chiefhalliday

[chiefhalliday]

Rowan listened intently. He couldn't and wouldn't pretend to know exactly how Flynn was feeling and he couldn't imagine what was going through his nephew's head right now. He knew he just had to be there for him and offer the kind of advice he thought was appropriate. This was something so personal and Flynn would have to deal with it alone, but that didn't mean Rowan wasn't going to be with him when he was needed.

“If you don’t like being touched, then that’s that," Rowan said firmly. "If it was a phase you’d have grow out of it by, but that clearly isn’t the case. There doesn’t have to be a reason why you don’t like it, but the only thing you should have an issue with is if somebody doesn’t respect you or the boundaries you’ve set. None of this effects your work because if it did you wouldn’t still be on the job. I'm no psychiatrist, but I feel as though it's because you have built a different persona for you work life and that persona has to be tough and diligent. I know because I have one, too. And all that’s coming from your boss… but coming from your uncle, it’s just how you are. You can try to change it, but it’ll take years and years and by the end of that you’ll look back on all that time that’s passed and wonder where it’s gone. However, you shouldn't have to change for anybody and don't think that will fix anything either."

Rowan fell silent, twiddling his thumbs and watching the steam rise from the surface of his tea before studying Flynn again, hoping he'd taken in all that Rowan had to offer in terms of advice and hoping it all wasn't too much for him. An overload of opinions and information could make things worse.

"I hate seeing you this way," he then said softly, after a long pause. "I'm never going to stop worrying about you, Flynn; neither is your mom or your sister. We're here whenever and if ever you need us, no matter how important or trivial you think your concern is. But thank you for opening up to me. I know it must have taken a great deal of strength."

Flynn lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a sip. And then another. "Just, um..." Flynn wasn't quite sure how to explain it. Or if his Uncle would think he was being ridiculous. That he was overreacting. "I had some abnormal interactions with people." A pause. "Well... abnormal for me." Flynn explained. "I'm pretty sure everyone is used to kissing other people or just... ah-- being touched, in general."

He was doing a horrible job at explaining. Flynn let out a sigh as he sat the mug down and rested his arms on his thighs, leaning forward as he stared down at the ground. "I had someone mess with my hair and also kiss me. Then someone else kissed me the next day. First person I didn't know, really. I don't even understand why she did it. The other..." Was my ex partner. "Doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm a grown adult who still has issues with people. Touch. Fucking talking." Flynn ran his hands over his face and let out a frustrated groan. "Why? Why can I handle shit at work, the hardest things, but I'm so bad at interactions outside of it?" He asked his Uncle, though it was more of a rhetorical question. Flynn knew why. He knew that his past still affected him, even if he tried to ignore it. "Why is it still affecting me? Why can't I just be normal? I thought that at this age, I'd be passed it all."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. flynn) 003

[chiefhalliday]

It was hard for Rowan to look at Kian and not think of the scared little boy he once was, wide-eyed and pale as his parents were arrested by Rowan's colleagues. Rowan himself wasn't supposed to have been there that night, but the case had progressed and concluded with such hastiness that it was all hands on deck and whilst everyone else was focused on the parents- gang members, enough said- Rowan focused his attention on eight year old Kian, making sure he felt warm, safe, and comfortable enough to come with him back to the precinct. The two of them had sat together, watching and listening to the chaos of the office, with Kian eyeing Rowan's uniform every now and then. In hindsight, maybe he saw Rowan's gold badge as something of a symbol of good and hope... maybe it was then and there that the boy (subconsciously or not) had decided on his future career path.

Nevertheless, Rowan was proud to see what Kian had become: a fine detective with a strong determination to help those in a position he was once in. He was a success story in a city where it was easy to be dragged into crime and should be used as an example to those with little hope and ambition and who believe an escape from the shadows was impossible.

“There is nobody who is going to be able to help that boy better than you," Rowan then said, meaning every single word. "You’ve been where he is, you know exactly how it feels and exactly what you would have wanted from the people who were there to help. I was just in the right place at the right time to help you; you were lucky to get me and my temperament because there were officers with me that day that wouldn't have cared if you ended up alone on the streets or or a mortuary slab."

