𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑡𝑐𝘩 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝐶𝑎𝑡 | rowan laslow

its always is water wet? but never how is water

The bus rumbles as the driver starts the engine. Vibrations shake the window you're leaning on, causing you to move away and back to Rowan who's sitting beside you on the passenger's seat. You greedily take in the heat his shoulder provides despite the many layers of clothing he always wears when outside school campus. It's raining but neither of you barely hear the muffled sound of raindrops falling on concrete due to the earbuds you share. No one cares enough to tell the two teenagers to tone the music down no matter how loud it is.

Rowan can't quite wrap his head around the constant jumping from indie pop to black metal. It's a whiplash. But it makes sense, he supposes. Playlists are often very personal things, he understands why your character would reflect on it.

There aren't a lot of people in the bus, just some stragglers and the few other Nevermore students sent to, he assumes, buy stuff like you two. Seniors, from the looks of them. He doesn't have their name but he reckons you do, if asked.

He feels a cold hand rummage through the pocket in his jacket and he tenses. "What are you doing?" his arms hover above, unsure if he should stop you or stay out of the way while you dig into his clothes like a nosy little dog to a menstruating woman.

"The list," you huff. "I can't find it."

"It's in my pants-" he regrets telling you that the moment you bend over to reach in there. It's a compromising position and people are starting to look at you weird. "Left, left, not right." a shaky exhale exits his lungs when you finally get it and go back to your seat. "So?"

"I need to write some stuff," your eyes narrow at the 12 mm nylon rope written on the very top. "Forgot to get them last time."

He sneaks a glance over your shoulder. "What do you need butane for?"

"Same reason Bianca told you to get rope." you challenge.

"I told you, it's for a project." he looks away.

"Assigned by an unknown teacher from a secret subject you can't tell me about." you dig. He adjusts himself on the seat and protectively crosses his arms over his chest. Rowan strategically stays silent. "Yeah, uh-huh. That's right."

The rest of the ride proceeds as quietly as it could. Rowan keeps his mouth shut while you stare out the foggy window. It's not uncomfortable. The connection that comes from sharing music together keeps whatever existing tension there is at bay, however minuscule it is. Like you said, Rowan's business is his. That doesn't mean you're not gonna comment on it though, keep him on his toes and all that.

You step out of the bus to the stop by the town's gate when you arrive, splashing mud from the harsh landing. There's a waterproof coat hung on top of your actual clothes, but your face remains defenseless to the downpour's assault. You catch the droplet dripping onto your mouth with your tongue and taste salt.

Rowan brings you under the protection of his umbrella. "The hardware store's that way." he leads you to a pathway towards the general area of the shops. The roofs provide ample cover from the rain shower. Technically, neither of you need to stay under the umbrella, but you stay stuck shoulder to shoulder anyway.

"Welcome to Harry's Hardy Hardware." a haggard college guy monotonously greets. You give him a polite smile. You've heard that pun come out of enough overworked employees. The joke is ran through by now. Rowan shakes the water out of the umbrella after closing it and puts it in the holder placed beside the entrance.

The entire store is silent save for a few hushed conversations you pass by. It turns the atmosphere into something domestic. Rowan pushes the cart, reading the items on the list out loud to you while you lead the front. Occasionally, you step back to hear Rowan better, leaning into his space when he murmurs low. Take the longest rope.