Rowan was completely and utterly exhausted by the tiring day; her emotional battery drained.
She didn't usually talk about her feeling about Emerson to anyone, not even her sister. However, Rowan couldn't keep her emotions at bay. It took everything in her to stop her from having a breakdown any second.
The lingering pain of the day prevailed as she woke up on the beach once more, the bright sunshine greeting her once more. She didn't know if she would keep herself together when talking to Layne, and she didn't want to blow up on him.
The thought of Layne made her soften just the slightest bit. Though he didn't reassure her in any way, a pang of sympathy hit her when she realized his existential outcome.
Both Layne and Emerson died of an overdose, which made Rowan want to break down even more. She knew Layne wasn't like Emerson, but she saw qualities of him through Layne. In a way, it was as if she could receive reassurance from Layne, but she knew how awful that sounded.
Emerson was a whole other, separate identity, correlated to Layne, who was also his own person. To compare the two was unfair since they were two different individuals entirely. But she couldn't shake the thought that they were two very similar people.
Rowan considered staying on the beach, waiting for the wave of sadness to dissipate, but the pain lingered, and she realized she had to go in. She didn't want to leave Layne alone. Not only did Rowan rely on Layne, but he also relied on her. The pair knew that they both mutually needed each other.
She approached the door she had grown so familiar with, looking at in adoration. The door, a symbol of which reminded her of Layne, consoled her nerves. She knew that by stepping through that door, she was free to be herself, free to open up to someone that appreciated her for the way she was.
She had never felt so comfortable with a person in her life.
Rowan twisted the golden knob of the door, entering the room as she usually did. She smiled when she saw Layne almost immediately, tucked away at the end of the bed, strumming at his guitar absent-mindedly.
Not as much as a surprising occurrence anymore, Layne's sweater remained discarded from his torso, the beige material strewn in the corner of the room. His dreads fell loosely around his shoulders as he nodded his head, a content relaxation on his face. He sat criss-cross, the guitar placed firmly in his lap as he continued to play the instrument.
Layne looked up at her as soon as he saw her walking towards him and smiled almost immediately.
"Rowan!" he exclaimed. "Welcome to my crib. Mi casa es tu casa."
Layne's greeting brought a small smile onto her somewhat depressed features. If anyone could cheer her up, it was Layne.
"Hey," Rowan replied, taking a seat on the bed next to him. "You know Spanish?"
"A little," Layne replied with a shrug as he stopped strumming the guitar. "Yo soy tu perra."
Rowan narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't know what that means, but I'm assuming it isn't good."
"It's however you take it, sweetheart," he replied, winking as he nudged her shoulder.
"Right..." Rowan replied, nervously giggling as she pointed at his guitar. "Anyway, what were you playing?"
Layne shrugged, looking at the guitar plainly. "Not sure; just fucking around."
"It sounded good," Rowan pointed out, looking up at Layne appreciatively. "It'd make a good song."
He shrugged once more, holding the guitar as he stared at it with a glimmer of sadness in his eyes.
"Well, there's not much of a point to write songs, is there?" he replied, chuckling sarcastically. "I've got no one to write them for; no audience..."
Rowan frowned as she reached over, touching his forearm gently.
"You have yourself as an audience. It could be healthy for you to write for, you know, yourself!" Rowan explained, watching as Layne's blue eyes met hers. "Or, you know, I'm always here, as an audience, if you ever feel the need to 'perform' somethin'."
Layne smirked, looking at Rowan as he rolled his eyes. "Was that a jab for me to play something for you?"
Rowan held her hands up in defense. "Hey, hey, I didn't say anything, but...you know, the offer is there...but only if you need it."
He nudged her once more, removing the guitar from his lap, holding it out to her. "If that's the case, maybe you could play something for me, too?"
Rowan held her hands out, waving them back and forth in refusal. "Oh, hell no. I clam up playing the guitar."
"You did such a good job playing last time, though!" Layne urged, inching it further in Rowan's direction. "C'mon, please?"
Rowan eyed the guitar wearily. She debated whether or not to accept the instrument. In her mind, Rowan felt she would make a total fool of herself, the nerves getting the best of her. All she could imagine was hardly mustering a coherent melody, sounding like nothing but jumbled notes and deformed music.
"I don't know..." she mumbled, her eyes flicking between the guitar and Layne. "I haven't practiced in quite some time."