He sighed, tapping his fingers against the desk, thinking about what a predicament this was for Kian. But after a moment, he turned his attention back to the detective. "It doesn't matter what I would do because you're not me. In fact, that's probably for the best because you- despite my own decades of experiences- know more about this kind of situation than I do. Trust your intuition. Be an advocate for the boy, show him he's not alone, and that there is light at the end of the tunnel. The absence of any kind of hope could be a catalyst to the start of a very terrible life for him."

The detective opens the door a little further and slips in, carefully closing it behind his back. "Ah, no", is his answer as he turns back around, "I'm fine." His preferred drink of choice is coffee, and he's had enough of that today. For the next two days, even.

There's a moment of silence, in which Kian rubs his hands against each other, as if to warm them close to a bonfire. "I'm not sure what to say.", the detective admits, "This is my first case.. that comes close to my own. To my childhood."

Young Kian would have freaked out at this scene -- his idol, the person he wants to be, sitting in front of him as he's become what he's always wanted to be. (Alone, sad, tired?)

"And all I want to do is to adopt that kid and give them a better life." Which is not possible, obviously, but. "What would you do?", is his final question, "How would you handle it? I can't help but think of them as myself. And I know how I felt, and how much you helped me, but." I'm not you. "You were so good at keeping me happy and distracted. I wish I could be like that."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. kian) 001 #(sorry! this got really long- don't feel like you have to match the length!)

[chiefhalliday]

Rowan nodded in agreement. "Hey, I love books and I love reading- other than my work and family they're the great loves of my life- but there's hardly any time for it. I could be at home with a good book now, but I'm spending my evening with my best friend instead, catching up and drinking a good bottle of scotch. Even if we are at work."

There was a collection of books at home waiting to be devoured. In his less chaotic moments at work, Rowan found himself thinking of which one to start off with when he had the chance. Usually, before he even got to weigh up his options, the phone rang or there was another threat of emergency in Manhattan or an officer had been injured. Never a dull moment. But taking on the role as Chief, Rowan almost missed them. He missed having nothing to do when he got home after work. But it was times like this- the quietude in the dimness of his office in the evening with Emilio for company- that more than made up for it.

The mention of Amelia's book signing in the city piques Rowan's interest. "Oh, that's wonderful! I'm sure she's looking forward to it. Depending on dates and times, I'll have to go over and support her. It'll give me a change of scenery too."

Taking a sip of his drink, Rowan noted Emilio's vague response to asking after his family, but even if they were best friends he didn't want to intrude on their lives. If there were problems, they were personal and Rowan hoped that any of the Carrascos- his deputy especially- could come to him for advice or even just to offload their feelings. He cared if they were all safe and happy, yet sometimes they weren't going to be given the nature of Emilio's job. Rowan didn't want to think about that, but he worried immensely about his second family. Although the mention of Alex's party was positive; no doubt all the Carrascos would be there and it would be a good day for all.

"Oh, I'll be there," he then said, returning the smile. "I'll be there with bells on. I really am looking forward to it. Being round at your place with Amelia's delicious cooking and being with my favourite people makes me feel more like a regular human that a cog in the giant machine that is New York City."

Despite the things he missed and the disorder and stresses of being Chief, Rowan wouldn't trade it for the world. He could really make a difference, really improve things for people, and leave a legacy behind that all those years of NYPD experience had amounted to. He would leave this earth plain before he left the force and wanted something to show for it.

Without even meaning to, they confide. Easily released remarks and confessions tumble from their mouths — they're worth thousands to a reporter. They're worth so much more between friends. Nobody can buy trust, or respect. As cliché as it were, it truly is earned. Rowan gained Emilio's long ago. Handed out before he'd even understood the shift; it's natural, passing ships in the night. The quiet second of hush, before it's gone — into the darkness again. It's surreal, like it's never happened; nothing has changed (of course it has).

He'll suddenly put his life on the line, when before he'd have hesitated. It's that. An awareness that nothing has shifted the compass, or its direction — but going overboard no longer sounds so terrible.

Halliday isn't a pen pusher, not to Emilio. And the complexities of their roles are never seen outside of the inner circle — PA's, and interns see one side, the press see what they want, the city sees wasted tax payers money, criminals see —

"Remind me not to try talk you out of your office again..." It's a tease. The deputy has settled into the chair, slumped, turned sideways so his arm's hooked over the backrest. "Not at least, til we've done the bottle."

