Page 62 of Sweat

At the very least, discovering where Rowan lives is a slight distraction from the darkness swirling around in my head. He parks at the curb in front of a nice, average house with a pitched roof, a picket fence, and a gate across the driveway. Instead of going to the front door, Rowan guides the way through the driveway gate using a padlock key off his keyring. There are two cars parked between the gate and the double garage door. A minivan and a four-door sedan. Rowan takes me to a narrow door off the side of the garage and opens it without a key.

“Be careful,” he says low. “There’s a ton of junk everywhere.”

Taking heed, I follow a half-step behind Rowan, and I don’t shut the door behind us until a light flickers on.

The place looks like a garage full of junk. Like literally just a garage full of junk. There’s a washer and dryer against the back wall next to a big basin sink, and after that are two white doors, one half open to reveal a small bathroom.

Rowan holds the next door open for me, and I step through into a room no bigger than an office. The large desk that takes up a fourth of the room suggests it used to be just that. The desk is piled high with folded clothes, and the swivel chair is pushed against the opposite wall stacked with textbooks andspiral-bounds. A twin-xl bed is wedged between the front of the desk and a wall, underneath a long window fitted toward the ceiling. The bed is dressed in a fitted sheet and rumpled comforter, storage bins tucked beneath the frame, and all that’s left is a sliver of floor space just large enough to do push-ups. No closet, no ceiling light. Just a floor lamp wedged behind the door and a small window AC Rowan has to climb onto his mattress to switch on.

“This is your room?” I ask, taking everything in like I just walked through a portal inThe Twilight Zone.Wherever I’d imagined Rowan living, it wasn’t here.

“What, you don’t like it?” he asks once the AC is whirling on low.

“It’s just not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

I keep looking around like there’s so much to see in this prison cell sized room Rowan somehow makes do in. My bedroom is tight, but only because of Mav and his things. It’s still homey, though. Still has my posters on the walls, my souvenirs in the bookshelf, and my teenage growth spurt documented in permanent marker on the closet door.

“I guess I pictured something more…sterile.”

“Sterile?” he chuckles.

“Like, neurotically clean. Some sleek apartment in white and grey tones with exactly one potted plant that you treat like a pet. I don’t know. I always thought you had money.”

I look at him, sitting on the side of his bed, and even though he’s smiling, I can tell he’s insecure. A hint of emotion in his eyes that he rarely shows. “I’ve got my own room and my own bathroom, so it could be worse, right?”

He’s got a point. Most days, I would kill to have my own bathroom, especially with Mav’s hour long bathtimes.

Rowan’s smile fades until all that’s left is insecurity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“We can go somewhere else.”

“This is fine. I’m sorry. I’m just fucked up right now. I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

His lips fold and his eyes intensify. “You didn’t hurt me.” As ardent as it is, it still feels like a lie. As badly as I want to believe Rowan is made of steel, there’s fragility under that tough façade. He stands, toes out of his shoes, and asks if I want a shower.

“Probably should,” I say, figuring I’m pretty ripe from all the running and the full-blown panic attack I had all over Rowan. How humiliating. I’m surprised he’s even letting me in his place. Also surprised he didn’t boot me out when I couldn’t think of anything nice to say about his living arrangement.

Among the stacks of laundry on the desk, Rowan pulls out two folded towels, and I follow him out of the room just to circle into the next one over.

The bathroom is small; the two of us just barely fit in it together, but it’s clean and updated so far as it reminds me of a bathroom in a cheaply flipped home. There’s a pedestal sink and a toilet with a few shelves above, and instead of a bathtub, there’s a narrow shower stall with a clear curtain.

Rowan drops the towels on the toilet seat and asks if it’s okay that we shower together.

I scoff, partly because I don’t know if we’ll both fit in the shower, but also because I can’t imaginenotshowering with Rowan. “Of course.”

Once the water is warm and our clothes are in a pile on the sink, I find out how two grown men fit into a shower so small. I circle my arms around Rowan’s body and hug it againstmine. I put my cheek against his stubbled jaw and run my hands all across his back and shoulders. All soft skin and hard muscle. In my arms, he feels smaller than he is, like I could carry him around with me forever.

Being flush against him, my cock naturally responds. Even with how dark I feel inside, my outsides feel warm, comforted, and enchanted by the feel of Rowan’s nakedness against mine. As I swell up, my cock digs against Rowan’s hip.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be sorry, baby boy.” He sweeps his palms along my spine and says, “I got you.”

Rowan reaches for a bottle on the small alcove in the wall, a Pert 3-in-1 that he snaps open and squeezes into his palm.

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