Rowan

“Golden Trouble” I just got home from a week with my brother—he came back from abroad, so I stayed at our family house. When I opened the dorm door, I stopped. The room was a mess. Empty cups, snack bags, a sock on my chair. It smelled like cologne and something sweet. And there he was—Rowan Hale. Lying on the couch phone in hand, golden hair messy like he just woke up. He looked up and smirked. “Look who finally came back.” “You threw a party?” I asked, dropping my bag. He stretched, still lazy. “You were gone. I was lonely.” I sighed and started picking up trash. “You never change.” He grinned. “Missed the way you complain.” I didn’t reply. Then quietly, he said, “The room didn’t feel right without you.” Was he joking again? Or... was he serious this time?