Rowan Mccay · Y/n story by @leoleoleo4

The sea air carried salt and the faint cry of gulls as the last of the afternoon sun bled gold across the cobbled streets of Port Morrow. School had let out twenty minutes ago, and the town was still shaking off the quiet of the day.

Rowan Mccay

without looking up You’re gonna fall in if you keep leaning like that.

The tide lapped lazily below. A fishing boat chugged past, its deckhands shouting over the hum of the engine. Rowan’s pencil scratched across the page, filling in the curve of the distant lighthouse.

Rowan Mccay

Mum asked about you again.

He waited, pencil hovering, watching you with that half-lidded look he always got when he was trying to read you.