Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The long stretch of empty road is endless and dizzying.

Robbe has no idea why he feels sick to his stomach. Why this bland pavement reminds him of all the things he’s yet to do and decisions he’s yet to make and his failed paths and dead ends. The heat is getting to him, the hours in the car driving him mad, and he breathes out the deepest sigh of relief as Jens steers them off the main road toward their destination.

The resort looks outdated at a faraway glance, Robbe supposes, resembling something his dad would point out in those old movies they used to watch together. He’d also wholeheartedly agree with the idea of this boys’ trip if he even bothered to keep in touch nowadays. Say something about how this was good old-fashioned fun. How it’d keep him on the straight and narrow, as if he even wanted to be. Robbe could practically hear it ringing in his ears, and he hates himself for the way he’s wallowing, rolling in his own thoughts until it’s suffocating.

It still felt like an open wound, finding out he and his mom played second fiddle to an entire other family, and the more he lets himself think about it, the worse he feels. Even just the thought of his mom alone right now is enough to cripple his decent mood, so he refocuses on the resort, on the tangible heat inside Jens beat up little car, physically swiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and wiping family from his mind just the same.

This summer is for friends. For fun. A bros’ last-minute getaway to recoup after a stressful year at university.

“Isn’t it crazy?” Jens turns away from driving for a moment to look between Robbe beside him and Moyo in the backseat. At least someone’s excited. “I promise, it’s more fun than it looks. And you guys finally get to meet the people I’m always talking about.”

“Oh,” Moyo pipes up, fully yanking his headphones out of his ears as they turn onto the gravel drive. “You mean your dream girl Jana? I low key thought you might have photoshopped her in those pictures, bro. She’s far too hot for you.”

Moyo makes an exaggerated ‘ooh la la’ sound, and Robbe stifles a small laugh and watches Jens’ expression darken and then immediately bounce back. They are mere minutes away from seeing Jens' so-called proof. Years of jokes at his expense are about to dissipate before their eyes. Gotta get the last digs in.

“Just you wait, smartass.”

“Have you even talked about anyone else?” Robbe asks as he fixates on the shiplap cabins dotting the hillside roll by, alternating green and burgundy roofs. They pass a sign that says ‘Welcome to Edgewood Resort’ followed by trees and more arrows directing where to go.

“No,” Moyo mutters, “too much pussy on the brain.”

Jens doesn’t even find it in himself to grumble at that one, just rolls up his own window and slows down as the resort comes into view, up close. An expansive lake just beyond the cedar and fir to their left, a towering cobblestone building to their right, a huge gazebo beside it. Robbe takes a moment to think about all the childhoods he could have had, and then lets the thought pass. He should try to savor what he can of this.

Summer is the time to let loose.

“Nah, but I’m sure we can find someone for both of you. Plenty of people come here every year, and some of the younger staffers are chill too.”

“I’m counting on it because your boring ass is not gonna entertain me all summer,” says Moyo. “Also dude, you have got to get this AC fixed.”

“We just drove six hours, and you lived.”

“Shut up.”

Robbe listens vaguely to Moyo’s complaints, shoving his sweatshirt higher up his arms. He’s not really sure that he packed properly, in a daze in the early hours that morning. He’d almost forgotten entirely, working a late shift the night before. It was a wonder he could even throw together as much as he did. He had no idea what to bring, was not used to any kind of resort-living whatsoever, so he brought a little of everything. T-shirts, tank tops, jeans, sweats, some swimming shorts, even his nicest pair of slacks and shirt.

It had been a bit chilly back home, at least when they’d left, but the heat was stifling now, and Robbe knows he needs to shower and change first thing. He can’t bring himself to feel anything other than hot at the moment, drowning in his clothes as he presses his forehead against the glass of the window for any sort of relief.

“Well, boys. We made it,” Jens crows and lets the car roll to a final stop right in front of the resort, ‘Check-In’ etched into the wooden sign above it. Robbe blinks dazedly, somehow just now picking up on the small groups of people, huddled in the grass and milling about the expansive lower floor of the open resort. Moyo lets out a cheering noise and drums his hands along the back of Robbe’s seat.

It feels a little surreal, watching Jens climb out of the car and immediately be enveloped in a big hug by an older looking man in a blazer that Robbe hadn’t seen appear. Like Jens took one easy step out of the life Robbe knows from back home seamlessly into this one, full of employees milling about in polos and the brightest, tannest, fakest smiles he’d ever seen.

It feels exactly as he’d thought before, timeless, classic, conservative. Straight out of the movies.

Moyo’s eyes widen a little too, seeing the slight change in Jens, and he takes a harmless swipe at the back of Robbe’s head to make sure he’s paying attention.

“Are you seeing this?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“This goon really brought us to an old folks resort,” Moyo mutters incredulously and surveys the people in their line of sight out the front window, and Robbe has to admit it definitely isn’t the most youthful-looking bunch wandering in and out of the hall and basking in the sun by the lake.

That is, until a bang on their trunk startles them from their heat-induced reverie.

“What the fuc—”

“Welcome to Edgewood,” a man exclaims, rounding the side of the car and peeking into the door Jens left wide open. He looks their age, maybe a little older, and his cheeks dimple as he grins; he sticks his arm in to shake Robbe’s hand over the console, then Moyo’s. “Nice to finally see some young faces around here. I’m Milan.”