"Who says practice is important?" Layne retorted. "Just hearing music sounds nice; it doesn't matter how good it sounds."
"Are you sure...?" Rowan sighed. "It's just- well, you have this whole music thing down pat. If anything, I feel like you'd find amusement out of my mediocre guitar playing."
Without uttering a word, Layne placed the guitar into Rowan's lap, adjusting it accordingly. "It's funny that you think that just because I made music as a profession, it makes me not mediocre."
"Does it?"
"Well, yeah," Layne said with a shrug, scooting over, so he was leaning against her shoulder comfortably. "I was a singer, Rowan. I did play guitar here and there, but I was never a Jimi Hendrix."
Rowan sighed, looking at the guitar that sat in her lap.
"You know," Layne started, leaning closer to her. "I can play a chord to get you started."
Rowan rolled her eyes, pushing him away playfully. "Oh, c'mon, I'm not that mediocre."
"You sure are talking yourself down like you are," Layne admitted. "I've heard you play once before, and I loved it. I know you've got more than one song up your sleeve to play."
She blew out a long breath from her mouth, her small curls resting against her face flying in response. "I suppose that's true..."
"Exactly!" Layne began, hitting her shoulder gently. "What's a few songs that you know?"
Rowan came to a blank, strenuously humming as she thought of a few songs she knew. Though there was nothing wrong with Nirvana songs, those were the only pieces of music she knew. Her high school days paid off when she received her first guitar, playing Nirvana songs on the instrument until her fingers went raw.
Aside from them, she only had random songs, ready and memorized, at her disposal. Overall, her Nirvana knowledge clouded any other artist, and she didn't know whether to feel ashamed or proud of her "obsession."
"Uh," Rowan paused. "I hope you like Nirvana...?"
Layne broke out into a goofy grin. "I don't know if Kurt would be proud of you or creeped out."
Rowan scoffed, shooting Layne the stink eye. "Hey!"
Layne held his hands up in defense. "I mean, you know how he was; he didn't like being on a pedestal."
She shrugged in admittance, looking down at the guitar once more. "I mean, it wasn't just Kurt that made the music. You've got Krist and Dave, too. They're all talented."
"Yeah, yeah, I suppose that's true," Layne admitted, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "But you know what I mean."
"I do," Rowan stated, strumming at the strings incoherently. "Well, what do you suggest I play?"
Layne hummed, stroking his chin in thought. He smirked, looking at Rowan through his eyelashes. "Say, you know any Alice in Chains?"
Rowan chuckled in response, shaking her head. "You're real cute, Layne."
"Thank you," he responded, winking once more, the grin on his face unfaltering. "You know, I could teach you one of my songs if you're ever interested."
"Really?" Rowan asked, surprised. "I'll take any opportunity to hear you play."
A light pink blush spread across Layne's face, a bashful smile replacing his cheesy smirk. "You'd want that, would you?"
"Of course I would," Rowan replied, matter of factly. "I've only heard you sing off the albums. I have yet to hear you 'live.'"
"Well, you've got a free pass," Layne sarcastically responded. "No one else is showing up. Looks like it's your lucky day."
Rowan frowned, looking over at Layne glumly.
"Layne," she mellowly scolded.
He shrugged, raising his hands in the air. "Well, it's true, is it not?"
"I suppose it is..."
"There's no need to feel bad about it," Layne shrugged. "Shit happens."
Rowan copied Layne, shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't care. "Yeah, yeah, I guess so..."
Layne narrowed his brows, leaned down to look at Rowan through the curls that covered her face. "Are you good?"
She looked up at him wordlessly, a sigh escaping her lips.
She didn't know what to say without seeming like a crybaby, nor did she want to direct the conversation to a more bleak, depressing tone. She didn't always want to be the bearer of bad news, but she didn't know if she could keep Emerson to herself. She felt she was about to burst at the seams, after all.
"It's fine, it's fine, just let me think of a song I can play," Rowan dismissed, looking away from Layne completely, focusing her attention on the fretboard of the aged guitar.
"Rowan..." Layne mumbled, his voice converting to a grave, serious tone. "Is there anything you need to talk about...?"
She pursed her lips, squeezing her eyes shut so her eyes wouldn't tear up. "It's really nothin'."
"It doesn't sound like it," he breathed, his voice still serious. He placed his hand on Rowan's forearm gently, tracing her arm with a feathery touch. "Seriously, did I say something that bothered you? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by saying that a few seconds ago; I was only joking."
