Usually after a victory, the players would go out. They'd drink and party, sometimes miss their classes the next day- but their professors rarely cared. Athletes were idolized by almost everyone at a university like Creighton.

Erik had started to ask Rowan which party to hit up, but shut up as soon as he saw the steely expression that remained on Rowan's face.

"Big building." I muttered quietly, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence that was thick in the air. Erik and I were following Rowan to his dorm, and while the people walking nearby were chatting away happily, Rowan hadn't said a word in five minutes.

"Hm?" Rowan turned when I spoke, and I could tell there were many thoughts swimming behind his hard-set gaze.

"Oh," I cleared my throat awkwardly, "nothing really." Erik snorted, and I flashed him a glare which only made him laugh more.

Rowan pressed a key card against the door monitor which flashed green before he pulled it open. He gave a stiff smile to those lounging in the lobby as they congratulated him, one that was so forced it would've been better if he'd ignored them entirely.

"What's A?" I curiously blurted out in the elevator as Rowan ignored the floor numbers, hitting a small round button labeled A and scanning his key card again.

"Student athlete dorms." His tone was less icy than it'd been earlier and I wondered if it was because he was farther from the public eye.

"Oh, right." I responded. Erik stifled another laugh and I scowled at him from behind Rowan. He just shrugged and mouthed can't help it, before pretending to take an interest in the reflective silver walls of the elevator.

I wondered if Rowan had roommates, and the thought of that being a possibility made my palms sweat in anxiety. Rowan pressed his card for the last time against a door in the center of the hallway.

The room wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. There was one queen-sized bed covered in black sheets against the corner opposite the doorway, and a desk on the other side covered in closed textbooks and papers. I was surprised Rowan found the time to do actual schoolwork on top of basketball, and found myself studying the way his materials were neatly organized.

The walls were dark grey, and I wondered if they had allowed him to paint the room or if he just didn't care. There was a black and white painting of a small house mounted on his wall, a tree towering above it with a swing attached. Next to the painting was a cushioned arm chair and a small closet, cornered next to a tall lamp that almost reached the ceiling. He had a small mini-fridge planted under a window that was cracked open, a slight breeze flowing through the room.

Erik immediately plopped down in the armchair, reclining it back to face a small flatscreen mounted on the wall by the door.

"Ooh, I think the Bulls are playing." Erik said, pulling a small remote from under the cushions. He turned the game on and muted it before relaxing further into the seat.

Rowan rolled his eyes as he switched on the lamp in the corner, and a warm orange glow filled the dark room. I walked towards the window, not knowing what to do and feeling a bit awkward. The room was high up. It's view was of the courtyard, and there were two connected buildings facing me, both stacked with windows of other dorms. There were different colored lights in a few of them, some of their residents were visible drinking, or laughing with friends. Somebody was playing music loudly in one of the rooms and the sound of bass echoed through the square.

There was a knock on the door, and Rowan dropped his gym bag at the foot of his bed before going to answer.

"Hey," a tall girl with a deep voice and toned arms was on the other side, next to one of Rowan's teammates. I recognized him as the player who'd been arguing with the refs, the one who'd gotten a technical. He looked a lot less angry than he'd been earlier, and was holding a six pack of Bud Light under his arm.

"What's up guys?" Rowan leaned against the door to keep it open, his arms crossed.

"How's your hand? You hit that guy pretty hard." His teammate asked, a small grin creeping onto his face.

"It's fine," Rowan held up his hand, the light from the hallway reflecting off of his knuckles showing a small bruise forming. "Won't affect my shooting or anything."

"Good. But the dude was asking for it, couldn't stop running his mouth."

Rowan offered him a half smile, before looking back at us, a flash of impatience in his expression.

"Well we're celebrating your win out in the rec room if you wanna come join." The girl said, nodding down the hallway. Her hair was in a bun, and she was wearing sweats and a t-shirt like Rowan, her feet covered only with black socks. She was almost at Rowan's height, only an inch or two shorter meaning she'd tower over me easily.