For both their sakes, they should definitely not finish the bottle. His wife would have both their asses for staying late as is.

A hand catches the glass as it skirts across the desk. Carrasco nods his gratitude, echoing: "Salud,"— swigging his glass when the Chief did.

When he lowers the glass, it's his turn to laugh. "Book club?" Emilio feigns an expression of assessment: "I could see you with your nose in a book, chief." It's not untrue — picturing Rowan in the midst of novelistic arguments, and social economics of romance, and tragedy. There's often woman in book club too, Halliday, you know that? Carrasco would be lying if he acted like his wife didn't preach the choir to him on that respect. "Maybe I should see if Amelia can get her off your back — if she's not already in the club." Likely, if he were really thinking about it.

Emilio's proud of Flynn too. He doesn't get to show it; a different kind of busy to Halliday that has him between the field, and the office at all the wrong times.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Carrasco remarks — realising that his tumulus relationships with his family were hinging on him. "But they're well — Amelia's got book signings coming up, she's stopping at that, oh, what's it called —" She's told him, and he's forgotten. "—one of those bookstores by West and 7th." He pauses, because he can't tell Halliday what his children are up to, Emilio tries and fails to follow their change of pace daily. He can hardly keep up with his own. So — Emilio rescues it with: "Alex's birthday is coming up — another formidable Carrasco dinner," a smile — a sip of the drink: "I expect you there. You can ask them all yourself. They'd be delighted."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. emilio) 001

[chiefhalliday]

Rowan hoped Flynn would return to work tomorrow. It would give him some kind of normality and security in the rough seas he was currently sailing.

“I’m glad you’re not sick,” he said quietly. “But what kind of things-?” He then stopped himself. “No, you don’t have to tell me. You can if you want, but you know I worry about you and I’m sure your mom would too if she knew the state you’re in… Look, I hope that you feel like you can talk to me about anything and know that I’ll do everything I can to help or even just to make you feel more like yourself. There’s nothing wrong with taking some time out, but there’s also nothing worse than keeping things bottled up. Believe me.”

Flynn nodded as he moved towards the kitchen and put on the kettle. He was silent as he grabbed some honey ginseng tea and placed them in two mugs. Once the kettle was done boiling, he poured the hot water into the mugs and handed one to his uncle.

They moved towards the living room and sat down, though Flynn had a hard time meeting the other's gaze. "No... I know. I'm sorry." He shook his head as he stared down at his tea. "Some things... happened. Um... A few days ago. I got overwhelmed and I wasn't in the right state of mind to go into work." It was the truth, even though it was somewhat vague. "I'll be in tomorrow though, I promise." Flynn wished he hadn't promised. It meant he had to actually go and not call out again.

"I'm fine. Not sick, physically, or anything." He finally looked up to meet the other's gaze. "I just needed a couple of mental health days."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. flynn) 003

[chiefhalliday]

Rowan wasn’t expecting any visitors this late, least of all Kian Barlowe. But he could tell that Kian was in distress even before he spoke of what was bothering him.

Putting down his pen that he had been using to fill in some paperwork and gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk, Rowan gave his visitor a soft, reassuring smile.

“Come and sit down, detective. You’re welcome to discuss it with me, if you’d like. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

There was hardly anything more important to Rowan than helping his officers in their time of need. Nothing phased him; he’d worked every kind of case and every kind of crime imaginable. With his breadth of knowledge and experience he hoped that he’d be able to bring some kind of solace to Kian. The last thing either of them would want is for him to go home with a heavy burden on his mind.

“Would you like a drink?” Rowan then asked. “Tea? Water?” Something a little stronger didn’t seem appropriate.

@chiefhalliday -- The precinct, late

When Kian closes the door to his bureau and is about to head out, he notices that the lights in Rowan's office are still on. The detective pauses -- this case has been hard, and the person who could best understand is his new partner's uncle. So he finds himself walking over and knocking not even a second later.