Even though he’s taken aback, Robbe smiles and shakes himself out of it. They asked for some youthfulness and it appeared, so he decides to roll with it.

“I’m Robbe.”

“Moyo.”

They both clamber out of their own doors and watch Milan reach back into the car, flick a button, and pop the trunk. He’s moving fast in the humidity, which is more than Robbe and Moyo can say for themselves as they try to unwind and properly stretch their limbs for the first time in hours. Robbe’s head swivels, looking for where Jens disappeared off to in what felt like a split second, when he realizes Milan’s practically done unloading the car and reaches out to grab his own stuff.

“Let me help—”

“No, no,” Milan swats away his hands, “Cute, but you’re our guest. The Stoffels’ party, correct?” He gives Robbe a big, genuine smile and then looks at a clipboard. “It says right here, the first half of your party has already checked into cabin 16, so you guys will be in cabin 17. Is that okay?”

As if Robbe has a single clue about any of this stuff. He cannot look the part right now, swallowed whole in his sweatshirt and jeans and half out of his mind. He feels his cheeks warm from the other guy's attention lingering on him, glad to blame it on the heat, and when he stutters for an answer, Moyo gives Milan the affirmative and watches as two more employees descend upon their bags.

“Noor, Aaron, they’re staying in 17. Make sure they’re good on ice too, if you would.” Milan sends Robbe a little wink, like he’s in on some secret. It makes Robbe’s stomach drop for a moment before he realizes he probably just looks incredibly hot directly in the sun. Thank god his cheeks are already fucking pink.

“Okay, boys. I got us—” Jens’ voice creeps up on them from behind until he catches sight of Milan and breaks into a jog.

“Broooo, what’s up? Long time no see,” Jens says, pulling the slightly taller employee into a half-hug. “You got that promotion this year, huh?” Jens looks so friendly with everyone, Robbe can feel an automatic trust seep into his bones about these people he doesn’t even know.

It’s jarring, otherworldly. Nothing he’s used to at all.

“Yep, one of the heads of entertainment and planning this year. Much more fun bossing people around, I gotta say.” Milan hooks a thumb back where Noor and Aaron are lugging their stuff up mulch paths approaching the hillside. “If I had to do that one more summer, I might’ve quit.”

Which makes Robbe feel bad, watching the other two trudge up to their quarters. He senses Moyo bristle beside him, clearly looking the same way, and then a voice in his ear.

“I’ll fight you for her.”

Milan and Jens are nodding along to each other in conversation when Robbe sends an incredulous look sideways.

“What?”

“That Noor chick,” Moyo says, clearly still watching the girl with the dark bob. Robbe barely had time to look at her earlier and definitely wasn’t all that focused on her now, but he guesses he gets the appeal.

“Oh, uh. No need, all yours,” Robbe mutters and against his better judgment, puts his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Really?” Moyo quirks a dark eyebrow, but he busts out into a laugh. “Hell yeah. She’s not even your type anyway.”

A sickly feeling twists in his gut. He knows he’s coming into this summer with a few too many secrets to bear. He’s lived his life up until now hell-bent on avoiding the kind of distraction sitting under his skin. What he really wants. He’s had priorities too great, like what to do with his life and his mom and the broken pieces of his past. He knows his friends are the least of his problems, probably wouldn’t bat an eye if he told them about what sort of person he really is, but he’s never had an actual outlet. A way to fully let go. And he can feel it now, between the dreamy and dazed atmosphere of this place and the looks he thinks Milan is shooting his way. That outlet may lay somewhere in these weirdly familiar pines.

“Then what is my type?”

Moyo levels him with a serious look, collecting his headphones and backpack from the backseat before slamming the door. He quirks an eyebrow, one that wriggles itself under Robbe’s skin with the rest of the things he needs to get out from under, and Robbe can hardly look back at him.

“Blonde.”

----

To his credit, Robbe catches on to how Edgewood Resort operates a couple of days in. Breakfast in the early morning at the main building, although options of room service are made available for the right price. Jens’ mom claims they ‘have perfectly working legs’ and should get out in the sunshine that early in the day, so the second option is a no-go. For dinner, there are two halls: one a more casual affair, buffet included, and the other with a showroom and clearly for the more wealthy guests to fine dine at their leisure. Robbe’s heard of the tentative plans to meet Jana, who won’t be at the resort for a few more days, there and have dinner with some of the people who have kept Jens company year after year. He doesn’t know when that’s happening, but he hopes they’re easy to get along with because company of their age is sparse.

The rest of the days and hours in between are to be filled to the brim with a full-service list of activities. Between the outdoor spaces like the small lakefront and courts, practically every sport under the sun can be taught or just played for recreation.

Robbe’s fingers itch for his skateboard back home and the adrenaline of wheels on concrete, or even his camera to film, although there isn’t a ton going on, and he swore to himself he’d take a break after the school year was over. He knows he’ll be settling for a different hobby by the time summer’s up. Volleyball, or swimming, or something. This restless energy doesn’t suit him, at least not the way it does Jens and Moyo. They could probably lounge around these six weeks straight without so much as a complaint.

