1.

A subtle rain tumbled down onto the house and a wind howled quietly outside. Together, it created a violent force against the windows that soon lulled into the background. Rowen shuffled up the stairs of her mother’s house, listening to the snores coming from her room. She stuffed her hands into the pocket of her jacket and tried to muffle her footsteps, hoping that August was dead asleep. He hadn’t slept well in the past few days since his pneumonia took a turn for the worst and Rowen guessed in the silence of the house, he had fallen asleep. Or, she just prayed that he did.

She jumped up the last few steps and landed gracefully on her slippery socked feet. Freezing for a moment, she listened intently to see if that had aroused any activity in her room. Rowen, hearing nothing but the rain, sighed as she kept walking down the hall to the very last door. She peeked through the curtains on the window before turning and gently pushing the door open.

The room was buzzing with some sort of piano music and she realized it was something she had composed not too long ago. Eyebrows scrunching together, she slipped further into the dark room, wondering where it was coming from. She was in the room earlier with her Ipod, full of all her recordings, but she thought she had taken it out when she left. Did she happen to leave it in here and August found it?

Rowen shrugged it off, not caring too much, and stepped carefully over all the clothes, both his and hers, over to the window with the curtains still drawn. She quietly flicked them closed and twirled back around just as, “I’m terrified of the rain now.”

Heart erratically pounding in her chest, she jumped and lost her footing, tumbling into a pile of his clothing. She leaped up, realizing she now smelled like him from that, and turned her attention to him.

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, scrambling over to the bed where he was. “You’re afraid of it? Is that because of what happened?”

August shifted and the entire bed creaked in response. His voice was hoarse and his accent was just barely recognizable. “Yeah. It hurts trying to fall asleep to it in the dark. The memories are still fresh and they still hurt just as much as the actual incident.”

Rowen sighed as she seated herself on the edge of the bed, wondering what it was like to sleep there again. It’s been a few weeks since she last slept in it. Since August arrived, she had the couch. She was glad to have him take her bed, but the couch did get rather uncomfortable after seventeen days. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I could to do drown it out?”

“I actually found your Ipod earlier and began using it. I’ll charge it, but I hope you don’t mind me using it. I just couldn’t get the rain to hush, no matter what I tried. Then, I found your compositions and everything seemed to freeze. There wasn’t any noise after I turned it on, Rowen. It was strange.” His voice was sorry and it pierced her, knowing that he was afraid to use anymore of her things.

“I don’t care that you’ve used it, August. You’re sleeping in my bed and I honestly don’t care what else you use of mine. I’m glad to know that my music helped. I was hoping it could go to use someday,” she chuckled as she spoke. After she quit speaking, she noticed that the music had stopped.

He sighed and shifted again. “Yeah, but it feels weird. We barely knew each other before the whole thing and now I’m sleeping in your room. It’s just strange.”

Rowen flipped her hood up, hiding her messy hair, and yanked down her sleeves. Why was it so cold in here? She looked over at him, propped up against the head board. Even in the dark, she could see his eyes on her. “It is sort of weird, but I’m used to it now. It’s close to being normal. Don’t worry about anything, really.”

She slipped off the bed and shoved her hands back into her pocket. “You need sleep. You sound a little too tired. Do you need anything before I go?”

August sucked in a breath, fully ready to say something, but his Finnish voice was silent. He sighed, then looked up and over at her. “Could you light that candle on the night stand? I think that’s all I need.”

Rowen grinned and pulled her new lighter out of her back pocket. She stumbled through the room and into something hard that felt like a backpack as she ran into it. Huffing, she made it to the night stand, opposite side of the bed and clicked her lighter on. She grabbed the candle and lit it, her eyes on August’s face the entire time as she set it back on the glass table top. His eyes were following every move she made and there was something in his chiseled face that gave away the fact he was studying her. She pretended she didn’t see anything and she pocketed the lighter. Rowen grinned at him before shuffling out of the room, leaving his indescribable face behind her as she gently shut the door.

She lumbered through the hall, pulling her phone out of her bra. It was six fourteen. Her mother should be home any time now, granted her shift ended at six. Rowen locked it and tucked it back in, with difficulty. Her stomach growled, a ticked off panther, as she nearly fell down the stairs. No matter how many times she travelled that stairs case, she almost died. Pursing her lips with irritation, she tried to conjure up a recipe her tired mother would be satisfied with. An overworked nurse was hard to please. Determined to make her mother happy for once, Rowen bounded down the rest of the steps and into the living room. She froze as her eyes took in the mess that was now her bedroom, she realized she’d have to find time to clean it before her mum arrived. It was lower on the list, she figured as she swept through the room and into the kitchen.

Rowen pried her jacket over her head and left it at the entrance, not caring that nearly everything that was on her person fell out. She pulled her hair into a sloppy bun and danced over to the fridge, yanking it open. The first thing her eyes caught was meatless ravioli and the can of sauce next to it.  Deciding it was decent enough, she pulled both things out and set them out on the granite counter top, ready for the challenge.

Just as she was dumping the raviolis into the boiling pot, she heard the purr of her mother’s car, through the heavier rain, pull into the driveway. Rowen dived to put the box away and quickly raced into the living room, hoping that there was enough time to at least stash everything. She flipped all her blankets behind the couch and fixed the pillows to where they were nicely propped up against the arms. Completely out of place and random, but nicely propped. She flipped the TV channel to the news, away from her stupid music channel, and turned it off.

She slid into the kitchen again just as her mother was shuffling through the door. Rowen plopped down in one of the mahogany chairs and gazed over at her mum, short, thin, and over tired. She came up to the chair across from Rowen and leaned against it, dropping her assortment of keys on the already scratched table.

