#drunk rowan

His eyes were blurry, almost glassy like he had been crying or was about to cry and he was looking down at her with such sorrow. Celaena had never seen the warrior so somber, save for when he had told her the story of his lost mate. 

With a slight jerk of his head, he turned and started to walk down the hallway, leaving her no choice but to follow him.

Further inspection revealed that Rowan’s eyes were bloodshot and he seemed to sway just a bit on his feet. Celaena narrowed her eyes, resting a hand on the wall for support as she struggled to keep up with him. She knew he was slowing down for her even, and automatically felt embarrassed for her weak state, no matter that he was the one who forced her into it. Rowan slowed his pace even more. 

“Endovier.” Rowan stated, his usual mask slipping to allow Celaena a glimpse of his true thoughts. A mix of pain, anger, and pity flashed across his face. However, Celaena fiercely did not want his pity and told him as much. “It’s not pity. I’m actually impressed.” His words slurred the slightest bit and Celaena wondered where he had gone for those hours she was asleep.

“Impressed?” She quirked an eyebrow but stumbled as her legs failed her. Rowan caught her before she could fall on her face and scooped her up in his arms for the second time tonight, his arm around her back feeling hesitant. She honestly could not work up the strength to care that she was only in a towel. She relaxed and let him hold her. 

Rowan’s face was back to it’s lethal calm rage that she’d seen before he’d left, though his bloodshot eyes still portrayed something off. “I’ve heard enough about Endovier to know that the life expectancy in only a few months, if that. You surviving for a year amazes me.” He almost seemed awestruck. 

Before she could respond, Rowan continued. “It’s also anger. I spent the last three hours trying not to go storming to Maeve and demand answers she wouldn’t give me. It was also to stop me from flying to Endovier myself and ending the life of each and every person who hurt you.”

His slow gait was so smooth that Celaena was finding sleep beginning to overcome her again. Needless to say, she was incredibly surprised by his truthfulness. She let her eyelids droop. “That’s nice. Too bad most are dead already.” 

His grip on her tightened slightly. “By your hand no doubt?”

Celaena yawned. “Bingo.” She fingered the bandages peeking out beneath his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Rowan, shockingly, simply held her eyes and pressed a fleeting kiss to her forehead. They had reached a door she recognized as his room and he opened it without setting her down. No longer tired but rather wide-eyed, Celaena was set on the edge of a king-sized bed that took up most of the room. 

A fire roared in the fireplace that warmed her chilled bones. Now that he was no longer carrying her, Rowan shucked off his shirt and threw a clean one to her so she could cover up. 

Finally, stumbling over to her, still sitting on the edge of the bed, Rowan kneeled in front of Celaena and grasped her head in between his two large hands. Celaena was hyper aware of the fact he could snap her neck with one thought, but from the look coming from his now red-rimmed eyes, she somehow knew that was the last thing he would do right now. 

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know what to do,” She had never heard Rowan Whitethorn stutter before. “It caught me off guard. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Celaena had also never heard Rowan Whitethorn apologize before, pretty sure she would rarely hear it again. 

Slowly, she nodded and watched in amazement as tears started slipping down his cheeks. Suddenly, this whole thing made sense. “You’re drunk?”

Rowan let out a little mumble. “I might have had a few shots.” 

Celaena rolled her eyes and removed his hands from her face. “Go to sleep Rowan.” She threw his shirt on one of his chairs and shakily stood, pulling Rowan up with her. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Oh, no you won’t,” Rowan scooped her up again, drawing the covers back with one hand and sliding her under them before tucking her in, all in one smooth motion. Celaena was stunned. “I may be slightly inebriated but you aren’t getting out of this bed for a while missy.” 

“Did you just call me ‘missy’?” She asked incredulously. Probably more than a few shots. 

“I did.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Deal with it.” A short burst of laughter escaped and Rowan’s head snapped to her, his eyes filling with tears again. “Your laugh is so beautiful.” 

“Oh my, you need sleep.” She laughed again. “Who would’ve have thought, Rowan Whitethorn, a sad drunk.” Celaena patted the space next to her and Rowan flopped down on top of the covers, bouncing her slightly and turning his head to look at her. 