Besides just the outdoors, the main resort has a multitude of recreation rooms, but he’s yet to really explore there. He knows they offer classes of all sorts, some complimentary and some additional cost, but there is no way in hell he is going to overextend with the Stoffels. They’ve done so much for him over the years, housing and feeding him when his mom was sick for weeks at a time. Even this free vacation now feels like a bit too much.

“God, you know my mom loves you,” Jens sighs face-first into his pillow. “Don’t stress.”

“I know, I know,” Robbe mutters, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and folding it up in his arms. He can’t help the heat right now or his guilty conscience.

They’re lounging around their cabin after a huge lunch, but Robbe’s not feeling tired. He’d slept in and missed breakfast this morning, and now, next to his two droopy-eyed friends, he feels wide awake, but that doesn’t mean the humidity hasn’t got him a little lazy.

And when he feels lazy, the nostalgia kicks in. He remembers summers almost identical to this, the very same trio sprawled out around each other’s places or the park, back when all they had to worry about was brainstorming dumb ideas for pranks or who was getting with who from high school. Robbe thinks about his life now, jam-packed with decisions about his future, doubt about his creative path in school and whether or not it can support the life he wants. Work, where he makes minimum wage at a corner grocery store and politely smiles his days away to afford equipment and books. His mom, all she’s been through, and how he’s had to forego certain options just to make sure he could be around for her. He’d never admit to that though, of course, and he truly doesn’t mind it. He knows he and his mom are cut from the same cloth of guilty conscience, and he loves her. It all swirls together in his mind, the levity and irresponsibility of childhood mingling with the heaviness of him having to grow up a little too quickly.

For some reason, right now feels like an intersection of his two worlds. He really hasn’t caught up with his friends since the winter semester break at their universities, but they’re slipping right back into the same old roles. Robbe had been sold on the idea of a boys’ trip, but even days in, he can’t help but feel a little off. He’s a different person now, even if they don’t know it.

“Do you remember our vlogs?” Robbe asks, a little dreamily and out of the blue. Both Moyo and Jens hum but have nothing else to offer.

“We were so dumb,” he says, soft.

Moyo peeks a skeptical eye open and mutters, “We were cool.”

As if.

Robbe laughs incredulously at the ceiling, but when he looks back at them, both Jens and Moyo have their eyes shut again. Robbe sincerely hopes this isn’t the way the rest of the trip is going to go. His legs tingle with lack of use, so he kicks them out in front of him.

“So you guys are gonna nap the afternoon away, then?” Robbe asks, trying not to be annoyed as he stretches his arms over his head. He stands up and scratches lightly at his stomach, one foot already out of the metaphorical door with how dull and monotonous it’s been. He feels an incurable need to get out, suddenly not satisfied at all and knowing it’s unfair to expect anything else from them. It’s their summer too, and he’s no stranger to entertaining himself.

“Probably.”

“Do you mind if I go explore for a bit?”

He doesn’t need to ask, really, but he doesn’t just want to disappear on them either. Like it would really matter with the way Moyo’s passed out on the couch now, arm thrown over his eyes.

“Sure. Try to find us something to do this summer while you’re at it,” Jens yawns.

“Hey, you’re the one who comes here every—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Robbe already knows what they want to do. It’s the same thing they’ve wanted to do since they were sixteen. Drink, party, girls, repeat. Smoke, party, girls, repeat. He bites his tongue and shakes his head a little. There’s probably a whole lot less party here anyway.

“I’ll catch you guys later for dinner.” And then he’s out the door, headphones pulled over his ears and phone snug in his palm. He hits shuffle, doesn’t care what plays when he just needs a distraction.

Their cabin is up the hill behind the main resort, covered in pines and nice walking trails. He follows a path down, shielded by the tree cover and bopping along in time to the beats. There’s hardly another soul around until he breaks into the openness of the grounds. At least the scenery is beautiful, the sun catching on the lake in the distance and people wandering around just like him as they look for something to do.

He has to admit he’s surprised a place like this is still in operation. More people are wanting international travel these days, actual beaches and not just a lakefront. With Jens’ family, clearly it’s all about keeping up the tradition and familiarity. Robbe had never been able to afford real travel growing up, so this is still something he can appreciate, and he lets himself stutter to a stop in front of the main building and take a deep breath as he takes in the sights. His hand reaches out to touch the cobblestone with his curious fingertips, everything grounding him.

Most people outside are concentrated near the water or tennis and volleyball courts, so he finds himself avoiding those areas without meaning to. Maybe he should work on being more social, find the other young people around, but there’s a bittersweetness sitting in his chest he doesn’t quite feel like sharing. He can’t be sure how long he walks, up the sidewalks around the main building and poking his head in fairly empty rooms and halls. He ditches the building itself, wandering closer to the water under some more tree cover.

He slows as he passes a gazebo filled with four older couples who are swaying to a small radio, and it fills him with a feeling he can’t quite put his finger on. He pulls his own headphones around his neck to tune in. Serenity, the sounds of summer, and the tinny music feel peaceful, and Robbe can almost feel himself transported to a different time.

