Flashback #1: Never Change, Rowan Hart. (Patreon)

The scene in which you meet Rowan Hart. As always, you can imagine it differently however way you like in order to fulfill the MC/story in your head. [2.8k words]

High School, Freshman Year

Lunch time always proves eventful in this school, and today is no different. When you and Seven sidle in, the line is already at least twenty people long, and the seniors in the football team are already in the process of moving two tables together to make room for their entire team. A group of people to your left are throwing fries at each other, competing to see who catches the most with their mouths. A few girls crowd around one as she shows them her phone, earning scandalized reactions from her friends.

Seven has to stumble back when a guy with a skateboard rides by, nearly knocking over the trash in the corner of the room. You can see it on their face; they’re already annoyed.

“I hate high school,” they mumble with endless amounts of teenage angst, turning on their heel before walking over to stand at the end of the line.

You follow them, sauntering slowly as you soak in the lunch room. It’s far bigger than the one you and Seven ate in back in middle school, which is a given, and with so many students it makes your head throb. You knew leaving the familiarity of middle school means diving into a bigger pond, but you still feel like too small of a fish to fit in. It’s only been two weeks, and yet you feel ages behind.

You peel your eyes away from the mayhem of the lunch room to meet Seven at the end of the line, and they sigh as they lean their back against the wall. When they look at you, they say, “how you liking it so far?” They don't have to clarify what it is, and you merely shrug.

“Wouldn’t you know?”

They shrug, pushing themselves off the wall to walk the few inches of space that the line moved. “We only have two classes together." They absently pick at a stray piece of lint from their black sweater, so large it practically swallows their frame. The sleeves hang off their hands, and Seven has to constantly tug it up so it doesn't fall of their shoulders. Lately, Seven's been getting into edgier music, and their style has become both darker and less colorful. Every time you go home, you see Lucy's less-than-pleased reaction to their abundance of chains and black nail polish, but she simply smiles and offers to get them more clothes in the style they like. Lucy Duckstein is a mother before anything, as your own mother would say....when she's around.

"My mom wanted to pack me my lunch.” Even as Seven says this, they can't stop their amused grin. "I told her freshman don’t get their lunches packed for them."

You grin, leaning forward. “Aw. Cute.”

"Me or my mom?" Seven asks, completely serious.

EX: [ Your eyes widen, you're smiling dropping off your face like sweat. Your lips part in anticipation for an answer you don't yet have. "Uh-"

Their face breaks into a grin, saving you from definite embarrassment. "Kidding." They quickly spin around, filling the gap in the line that was left behind during your conversation.

You hesitate, staring at Seven's back. They turn their face to gaze at the lunch room, bright green eyes assessing and never lingering on someone too long. It's weird, the question felt oddly...loaded, in a way. Why would it be? It's not like you two haven't joked like that before.

You knew entering high school would be a big change, but you always hoped Seven would remain the one constant in your life. You were wrong, of course, seeing as you've been noticing new things about them you didn't notice before.

Like the curve of their profile, their long fingers, the laundry detergent on their clothes that smells faintly of lilac and whatever perfume their mom sprayed that day. How, in some way, Seven is no longer that kid you met in middle school. In fact, it even occurred to you the other day that Seven is actually kind of...cute, and you promptly pretended to gag yourself. Seven Duckstein is not cute. Or pretty. Or attractive or any of those words. Seven is your friend who still calls their mom 'mommy' and wears socks with holes in them and had a brief crush on Ash Powers that resulted in them actually drooling in class when Ash was presenting.

When did they grow up?

Maybe you always knew it was high-time to accept that Seven is growing up in ways that other people will find attractive and alluring. They're not going to be a kid forever. In the back of your mind, you always knew.

It's just now...you're aware of them. And you don't know how to feel about it. ]

BFFs: [ You sputter out a laugh. "Your mom, of course."

Seven puts a hand to their chest, feigning offense. "I'm insulted."

"Whatever." You playfully shove them forward and they skip ahead, closing the gap in the line left behind during your conversation.

You shake your head a bit, smiling. You knew entering high school would be a big change, you're glad you can experience this change with Seven. You can't imagine how you'd deal with high school without them, especially since they seem to navigate everything much easier than you. Nothing really ruffles their feathers, and you can already see them finding their own place in this social jungle. They're finding their style, discovering what they like and dislike. Last week, you even saw them with a group of people dressed similarly to them,  laughing like they've been friends for ages.

As a friend, you're proud. You're happy to see them branching out. As a best friend, you're scared and jealous. You don't want to be left behind. ]

Seven turns and quirks a brow, ushering you closer. You quickly move up to the line, surpassing them when they can't choose a meal.

