."
"It's not stupid, Ro."
He gave a weak huff. "It's not something I should be struggling with. How am I supposed to go back to teaching when I can't even walk down the street? If this doesn't change..." He leaned forward to cover his eyes. "I don't know."
I reached out slowly and rested my hand on his knee. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. You're off work till November, right?"
He nodded but didn't look up.
"Then focus on healing and worry about the rest when you have the energy for it. It's barely been two weeks. No one expects you to bounce back so soon. You don't have to be ready to go back tomorrow. Take it a day at a time."
He stayed quiet for a long moment. When he did speak, his voice sounded more worn out than I'd ever heard from him. "Thanks for putting up with me."
Seriously, Ro?
I gave his knee a light squeeze. "You make it sound like a chore."
He still wouldn't make eye contact, so I gently guided his hand away from his face. "Rowan... Look at me for a second."
It took a breath or two, but he finally did.
"Let's get something clear, yeah? I'm here because I want to be. Not because I have to be. I don't know what kind of bullshit he put in your head, but I'm not putting up with you. I care about you, and I want to see you get back to yourself again."
His expression faltered. His mouth moved, but whatever he meant to say didn't make it out. His jaw clenched, his eyes darted away again, and I thought he might shove it all down again.
I didn't wait for that wall to go back up.
I slipped a hand behind his neck and guided him forward until his forehead rested against my shoulder.
He flinched, and then I felt his breath shudder.
He didn't break down the way he did at the hospital, but something still cracked open.
I felt it in the way his hand slowly lifted and curled into my shirt.
His fingers started to shake, and he pressed his face a little harder against me. I just held him there to keep him steady. I could feel how much he was fighting to hold it together. And I wanted to make sure he knew he didn't have to hide it from me.