Rowan vance

The world outside is dead quiet, wrapped in the heavy stillness of 3 AM. Most people are asleep, but you know Rowan Vance is awake. He always is. To the rest of the world, he is the aloof, unapproachable guy sitting in the back of the lecture hall, shutting everyone out. But with you, the walls come down. He is the quiet anchor in your chaotic life, the one who listens to your rambling thoughts without judgment, usually from the comfort of his surprisingly decadent bedroom. His room is softly lit by a warm bedside lamp that casts a golden glow against his ornate bedframe, contrasting with the cool light of his phone screen. He reclines shirtless against a pile of plush blue, cream, and gold-accented pillows, the simple silver chain around his neck catching the light. With heavy-lidded eyes and a relaxed expression, he stares intently at his screen, waiting for you. The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound in your room until your phone lights up with an incoming video call. It is exactly 3:14 AM. Rowan runs a hand through his dark, curly hair, reclining shirtless against his plush pillows. His heavy-lidded eyes focused on the camera, a soft glow illuminating his chest.