Rowan shook her head, her hair falling in her face. "It's not that, not really..."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She took a deep breath, opening her eyes for the first time, looking at Layne through the minuscule shimmer of tears in her eyes. "I don't know if I can keep it to myself much longer, Layne."
Layne's furrowed brow deepened, concern contorting his features. "What is it, Rowan? What's going on?"
She pursed her lips once more, a quiver coming from her bottom lip as she bit it anxiously. As much as she wanted it to pour out, would it be a good idea? After all, she never opened up to anyone about Emerson. It was foreign territory to talk about him.
And it wasn't the fact that she thought Layne would be judgemental because she knew he wouldn't, but it was still a topic she struggled to discuss. He would be understanding, more than anyone, given his circumstances, but she had yet to rub the salt in her wounds. Talking about Emerson was the next step into healing her scar tissue, and she didn't know if she was ready to recover yet.
"Look, don't feel pressured to tell me anything," Layne began, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "But I do want you to feel comfortable talking to me. If it's something you really can't talk about, then I totally understand-"
"It isn't that," Rowan whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just...haven't talked about it to anyone since it happened."
Layne mashed his lips into a tight, looking from Rowan and at the blanket, attempting to formulate a wise thought.
"Well, whenever you feel the need to talk about it, then I'm here," Layne reassured, patting her arm. "I'm patient."
"But I'm not," Rowan argued, looking at Layne as she blinked, trying to dissipate the tears forming in her eyes. "Luna's right; I can't go on much longer and not talk about him."
"You can tell me anything you want," Layne reassured.
Rowan mashed her lips together, her lip still quivering as she endeavored to muster her feelings.
"Yesterday...Well, yesterday was a pretty big deal for my family and me," Rowan began, closing her eyes. As she was thinking of something to say next, the creeping feeling of second-guessing spurred her senses, making her doubt herself. "I...I don't know if I should say or not..."
Layne sat patiently, unbothered by her hesitant comment. "You take all the time you need, Rowan. If you feel like you can't talk about it, then I understand too."
She sighed in frustration, thinking over her options. Option one, she could tell Layne everything, spilling her guts out to the only person she could confide in, or two, not say anything at all, keeping it internalized like she was used to doing.
Keeping it to herself seemed like the safest, most secure answer to steer towards, in all honesty. However, the topic of it all was close to spilling over Rowan's top, at its peak boiling point.
She suffered enough, keeping the harsh criticism internalized for the past half-decade, leaving her with nothing but the harsh most inner-demons constantly screaming at her. More than anything, she was absolutely sick of feeling that way.
"I...I can do it," she breathed as she shook her head with uncertainty. As much as she seemed like she could do it, she felt sorely mistaken by her sudden confidence.
What if talking about him was too much? Would she break down in front of Layne, making a total fool out of herself? How long would it take for her to get her bearings together?
Unfortunately, even if she did tell him, she'd never pull herself together, and she knew it. Even more unfortunately so, she was more than aware of it.
With one final wave of confidence, Rowan took a deep, strung-out breath.
"My...Our brother- our brother died five years ago yesterday," Rowan sounded, her voice barely a whisper "I...We went to the graveyard pretty early in the morning...to see him."
Layne's face contorted to that of shock and loss, watching Rowan in mild horror at the breaking news. "Oh, Rowan...I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know-"
"It's okay," Rowan replied with a shrug. "Well, no, it's not okay, obviously, but I've learned to accept it...sorta..."
The pain in Rowan's heart, her very soul, would never seclude itself. It would remain prominent until the day she passed, just as Emerson did.
"What was his name?" Layne began, his lips pulled into a long frown. "Your brother's?"
"His name was- is Emerson," Rowan stuttered through her trembling lips. "His name's Emerson."
Layne scooted closer to her, taking the guitar out of her hands and setting off to the side of them. Once he turned back to look at her from placing the guitar on the bed, he took her hand in his, holding it firmly in his.
"That's an amazing name," Layne began, reassurance in his voice. "Say, did he have your good looks?"
Rowan's face reddened in surprise at his comment. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his amusing comment. But in a way, it did make her feel better.
"Layne," she spoke through her teeth, a mixture of laughter and faint cries. "I'm starting to think you're not straight-"
He held his hands up in defense.
"Hey, a man can only be curious, and I was complimenting you, by the way! It's not every day I call someone good-looking," he pointed out, a matter of factly.