Maybe in a different time, under different circumstances, that could’ve been his parents. Maybe in the future, that could be him. If he could just—

Robbe shakes his head, running a few fraught fingers through his hair. Sentimentality tends to hit him when he least expects it. Nostalgia and longing and a lot of things he’s convinced himself he can’t have. He shoves his hands in his pockets, trying not to let his own jaded ideas ruin the sweet image of hobbled swaying, and continues walking.

What’s it going to take for him to be able to fully clear his head?

The answer comes in the form of loud, contagious laughter as he rounds the edge of another building after walking a bit more. A group of employees sit at a picnic table, talking and cackling and passing a ball back and forth with absentminded feet. Robbe doesn’t recognize them, and he’s definitely not going to interrupt but the lurch in his heart is entirely different from the one at the gazebo.

He’s had this before.

The familiarity of the scene tugs, reminds him of the very same boys back in the cabin. It’s not so far-fetched to think he could have it again. The last year has been extremely isolating, he’d fallen out of the closeness he once knew, but seeing these random people now, clearly connected by circumstance and making the most fun of it… it leaves him with hope.

God, he’s getting whiplash. First the sentimentality, and now this.

Robbe eases away from the scene, doesn’t want anyone to catch him spying, and continues on his walk. Further into the trees, following any beaten path that’s easiest as he gets lost in his thoughts. They’re more positive though, and Robbe ultimately decides to head back to the cabin after checking his phone to see it’s almost five.

There might be room for lots of things these next few weeks. Time to reconnect with his friends, maybe meet new people. What he’s looking forward to most of all, he decides, is the excessive level of freedom. He’s never had so much of it promised for such a substantial period of time, and it feels dumb to waste it, no matter how much or little is going on in the resort itself.

He makes a mini pact with himself as he climbs the porch to get ready for dinner. He can’t afford to let the opportunities of this summer pass him by. He’s going to work on understanding himself, and if it takes all summer, so be it.

He ascends the final steps, feeling lighter than he did when he’d left. He’s greeted with excited smiles from Jens and Moyo and decides that, yes, he can do this.

---

“Hey cutie!”

Robbe nearly trips over his own feet, headphones yanked from his ears so he can tune back into reality for the first time in hours. He’s taken to wandering even more these past couple of days, after that afternoon of reminiscing and finding plenty of new trails through the wooded areas of the resort. His thoughts have started to go quiet when he does.

But right now, he knows that he must look incredibly guilty, after passing a ‘no guests please’ sign a ways back. The rigid line of his shoulders melts though, when he sees the girl with the black bob, Noor, poke her head out of the backseat of one of the cars in the parking lot.

“What are you doing all the way over here?”

“Oh, I was just going for a walk,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Truth be told, he’d been a little pent-up, with Jens and Moyo roped into evening activities in the hall, he couldn’t stand to be trapped up in the hillside cabin all alone. He had no interest in lounging around with a bunch of old guys, smoking cigars, playing poker, and telling stories. The only reason Jens and Moyo were interested was undoubtedly the weed they’d smoked just after dinner and the possibility of more. Or at least tobacco, but Robbe hadn’t felt much involved in that either. He didn’t want to be a stick in the mud, but it’s only a week in. He wants a clear head, and he doesn’t mind being alone to get that.

Noor huffs loudly, snapping him back to the small gravel parking lot, but he can tell it’s not directed at him. When he comes a little closer, he sees her fighting to situate two bags of ice in her arms and a tote of bottles that clang together loudly around her shoulder. She teeters a little and then slams the door.

“Here, let me help you.”

“Well, aren’t you just a gentleman?” She says lightly, accompanied by a wink. “Not sure how kindly everyone’s gonna take to a guest, but...”

Noor gives him a once over under the warm flickering single light post, like she hadn’t just rattled off something cryptic. Like she could get all of this wherever it’s supposed to go without his help, and Robbe barely has a second to register before she’s shoving the two bags of ice at him with a grin.

“Act chill, okay? Guests and employees really aren’t supposed to mingle like this, so you can’t say a word of where we’re going to anyone else, not even those friends of yours.” She mutters easily and locks the car with a couple clicks. He hardly has any clue what she’s talking about.

“How do you know—”

“You’re Robbe, right?” He nods and is positive she doesn’t even see it as she bends over to check her reflection in the side-view mirror. “Milan told me to keep an eye on you. He had a feeling you didn’t quite fit in with the regular crowd around here.”

Robbe, grateful that it’s dark, ducks his head and readjusts the bags in his arms. It takes no time for the burn to settle in his forearms, skin caught between relief from the humidity and overexposure to cold. He’s sure his arms are as pink as his cheeks.

“Short, curly, cute. I think you fit the bill,” Noor says and casually lifts a hand to ruffle a lock of hair at his temple. “I’d shake your hand, but.”

Her grin is infectious, and Robbe finally gets a chance to see that she’s in a short summer dress, something straight out of an eighties movie and a far cry from the uniform of khakis and polos during work hours. Wherever they’re going is definitely not on Edgewood’s time.

“I’m Noor Bauwens. You can follow me.” Her tone is excited, and she’s already spun on her heel to head off onto a small path between some trees.

