Fated to Break | ✓

f o u r t e e n

Olivia

Who is this man?

Seriously, I'm genuinely curious. When boys lose their dream to become a world famous football player in the NFL it crushes their soul. It uproots their whole being and self worth. It's a tragic thing to never be able to do the one thing you believed you were good at. To be told that you have to find a new passion, a new reason to look forward to tomorrow.

Rowan Vitali could've fell into a deep despair. Perhaps that is what others expected to happen. I don't doubt he was crushed by the news that he could never play ball again due to his knee injury. But he was lucky enough to have another interest. His love for creating art was strong enough to bear the weight of the death of his other dream. That is admirable.

I don't know how I overlooked such a person in the past. Knowing him would've been world altering. His beliefs and views on the world would've caused a butterfly effect on my life. I wonder where I'd be now if we became friends when we were freshman. Perhaps I never would've dated Lucas...

Either way this feels so natural. Skin-ship. Platonic physical affection. I thought that part of myself faded as I dated Lucas. He didn't like physical touch so I slowly grew accustomed to not needing it. I convinced myself that it just wasn't for me anymore. Maybe that's not true.

Rowan's hair is so soft it's almost addicting to touch. There is zero hints of brown in his pitch black strands as the lamp light reflects off the curls. It's almost as if he got a loose perm, the type of curls girls ask for but completely fail to achieve. The kind men attempt but it ends up looking like a bowl of ramen was dumped on their head. My hair always curls at the roots around my face when it's freshly washed but it straightens throughout the day. The same thing happens for Rowan because I've noticed the curls are more tame midday compared to when they're wet or just out if the shower. I'm jealous. Even his eyelashes and eyebrows are full and thick yet still inherently masculine. I blame it on his Italian genes.

A lock falls onto his forehead, the tips brushing his eyelashes. That can't be comfortable. I move my other hand that's not already playing with his hair to brush it away but the moment my fingers make contact with his forehead his eyes flutter open. I quickly flick it away and set my hand back down on the bed. I pause the movement of the one in his hair to say, "You sure you aren't tired?"

His eyes travel my face a moment before he breathes, "Nope. I'm wide awake."

I hum, smoothing my thumb out of his hair and across his temple. "So you weren't asleep just a moment ago?" He was. His breathing evened out and his tense features relaxed.

He leans into my touch, "Yeah, okay. I was..."

The guilty look in his eyes makes me hold back a laugh. It quickly dies though, when I inadvertently hold eye contact with him for a second too long for it to seem like an accident. The burnt sienna and icy grey mixture captures all of my attention.

Fuck.

Rowan blinks, his face flushing with an emotion that almost hurts me. Like he has to remind himself of something. Something that makes him sit up from my lap and stand, rubbing his hands over his face to erase the exhaustion.

"It's late," his baritone voice says, deep from the leftover sleep.

"Yeah. That tends to happen as time passes," I say, confused where he's going with this. Is he going to make me leave? Does he feel awkward?