"Thanks, I'm gonna stay in though. I have friends over," Rowan turned and nodded towards Erik and I. The girl popped her head around him.

"Oh hey Erik,"

"Hey guys," he gave them a quick wave and the girl turned back to me,

"This is Evan," Rowan said, extending an arm in my direction. I gave a small wave, feeling extremely out of place.

"Jamie," his teammate said with a nod.

"I'm Shea," the girl said, flashing me a big smile, "and holy shit you're pretty."

My eyes widened and I felt my greeting get jumbled up at the statement as I felt my face flush. Everyone's attention turned to me, the boys all seeming a bit too entertained by the interaction.

"Thanks... uh, you are too-" I'd never been called pretty in a way like that before, and I was having a hard time figuring out how to respond.

"-Don't worry I'm gay as fuck." She sighed, putting a hand over her heart, "but wow."

Erik was in a fit of laughter, and Jamie was covering his mouth, failing to hide his laugh with a cough.

"Okay, have fun guys," Rowan closed the door on them, looking down at the ground as he too tried to hide a smile.

"Sorry for being honest!" I heard Shea say from the other side as they walked away.

Erik caught his breath and Rowan scratched his head, his arm hiding his expression.

"Oh my god Evan your reaction was priceless." Erik said, his arms covering his stomach. "I wish I'd recorded that."

"Calm down, I was just taken off guard." I responded, crossing my arms defensively.

"Yeah, so that's Shea." Rowan finally turned to me, a hint of a smile still visible. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure, "she's on the women's basketball team- lives across the hall." I nodded, hoping my face wasn't still pink, but knowing it probably was.

"Oh, cool." I picked at my nail, at least Shea's presence had lightened the tension because both Erik and Rowan seemed to be in slightly better moods than before. "That's a nice painting," I pointed to the black and white house on Rowan's wall, eager to move the attention away from me. Rowan's eyes followed and I saw another smile form.

"My mom did it. It's our old house."

I nodded, studying the painting more closely. The house was simple but warm, with one story and a wide front lawn. I wondered how often the swing was used, which parts of it reminded him of which parent.

"She did a good job, it looks like it was nice."

Rowan crossed his arms, his thoughts somewhere else. I could see hints of nostalgia mixing in with his expression as he surveyed it, his eyes staring as if waiting for it to spring to life before our eyes.

"Yeah... it was." He finally tore his eyes away from the painting and quickly glanced down at mine. They were searching, looking for something, and before I could take in any of it he turned away. I tried to ignore the way my skin tingled when his shoulder brushed against mine.

"You can sit on the bed if you want." His tone was light and Erik groaned behind him as a Bulls player missed an open layup.

Rowan sat at his desk, facing us and propping his feet up on the mini-fridge. I slipped my shoes off and gingerly sat at the edge of his bed, wondering what he'd been thinking of a moment earlier.

"This game is garbage." Erik tore his eyes away from the tv as a fast food commercial took over the screen. "Not like yours," he said to Rowan, his head rolling to the side. "What was that guy's deal at the end?"

Rowan's eyes flickered to me for a split second before he answered Erik.

"He was just being a dick."

Erik turned back to me.

"You missed a crazy game. The other team had to have paid the refs off or something, they only called fouls on Creighton." Rowan laughed, running a hand through his hair.

"They didn't pay the refs off for a preseason game. The refs were just bad."

"Yeah but those calls seemed super biased." Erik turned back to me, his hands moving as he spoke, "Rowan got a technical for passing the ball too hard to the ref. Half the Creighton players had technicals, two got ejected because they had more than one. I bet a third of the other team's points came from bogus calls."

"Why'd they make such bad calls if the game is televised? Can't they get in trouble?"

Erik turned to Rowan with a shrug, waiting for his input.

"Sure, they can get in trouble but the calls were there. They were just a bit one-sided." Rowan didn't seem to think too hard on the referee's calls, that wasn't what had bothered him.