He decides to just give in and go with it, but knows the time has passed for him to ask Noor what exactly Milan meant when he said Robbe didn’t fit in here. Maybe it was a compliment—he was going to take it to mean one now. It certainly couldn’t be that bad of a thing if Noor was choosing to lead him somewhere exclusive.

He hears the party before he sees it, faint bass reverberating through the woods as the gravel beneath his feet gives way to wooden planks. He follows easily, over a small creek and begins a long climb up to where he can make out a cabin sitting atop a steep cliff side.

“What is this place?”

Noor sways a bit in front of him, bouncing a couple steps ahead before turning to smile at him again.

“A little employee secret.”

Robbe hesitates only a moment before following her the rest of the way up.

The party is in full bloom at the summit, raucous with music and laughter, lights so abrasive and colorful they’d definitely offend the regular guests. Robbe guesses he gets what Milan means now. People are smoking and drinking and laughing, too much to take in all at once. It’s dizzying and reminds him of house parties back home but freer somehow.

“This way, this way,” Noor says and latches onto his sleeve, leading him into the building and through throngs of bodies. Robbe hears a couple people cheer as they come to a halt in a small kitchenette at the back of the place.

“If you would, dump some ice into the punch bowl and the rest can go here,” she knocks a cooler at their feet with the toe of her sandal and gives him another winning smile. “I’m gonna go get Milan and tell him you’re here. He’ll be thrilled.”

“But Noor—”

Except she’s already gone, disappeared into the mass of people and out of his eye line. What is in sight, though, is a makeshift dance floor. Pairs and groups hypnotic with the rhythm of the music, hips swaying and grinding, and in the center of it all, Robbe’s eyes catch on a shock of white hair he’s never seen before.

Robbe’s no stranger to desire, but the low pull in his gut watching this guy dance... it's something new entirely. Lean hips in light wash tight jeans, loose tank tucked into the waistband where he’s pressed hard against the back of the girl in front of him. Desire and then some. Robbe barely notices her shimmying and shaking, too caught up in the way the guy looks so lost in the music. It’s nothing special, just some remix of an eighties song, something synth-y, but he’s in it. Toned arms, cut jaw, perfect teeth when he leans back to smile at the ceiling. His dark eyebrows furrow in what can only be pleasure, and Robbe feels his own unconsciously mirror, sucking part of his bottom lip into his mouth.

Who is that?

It’s another minute of electrified staring, Robbe blindly reaching out to down a cup of something cold, before someone interrupts.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Milan yells, arm winding its way around Robbe’s shoulders in a half hug. “Robbe?”

Robbe blinks, once, twice, lets his pupils drag along the blond’s lithe form in the eye of the storm just a second longer before he turns to smile at the only familiar face in the joint.

“Hi, Milan.”

“I knew you’d end up partying with us,” Milan ducks down to say in his ear and lets out a jovial laugh. He sets to making his own drink now that there’s more ice and liquor, and Robbe sneaks another look at the dance floor.

“You probably say that to all the boys,” Robbe jokes, but it’s hollow, eyes sweeping back to the center of the room no matter how hard he tries to keep rooted. The guy's hands smooth down his partner's arms in a graceful motion and then wind around her waist. Robbe watches him tilt her backwards until she’s almost upside down and then pull her back to stand, burying his face in her neck. Robbe can’t help but clench his hand into a loose fist, imagining white hair between his fingertips and lips on his own neck.

It’s maddening and sudden, his draw to this guy.

“Cute and funny too, huh?” Milan checks his hip against the counter once he’s done and follows Robbe’s gaze, saying nothing about it.

“You a fan of dancing?” Milan shouts over the last loud beats of music before they transition to something slower. Robbe swivels his head to see Milan bopping along and sipping from his straw. He’s dressed to the nines in a tight shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and Robbe thinks he even spots some smudged eyeliner in the alternating LED lights. Milan may think he fits in here, but he’s certainly feeling underdressed right now.

“Uh, I don’t really know how.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, this is the perfect place to learn, then.”

“You mean this? Or the resort in general?” Robbe asks, recalling there were some ballroom dancing courses available back at the main lodge. He wonders if any of these people teach those, too—when they’re not busy losing themselves in a haze of drugs and alcohol. A day full of foxtrots and tangos would probably make you want to just let loose.

Milan cocks an eyebrow at him, smiling. “Both.”

“You’re gonna teach me?”

“Oh no,” Milan cackles, bouncing on his heels. “I’m afraid that’s not my forté.”

A beat passes, a miraculously long one.

“Him, however…” He jerks his head in the direction Robbe’s been watching with an impish grin.

Robbe flushes, knowing he’s been caught and wincing into his own cup. He peeks over the rim to see blondie spinning the girl away from him and into the rest of the crowd, a handsome smile lighting up his face as he’s met with cheers and claps on the back.

“Who is he?”

“His name’s Sander. A veteran employee, finest ballroom dancer in the place now that you mention it.”

When Robbe’s eyes do a lap and then circle back, the guy, Sander, is looking right at him, intense and curious. Robbe chokes a little and turns to cough into his elbow. How did he—

“Fuck, he saw me.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Milan says, sidling closer. With a clink of their plastic cups and a ‘cheers,’ they both down the rest of their drinks.

