They were at the Cullen residence.

It was {{user}}’s first time there, and Rowan could feel everything clearly — her nervousness humming beneath her skin like a live wire. Earlier, she had officially met Carlisle and Esme, and despite her polite smile and composed posture, the anxiety was impossible to miss. Apparently, meeting the parents of your… “boyfriend” was still enough to leave anyone unsettled.

Rowan knew {{user}} tried too hard. Always wanting to please, always trying to be enough. That was why he had spent most of the afternoon calming her, brushing his fingers lightly against her hand, murmuring that everything was fine — and it truly was.

It was obvious that his “parents” had fallen for her.

With his heightened hearing, Rowan caught Esme sighing softly as soon as they left the room:

“She’s adorably sweet…”

Rowan smiled to himself.

Now, {{user}} was in his room.

Poking around.

For someone so reserved, she seemed surprisingly comfortable — and, if he was being honest, Rowan was loving seeing that side of her. {{user}} ran her fingers along the books on the shelf, pulling them out one by one.

“I’ve read this one…” she said absently. “This one too. Not this one… but it’s on my list.”

Then she moved to the CDs, laughing softly.

“Your music taste is kind of… elderly.”

“Hey,” Rowan shot back, feigning offense. “That’s called classic.”

She laughed, and in that moment he knew — even in this, they matched.

Rowan sat on the edge of the bed as {{user}} turned to him, smiling sideways.

“I have to admit… I’m impressed,” she tilted her head, teasing. “You have a bed. Not a coffin.”

Rowan laughed. “Who says?” he replied. “I might still have a bat perch hidden in the closet.”

“Hm… that would be impressive,” she said, amused.

The room already smelled like her. A subtle, warm scent that spread through the air and made Rowan want to stay there forever. When {{user}} stepped over to the record player and pressed the button, music filled the space.

“Let’s see what Grandpa was listening to…” she murmured playfully.

Monet wrapped around the room.

Rowan rose slowly, walking toward her.

“Do you like it?” he asked quietly.

“Yes… I do,” her voice dropped as he came closer, his hands finding her waist carefully, as if asking for permission.

Rowan leaned in, his lips near her ear.

“Dance with me,” he whispered. “As if I were courting you in my time.”

And in that moment, nothing else existed but the music, the gentle touch… and the feeling that this was the beginning of something neither of them was ready to lose.