@caecusheir
he’d just gotten throught the fifth phone call of the day - and now he was here.
he seemed to always end up back at cecilia’s door when things got bad. he remembers the moment he found out he wasn’t who he thought he was - the way cecilia had to basically hold his hand on the flight out of halifax, and rowen knew this was the only place he could go. cecilia was the only one who truly understood him, anyways. she was his best friend after all, and after in just a week - he’d be truly alone for the first time in his life.
he knew he was living on borrowed time, and now that had ended. yet again, the rug had been pulled out from under him and he was left scrambling for purchase, unable to right himself. he felt like his world was turned upside down, so he does what’s familiar. he knocks the same pattern out on the door, some old canadian commercial jingle he can’t remember the name of from their childhood, and waits for her to answer.
it’s hard to hold everything in for those few seconds, and he feels like he’s about to explode the second the door swings open. he doesn’t bother with greetings. she doesn’t need them - she’ll spot that something is wrong just from the look of him.
“i’m leaving,” rowen states, his voice measured and as strong as he can make it, “in a week, maybe two. i can’t buy anymore time, they want - they need me in malta.”