“Hello, honey.”

“Hi, Mum.” Rowen poured enthusiasm into her voice, hoping it’d cheer her mother up. Ever since her dad left, they had been closer than Rowen had ever seen in another family. “How was work?”

“Nearly dead.” Her mother caught herself and pointed at her daughter, a smile stretching out on her slightly wrinkled face. “No pun intended.”

Not being able to suppress the horrible joke, Rowen grinned and slid out of the chair just as her mum sat down. “I made your special ravioli that you had in there. That---”

“Is perfect, Rowen. Thank you.”

Rowen switched the burner off, glad it was done quickly, and heaved the pot to the sink. She drained it, then dumped the pasta onto one of the huge plates they saved for Thanksgiving. She carried it over to the table and set it directly in the middle. Rowen heated up the sauce in a large bowl and egged the time on; it seemed to tick by incredibly slowly. While waiting, she slid a plate with a fork over to her mother. She grabbed a bowl for August and asked, “Can you put some in here for him?”

The microwave beeped as Rowen yanked the silverware drawer open and took out the wooden spoon. She took the bowl out and stirred it as she set it down next to plate. Immediately, her mother lunged for the sauce and drenched her ravioli in it. Eyebrows knitted, Rowen spooned some out for August and set off through the rooms and up the stairs.

She had to walk slowly, granted the hallway was still pitch black. She added putting a light in here on her to do list as she felt to her side for the wall. Rowen came up to her room and gently twisted the doorknob. Eyes adjusting quickly, she found herself staring directly at him, meeting his sick eyes.

“What is that?”

“It’s meatless ravioli. I thought maybe you were hungry,” Rowen stepped over to the side of the bed, slightly entranced by the dancing flame. The candle must have been cinnamon scented, for the entire room smelled like it. She held the bowl out for him and he took it with shaky hands. “What do you want to drink?”

August began stabbing at the pasta with his fork and looked up at her. “Um, just milk would be fine, thank you. And, could you turn the light on? I can see the lightning outside and it’s driving me insane.”

Rowen nodded and spun around on her heels, leaping over the clothes. She flicked the light switch on as she slipped out of the room. Since she left the door open, the entire hallway was now lit and the trip through it was much simpler. She gazed down at the stairs, slightly tired of travelling up them so much, but stumbled down anyway.

“Hey, hun, can you take my dishes back into the kitchen?” her mother asked from the couch, curled up beneath Rowen’s blanket. She was holding out her plate and balancing her glass cup on top of it. Rowen took it and turned into the kitchen, her stomach growling slightly. She dumped the dishes into the sink, ignoring her stomach, and pried the fridge open for the milk. Pouring the rest of it into a mug, she shoved the empty carton back in and scuffled back into the living room, only be caught in a conversation.

“So, how is he?”

Rowen twirled to face her mother, her blonde hair up in a mess on top her head. Her gray eyes were focused on the TV, a zombie show on, but she seemed like her attention was all on Rowen.

“He’s still paranoid. His coughing has stopped and I’m going to check for the fever again. Other than that, I think he may be getting better.”

“His appointment is tomorrow, remember. Tell him that. It’s somewhere around three. I’ll call you when I know it specifically.” Her mother flipped her head upside down to look at Rowen, eyes expecting and tired.

Rowen nodded and jumped up the stairs, listening to the unnerving sound of the milk sloshing around in the cup. She slid across the wooden floor, something she always use to do when she was a child, and shuffled into her room. “Here you are,” she announced as she came up to the side of the bed once again.

She set the cup next to the candle that was already out. Rowen glanced down at August, still holding the bowl tightly in his hands, and noticed he had barely eaten any of it. Concerned, she sat on the very edge of the bed beside him and she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Are you okay?”

He shifted his stare and fixated his dark eyes on hers. He was hiding something in them and that became more and more pronounced the longer Rowen kept the stare. She reached out for his hand and he put up no fight to take it away; in fact, he intertwined their fingers and she could feel his racing pulse within his palm. August sighed and set his food on the table, obviously repulsed by the thought of eating.

“No; yes; I don’t know,” he dropped his eyes and used his thumb to caress the side of her hand. His voice shook and echoed inside of her head. Rowen kept her eyes on his face, flawless and thin. She compared his slightly dark skin to the day she found him in the ditch, white from blood loss.  Something sparked inside of her at the realization he was getting much better. She sighed, knowing that every nerve inside of his body was frayed and on edge.

“Every wound I was given that night, it’s been reopened and it hurts,” he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Rowen watched his free hand lightly touch his forearm, just below his elbow. Instantly, she pulled him into a hug, not caring that he still had pneumonia and she could get it too. Rowen pulled her hand out of his and wrapped her arms around his thin body, holding him against her.

“Physically or emotionally?” she sighed and buried her face into his jacket. He put his arms awkwardly around her and she could sense something was off with him.

“Emotionally. But, the stitches on my forearm have split just a little. I bandaged it last night, but I don’t know about it,” August spoke quietly into her hair and his body shifted in her arms as he was careful not to touch it.

“You have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow anyway, so we’ll get it fixed then. Unless, it’s horrible. Is it?” Rowen pulled away and gently took his arm in delicate fingers. She glanced up at him and met his indescribable eyes.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” August looked away, over at the window, with a solemn look on his face. Rowen dropped her eyes to her lap, her heart heavy. They---that gang---killed nearly every living piece of him and it was hard to think about.

“It’s hard to not worry,” Rowen said as she stood up. His eyes flickered to her and the expression on his face was stuck on the forefront of her mind as she walked out of the room.

Author's Note

:D