She rolled her eyes, looking down in her lap as she thought of Emerson's familiar yet vague face. She remembered his pale skin and bright blue eyes, courtesy of their mother. Unfortunately, he had the pointy nose of their father, a facial feature he had grown to hate but ultimately never changed.
She remembered his bright smile, the way his mouth would grin further in one direction when he made someone laugh. When he laughed at someone else's joke, he'd break out into tenuous giggles, filling the room with vibrancy and liveliness. When he was sad, he would go quiet, brooding in the depths of his brain, searching all corners for an answer to relieve a lost soul. And when he was angry, he would clench his jaw, holding back whatever fury of hell he felt like unleashing. Everything about him stood out so prominently in her brain, yet she could barely remember anything about him.
Rowan hardly remembered his bright, shining smile or the way he lovingly giggled. His sulking expression when he was sad left hardly an indent on her memory, and the vividness of his jaw clenching and unclenching remained unfamiliar to her.
Every thought of Emerson reminded her that he was gone. Merely a figment of what she imagined to be her brother, not as if he were a person. He seemed like a person from her dreams, visiting scarcely and vastly. He was someone she felt she had seen in her real life, yet never did exist. He was a part of her brain, permanently stuck in the confines of her head as it echoed that she was the reason he was a figment of imagination.
Emerson, to Rowan, was nothing more than a memory of a man that never existed, though she felt so strongly attached to his very being.
"I appreciate the compliment," Rowan began, looking up at Layne from her lap. "He had curly hair like me; we both get it from mom...
"Man, I remember how bad he wanted to get a nose job," Rowan started, a weak laugh in her cracking voice. "I swear, his nose was the spitting image of our father's, and he hated it so much. Nothing pissed him off more than looking like our father, but he was lucky enough to inherit mom's striking blue eyes and pale complexion. My father gave me my brown eyes," she explained, pointing to her glossy brown eyes.
"I didn't care that he looked like dad, though. There's no one else like Emery, man. For years, Em worried about being like our father, like he would wake up one random morning and decide to drink 'till his liver gave out, but he didn't. In fact, he steered clear of any mind-altering substance, leading to years of sobriety after doing drugs when mom passed away. It didn't last forever, though...
"He...He got really into drugs, and I'm not sure how he started, but one day, he just blatantly stated he was doing heroin when we were all eating dinner. He said he never felt better. I remember how Luna choked on her food, her eyes wide in total shock as he mentioned this like it was a stroll in the park. Man, she was furious."
Rowan's voice cracked once more, a singular tear rolling down her face. A small giggle escaped her lips in half-disbelief and half-sarcasm. "I lost Emery- my true Emery- when he started getting addicted. Doing only heroin turned into doing cocaine, too, then whatever pain medication he could find. One time he even told me that he went to his friend's house to steal a bottle of Xanax and Benzodiazepine...It was absolutely horrible seeing him open up to me, but I'm glad he told me.
"He was addicted to those drugs for years, but I never judged him, never stopped him. I didn't know much about addict behavior, but I knew criticizing him would scare him off, and I didn't want that to happen. So, I stayed positive and supportive, so he could come to me with anything he needed. He never asked for money, never asked for anything, just love and support, and that's exactly what I did."
"I...I was supportive for as long as possible, but I never gave him any damn money. Well, not until he called me after weeks of not hearing from him. I was relieved, to say the least, when he told me...told me he was three days into withdrawal and not dead. I encouraged it, telling him that he could get through the pain. But then he said to me that he didn't have any money left, and I guess I panicked? I-I didn't know what to do."
At this point, the tears made themselves known, sliding down her face in silent streams. "I tried to reason with Em, and I wanted to know that I could trust him, I really did, but he was in so much damn pain. We...We got into this huge fight, and I hadn't fought with him like that ever, at least not after mom died. He said some things, things that didn't make him sound like him, and I ended up giving him money out of anger.
"I shouldn't have given him that money. I-I shouldn't have," Rowan paused as her voice wavered, her voice cracking as a small cry wracked her chest. "They...His roommate found him unresponsive early in the morning...He overdosed on cocaine and heroin...
"I killed him, Layne," Rowan confessed, looking up at Layne with tears falling down her face. "I killed my brother...It was my fault."