"So you agree with them?" Erik asked, a disbelieving frown forming between his eyebrows. Rowan shrugged.

"Well I shouldn't have passed the ball so hard, I guess most refs wouldn't have cared. But we shouldn't have let the players get to us like that. Bad teams always talk shit- we're not supposed to listen. And, Jamie cussing out the ref with less than a minute left is a bad move, that's just giving points to the other team. We should've beat them by at least twenty, we were off."

"Okay but the refs are supposed to call it both ways if they're talking a lot of trash." Erik said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, that's true."

"What kinds of things were they saying?" I asked, wondering what could've possibly been said to piss off an entire team that much.

"Whatever they thought would distract us." Rowan's tone shifted slightly, his bitterness growing. "Slurs and what not."

"Oh..." I subconsciously chewed my lower lip, keeping my questions to myself. I wanted to ask about the coach, about what had caused Rowan to react like he did. "And the refs don't care?" Rowan shook his head.

"Usually not unless it's directed at them."

"They're some fuckin' tools," Erik said turning back to the tv. The game was back, and his eyelids dropped a bit as he refocused his attention. I felt Rowan's gaze on me, and I avoided it instead looking to his bedside table. There was a small stack of books resting on top, and I picked up the one on top. This Is The Way The World Ends- Jeff Nesbit.

"That's a good one." Rowan spoke up, and I lifted my gaze back to him, "you read it?"

"No," I shook my head and frowned, looking back at the book then the study materials stacked on his desk. How have I never asked him... "Wait, what's your major?"

The corners of his lips curled upward, his white teeth visible under what was a genuine smile.

"Sociology." My eyebrows raised in surprise, but I didn't know what I was expecting. I'd definitely put him in a box, and guilt started to trickle in at that realization.

"Oh," my eyes wandered back to the stack of books on his table, their subjects ranging from climate change to gender identity. "That's actually pretty cool," I felt my smile grow.

"You sound surprised," he was grinning, enjoying the fact that I'd been caught off guard. "What'd you expect?" I laughed nervously, my face reddening again.

"I dunno, like... sports marketing or something." Rowan chuckled before shaking his head.

"A few people have actually told me I should do that." He ran a hand through his hair, and my eyes trailed to watch it stray. "I don't think the NBA needs any help with ticket sales though."

"Yeah... but they'll probably be promoting your games in the future."

"Right." It was sarcastic, his tone had changed. His hand was playing with a paperclip on his desk, right leg bouncing against the floor. He'd averted his gaze, now watching the paperclip unfold in his hands.

"What? You're definitely good enough. Isn't that what D1 players do after college? Get drafted?" Rowan laughed bitterly.

"Assuming they make it to the end of college."

There was a thick pause in the air, and I felt an odd feeling cross me. Rowan dropped the paper clip and readjusted in his seat, looking back at me. "You know, a lot of players get injured, that puts them out for a while and they don't play the same."

I nodded slowly glancing over at Erik, wondering if he'd heard any of what we'd said. Of course, Erik was sound asleep on the chair, his mouth hanging open. He'd missed watching the Bulls come back from a 20 point deficit.

"Yeah... I mean, you think you'll get injured?" Rowan shrugged nonchalantly, his expression unreadable again.

"I don't want to, but I'm also not gonna put all my hopes and dreams on something that can be taken in a matter of seconds."

"Yeah... I mean I definitely get that."

"And who knows if I'll still like the sport by then." There was a hint of spite in his tone.

That guy has always had a love for the sport, unlike any other person I've seen...

His coach's words from the paper rang in my head, and I found myself more confused than I'd been before.

"Why would you stop liking it?"

Rowan studied me, something storming behind his eyes. He seemed to be having a battle with himself about something, and I could only look back at him and wait, listening to the soft snores coming from Erik.

"Some people..." he started, his eyes narrowing, "are really good at ruining something you love."