"I'll get us a table," you tell them, and they nod, not looking at you.

You move away from the line, biting your lip as you stop to survey the lunch room. It's crowded, chaotic, and the onslaught of sounds and sights is enough to overwhelm your senses. You look around, your eyes hopping from table to table in search of one. Realistically, you and Seven can sit with their new friends, a group of kids dressed in similar monochromatic edgy attire like Sev. They sit in the corner, laughing over something. They intimidate you, not because of their looks or any of that sort, but because they all seem close to each other. Seven knows them, you don't. You feel like you'd be intruding.

Your eyes divert away from them to an empty table near the entrance. You move up on ahead with a determined strut, breezing through the crowd of students and plopping yourself on the circular bench before anyone could take it. When you look at the line in search of Seven, they're currently still at the front, bickering with the lunch lady. Typical.

Might as well start eating...

You begin to eat, ignoring the way people glance at you, sitting alone. You telepathically beg for Seven to hurry up, and you munch absently on your bland tasting burger.

"Hey, Rowan!"

A voice booms above the mayhem, and you look to see a football player with a football in his hand. Your eyes rove over to a boy who quite literally sits on the actual table a few feet away, surrounded by a group of cheerleaders and members of the marching band.

"Go long!"

"Wait--" Rowan raises a hand, but before he could stop it the football player launches the ball across the lunch room. Rowan, despite his initial protests, does go long, and he runs across the lunch room and jumps to catch it, his body flying backward onto a group of girls who squeal.

As Rowan apologizes through his laughter, the lunch room cheers. Rowan raises the football in victory, only for his eyes to widen and his face to fall.

"Throw it back!" the football player says quickly, his eyes on the teacher who is now making her way to him. "Quick!"

"I-Uh..." He scrambles upward, holding the football to his butt behind him. He wears loose shorts, his purple tee flaunting a cartoon character you've never seen before. His black hair is tightly curled and shaped up, faded at the temples and neckline. He dresses quite colorfully; a complete difference from Seven.

He hops backward, on his tiptoes. You presume he's trying to hide the football from the teacher, who is now giving the football player an earful.

You shrug and go back to your food.

Until someone plops on the seat across from you.

You expect it to be Seven, instead it's the boy named Rowan. He lets out a deep breath, planting the football on the table hard enough to make you jolt.

"Can I sit here?" he asks, slightly breathless. He looks around awkwardly, his eyes on the gaggle of girls who are still looking his way. Are they laughing at him? You're not sure.

"You already are..."

He grins. "Great, thanks--"

"Rowan!"

Another person comes up to him, and they slap their hands together in greeting. The guy looks from him to you, slightly confused, before shrugging and looking back at him. "You coming out with us tonight, right? My brother got the new Playstation--"

"Ah." Rowan grimaces. "I can't. I was...grounded."

His friend crosses his arms, snorting. "For?"

He shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. "It's not important."

His friend laughs, and jabs a finger behind him. "Fair enough. Want to come sit out in the quad?"

"Um." Rowan swallows and shakes his head. "I'm...good."

That earns him a confused look, but he shrugs and leaves anyway. Rowan sighs, turning back to face you and planting his cheek on the table, groaning.

You look at him, not sure of what to do. You know him, at least; not only is he in your class, but he's practically friends with everyone. You always see him around the halls, darting from friend group to friend group. Calling him a social butterfly would be an understatement.

He doesn't move, not until you wordlessly push your tray of food toward him. Rowan meets your eyes, frowning, but then sits up to grab a fry. "Thanks," he says.

"No problem." You continue to eat, feeling his eyes on you.

"You're in Mr. Patterson's class, aren't you?" He grabs another fry.

You stop to swallow, nodding. "[MC]."

He smiles. "Name's Rowan."

"I know," you blurt, and at his quirked brow, your skin burns. "I just...you get around."

Rowan stares at you. "I...what?"

Your eyes widen. "I mean--"

At your face, he barks out a laugh, making you blink, your mouth still dropped open. "I know what you meant." He hides his smile with his knuckles. "Seeing you embarrassed is funny."

"Gee, thanks," you mumble and when you see Rowan say hello to yet another person in your school's football uniform, you ask, "Are you on the team?"

"What? Pfft. No." Rowan wrinkles his nose. "I tried out but then I realized it's a helluva lot of work so I gave up." A shrug. "Not really my jam, anyway."

You nod, and that's when Seven comes and plops down the seat with a huff. "The lady refused to give me more ranch. She said something about it being a 'dietary issue' and 'unhealthy'--" Seven stops when their eyes land on Rowan, who smiles and waves. "Hi?"