"Chief?", Kian asks, slowly opening the door, "You're still here." When he had been a kid, that would have been a big reassurance -- knowing there was always at least one light on, that there was always someone pacing around, trying to figure out a case. He had found peace in his own violence in the end, but sometimes, those childish thoughts managed to hunt him down.

Just like they did today.

Kian slides in, closing the door behind himself, "We're working on a case involving abuse.", and then, honest words, too honest, even, "And it makes me feel like shit."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. kian) 001

[chiefhalliday]

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside while still alive. Never surrender.”

— Tupac Shakur

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— musings

[chiefhalliday]

Amused, Rowan smile. “Classically handsome. I don’t think I’ve been referred to as that before, but I’ll take it. It make make my sister laugh, though.”

Avi was right: a nice suit and slacks was definitely all that Rowan needed. They were comfy and affordable and helped him blend in. The last thing he needed was to stand out; he did enough of that at work. Oh, the irony of an introverted man who hates social gatherings in an extroverted world where people were its centre.

“You’ll have to see for yourself when it comes to the jumper,” he then said, taking a swig of coffee. “But sock puppets do sound fun. I’m sure the kids will appreciate it more than I do and turn something ugly into something beautiful. Art can some from anything as long as you have the vision and I think we should value that more as a society. There’s too much focus on tech these days and I don’t know if it’s because I’m old but we forget about the things that make us truly human: stories, art, performances, music… numbers and science are all well and good, but they’re so finite. I prefer things with endless possibilities.”

Aviel has his times where he dresses normal - lectures, talks at the MET. He looks just as good in a tailored suit, after all. But being able to put on something brighter and more interesting, especially when he's on his own now... kids are all moved out, an ex-wife and an ex-husband from various times no longer there either...

His hand lingers to flatten out the collar a bit. Settles on Rowan's shoulder with a soft squeeze before he brings it back. "You don't need all the flair, Ro. When you're classically handsome, a nice suit and slacks is all you need to show off."

A wink before he gives a light shrug and picks up his drink.

"You know I'll take whatever ugly sweater your sister gave you. Whether I wear it or not is dependent on the type of ugly. Can always turn it into a craft project. We'll be doing sock puppets soon enough, could use the extra fabric for something, huh?"

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. avi) 001

[chiefhalliday]

29. what does their perfume smell like, and how much do they put on?

The perfume Rowan wears is subtle and he will only use a couple of spritz every morning before work as it lasts the whole day. It smells musky, of sandalwood and bergamot with a hint of mandarin.

#(tysm for asking!) #rowan ✧･ﾟ— answers

[chiefhalliday]

16, 17 and 28

16. what is their favourite flavour in food?

rowan likes anything savoury, but is also a fan of something with a little spice

17. what is their favourite scent? (candles, perfume, food, etc.)

answered here.

28. how dedicated are they to their favourite colour? must everything they own be that colour? do they even care that much?

rowan’s favourite colour is blue and many of the suits he wears for work are navy blue, which he prefers so wears them most of the time. his own personal wardrobe consists of a little less blue, only really having jeans and jackets/cardigans in that colour.

(ask meme)

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— answers #(tysm for asking!)

[chiefhalliday]

“Sure. Tea would be great.”

Rowan studied Flynn with an intense gaze. Something was off. He looked exhausted, pale, and walked around as if his brain was entirely focused on something else. Rowan hoped it was nothing serious, but questions like ‘what if he’s gravely ill?’ or ‘what if something serious has happened at work I don’t know about?’ floated around in his mind.

However, he waited until Flynn had made the tea and they sat down together in the living room before even daring to ask any kind of question.

“Are you okay?” He eventually uttered. “It’s not like you to miss work. I was worried about you.”

Flynn had called out not once, but twice so far. It wasn't like him and he fully expected his Uncle to reach out. And when he did... Flynn couldn't bring himself to answer. He felt that all he was doing was disappointing him and he couldn't handle trying to talk to him over the phone.

But he needed time. He needed space. And as much as he hated missing work, he knew it was for the best. Flynn wouldn't have been focused enough to be at work. So when he called out, he claimed sickness. When in reality, he had been completely overwhelmed and overstimulated for days and what he needed was to be alone.

