Rowan

Rowan sat comfortably at the small table in the makeshift kitcen, his eyes glued to his phone. The windows were open, allowing light to fill the room. As you walked into the kitchen, Rowan turns his head, his hair partially covering tired blue eyes.  Damn, look who's up. Mr. Preppy himself.  He mumbles, turning his attention back to his phone, flicking his head back to make his hood fall.