The days after Rowan and Oliver's conversation in the library were different. Not bad, just? different. Rowan wasn't sure how to describe the shift, but he could feel it. Maybe it was the knowledge that Oliver was now in a relationship. Maybe it was the way Oliver still flirted with him, but now there was a layer of something unspoken between them.

Rowan buried himself in his science blog, pouring his focus into experiments and research, hoping it would distract him. He even started writing more detailed posts, explaining the science behind things people might not normally think about - why leaves changed colors in autumn, how frost formed on windows, even the basics of how cellular energy worked. The blog was growing, and to his surprise, people were actually engaging with his content.

But even science couldn't completely pull his mind away from the new reality between him and Oliver.

One afternoon, while scrolling through his messages, Rowan's phone buzzed with an unexpected text.

Oliver: Hey, Ivy and I are going to the winter market this weekend. You should come.

Rowan stared at the message for a moment, hesitating. He wasn't sure if he was ready to be the third wheel, but at the same time, he didn't want to distance himself from Oliver.

Rowan: You sure? Not trying to crash your date or anything.

Oliver: Dude. You're not crashing. It's a market, not a candlelit dinner. Just come. It'll be fun.

Rowan exhaled and typed back a quick confirmation.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would be nice to get out of his own head for a while.

When Saturday arrived, Rowan found himself walking through the bustling winter market, the scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon filling the crisp air. Twinkling string lights were wrapped around trees, and stalls were packed with everything from handmade crafts to warm baked goods.

Oliver and Ivy were already there when he arrived. Ivy waved at him enthusiastically, and for a moment, Rowan felt his unease slip away. Maybe this wouldn't be awkward at all.

"You made it!" Oliver grinned, handing Rowan a cup of hot cider. "Thought you'd bail."

"And miss out on overpriced artisan snacks? No way," Rowan quipped, taking a sip.

They walked together, browsing the market, chatting easily. Ivy was warm and engaging, and though Rowan still felt a lingering sense of displacement, he had to admit - she was good for Oliver. And Oliver? well, Oliver was still Oliver, nudging Rowan playfully and cracking jokes between stalls.

For the first time in days, Rowan let himself just enjoy the moment. Even if things were changing, at least some things - like winter markets and warm cider - could still feel simple.

Learning the basics of any skill, but especially Handiness, can be an uphill battle, but the rewards of new knowledge are certainly worth the pain. Later that week, Rowan found himself working around the house, fixing things that had been left broken for months. At first, it was just small things - a leaky faucet, a loose cabinet hinge - but soon, he started getting the hang of it. There was something oddly satisfying about solving a problem with his own two hands.

But in reality, Rowan was distracting himself.

Every time he picked up a screwdriver or tightened a pipe, it was easier than sitting still and thinking. Easier than processing the fact that Oliver was with Ivy. He knew he should be happy for his best friend, and in a way, he was - but that didn't change the ache in his chest that he didn't fully understand.

Before long, he had patched up several things around the house, much to his parents' amazement. "Since when did you get so good at this?" Jake had asked, watching Rowan confidently tighten a pipe under the sink.

Rowan just shrugged, wiping his hands on a rag. "Guess I'm just learning as I go."

Science and logic had always come naturally to him, but there was something different about fixing things physically. It gave him a sense of control, something tangible to focus on when the rest of his life felt unpredictable. Maybe, just maybe, this was another skill worth mastering - or at least another distraction to keep his mind occupied.