He expected the texts. The phone calls. But what he hadn't expected was for his uncle to show up at his apartment. "Oh-- um..." It was late in the afternoon and Flynn just got out of bed. His head was messy, his clothes were dirty. "It's fine." He muttered, avoiding the other's gaze. "I was just going to make some tea." A pause as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you want some?"

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. flynn) 003

[chiefhalliday]

what is their favorite snack food?

The hint of lime flavoured Tostitos or freeze fried strawberries

(ask meme)

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— answers #(tysm for asking!)

[chiefhalliday]

Rowan was glad he wasn't putting up a fight and the simple 'I understand' response almost took him aback. He wasn't about to get too complacent, though, as any person could become unpredictable at any moment and the last thing Rowan wanted to get was a black eye, a stab wound, or to have himself humiliated in some way, so his grip remained firm on the handcuffs.

“I really am the Chief of Police,” he said coolly. "And no, that doesn't mean you'll get any kind of special treatment. But you are my first arrest since I became Chief, so congratulations."

Rowan also didn't know whether to laugh at the remark about his moustache and simply ignore it, but he decided to humour the detainee. "It's like the hair on your head: use the right products and you'll get the results. You might want to try it sometime; mull it over whilst you're in custody."

Vanja knew the drill. Thankfully before coming today they had made sure they had no weapons or drugs on him. Since he hadn't known what security would look like. But they walked. It was bullshit. And seeing a skinny twink arresting Seb made his eyes narrow. But then Seb had given him a look. He'd stay calm. No fighting. A misdemeanor at best unless he made a problem. The older man was dressed in a three piece suit. Not a detective. A voice saying something about Chief Halliday caught Vanja's attention. Did he just get arrested by the fucking Chief of Police? They bit their tongue as they felt the metal of the cuffs tighten around their wrists. Fighting the urge to say something crude and snarky. Or just start rambling in Serbian. Instead what came out was a simple, accented, "I understand."

Do you wish to speak to me? Vanja could say a lot of things. A lot of things about Police in general. About the NYPD. About para-military fuck-bois on power trips. And a system designed to protect the corrupt, mean and inept all for what? A badge? But they didn't believe that this man would hear him. After all Vanja was just a criminal. So they slapped on their usual breezy self, coming off maybe a little flippant but not disrespectful as they turned their head slightly and asked, "You really the Chief of Police?" Vanja let out a low, impressed whistle then added because he couldn't help it, "I like your mustache. How do you keep it looking so nice?"

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. vanja) event

[chiefhalliday]

10, 17, 20

10. do they get hay fever? if so, how bad?

rowan’s never suffered from hay fever and every summer he’s grateful for it.

17. what is their favorite scent? (candles, perfume, food, etc.)

rowan loves the smell of fresh oranges, the roast dinner his sister cooks once a month, peonies (they remind him of his mother), leather, freshly cut grass, whisky, warm chocolate, and freshly baked bread.

20. do they have a “comfort outfit” or a go to look? if so, why did they choose those pieces?

his go to outfit is what he wears for work- a three piece suit (in navy blue, grey, or black) and a pair of brogues. dressing smart is very important to rowan and compared to having worn uniform for decades, what he wears now is casual. sometimes his sister tells him that he looks a lot like their father wearing a suit, which he takes a compliment and feels like he embodies his father's spirit and values this way. outside of work, he opts for shirts, jumpers, cardigans, jeans, tailored trousers, and boots (and incorporates more earthy tones).

(ask meme)

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— answers #(tysm for asking!)

[chiefhalliday]

"Your style is admirable," Rowan admitted. "But following you in the trend of wearing pasta jewellery is something you couldn't even pay me to do. I don't fancy standing up at a press conference with a ziti necklace. Leave the trailblazing to the kids.."

Whilst he wouldn't even think once, let alone twice, about wearing the same clothes as Avi did, Rowan liked that his friend was able to be comfortable and confident in what he was dressed in. At their age, the majority of society believed that older men should just stick to clothes as aged as they were: dull and boring shirts, jumpers, tailored trousers, fleeces, and loafers; but Avi broke the rules and proved society wrong, especially wearing something like a leather jacket and silver rings on most of his fingers. Rowan remembered wearing a leather jacket in his early forties and never touching one since.