“He might if you ask, though. Now I’m gonna go find my own cute boy to dance with, and I suggest you do the same. Enjoy yourself, Robbe!”

His goodbye is abrupt as he spins himself into the mass of people moving on the dance floor, sending Robbe a mock salute. Robbe’s heart does a little stutter in his chest when he sees that Sander is still looking at him over the shoulder of the person he’s talking to. His lips curve into a smirk mid-sentence, and Robbe, almost buzzed now, panics and takes a shot of something strong.

Damn Milan for reading him like a book and then throwing him to the wolves. Robbe spins on his heel and busies himself at the counter: scooping another couple cupfuls of ice into the punch as he prays for a way out of his situation.

His way out happens to be the same as his way in. Or so he thinks.

Noor’s back at his side in the nick of time, arm sliding around his waist as she sing-songs in his ear. “Did Milan leave you already?”

“Yeah, said he wanted to dance with a cute guy.”

“But you’re a cute guy,” she says with a cheesy grin, clearly drunker than she was 20 minutes ago.

“Why do you guys keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true.” She boops him on his nose and sways into his side.

Robbe feels his shadow before he sees him, another body coming into orbit on his left. He blinks, scared to look up when Noor does the hard part for him and leans around the front of him to see who’s joined.

“What’s true over here?”

“Sander,” Noor sings, drawing out the ‘a’ for a touch too long. She blows him a kiss and then uses the same hand to motion between them. “Have you met Robbe yet?”

“Afraid I haven’t.”

“Well then, this is Robbe. He’s a guest, but we snuck him here because he’s cool…” She pinches Robbe’s cheek for a second. “And cute.”

Robbe winces away from her hand, finally turning to see Sander up close. And fuck if he isn’t alluring. His white hair is messy, falling somewhat in his bright eyes, and his smile is perfect and full where it’s directed head-on at Robbe.

“And Robbe, this is Sander.”

“What, I don’t get an introduction?” Sander asks, voice gone a little deeper than Robbe had imagined. Not that he’s had time to imagine it but—

Noor heaves a sigh, physically shaking Robbe as she does. Robbe watches Sander give him a once-over, eyes squinting happily when they meet his again.

“Fine. Robbe, this is Sander. Edgewood’s best dancer and biggest brat.”

And that startles a loud laugh out of the blond, who doesn’t object. The hand in his pocket slides up to pat his stomach in a good-natured motion for a moment before he’s reaching out to Robbe. A silent peace offering.

“Hi, Robbe. Nice to meet you.”

Robbe takes it, knows his own palm must be clammy, but he’s got greater things to worry about with the heavy warmth collecting in his gut.

He says ‘hi’ back but isn’t quite sure Sander can hear it over the uptick in the loud music. The other smiles at him a second longer and then goes about making himself a drink. Robbe can’t help but watch his hands and wonder if he’s as graceful with his feet on a proper dance floor. The show earlier had been much more of a filthy, rhythmic grind than anything, but captivating nonetheless.

Before he works up the nerve to look Sander in the eye again, let alone say anything, Noor’s steering him by the waist to face the other direction and muttering under her breath. She clearly was a little too gone to pick up on anything between them, and Robbe’s grateful for such a small miracle. He hadn’t escaped the same fate with Milan.

“Robbe, I really want to introduce you to my girlfriend, but I don’t know where she…” Noor trails off with a pout, tugging him deeper into the crowd.

He gets a small window to peer back over his shoulder, but the white head of hair is already out of sight. Robbe lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and winds his own arm around Noor’s shoulders.

Sander. He sits with the name, rolling it over in the back of his mouth and his head as Noor parades him through people, introduces him around. He lets the picture of the guy up close etch itself in his mind, disheveled in the hottest way imaginable under neon reds and blues. He might wake up tomorrow to it all being a dream, but he certainly won’t forget how he’s feeling right now.

The rest of his night goes an awful lot like that, although he never does catch another glimpse of Sander. Noor, pinching his cheeks and showing him off like they hadn’t met formally for the first time the same night.

A line of faces and names to try to remember when he’s sober. Britt, Aaron, Zoe, Luca. Nina, Max, Adi, Younes. Each of them dance around the singular most memorable name tonight, but he smiles every time all the same.

By the time the party starts to wind down, Robbe checks his phone to see that it’s about 1:30 in the morning, and he’s received a flurry of texts from Jens and Moyo asking where he’s at and telling him they’ll leave the cabin unlocked. He doesn’t bother answering, just runs a hand over his face and tries to sober up for the walk back. Noor’s long gone from his side, retiring maybe an hour ago with her girlfriend.

Britt, that was her name. He wants to pat himself on the back for recalling while drunk and then Moyo’s words from the first day hit him, the ones about calling dibs on the very same Noor, and he busts out laughing. God, he hadn’t realized half the people who worked here are gay. Well, just Milan, Noor, and Britt that he knows of, but he wonders if there’s some sign on his head that drew them to him. Some big ‘I’m here, but I’m repressed’ call for help. He slumps against the window and stares down his own reflection.

Alcohol and introspection don’t go together for him. He knows it and tries to quash the sudden feeling of inadequacy. He’s just taking longer to come into it, that’s all. He’s kissed guys, touched guys before, drunk or high or both. It’s the only way he really knows that’s what he wants, but the fear creeps in every time he thinks about it sober.

