Page 131 of The Menagerie

“Anyone else you sleep with.”

“Mal, I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

He makes sure to mirror Mal’s wording and not say “seeing” someone else. Because he and Mal aren’t. Seeing each other, that is. But they are. Sleeping with each other, that is. They’re just fuckin’.

For a brief moment, Mal looks quietly pleased, but says, “You could, though.”

Rowan shrugs. “So can you.”

Sodidyou, he thinks. It’s on the tip of his tongue, almost tumbling out of his mouth, but some part of his brain stops him. The part that had reined him in when Mal pulled out the box of condoms last week. The part that wants to not fucking blow this before he even has a chance to see if it’s gonna go anywhere.

“Yeah….”

His discomfort is palpable, and Rowan tries not to let the little burst of smugness in his chest take root. He quickly changes the subject for both their sakes.

“Are you on lunch break right now?”

“Yeah. You hungry?”

Rowan grins. “Always.”

ROWAN QUICKLYmakes his way into the break room to grab his wallet and phone out of his locker and tucks Mal’s rope safely at the bottom of his backpack.

“Gonna take lunch now,” he announces, slamming the metal door shut. “Be back in an hour.”

“Justfucking, huh?” Addison quips, mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Rowan flips her off as he retreats, but his face still burns hotter than the midday sun.

THEY WALKto a café five minutes away, the sun beating down so hard that it keeps them mostly quiet to avoid expending any unnecessary energy.

As they enter the blissfully air-conditioned café, Rowan instantly dislikes it. It’s modernly decorated with quirky succulents and inoffensive, bland artwork on the tables and walls. Everything is painted in muted neutrals that wash the whole place out and give nothing interesting to focus on. There’s none of the retro coziness that he’s come to associate with Sheila’s diner across town, but it smells like basil and freshly baked bread, and he thinks it’ll be okay.

They find a table for two in the corner of the café, a mercifully secluded spot in an otherwise pretty busy restaurant. Less than a minute later, an overly chipper waitress pops by their table and hands them two laminated menus, then gives them a few minutes to look them over. Despite the bougie feeling of the café, Rowan has to admit that all the dishes look delicious. Over half the menu is vegan or vegetarian, and from the numerous pictures, everything is loaded with fresh-looking veggies.

“Jesus, they got any actual food here?” Mal grumbles as he surveys his own menu.

Rowan laughs. “How have you survived this long?”

“Fuck off, Red. I’m healthy as a clam.”

Lips pulling back into a small smile, Rowan resists the urge to once again correct Mal’s idiom in favor of teasing.

“Oh, I know. I’m plenty familiar with your stamina.”

And your six pack, he thinks.And muscular thighs and sharp hip bones and firm biceps and tight ass and….

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks, breaking Rowan out of his thoughts by placing two glasses of water in front of them.

Rowan orders a turkey-bacon and avocado wrap, which makes Mal scoff a little and mutter “Hipster…” under his breath.

Shockingly, Mal orders a salad. A buffalo chicken salad smothered in bleu cheese dressing, but there’s at least some green on his plate. Rowan wants to think he’s having some kind of positive effect on him.

With a smile, Rowan orders a piece of strawberry cheesecake for them to share.

“Your eyes are so fuckin’ green,” Mal says after a beat of silence.

“Uh, thanks?”

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