Rowan
Author’s Note:
Tonight was different, though.
The event was unsurprisingly popular. He probably should have assumed Milo and Ray would be here, but he hadn’t.
So, now he was here, with Ruben in a bad mood and his hawk bobbing incessantly, off-beat from the pounding house music.
He’d even begun throwing in a couple of shoulder sways that looked suspiciously like a dance.
Gods, he wished that, for once, he could just be normal. He wanted to follow Milo onto the dance floor. He wouldn’t even mind hanging out with Ray and his prospect of the night. For once, it would just be nice to not feel alone in a crowded room.
Even though it would quite possibly be the worst sensory experience of his life, he was more tempted than he’d ever been before to push himself far outside his comfort zone.
Several of his exes had chided him for refusing to do just that.
They thought a healthy dose of exposure therapy would “cure” him, as if he hadn’t spent years of his childhood doing that along with a slew of other therapies.
He had gotten to a pretty good point in college, when he’d been sharing an apartment with Riley, and they would often sit with their legs pressed together on the couch or their calves touching under their small kitchen table.
Then he’d moved out on his own and saw his family less and less.
The isolation he’d endured through his mid-twenties had set him back a fair amount, and he hadn’t worked up the courage to start therapy again.
Raina had a therapist, and he was pretty sure Riley did as well, and he would sooner gnaw off his own wing than tell either of them that they were failing.
And yet…
He couldn’t help but feel like needing to restart therapy all these years later was some sign of failure on his part.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about with them,” a voice said from behind Rowan, and he turned to find the bartender pouring a line of tequila shots.
Rowan must have been staring intently at the dance floor, sort of like Milo and their occasional thousand-yard stare. “Do you mean Milo and Ray? I’m not worried.”
The bartender studied him the way only a bartender could.
“Good, cause like I said, the two of them have been coming here for over a year, and while Ray seems to meet someone at least half the time, I’ve never seen Milo with anyone.
Ever. It’s sweet, really, the way Milo looks out for him.
A little overprotective, but Ray’s told me about their schmuck of an ex, so not surprising really. ”
“Yeah, he sounds like a piece of work.”
The group of women next to Rowan squealed in excitement as the bartender pushed the shots forward. Rowan had to hold back a snort when he realized they were all attached to a ski. The women arranged themselves in a straight line and, with well-practiced experience, took the shot as a group.
“Bottoms up,” the bartender said, grinning widely when one of the women dropped a ten in his tip jar. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
He turned to Rowan, and his smile dropped. The smell of gin and tobacco smoke that had been lurking in the background heightened, and Rowan’s hawk gave a soft keen.
“If I ever see him around here, I’ll make sure he never comes back. I don’t stand for that sort of shit, and neither does the owner.”
Rowan took a small breath in through his mouth, trying to avoid the bartender’s alpha pheromones. The fact that he was this worked up over Ray and Milo did something to Rowan’s insides. A strange twist of defensiveness and gratitude that didn’t mix well with the beers and lack of dinner.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
The bartender inclined his head. “Name’s Hank. I’ve seen you ‘round with your brother. Ruben, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. I’m Rowan.”
Hank quirked an eyebrow. “Ruben and Rowan?”
“We have two sisters who also have R names. And now I guess there’s Ray, too,” Rowan said, even though that wasn’t exactly true. He’d met Ray once and was now seeing him a second time in passing. That hardly warranted mentioning, let alone conflating his name with the family’s.
His hawk gave an admonishing shriek.
Milo had said earlier that Rowan was the kind of friend they would introduce to Ray. And to Ethel, which had damn near taken Rowan out at the knees.
“Pretty soon you’ll need to start using nicknames,” Hank said, and Rowan couldn’t help but laugh.
“We actually tried that when we were kids, but it’s hard to shorten our names into anything that doesn’t also start with an R. Ro, Roo, Rye, Rain.”
Hank squinted. “Rowan… Ruben…”
“Riley and Raina.”
Hank grimaced. “I see what you mean. At least Milo is unique.”
Rowan’s hawk began bobbing his head, and right on cue, the smell of apples overtook the gin and smoke.
“Is Hank making up stories about me?” Milo asked, sidling up next to Rowan, leaving about the space of a beer bottle between them.
“He was just saying that you’re a really good friend to Ray.”
Milo’s smirk smoothed out around the edges, and they nodded at Hank.