Then he spends a good ten minutes looking out the same window over the cliffside, watching drunk employees hoot and holler as they start the descent to their own quarters.

The cabin is much more spacious now that it’s empty, sparse furniture shoved to the walls. A couple people linger in the corners and out on the deck. However, the atmosphere is all but destroyed with no music or funky lighting.

“Do you need any help cleaning up?” He asks whoever can hear, scooping leftover cups and bottles into his arms on his way to the kitchen.

Milan pokes his head up from behind the counter and grins at him. He looks way too drunk for someone who’s going to be on the clock bright and early tomorrow, the fluorescence illuminating his makeup and bruised lips loud and clear.

“Oh, you’re still here? Did you have fun tonight?”

Robbe empties his arms into a half-full trash can.

“Yeah, I did. Thanks for,” he flaps his hand uselessly. “Letting me in. Introducing me around. I needed a distraction.”

“You’re more than welcome. I knew you’d fit right in with us, and—”

“Milan,” that voice, the voice, speaks up from behind a corner. “Where are the extra trash bags…?”

Robbe has an urge to duck out of sight, but he fights it, watching Sander stroll into the room looking more sober than he and Milan combined. Tousled, and so hot, but sober.

“Oh, they’re somewhere down here,” Milan huddles back under the counter, banging around, and Robbe lets his head fall backward, ignoring the heat rushing to both his gut and his cheeks. He thought he was free and clear for the night. He glances a sidelong look at Sander to find him leaning against the wall and looking right back.

“Aha!” Milan gives them a sloppy toss Sander’s way, forcing him to pay attention to something other than Robbe, and then gets to his feet.

“Now, you two…” Milan starts and then stops. Robbe’s life flashes before his eyes, scared of whatever commentary from earlier in the night might float back to the surface of Milan's brain. His fear dissipates immediately when Milan squints his eyes, one hand on his hip, and then gives up on his entire train of thought. “Sorry, I totally forgot what I was gonna say. Robbe, were you heading out?”

Robbe nods his head and keeps his eyes trained forward. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Unless you need help with something?”

“Oh, I don’t. Sander, do you need help with something?”

And Robbe watches the ball fall squarely into Sander’s court. He chews on his bottom lip and considers what the blond may be considering, as if his inebriated brain could be anything but two steps behind.

“No, but I can walk you back.”

Oh.

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

“It’s fine, really, I—”

“It’s late, and you’re new. It’s easy to get lost. Let me walk you back.”

It’s not really a suggestion this time, and Robbe’s jaw clicks shut. He knows he’s too far gone to argue, too dazed with the way Sander slides behind him to set the roll of bags back on the counter and gives his waist a small squeeze. His hand doesn’t linger, but the feeling does.

Robbe wants more.

“Chivalry really isn’t dead, huh?” Milan sighs, somewhat dreamily where his chin’s propped up on his fists. Robbe briefly wonders who he’d been kissing earlier in the night, wonders if Milan’s dating anyone at the resort, like Noor. Then he wonders if Sander’s dating anyone, maybe that dancer he was with earlier? Robbe goes a little dizzy thinking in circles.

“And what about you? Are you gonna be alright to get back?” Sander asks skeptically.

“Oh, you know me,” he says, which is apparently answer enough because Sander’s slipping his keys and phone into his pocket and heading for the door.

“Be safe, Milan,” he shouts and ushers Robbe to follow him onto the deck.

The night is cooler than Robbe expected, humidity falling away in the darkness, and Robbe happily sighs.

“You okay?” Sander asks, after he gets about eight steps down and Robbe’s still firmly planted at the top of the deck.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

He pauses for another minute and feels the breeze tug at his hair and his t-shirt. Takes in a full breath of summer air, and it almost cleanses him. He knows Sander’s looking at him but doesn’t expect such a soft expression when he blinks his eyes open again.

“Okay, let’s go.”

So they go.

It’s a short trip down the steep steps and into the forest, and they don’t talk. Robbe is content to stay a couple steps behind until they reach the clearing of the parking lot. He keeps his eyes down, only wandering up the long expanse of Sander’s legs and back a handful of times. He counts it a win. It isn’t until they pass Noor’s car under the single light post that Robbe lets his curiosity get the best of him.

“So... You dance? I mean, you teach dance here?”

Sander slows down enough that they’re walking in step, less than a foot between them. Robbe could get their arms to brush if he really wanted to, but he’s almost scared of what he’ll do now that they’re alone. Liquid courage and all that.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve been working here since I was 16 for some extra summer cash and kind of fell in love with it.”

“And that was…”

Sander tilts forward and squints a little at him, clearly amused.

“Six years ago,” he says, letting Robbe do the drunk calculations on his own. He lets out a soft little ‘oh’ when it clicks with him. Sander’s 22, got it.

“And you started out doing that too?”

“No way. Mostly basic landscaping, but I begged the instructors to show me a little on breaks. I was so annoying,” he snorts.

“I doubt that…”

“Besides, do you think I got these bad boys from dancing alone?” Sander mutters lowly as he makes a goofy bodybuilder motion with exposed arms, almost like he wasn’t fully ready to commit to joking like that in front of Robbe.