Layne's heart skipped a beat at her confession. The thing that stood out the most was that she had experienced that loss that he understood more than anything. Yet, what stood out the most prominently was because Emerson died the same way he did. And suddenly, as if the points finally matched up, he understood why Rowan had an attachment to him. That was why she reacted the way she did when she figured out who Layne was and how he passed.
Given the fact that he was the "man of her dreams," it noted that she already found him intriguing. To add, he was a famous rockstar, but she didn't mind that. Those weren't the reasons as to why Rowan felt so strongly gravitated towards him, no. It was because she lost someone she cared about deeply, to the same reason Layne passed, too.
Of course, Rowan wasn't living vicariously through Layne, trying to make up for the messy things between her and Emerson. It wasn't that, no. She saw him as someone she could relate to, someone whom had shared the same loss, and though Luna understood the loss, both Rowan and Layne felt guilty for their actions.
As if the two of them could understand each other on some unspoken level, they indirectly apologized to each other, seeing the sides of overdosing and experiencing death upon another person. They felt nothing but guilty, and that's why Rowan felt so strongly towards Layne, because he understood her, and she understood him.
"This is coming from a former junkie," Layne began as he wrapped his arm around Rowan's shoulder soothingly. The tears did not hesitate as they continued to fall down her face, her hands wiping them away messily. Watching the tears cascade down her face made his own eyes well up in sorrow. "Giving Emerson money was the right thing to do, I promise. Not because he wanted to shoot up or because he was withdrawing. Withdrawing is about one of the worst things the body can go through because all sorts of shit happens, and it can really mess with your fucking head. But you did the right thing by giving him the money for financial needs. You're a good person for doing that for him.
"However, giving him the access he needs for drugs did not help. It was ultimately up to him when he decided drugs were the route he wanted to take. It's not everyone's dream to become addicted to shit like that, but life takes unexpected turns, and that's just one of the things that don't turn out the way we want them. Doing drugs is a way of dealing with pain...with the loss of everything we have to deal with in life. He couldn't handle doing things on his own anymore, and for a while, drugs were what helped him. It doesn't last long, though, because drugs eventually lead to pain and addiction.
"I've seen people come and go because of drugs, and it's the worst thing to go through, especially when you knew them. In this case, you've known him your entire life. I can't imagine the pain that you've gone through because of it. The only thing I can say to make you feel better is that-" Layne paused, taking his free hand in her tear-stained one. "What happened was not your fault. You gave him the choice of doing better for himself, which is still a really hard thing to do, or to let him choose drugs. He chose drugs, and though it'd be a hypocrite of me to say it, he shouldn't have done it in the first place."
Rowan sniffled, wiping away at her tears with her free hand. "But I knew the consequences of giving him money. I knew, and through my own angry decision, I let him have the money anyway. It is my fault."
"Trust me, Rowan. It wasn't your fault," Layne defended, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "It was his own battle, a battle he fought for so long and couldn't handle it anymore. I'm sure that if he were still here now, he would've gotten better for himself, for you, and the rest of your family."
Rowan's eyes blurred with tears at the thought of her brother still being alive. She missed him beyond words, and she couldn't help but feel it was all because of her. She didn't want to not admit that he was right, but she couldn't decide whether to give in to his words or remained entranced in her guilty bubble.
Nonetheless, she let Layne's words seep into her brain. They did help because no one told her words of reassurance except for Luna. Even then, all Luna did was pester her into spilling her guts, a pressure she did not enjoy. Though she appreciated Luna's worry, Rowan didn't want to feel pressed into telling her about her deepest most darkest thoughts.
Layne wasn't like Luna, though. Layne understood Rowan and knew that pressuring her into talking about her feelings was something she did not want to do. Rightfully so, he felt the same way when it came to people wanting to open him up. He hated when people coursed him into talking about his feelings.
"The...The last thing he ever said to me was-was-" Rowan paused, a sob heaving her chest in agony.
"He told me he loved me," she spoke halfway through a sob. "Emerson sa-said he loved me, and I never told him I loved him because I was so angry. I...I never got to tell him I loved him back, and I didn't know that was the last time I'd ever see him."
She took sharp intakes of air, letting the sobs run through her body like great ocean waves on a stormy day. She clutched her chest, feeling the pain run its course throughout her body. Pain in a grieving sense did not hurt physically, but it caused so much mental and emotional trauma that it felt as though she'd been beaten to death.
