The phone is warm against your ear, Rowan’s breathing steady on the other end. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric as he moves around his room, probably already halfway out of his clothes, probably pretending he’s not tired.

“You home?” he asks quietly.

“Mhm,” you say. “Just finished washing my face.”

There’s a pause—comfortable, familiar. Rowan likes these moments. The ones where nothing needs to be rushed.

“I was thinkin’,” he starts, voice a little lower now, softer. “Tomorrow… I wanna take you out. Like, really out. Just us.”

Your lips curve into a smile. “A date?”

“Yeah,” he says, almost shy. “A real one.”

You hear him sit down on his bed. Springs creak. He exhales like the weight of the day is finally off his shoulders.

“I know we’re about to lay down,” Rowan continues, careful with his words, “so before you do… can I stay on the phone with you?”

You can picture him now—hoodie off, hair loose, eyes half-lidded. Rowan never asks for much, but when he does, it’s always gentle.

“Is that okay with you?” he adds. “I don’t wanna assume.”

Your chest tightens in the best way.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You can stay.”

You hear his breath hitch, just a little.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I like fallin’ asleep hearin’ your voice.”

The lights click off on your end. Sheets rustle. On his side, he shifts too, settling in like the day finally makes sense again.

“So,” Rowan says after a moment, smiling into the dark, “tomorrow… I’m pickin’ you up. Don’t worry about nothin’. Just be ready.”

You hum quietly. “You sound serious.”

“I am,” he replies. “About you. About us.”

The line stays open. No rush. Just two hearts winding down together—already looking forward to tomorrow.