Chapter 9
Rowan
He moved the couch a little bit to the left.
It just felt like it was in a better position in the sunlight like that, facing the glass balcony doors.
Then he realized his monstera plant was squished between the couch and the coffee table, so he picked up the pot and transferred it to the other side of the couch.
He tilted his head and assessed the new layout before concluding that he definitely liked the plant where it was before. But that meant the couch couldn’t be in its new spot. But the couch worked better there.
He frowned.
Scratched his chin.
Then with a growl of frustration, he bent down and picked up the coffee table, depositing it on top of his dining table to clear the living room space and give himself a blank canvas to work with.
He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did.
He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and bent down to roll his carpet into a tube, stacking it along the base of the bookshelf filled with plants. Rowan wasn’t a reader, but he was a plant daddy and the shelves were filled with his favorite children.
He was careful not to bend any stems or leaves as he positioned the carpet then got to pulling and dragging the couch across the floor to the other end of the living room.
He turned it so it was facing the windows, delighted to see it was completely bathed in golden sunlight. He straightened up, giddy with success until he realized the couch now blocked half the bookshelf and the plants at the bottom got very little direct light.
But the couch fit so well there.
He ran a hand over his head, breaking his hair tie in the process and sending his hair cascading around his face. It tickled and he hated it, but there was no time to dwell because he had to get the place in order.
He was absolutely not moving the couch again, so he started pulling out the plants hidden behind it and arranging them all over the living room so they all got their preferred amount of light.
He figured if he just…
The doorbell rang.
He froze.
He turned his head to look at the clock and almost fainted when he realized he’d spent nearly three hours dragging his furniture around for absolutely no reason. He’d had zero plans to rearrange his apartment before. He liked his apartment.
What the hell was he…
The bell rang again.
He rushed to the door and pulled it open before he thought about what he was doing, finding himself face-to-face with Milo.
His brain did not implode whatsoever at the sight of Milo’s skin-tight jeans and the too-large zip-up sweatshirt that came down to the middle of his thighs.
He scowled at the titty hat perched on his head.
“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” Milo deadpanned, scanning Rowan from head to toe, and Rowan felt himself flush when he realized he was sweaty, dirty from spilled soil, and his hair was tangled around his face.
There was dirt smeared across his light gray T-shirt and sweatpants.
He looked like a slob. “Or accessorize.”
Rowan looked down and realized he was still holding his croton plant in its bright yellow pot under his arm.
“I was just…” He motioned behind himself, trying to come up with something clever to say, because…what. He was just what? Uprooting his entire living space for no apparent reason? That wouldn’t make him sound insane at all. Milo had already made it abundantly clear he thought he was certifiable.
“I don’t think I want to know.” Milo pointed inside. “May I?”
Rowan froze.
Because not only was he dirty and sweaty and messy and holding a damn plant like a child, his apartment was a disaster zone.
“Um…”
“Are we doing this in the hallway?” Milo asked.
Admitting defeat, Rowan motioned for Milo to come in.
He walked in the way he did everything. Loudly, staring at everything.
Dropping his tote bag next to the door, his shoes a few feet farther in, and his jacket over the first chair he had met along the way.
He spent a moment looking at Rowan’s kitchen to the left and his dining room in the center of the large, open space, before deciding to go right into what remained of Rowan’s living room.
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he said, coming face-to-face with the aftermath of hurricane Rowan. “Very ‘abandoned site of a nuclear disaster’ chic.”
“Thanks.” Rowan scowled. He didn’t like Milo insulting his space. He’d put a lot of work into making it feel like a home and the jabs felt personal.
Milo frowned at him. “Is that one of the things?”
Rowan frowned back, setting the croton down in a beam of light. “What things?”
“The dragon things? I made a joke about your space and you went all gloomy.”
“I’m not gloomy.” Rowan shook his head. “No more than usual.”
“Maybe, but your eyes did the dragon thing when I said it,” Milo said.
“You’re supposed to be teaching me, so…is this one of the things?
Am I not supposed to insult other people’s homes?
What if they’re super ugly though? Like…
you know how those rich people have those weird-ass chairs that look like torture devices and toilet bowls that sing when you flush?
Am I just supposed to smile and take it?
Am I supposed to sing along? With the toilet? ”
Rowan stared.
How did one person produce so many words unprompted?
“No,” Rowan said.
“NO TO WHAT? Insulting? Or singing? Because I can’t sing, so either way someone is in for some suffering.”
“No to everything that came out of your mouth,” Rowan said. “Something is seriously wrong with you.”
“You’re an awful teacher.”