Layne, unfortunately, understood the upbringing of pain and loss. He had been in her shoes many moons ago, experiencing the exact same thing. He could relate to guilt, feeling as though it was his fault someone died because of him. The grief was unmatched, a totally different category compared to any other.
Death changed people, and so did guilt. Both Rowan and Layne knew they permanently developed into wiser, much older versions of themselves.
Layne wordlessly brought her closer, her practically laying on him as they sat back, their heads against the pillow as Rowan wept into his shoulder. He closed his eyes, listening to the dreadful sounds of heartbreaking sobs echo from her weak body.
Hearing the pain sound through the room made his heart clench and chest tighten in sympathy. Much to Rowan's oblivious dismay, Layne knew that pain.
"Do you remember me mentioning Demri at all?" Layne began, opening his eyes as he looked down at Rowan's reddened face.
"Y-Yes," she replied through stuffy sniffles.
Layne pursed his lips into a plain frown. "Dem was the love of my life, Rowan. I loved her with everything in me, even though we had our ups and downs. She was- well- really the only person I loved more than myself," he paused, his eyes glossed in remembrance. "No one made me happier than her."
"And...And she...?"
Layne frowned. "Yeah, yeah, she passed. And when she did, I felt like my whole world came crashing down around me. It was the worst pain I ever went through, that and withdrawing.
"I lost a part of myself the day she died," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It was as if someone ripped out a part of my heart, expecting the hole in my chest to heal without it. I never quite got over it, though..."
"Layne," Rowan stated, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
Layne shook his head. "It's okay. I just...I know what that pain feels like. I know that losing someone you love more than life hurts so much more than death itself. Not to mention, the pain gets worse when you feel like you're the reason they're dead.
"I...I understand you, Rowan. I really do. Sometimes I worry that because of my lifestyle, I was the one that killed her. My unhealthy habits led her to how she passed, and that guilt ate at me until nothing remained. By all means, Demri and I were far away from a perfect couple; we were on and off for so much time that it started to get confusing. Hell, we weren't even dating when she passed away, but she was always a part of me. And when she died, it felt as though I killed her with my bare hands. It felt as though I killed myself when she died."
Rowan's eyes shimmered with a new wave of tears, a thin sheen in his own. He hardly opened up about Demri, and when he did, it never got past the point of a deep conversation, tears in the mix. He never got deep after she passed; he was stuck in his own head until he passed away, too.
"But...But you didn't kill Demri," Rowan explained, shaking her head quickly. She took Layne's hand in her own, squeezing it affirmingly. "It was her own choice to do what she did, even if she didn't mean for that to happen. It was a total accident-"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Layne stated, sitting up slightly, appreciating her physical touch. "You didn't kill your brother, Rowan. It was his choice on what he wanted, and that's how it ended up."
Rowan paused, quietly considering Layne's disposition. She couldn't help but feel he was right, but after so long of putting herself down for Emerson's death, his words entered one ear and escaped the other.
"Everyone's told me that it isn't my fault ever since he died," Rowan voiced, looking at Layne as she turned to lay on her shoulder. "I still have a hard time believing that it wasn't, though."
Layne flicked his eyes between her own, his eyes expressing heartfelt adoration. Ever so gently, he placed his chilled hands upon her warm face, cupping them benevolently.
"I promise you, Rowan Graham, that Emerson did not pass because of you," he softly spoke yet held a firm tone. "It was just his time to go, and if he were here, he'd tell you the same thing."
Rowan's lips quivered as a singular tear rolled down her face, falling onto Layne's thin fingers. "Are-Are you sure?"
Layne smiled, wiping away the tear that fell from her puffy eye. "I am one-hundred percent sure."
She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"I've hardly ever talked about him," she sighed into Layne's shoulder, pressing her forehead against him. "And when I do, I always feel pressured to do it. Luna always tried to open me up, and I don't want to. It's so much harder than that."
Layne, ever so gently, picked up one of Rowan's curls, twirling it in his long fingers. "You shouldn't feel pressured to talk about him if you don't want to. God knows I've been in those shoes before, and it's fucking annoying."
"It is..." Rowan sighed, drying any stray tears.
Layne glided his hands along Rowan's cheeks, removing them as one of them found its way to her shoulder. "You can talk about him any time you need to, Rowan. I promise."
"And you can talk to me about Demri if you ever feel the need to do so," Rowan reassured, attempting to muster an appreciative smile.
Layne paused, smiling uncontrollably at Rowan. His eyes flicked downward, glimpsing at Rowan's weak smile before shifting his eyes to her own.
