Usually, they tried to at least look put together when they went out - even if the thin semblance of being a semi capable adult was long gone to the two am bodega cashiers near their apartment, it was still nice to pretend that, at 27, they didn’t have a secret stash of cadbury eggs and nothing else in their bedside table, and that they did their taxes on time - but tonight, even appearing in a clean shirt was beyond them. It had been a rough day at work, losing a child in their ward suddenly and without warning, only to come home to a frantic fae teen close to bleeding out after getting attacked in an alleyway, desperate to avoid the call to his parents that a hospital would give. And, true to form, Rowan had let them in, flying through a first aid kit and half of the potions in their kitchen, letting the fae go only when Rowan was sure that he wasn’t going to pass out on the way home. And if the witch had pressed a protection charm into the boys hand on his way out, well. That was their business, wasn’t it?
Of course, it had brought them to this - standing in the middle of a store, flickering lights above them, staring in blank exhaustion at the shelf in front of them, one hand exhaustedly resting upon the handle, completely unaware of the stares and whispers they were attracting as people realize the front of their shirt was covered in still slightly tacky blood. It was only when someone got within a few feet of them that Rowan reacted, all though it was only to mutter a brief apology and move back, hauling the cart with them absentmindedly, waiting for the other to pass.Â