“I’m not a teacher! Awful or any other kind.”
“Why did you agree to this, then?” Milo asked.
“Agree to what?” Rowan burst out in exasperation. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now.”
“Yes, you do. We had a talk at the coffeeshop and you said dragons have all these rules and hoards and I had to know the whole thing to be a dragon and I said then you could teach me and you gave me your address so I could come here. So you could teach me. It’s literally the plan we made. Together.”
He pointed a finger between the two of them, staring at Rowan as if he were mentally challenged.
“I have no memory of agreeing to this,” Rowan said.
“Well you did. And I’m here now, so…teach me. Is there an initiation? Do I get hazed? Do I have to crawl for a week or, like, wear a French maid outfit? Or eat the still-beating heart of my enemy?”
Rowan stared again.
“What the fuck?” he asked eventually, and Milo shrugged. “You have to be registered at the Dragonarium. Your breed, lineage, hoard, all of that.”
“Paperwork?” Milo gave a full-body shudder.
“Paperwork.” Rowan nodded.
“You sure I can’t just eat the still-beating heart of my enemy?” Milo asked.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Rowan said slowly.
“Right! So I learn to dragon properly, do the paperwork, and once my name is there, I can get a place for my hoard at the shiny new place you’re building.”
“Broad strokes, but I guess.”
Milo beamed, bouncing on his toes. “See? I’m already learning so much! What else?”
“I still haven’t said I’m doing it,” Rowan grumbled.
Milo huffed. “Fine! I’ll just grab whatever dragon I come across first and ask them for help.”
Rowan watched in pure horror as Milo turned his back to the living room and started walking toward the front door. To go ask someone else for help. To have someone else guide him through his first shift. To show someone else that level of trust.
“WAIT!” he said before he could stop himself. His skin prickled and his insides turned at the image of Milo with a faceless, breedless dragon in Rowan’s place.
“Yeeeees?” Milo spun on his socked feet slowly, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair. There was a smirk on his face that told Rowan he already knew he’d won.
“I’ll do it,” he mumbled.
“YAY!” Milo clapped his hands, rushing back into the room.
Rowan swallowed hard before walking into his office, picking up a few heavy tomes off his shelves, and bringing them back to Milo.
“Books?” Milo asked.
“There’s a lot of dragon history that humans wouldn’t have been taught.” Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. “You know the basics—enough to coexist, anyway—but there’s a lot about dragon history that directly influenced how things are done now and as a dragon you should know those things.”
“So you’re giving me homework?” Milo sounded like an offended teenager.
“It’s not homework,” Rowan said. “It’s what you asked for.”
“Oh I absolutely do not recall asking for reading assignments. I’m a terrible reader.
I get distracted easily. And I get hungry so I go looking for snacks, and then I forget I was reading so by the time the snack is gone and I’ve done whatever it is I end up doing it’s bedtime, and nobody sane reads at bedtime. ”
“Plenty of people read before bed.”
“Psychos,” Milo said. “The word you’re looking for is psychos. Bedtime is for sleeping.”
“Well I don’t know what to tell you.” Rowan was getting grumpy again. “If you want to be a dragon and claim your hoard officially so they can keep living in the new space we’re building, you’ll have to figure it out.”
Milo sighed and threw himself sideways at the couch.
The sunlight landed directly on that bright blond, almost silver hair, making it glow. His skin, pale and soft, was perfectly illuminated and Rowan could see every vein through his fragile, closed eyelids.
He knew putting the couch there made sense.
He walked over and hauled the carpet across, unrolling it and walking on it to flatten it to the floor.
He plucked the coffee table off his dining table and put it back down, then sat on the edge, careful not to put his full weight on it before reaching out to pluck the books Milo was cradling out of his arms.
“Read it to me?” Milo asked, eyes still closed, wiggling to get comfortable.
Rowan’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
Something about this pest of a man squirming on his couch, soaking up the sun and asking for things did something to Rowan. Something he hadn’t felt in…ever.
“I’m not gonna—”
“Please.” Milo opened his eyes and the electric blue hit Rowan like a freight train. He lifted his hand to clutch at his chest, trying to take a breath deep enough to count. It was like he couldn’t fill his lungs properly. Like he was suffocating under something he couldn’t name.
“I…”
“I promise I will remember everything and be the best dragon ever,” Milo said, making a cross over his heart.
He turned on his side facing Rowan and lifted his feet up onto the couch, stuffing his folded hands under his chin and settling in.
Rowan stared some more.
And then, against his own better judgment, he cracked open the first book and started reading.
Notes:
Hands in the air, who wants Rowan to read to you?