Rowan's Imagination
All I knew was that one second I was holding gauze against his head, and the next, I was sitting between his knees, my hands sliding up his chest, and his mouth was on mine.
The kiss wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was slow. Careful. Like he was memorizing every angle, every breath, every tiny sound I made when I tilted my head to the side and deepened it.
His hands found my waist, holding me there, grounding me in a way that made my heart break a little and heal at the same time.
I tasted the lingering pain in him.
The hunger.
The apology he didn’t know how to say.
And I kissed him back like I understood all of it.
Because I did.
When we finally pulled apart, breathing hard but smiling, Rowan rested his forehead against mine.
"You patch me up way too often," he whispered.
"You bleed way too often," I whispered back.
He chuckled under his breath, his thumb brushing lightly along my waist like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me yet.
I smiled, biting my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
But then—
Reality crept back in, threading itself between us gently.
"The twins’ birthday is next tomorrow," I said softly, still close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
Rowan pulled back slightly, his face lighting up in that way it only did when we talked about them.
"Really? Damn," he said, a little breathless, like the realization had just crashed over him. "I didn’t even realize it was that close."
I laughed, the sound bubbling out of me before I could stop it. "You’re lucky I’m the organized one."
He smirked. "That’s debatable."
I shoved his shoulder lightly, making him chuckle. His eyes were still sparkling when he added, "We have to do something big. I mean, huge. Like... balloons everywhere, maybe ponies—"
I snorted. "Ponies? Rowan, they’re turning eight, not getting knighted."
He leaned back dramatically, clutching his heart like I’d wounded him. "You're right. You're the expert. But still... something memorable. I want them to know how much they’re loved."
The way he said it—so genuine, so full of emotion—made my chest squeeze tight again.
For all his mistakes, all his rough edges, Rowan loved them more than anything.
Before I could tease him about the pony idea again, Rowan suddenly winced and brought a hand up to the side of his head, right around where the cane had struck him.
My smile disappeared instantly. I stepped closer, worried. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, dropping his hand and forcing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
I narrowed my gaze at him, crossing my arms. "Don’t give me that 'nothing' shit."
He exhaled through his nose, dropping his head slightly like he’d been caught sneaking candy before dinner.
Still, he didn’t answer.
I smacked his arm lightly—less play, more warning. "Rowan."
He sighed, finally giving in. "Just a headache. Probably from... you know." He gestured vaguely toward the back of his head where Sebastian’s cane had hit him.
My stomach twisted.
I reached up carefully, cupping the side of his face, tilting it gently so I could look at him better. "You need to sit down."
"I’m fine," he insisted, but even his stubbornness sounded a little sluggish now.
I rolled my eyes. "You're not fine. You're Rowan-fine. And if you don't get it, it means I know you're lying."
He chuckled under his breath again, but there was a weariness clinging to him now that hadn't been there before.
And no matter how much he tried to hide it, I could see it clear as day—he was hurting.
"Don't lie to me, Rowan... please."
He looked up, our eyes locking in the quiet kitchen. The flickering pendant light above us cast soft shadows across his face, but I saw it—the hesitation, the battle behind his eyes. His fingers flexed slightly where they rested against the counter.
He exhaled slowly, as if surrendering. "It wasn't just a headache."
My stomach dropped. I stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Then what was it?"
He leaned against the edge of the counter and rubbed his temples like he was afraid of the answer himself. "A flash. A memory."
I blinked. "What kind of memory?"
Rowan shook his head once. "It was quick. Just a moment. I was standing in my old room... everything was dark. My grandfather was yelling at me. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was him. And then—" he stopped, his jaw clenching. "Then you were there. You were crying. I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but I knew it was you."
My heart cracked. It physically cracked.
"You remember me?" I asked, stunned.
He nodded slowly. "Not clearly. Just... the feeling. The sound of your voice. How scared I was. How angry he made me. And you—you were the only thing in that memory that felt safe."
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to breathe.
So I didn’t say anything. I just hugged him.
He froze for a second, like he hadn’t expected it. But then his arms wrapped around me tightly, almost desperately, like the memory had shaken something loose in him and I was the only thing keeping him together.
"I thought they were gone forever," he murmured into my hair. "All the memories. But that one... it hit me like a wave."
"It means they’re still there," I whispered, pressing my cheek against his chest. "Somewhere inside you, they’re waiting."
We stood like that for a long while, just holding each other. The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was warm. Full of all the things we didn’t need to say.
When we finally pulled apart, his eyes looked glassy, but clearer somehow. Like that memory, painful as it was, had shaken away some of the fog.
"I want more of them back," he said quietly. "Even if they hurt. Even if they’re ugly. I want to remember us."
I reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. "We’ll take it one memory at a time."
He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging into the barest hint of a smile.
I glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. The kitchen had dimmed into that cozy, late-night kind of quiet. It almost felt like peace.
Then it hit me.
"Tomorrow is the twins' birthday," I said softly, like the realization was just landing.
Rowan blinked. "Already?"
I nodded, smiling despite myself. "Yeah. You better not forget."
He laughed, this time for real—the deep, warm kind of laugh that started in the chest.
"Then I guess we have some planning to do," he said. And for the first time
in forever, it didn’t feel like we were trying to outrun the past. It felt like we were finally stepping into something new.
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