"Heyyy." Rowan points to them. "You're Seven Duckstein, right?"

Seven begins to pick at their fries with a huff, stabbing it with their fork. "Last time I checked."

Rowan snorts, before becoming thoughtful. “So…that’s like, your real name?”

They stop and stare at him with a blank look. They get this question a lot; you've been forced to witness variations of this same conversation since you were kids. “…Yeah. I mean, unless my birth certificate is fake."

Rowan laughs a little. “Did you pop out at seven o'clock or something? Is it your favorite number?”

“Ask my mom.” Seven says, turning their attention away to eat. “And no. It’s three.”

He scoffs. “Well, that’s just a missed opportunity.”

Seven actually laughs, earning a smile from Rowan. The conversation flows easily after that. You learn that Rowan is eyeing a spot in the art club and that he likes the same music Seven does. He even listens to some artists you do, many of which are so indie and underground you didn't expect anyone else but Seven to know them.

"No, their first album was way better--"

"No, it wasn't!" you guffaw. "You can hear...how good they got!"

"You mean how bad?" Rowan looks smug. "They got lazy. Once you get rich, you lose that hunger." He clenches his fist and then drops it on the table. "Or so my dad says. He talks about it all the time."

"No way." You nudge Seven. "Tell him."

Seven shrugs. "I always thought they sucked so...I'm probably not the best person to ask."

Rowan laughs as you groan. You'd hoped Seven would at least pretend to back you up. "I can't believe you guys know The Nihilists. None of my friends know who they are. My dad loves them."

You smile as Sev pops a fry in their mouth. "Your friends are missing out," you say.

Rowan seems to be lost in thought a moment, a small smile on his face. He then leans forward. "What other artists do you guys listen to?"

And another conversation is started after that. You can't help but think about how easy it is to talk to Rowan, and it suddenly makes sense why he's so liked. Rowan speaks to you like you've been friends forever, and his laugh is so contagious that you find yourself breathless from laughter and you don't even know what's funny. You've never felt so comfortable, not with anyone but Seven.

You don't realize how much time has gone by until the bell rings, and it only occurs to you that you were so engrossed in your conversation with Rowan and Seven that you didn't finish your food. As everyone gets up to leave for their next class, Rowan stays put.

"You coming?" Seven asks, and Rowan waves a dismissive hand.

"I'll catch up. Gotta--" he gazes around awkwardly "--get something from my locker." He then looks back and smiles. "We should hang out sometime."

"Yeah." Seven nods. "And maybe I'll introduce you to real music and not...The Nihilists." You nudge them.

"Pffft." Rowan beams. "You'd cry at my dad's rare vinyl collection."

Sev's eyes widen. "Your dad has a collection?"

"Oh, yeah." Rowan suddenly looks nervous, and then slowly he says: "You guys should come over...if you ever want to see it. Well, in a month after I get ungrounded."

It was a bit optimistic of him to expect you three to talk in a month, but you're glad it worked out. Turns out, you and Seven did want to see it. Turns out, Rowan felt a lot lonelier than he looked, admitting that his friends were just acquaintances. It was hard forming a bond with people who only wanted to exchange a joke, who wanted to play football, or wanted Rowan only in short bursts. Being alone doesn't always look like a person sitting by themselves at a lunch table. It could be the boy who is constantly exchanging greetings with the student body, his name being called every five seconds as if he's the center of attention.

"Yeah," you answer, smiling. "Sounds good."

Going to his house opened the door to a friendship so close you can hardly remember a time where Rowan Hart wasn't a constant fixture in your life. Even when Seven stopped being that constant, when they became someone you called a stranger, Rowan remained stagnant. Your best friend. You wonder how different it would've been if you two hadn't met that day, but then you realize it's no use. You don't want an alternative, so you don't think about it.

"Hey, Rowan?" you say after a day of practice, years after that moment. After Seven Duckstein officially became Seven Lawless. After you two stopped being friends and all you had was the band.

"Yeah?" Rowan looks at you, both of you slumped on the couch, shoulders and legs pressed together.

"You know," you start slowly, "you never told me why your dad grounded you." He frowns. "The day we met? You said you were grounded."

Realization flood his expression and he snorts. "You still remember that?" You nod your head and he shrugs, his eyes turning light at the memory. "I was doing doughnuts with his car. I wasn't even old enough to drive yet."

You sputter out a laugh and he flinches, grinning. "Rowan." You pat his hand. "Don't ever change." Change means disappointment. It means fights and growing apart. You want this to be the same forever.

"Trust me, I'm not planning on it."