“One usual, coming right up,” Hank said, before pausing with a glass halfway in the air. “Do you want this on Ray’s tab or Rowan’s?”
“I got it,” Rowan said, gesturing at the cash register with his beer bottle. He was already covering all of Ruben’s drinks. How much could one cocktail cost?
“You got it, boss,” Hank said as he headed across the bar to fix Milo’s drink.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” Milo said, leaning back against the bar so they could simultaneously look at Rowan and the dance floor.
It took a little searching, but Rowan found Ray dancing with a large shifter.
“It’s no big deal. I already have the tab open.”
Milo dipped their chin. “Well, thank you anyway. Truly, your handsome, sweet company is more than enough, but I guess the drink is the glossy red cherry on top.”
Rowan’s hawk fluttered his wings, somehow still maintaining the head bob.
“Speaking of cherry, here’s your drink,” Hank said, sliding a pink drink across the bar to Milo with a wry grin.
“Thanks, Hankaroonie,” Milo said, snatching up the tall glass and taking a long sip. They made a satisfied sounding “ahhhh” noise and smiled. Unfortunately, the smile only lasted as long as it took their eyes to stray back to the dance floor.
“Is Ray doing okay?” Rowan asked gently.
“He’s as good as he ever is here, which means he gets his heart broken by every rejection of the night until some lucky guy—because, truly, anyone would be beyond lucky to have Ray—stumbles upon him when he’s at his most vulnerable, and he goes home with them.
Then they go on a date or two, and the guy inevitably breaks what’s left of Ray’s heart.
Lather, rinse, repeat, and we do it all again next month. ”
Rowan was grateful for the beer in his hand because it gave him something to do that wasn’t grabbing these nameless shifters and shaking them. He and his hawk hated seeing Milo upset, and by extension, that seemed to mean they hated seeing Ray upset.
“I know the dating world is rough, but that sounds particularly brutal.”
Milo sighed dramatically, throwing an arm across the bar, taking care not to touch Rowan but sort of bracketing his body in. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, his hawk shimmied his body and settled down in his nest.
“I know Ray just desperately wants to be loved, and I will support him in that until I’m as old as Ethel, but watching him get hurt along the way is awful.”
Rowan cautiously leaned back against the bar until he could just barely feel the heat of Milo’s bare arm through his Henley. Milo looked absolutely breathtaking tonight in a mesh crop top and very short jean shorts that could have been new but were probably from one of the thrift shops around town.
Between texting and actually attempting to do his job that week, Rowan had done some research and had been surprised to find there were over ten thrift shops within walking distance of their coffee shop. Rowan was going to suggest that, for their next date, they go thrift shopping.
Er, friend date. Just like picking strawberries and going back to Milo’s place was a friend date.
Even if, at this point, Rowan could admit he wanted it to be more than that.
Given that he still didn’t know what he could promise in terms of touch and intimacy, he was anxious to bring it up, but maybe it was time.
They had most of the following day together to talk.
Maybe he could broach the subject and see how Milo reacted?
Or maybe he should look into getting a therapist first. He knew he wasn’t broken and that therapy wouldn’t “fix” him, but after his brief conversation with Ruben, he wondered if there might be tips and accommodations out there he hadn’t considered before.
As if summoning him with his thoughts, Rowan spotted Ruben making his way towards the bar.
Ruben seemed to do a double-take when he saw Milo and Rowan’s position and quickened his pace.
“My brother’s coming,” Rowan murmured, and Milo straightened up, pulling their arm back down to their side.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Ruben said, the corner of his lip turning up into a half-smile that looked closer to a grimace.
“You’re not interrupting,” Rowan said, even though the cold air on his back said otherwise. “Actually, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Milo.”
Ruben’s smile evened out, and some of the rougher angles his body had been holding all night seemed to smooth over. “Oh shit, is this the friend?”
“The one and only…literally,” Rowan said, taking a swig from his beer.
“And you must be the brother,” Milo said, holding out a hand for Ruben. “I guess I should actually be thanking you for introducing us. It’s thanks to you being so late for your movie with Rowan that we ended up meeting.”
Ruben’s smile turned goading as he accepted Milo’s hand, and Rowan sighed loudly. “Please don’t encourage him.”
“No, no, feel free to thank me some more. That might be the only attention I get tonight."