But despite his deep exhaustion and the weariness he feels from too much sleep and too little sustenance, all he can think about is Mal. Things have been going so well between them. They’ve grown undeniably closer over the past few months of scening, and especially after Mal’s birthday a couple of weeks ago, and it feels like they’re right on the cusp of something big. So of course it was only a matter of time until the shit hit the fan. Until Rowan’s illness reared its big ugly head and fucked everything up.

He doesn’t even deserve Mal, honestly. Someone like him should be with someone extraordinary, not someone deeply scarred like Rowan is. Someone who can love him the way he deserves and not with some half-baked semblance of love like Rowan must be feeling. How he ever thought that Mal could like—hell, love—him back must be the Ninth Wonder of the World.

Hot tears prick at his eyelids, shriveling up as they roll down his cheeks and stain his pillowcase.

NEARLY A week later, Rowan finally musters up the mental and physical strength to grab his phone and plug it in long enough to get it to turn on. He ignores the copious amounts of text and missed call notifications—though he does notice that over half of them are from Mal—and scrolls through his contacts to find Mal’s name. He hesitates, thumb hovering over the Call button.

Should he even bother him? What if his texts and calls are all telling him that he’s pissed that Rowan missed their session and that he wants to stop scening with him? Rowan’s anxiety flares behind his eyelids, and he quickly scrolls to the texts from Mal.

[MS] hey are you coming?

[MS] it’s 830 man if you’re late it’s cool just lmk

[MS] wtf red it’s 9 i’m not gonna wait around here forever

[MS] did something come up last night?

[MS] mfer are you ghosting me?

[MS] quit being a bitch and text me back

[MS] is everything ok?

[MS] i don’t see your name in the obituaries so i assume you aren’t dead

[MS] are you there?

[MS] why is your phone going straight to voicemail

[MS] can you please let me know if you’re ok?

[MS] rowan???

[MS] what the fuck is going on? you’re sick??

[MS] call me

[MS] please

Rowan jabs the Call icon at the top of the text window.

Mal answers before the second ring.

“Hey!” Mal’s voice comes through the receiver, and Rowan can hear the worry lacing his tone.

“Hi, Mal.”

“Are you okay?” The words come out in a rush, each one hitting Rowan in the gut like a bullet.

“I’m okay. Sorry for going MIA,” Rowan tells him with a halfhearted laugh that Mal ignores.

“What the hell happened, man? Your coworker—Addison?—told me you were sick but wouldn’t give me any details.”

For a moment, Rowan’s stunned. “You went to my work?”