I looked down at the floor, eyeing the black rug that covered the cold stone. I wanted to ask him, now was the only time I could ask him about his coach. But Rowan stood, and I watched as he walked to Erik and shook his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Bulls won."

"Don't fuck with my emotions please." Erik turned on his side, his eyes still closed.

"It's true." Erik forced his eyes open, trying to focus them on the screen. "I ordered you an Uber home, too."

Eriks jaw dropped as he stared at the screen.

"Are you fucking kidding me I missed that?!" He covered his eyes with his palms, looking like he was experiencing physical pain. "God dammit, you didn't wake me up!"

"We weren't watching, don't you have their games recorded at home?"

"Yeah..." Erik shoved himself off the seat grumpily, "not as good as watching it live though," he muttered, searching for his shoes.

"That's true." Rowan dug out Eriks sneaker from under the chair and handed it to him. "Come by tomorrow?"

"Mhmm," Eriks voice was still slow, "still gotta celebrate your win." He eyed the tv with sadness. "And the Bulls win."

Rowan laughed, though it sounded forced.

"I'll be right back," he said to me, and I nodded as he went to help Erik to his ride.

I needed to ask him. But he'd already told me so much tonight, I felt like I was walking on thin ice.

My eyes darted around the room while he was gone. It was so organized, even a stray basketball was neatly tucked away in his closet instead of out on his floor. It was cozy, but daunting at the same time. The TV was playing highlights from the game, it's lights changing the tone of the room every time the shot changed. Despite the noise from outside, it still felt peaceful in Rowan's room, calm.

I jumped when the door opened five minutes later.

"Sorry," Rowan said, closing it softly behind him. I'd gotten used to the quiet, the peace of his private room with the chilled winter breeze.

"It's good, uh- I can go too."

"So soon?" Rowan smiled, "didn't mean to scare you."

"No, you didn't." So am I staying longer? Just me and him? "You're not tired?"

Rowan shook his head, sitting back down to where he'd been before.

"It's only eleven thirty." It sounded like a tease, and my nails started picking at each other. Don't do it...

"So..." I met his gaze, and something about his body language told me he knew what was on my mind. "You said... people can ruin something you love..." Rowan nodded, his gaze still set on me. "Were you talking about your coach?"

The tension grew in the room, and after a moment Rowan stood up from the desk chair, turning to his closet. My heart thumped, I knew I'd crossed another line and I wondered how many times he'd let me get away with it.

Rowan's back was to me, and I tried to avert my eyes as he tore off his shirt and looked through the closet, his muscles still visible in the dim orange glow.

I moved my gaze to my fingernails and kept picking at them nervously. The silence was overbearing.

"Here," Rowan was holding out a shirt, his dark eyes staring down at me. I couldn't read him, I never could.

"Oh, am I-" my fingers shook slightly as I took the shirt from his hands, "did you want me to stay?" My eyes scanned the room, trying to figure out where I'd sleep because there was no way he'd invite me to share a bed with him again-

"Well," Rowan's voice was steady but loaded at the same time, "if we're gonna talk about Anderson," he walked to his window, closing it, "we might be up a while."

He sat next to me on the bed- close. I could feel his body heat, smell his musky aftershave. "You don't have to if you don't want to, of course."

I shouldn't... I knew I'd get things mixed up more. I already was. I could already feel my body responding to his proximity, hear my mind tell me it was only going to be harder for me to distance myself emotionally if I did. But I wanted to. I wanted to stay, and even if it ended in heartbreak at least I'd... I'd what?

"Yeah," I finally answered him, "thanks uh... I can sleep there," I motioned towards the chair Erik had fallen asleep in earlier. Rowan laughed lightly from beside me, and I felt the bed shift as he stood back up before walking to his mini-fridge.

"Or, you could sleep there." He nodded to the bed, before pulling out two bottles of water. He gave me one with a charming smile that sent butterflies to my stomach. "It's not like we've never shared a bed before."

***

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