Rowan himself, though lived up to the old man stereotype; he was most comfortable in a shirt and jumper and occasionally wore flannel. It was a habit of thirty years and he wasn't about to break it now. Besides he spent his waking hours worrying about the citizens of New York City and its tourists; he didn't have time to worry about what clothes matched with what. A suit and tie was just fine for Rowan.

He was also a stickler for having pristine clothes, which was something his father had drilled into him from a very young age and was something he continued to practice after decades of wearing his own uniform, so even a small gesture a gesture as Avi reaching to fix his collar was appreciated and his friend knew that.

"Thank you," Rowan said. "I'll stick to this old mundane shirt. Everything else is too gaudy for me... Speaking of, my sister bought me a jumper for my birthday and she seemed so pleased with, but... I can't bring myself to wear it. Maybe you could have it and repurpose it or let the kids make something with it. I'd hate to just throw it away."

"Maybe they'd make an exception for me, doll."

A wink, and a lean into an elbow. In reality, no, they absolutely wouldn't. Aviel doesn't make art - he talks about it. Excavates it. Or, used to. Now the kind of art he sees is a bit more... rudimentary. Abstract. He likes to call it deconstructed - though others might call it "construction paper and popsicle sticks".

His friend, his neighbor - always slipping into work mode. With the finesse of someone experienced in such things, Avi slides right back.

"You know me and fashion, after all." Somewhat busy in the pattern department, especially as he's crossed into taking care of 5 and 6 year olds. But he somehow makes it work. "Everyone? I don't see you in pasta jewelry. Fettuccine earrings. Ziti necklace. Should I bring you some next time the class is feeling adventurous?"

He reaches out with ringed fingers and fixes Rowan's collar for him sweetly. "Maybe a bit too gaudy for you, Ro."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. avi) 001 #(sorry it’s so long!)

[chiefhalliday]

✧･ﾟ— CLOSED STARTER @lluiscarrasco

— ROWAN’S HOUSE, BROOKLYN ; EARLY AFTERNOON

Saturday was a strange day for Rowan. He was exhausted from a long work week, yet he missed being in the office. But today Rowan decided that since he was at home and the weather was good he would finally do the jobs he had been putting off for so long. There was the repotting of plants and flowers, the painting of the backdoor, the putting up of shelves in the living room, the repairing of the toaster... Of course, Rowan wasn't going to get around to everything in one weekend, but he was determined to make a start.

To kill two birds with one stone, Rowan called Luis and asked if he could come over to help with a few things and he happily obliged, but it was also an excuse for Rowan to see his honorary nephew. It was probably around Christmas time the last they saw of each other so a catch-up was surely in order.

When Luis arrived, Rowan was at the front of his house dressed in an old shirt and jeans that he didn't mind getting stained and oiling the hinges of the door.

"Hey!" He greeted with a wide smile. "Glad you made it. I've just brewed some coffee- do you want some? Or maybe a sandwich if you haven't eaten yet?"

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. luis) 001

[chiefhalliday]

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— visage

[chiefhalliday]

✧･ﾟ— CLOSED STARTER @flynnxhalliday

— FLYNN’S APARTMENT ; EVENING

When Emilio informed Rowan that Flynn hadn’t shown up to his precinct that morning the news was met with surprise. It wasn’t like Flynn to miss work, but he was probably run down with a cold. Nothing major. Everyone was entitled to a sick day.

Then the second day came and Flynn was still absent. Rowan sent him a text and got no response, so he doubted his nephew would pick up the phone if he called. With an excuse to leave the office early (and probably for the first time in months), Rowan headed for Flynn’s apartment. He didn’t want to have to invade anybody’s personal space, especially during a time when work was not an option, but Rowan’s family was everything to him and whether he was overreacting or not was irrelevant. He had to know if Flynn was okay.

He always thought it was more polite to knock, but since he was riddled with concern and had a key to Flynn’s place (and vice versa) he thought he’d use that instead. He inserted the key into the lock, twisted the handle, and opened the door gently, hoping he didn’t startle Flynn into thinking it was a vicious intruder.

“Flynn?” He called. “Hey, it’s me. Sorry to come by unannounced.”

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. flynn) 003