As easy as when he used to have meaningless conversations with his brother Jay in their childhood bedroom, passing a joint back and forth. But now it’s meaningful conversations with Mal in Sheila’s diner, passing whatever dessert Sheila whipped up that day back and forth.

He tells Mal about how he became a paramedic—how he loves helping people and making a difference, even though his job can be stressful and mentally draining at times.

He tells Mal more about his siblings—Aubrey and Jay and Clara and Rory and Marc, each with their own set of quirks that are as frustrating as they are endearing.

He tells Mal about how he wants his next apartment to have a balcony so he can grow tomatoes—They are good, what the hell do you mean you don’t like them?

He doesn’t tell Mal that he’s clinically depressed. As much as he wants to let Mal into his life, some things aren’t meant to be shared casually over strawberry shortcake.

SOMEWHERE IN between the second and third sessions—Rowan absolutely does not know the exact day without looking back at the message—they’ve started texting more. Not really Hey, how was your day type things, but little things. Mostly kink-related things, but conversations nonetheless. That first week alone, they talked four times, on and off for several hours throughout each day.

And it made him so fucking glad and honest-to-God giddy that he wonders if he really is a teenager with his first crush and not a twenty-seven-year-old man with a membership to a sex dungeon.

Don’t get him wrong, Rowan knows he’s being an idiot—expecting something more to come of his conversations with Mal, which would theoretically then bleed into his scenes with him. It’s beyond wishful thinking, and pretty dishonest if he’s being frank. Because he’s wanting something more than what Mal wants to give him, more than what they’ve established they’re going to give to each other.

Every time Rowan had a friends-with-benefits situation when he was younger, Aubrey had always warned him that it would end badly, that someone would catch feelings and shit would get awkward and one or both of them would get hurt.

Clearly, he hasn’t learned from his big sister’s advice.

He should nip this shit in the bud and probably go out and fuck some other people to get over his hang-up on Mal. But… he doesn’t want to. And that is what scares him more than anything. The fact that his notoriously high libido is satisfied with only one hookup per week is astonishing, even with his usual daily jerk-off sessions still intact. There’s something there about quality over quantity, but Rowan doesn’t want to let himself think about that for too long.