Rowan #4
Milo’s face lit up. “Fruit tea would be amazing, and yes, I will accept that as payment for driving you home. Please feel free to require many more rides in the future if this is how you plan on repaying me.”
Milo followed Rowan into his kitchen, and their scent and bright smile warmed the room like Rowan had lit an expensive Fall Harvest candle.
“Your place is really nice,” Milo said, and all Rowan could do was grunt as he turned his electric kettle on.
He liked tea well enough, but since meeting Milo and learning about all the fruity, sweet teas out there, he’d begun trying some of them at home. His favorites were peach, raspberry, and apple, but he was far too embarrassed to offer that last one to Milo. He took down the peach tea instead.
“Don’t expect anything quite as nice as this at my place,” Milo said. “I make tea by boiling water in the microwave—but you have to swear on the threat of death not to tell Ray. His delicate British sensibilities would probably combust on the spot.”
“I didn’t know he was British," Rowan mumbled, barely loud enough to be heard over the kettle as it came to a boil.
He set about making tea for both of them as Milo rambled on about cat breeds.
If Rowan thought there was any chance he would need to remember this information about Milo’s best friend, he would pay closer attention, but as it was, he was barely able to remember to put one foot in front of the other and not spill their tea as he led Milo over to the couch.
Milo plopped down on the cushion two over from Rowan, immediately pulling a blanket into their lap and hugging it.
Perhaps this whole mess was for the best. Milo was such a tactile person, and they deserved a mate who could meet those needs. Rowan would of course try to meet his mate’s needs, but—
Godsdamnit, his hawk just would not let up.
Rowan stared at his entertainment center, at the movies he’d never watched and the chess set Riley had gotten him for high school graduation, which had gone untouched for over a decade.
She hadn’t been there for Rowan’s last few years of high school, missing the rise and fall of his chess club career.
She had tried to coax him into playing throughout their years together in college, but that had faded as they moved into adulthood.
Maybe Milo would have wanted to play chess with him. Milo didn’t necessarily give off “I love chess” vibes, but they always seemed down to try new things. Rowan would have loved to teach them everything he remembered.
There was probably no point in even asking now.
Rowan dropped his head and glared into his tea since he couldn’t very well glare at his hawk. He wasn’t going to be Milo’s mate. He wasn’t going to be Milo’s anything. The sooner he and his hawk accepted that, the better.
As Rowan stared at the straw-colored liquid in his mug, it began to shake, like the choppy waves of the river that ran behind his cabin. Obviously, it wasn’t the tea that was shaking; it was Rowan. He gripped the mug tighter, but that only made it worse.
Rowan had once had a front row seat to a classmate’s anxiety attack.
His Business 201 class in college had been designed as a weed-out class to discourage students from committing to the intensive business program if they weren’t ready.
Several students had broken down crying during the final, and the guy sitting next to Rowan had…
well, he’d acted a bit like how Rowan felt right now.
His breathing had picked up to the point where Rowan could hear it halfway down the row.
His hands had shaken so badly that he dropped not just his pen but his entire exam on the floor.
Instead of reaching down to pick it up, he just left it there while he sat there, trembling like a leaf.
Rowan hadn’t known what to do, given that the professor was quite aggressive about any talking during tests being considered cheating.
He’d sunk lower in his seat and tried to focus on his test. Eventually, the TA came by and asked if the guy wanted to finish the exam.
He had shaken his head and got up and left without looking back.
Obviously, Rowan couldn’t get up and leave right now, but he sort of wanted to.
All of his thoughts and worries were swirling around his head like a shrieking tornado, and he couldn’t find a way to say any of them out loud.
His hawk cawed at him, because if this was the last time they got to hang out with Milo, they should at least talk, but Rowan just… couldn’t.
If he were being honest with himself, that feeling wasn’t exactly new. Maybe he was more familiar with anxiety than he thought. Except that none of the late nights waiting up for Ruben to come home safe as a teen or the near-fights at clubs and bars over the years had ever come close to this.
His hawk fluffed up his feathers like he was preparing to take down a threat, except the threat was Rowan himself.
In some sort of innate act of self-preservation, Rowan put his tea down on the coffee table…
And the last thing he saw was gray eyes, darkened with concern.