“You’re amazing.” He whispered. 

Celaena shook her head. “And you’ll never remember this in the morning. Goodnight, Rowan.” 

“Goodnight, Aelin.” 

Celaena fully planned on sneaking back down to her room, no matter how long it took, rather than face his wrath in the morning when he found her in his bed. However, soon after his breaths finally evened out, her eyes closed as well. When she awoke a few hours later from the sounds of revelers returning from the night’s activities, a strong arm was slung over her waist, Rowan’s breath warming her shoulder as he slept peacefully. She couldn’t find the strength or the will to push him off. 

Instead, before falling back asleep, Celaena simply whispered, “I’m never letting you do shots again, mister.”

In the rear-view mirror, Aelin watched Manon trying to buckle a very inebriated Dorian into her jeep. To their left, she saw Aedion–Lysandra’s unconscious body splayed out on a bench behind him–waiting for an uber.

Apparently, none of the boys (or Lysandra) knew how to pace themselves. Even tight-laced Chaol Westfall had had to take an uber home.

“Me. You just don’t like get me, like what this means to me,” Rowan said, making a show of splaying his fingertips over his broad chest. Aelin had no clue what he was talking about.

She reached over and patted his thigh. “Why don’t you explain it to me,” she said.

“No,” he said, pushing her hand off his knee. “It’s like. I can’t okay. You just like. I can’t explain it. Ah-ha!” He reached for the iPod in the cupholder. She tried not to laugh at how close he was holding it to his face.

“You wanna listen to some music?”

“No. I wan you to listen t’me.” He scrolled through the albums.

“Okay, well that’s gonna be har–”

“Shhhhhhush,” he said, awkwardly trying to put his finger over her mouth and missing horribly. He turned on the stereo and plugged the iPod into the auxiliary jack.

Oh. My. God, Aelin thought, as a young Christina Aguilera began to croon from the speakers. She picked her jaw up off the floor and looked over at Rowan. His head was back against the seat, eyes closed, hips gyrating awkwardly to the song.

“I feel like I've been locked up tight, for a century of lonely nights,” he sang along. “Waiting for someone to release me.”

Aelin could not get air into her lungs fast enough. She was having one of those laughing fits where you literally can’t inhale. She scrambled to find her phone. No one would ever believe this had happened if she didn’t have video to prove it.

Rowan grabbed her free hand, staring at her intently.

“I don’t know how to tell you homuch I feel, Aelin, and is like this song, you know? It’s me.”

She had to look away to regain some of her composure before she turned to him and said, “You feel like a genie, Rowan? In a… a bottle?”

“You’re laffing a’me!” he said, tears rimming his eyes.

“Oh, babe. No, I’m not,” she said through a shit-eating grin. “I just”–she snorted–”do I rub you the right way?”

“Yes!” he yelled. “Every. Day.” Tears spilled from his eyes and he kissed her hand. “And it’s like, you’re mine, you know? Forever, I’ve bean locked up. Really tight.” He pressed her hand to his heart.

“Like, when I think ‘bout waking up nexto you,” he slurred, “every morning for life... it’s like. Like every time you look at me with your eyes, or touch me with your hands. It’s just, like, you rub me the right way, you know?” No, she didn’t know. “And no one has ever done that for me before. Ever.” He ran her hand over his muscled abdomen in slow, misshapen circles.

“Awe, Rowan,” she said, pulling into the driveway of the house they’d just bought. “That was very sweet, I think. Thank you.”

“Mhm.” His eyes were closed.

“Babe, no sleeping. We’re home.” She turned the car of with her left hand and unbuckled herself.

“I like your rubs,” he said.

“Sweety, technically I’m not rubbing your belly. You’re rubbing my hand over your belly. But if you go inside with me, I’ll rub it for real?” His eyes shot open.

“Promise?”

She leaned in close to him and said with as serious a face as she could manage, “I know I gotta rub you the right way, honey. So I can come, come, come on and let you out.”

Rowan gave her a sloppy kiss and smiled wide. “You know that song is about orgasms, right?” he said with a giggle before getting out of the car.

Aelin watched him stumble up the porch steps. Fairly certain that she’d just been tricked into agreeing to give Rowan a handjob.