"There's no one here."

Soren closes the front door even if the thing was hanging off its hinges and partially about to fall down. Call it a force of habit after living with nine siblings, all of whom didn't know or didn't care to knock before barging into a room. He couldn't count how many times he'd been caught with his pants down or eating an entire pizza by himself in his bedroom.

"Hmm," Rocky says as he leans against the front desk, inspecting a filthy rubber duck that had been yellow at one point. "Maybe it was the wind. This place is riddled with more holes than my hosiery after club hopping with the girls for ten hours."

Soren turns to look at him, eyebrows lifting.

"Honey, don't look at me like that. You know I have my needs," Rocky shrugs innocently and flings the rubber duck over his shoulder, causing it to bounce off the wall behind him with a squeak. "Let's grab dinner. I worked up an appetite keeping up with your shenanigans, and I'm craving a big, fat rat."

"Rat sounds amazing, babe," Soren agrees, but he makes no move to leave and gives the place a quick scan instead. To think that Rocky had grown up here, as a baby, possibly shunned for not fitting the proper mold. Well, it broke Soren's heart right in half. 

"Hey, Rocky? Do you remember anything about living here?" Soren inquires after the other man comes around the desk and leans up against him, his nose brushing against his shoulder. "I know it's been a long time, but you were here for a few years before you came to live with us."

"Unfortunately, yes," Rocky sighs, and then he takes Soren's hand and pulls him towards one of the hallways, "Why don't I give you the grand tour of this marvelous establishment? I don't think we've ever done that in all the years we've been coming here, have we?"

"I don't think so," Soren replies, thinking back to all the times they'd run away here to make out and have lunch in the field in front of the building. In the summer, sunflowers would bloom and fat bees would buzz around, the heat creating a haze in the air. Rocky would put on his best hat and outfit, and Soren would pack them snacks and cheap wine.

Of course, then Rocky had gone off to college, and those little moments had come less and less. But Soren still liked thinking about them when he was bored and lonely. 

Rocky now leads him through the ruined corridors, their feet crunching on bits of concrete and cracked wood from the ceiling, which was probably not the best idea to be barefoot. Soren has to dig bits of pebble out of his heel several times until Rocky finally stops in front of an open door.

"My room," The redheaded man whispers, and he touches the number, "21" still painted in blue next to the doorway. "This is where little Rocky started his life, Renny. There's my crib, I bet a dozen babies fell asleep there after I was gone. Maybe two dozen."

Soren pokes his head into the room, and it's like looking into a frozen snapshot of the world. The pink curtains were askew, little elephants on them. The wooden crib was broken, but mostly whole in one corner of the room.

Rocky leads him inside with one hand and then gestures to the mural on the wall beside them. It had a large tree overlooking a house in the distance and flowers in a field, just like in the front yard. "I used to pretend that was my home," Rocky explains quietly. "I wanted a family who understood me. That didn't want to take away everything that made me who I was."

Soren studies the mural quietly, picturing Rocky as a child sitting in this room alone. He'd been a cute kid, with a heart-shaped face and crazy red hair that was frequently tangled. He'd had a habit of wearing sandals when he showed up, and his favorite striped shirt with a bird on it. 

"When did you transform for the first time?" Soren asks him gently.

Rocky walks over to the broken crib and runs his hand over the railing, which was growing green moss on it now. "I was two, or three. I can't remember exactly. But everything that led up to that moment was a nightmare."

Soren watches him, unable to imagine how hard it had been for him. His parents had whispered about Rocky spending his toddlerhood screaming, clawing people and crying almost every night. But not because he was mad, or a wild child. But because he'd been starving and misunderstood, an owl forced to live the life of a human.

"Promise me that if we have kids, they'll never go through what I went through," Rocky says, turning around, his face serious for the first time in a long time. "I don't care if they have to sleep in our fucking bed every night; I'll die if they feel a semblance of what I felt, Soren."

Soren goes to him and takes him into his arms. "I promise," he replies, locking eyes with him, "They're going to have the best life with us."

Rocky leans in to hug him, collapsing into his arms. And before Soren knows it, he's crying into his suit, leaving a wet spot behind on his chest. 

"I really want to bond with you," Rocky muffles, "I want us to have a family, and have kids and watch them destroy our house like little heathens. But--"

"You have dreams." Soren finishes for him, and he rubs his back, "I know you do, Rocky. You've wanted to act on Broadway since you were ten. And that's okay. I'm not going anywhere, alright? I'll wait for you as long as you need me to."

"Oh, Soren!" Rocky pulls away and gazes up at him. 

"Fucking shit!" Someone curses from out in the hallway and there's a series of crashes. "This place is a goddamn dump! Rocky! Soren! "What are you two idiots doing in here?" Rowan calls out to them, "Mom and Dad have been looking for you for hours!"