It was silent for a moment, the two basking in the company of the other. It was peaceful in that diminutive moment they had together, enough peace for Rowan's eyes to stop producing tears.
"Thank you," Layne whispered, his cold breath fanning Rowan's eyelashes.
Rowan's face reddened at the simple yet sweet gesture. Not only did he feel thankful, but she did, too.
She knew Luna attempted to be the shoulder Rowan could lay on, same with Markus, but they did not suffice. It wasn't their fault, of course, but she felt that she couldn't open up to them for a bizarre, unexplainable reason. The only person she had the nerve to open up to was Layne and vice versa.
Layne had no one to go to, no one to talk to. After straying in isolation for long, rolling in it until he stank of solitude, seeing a person gave him hope. There wasn't much hominess in the space of four walls and a couple million specks of dust. No, he found Rowan to be the root of grounding, the root of all things living.
She radiated life, life that he craved, life that he never knew he would have missed. Something was entrancing about Rowan that it made him want to know everything about her. No, he needed to know everything about her.
As if it was his purpose, he wanted to be there for Rowan, and in some incomprehensible way, Rowan wanted to do the same for Layne.
"You don't have to thank me, Layne," Rowan sounded, shaking her head slightly. "I'll be here to talk about anything you want."
"Anything?"
"Anything," she smiled.
Layne sighed, looking over at one of the blank walls of the room. His disposition turned sheepish, looking anywhere but at Rowan.
"You...You're my only friend," Layne admitted, his cheeks blooming a light pink.
Rowan's eyebrows furrowed as the smile on her face increased in size. "Well, what about Jerry? Or Sean? Both Mike's?"
"I'm...not living anymore. Doesn't that...kinda eliminate having friendships?" Layne asked wearily.
Rowan did not know how to answer since Layne's situation was...unique. All she could muster was a shrug, her lips forming into a tight line.
"That's a good question...I mean, I wouldn't say it removes a friendship, but it certainly does make things complicated."
"They don't know I'm here, you know? I...I don't want it to seem like I've abandoned them or that we aren't friends anymore..."
"You're still friends with them, Layne. Like I've said, from what I've seen, they wouldn't just toss you to the side. You still mean something, to a lot of people. Markus doesn't ever shut up about you-"
"It's hard to resist this," Layne smirked, gesturing to his body with his hands.
"Oh, shush," Rowan replied with a chuckle.
"But seriously-" Layne sighed. "You are my friend. I don't think I've been this comfortable around someone in a long time."
"Well, it has been a long time..."
"You know what I mean- Even when I was alive, I stopped going out..."
Rowan frowned, looking at the blanket underneath her. "I'm sorry."
Layne shook his head, turning his body, so he faced the ceiling. "There's no need to apologize."
Rowan remained in her spot, looking at Layne with deep sympathy. "I just...I understand how you feel..."
He twisted his head, looking at Rowan as he faintly nodded his head. "Yeah, I know you do."
Layne paused once more, pursing his lips in deep thought. Rowan noticed, her brow furrowing.
"Is something wrong?"
Layne looked at her with his eyes slightly widened as he loosened his lips. "Oh, no, no, it's nothing."
"Are you sure?" Rowan questioned. "You looked kinda...lost there."
He shook his head, sitting up abruptly. "I...well- Oh, it's not all that important-"
"Merry Christmas!"
Layne jolted in surprise, looking around, then to Rowan.
"Children?"
Rowan recognized the voices immediately; Adeline and Toby.
"My niece and nephew..." Rowan sat up absent-mindedly. "I guess it's already morning."
"Man, I hope you have a good Christmas with them," Layne smiled warmly. "Thanks for talking to me, Rowan."
"Auntie Ro! Wakey wakey!"
"Of course. I'm glad I could get that off my chest," Rowan admitted. "I've never talked about Emerson before."
"I bet it does feel nice to get that off your chest," Layne replied. "You can talk about him any time you need to, really."
"You can talk about anything you want, too."
They both paused, Rowan scooting closer to him.
"You know," she began. "Markus is one of my closest friends, one of my longest-lasting friendships, but I consider you to be my best friend."
Layne's face broke out into a sheepish grin as his skin pinked. "R-Really?"
"Really."
The last thing Rowan heard Layne mutter from his lips made her heart skip a beat, just the slightest bit.
"You're my best friend, too."