Robbe’s eyes widen as he ogles his biceps, clearly not taking the bait for a joke and actually intrigued, which just makes Sander bust out laughing even louder. He doesn’t know what sparks that heat in his gut more, Sander’s arms or his laughter.

“God, you’re so drunk.”

“Am I?” Robbe halts in his tracks and then looks down at his own feet. He puts one foot in front of the other, tries to walk in a straight line. A self-issued sobriety test, but he teeters four steps in and curses himself. “Fuck, okay. Maybe I am.”

He falls back in time as they start walking again and scrubs a hand through his hair before he thinks to ask, “Why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t I drunk?”

“Mhm.”

“I try not to drink much. Especially work nights.”

“Oh… but you came and got a drink earlier?”

Sander shoots him a sly smile and must be the one to tighten the gap ever so slightly because their arms brush now. He can’t tell if the electricity is in his head. They always say you feel sparks but Robbe’s never been sober enough to confirm that it wasn’t all a figment of his imagination.

“Mostly as an excuse.”

Robbe mulls it over, a little too spacey to fully connect the dots. His phone chimes in his pocket, but he doesn’t even bother checking it, probably Jens or Moyo telling him they’re going to sleep.

“You have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah,” Robbe nods resolutely. “My bed.”

Sander laughs again, and Robbe thinks his eyes are sparkling. They’d remind him a lot of the stars if he could actually see them at the moment, but he doesn’t dare voice that. Doesn’t want to fall down any cosmic rabbit hole that could turn Sander off.

“Alright then. We’ll get you there.”

And the rest is comfortable silence, save for Sander asking for his cabin number and insisting he knows a mini shortcut through some shrubbery. Robbe lets him lead, happy to wander in pleasant company, such nice weather, such a great night, such a cute boy. All things small talk caught in his chest.

The last leg of the journey is uphill, and Robbe supposes it’d be a lot easier sober. He hems and haws and even stops to massage his calf once, which earns him more chime-like laughs, and he thinks maybe this trip has already more than paid for itself in new experiences. The new people he met tonight alone.

“Here’s your stop,” Sander says quietly, halting a few feet in front of the steps to the porch. Robbe just blinks back for a moment.

“Um. Thanks for bringing me home. You’re right, I probably would have gotten lost if you hadn’t.”

Sander’s smile is worth his own pride in that moment.

“You’re welcome. You can get yourself to bed, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. The walk sobered me.”

With a shake of his head like he doesn’t quite believe that, Sander grins and takes a small step backward.

“Okay. Goodnight, Robbe. I’ll see you around.”

“Night.”

And future Robbe, in the morning, will debate whether or not he ever followed up with the “I hope so,” sitting sincerely on his tongue.

----

It’s all white.

A blazing white heat, so concentrated and feverish it almost paralyzes him. He feels it against his neck, his collarbones, then his chest. Slow but sure in its path downward. All he can do is feel, feel, feel.

As it goes, it becomes clearer that they’re kisses, the little pecks of warmth. To his abdomen and his hips and his thighs, all muscles there trembling in its wake. He’s sensitive to the touch and trying to blink his eyes open and see what source is to blame, but he’s not even sure he’s in control of his own body.

He watches the world come a tad more into focus as the blood rushes to his crotch and leaves his head spinning. The edges of his vision still blurry and dazed. He can’t say he’s quite used to the relaxed, unrushed nature of this. It’s a slow build, one tiny jolt of arousal at a time to get his whole body to its full inferno, but when it does finally get there, he knows he lets out a guttural sound. He just can’t hear it over the heartbeat in his own ears.

The heat of a mouth settles over his dick, and he feels like he’s about to faint right as his vision finally sharpens. The haze clears, the fog lifts, and what’s left are his fingers, winding into white locks of their own volition.

He knows he recognizes them, but his body and his mind are more zeroed in on the way he’s being swallowed whole, teasing abandoned. Lips mold around the head of his dick and send his heart into an erratic rhythm with no warning. He cries out, fists the hair between his fingers, and feels his hips shove up into it.

It’s so fucking good, better than the normal tight ring of his own hand and better than any fantasy he can conjure himself, and there is no resistance. The wet heat takes him and doesn’t let him go, pressing and tonguing at every pleasure point like it knows him.

He tilts his head to get a better view, wants to relish in the visuals, and that’s when he’s met with dull green, crinkling in a way that has his stomach in tangles.

All of a sudden, the heat makes sense. Blinding white, as concentrated as the sun. He tries to let go of the hair in his hands, but all it does is lift his head off his dick, allowing a full smug face to come into view. That mouth makes a small popping sound and then immediately morphs into a grin, lips shiny with spit.

His fate isn’t quite sealed until Sander says his name, low and sultry and too much. Everything about this is too much.

“Robbe.”

His body is sent into a tailspin, the floor dropping out from under him, and he’s left with the sensation of falling back to his corporeal form.

When Robbe jolts awake, he’s gasping a little into his pillow. Like he’s coming up for air, free of the heat from whatever just occurred. His hips are canted into the sheets, still moving in a small grinding motion, and he groans and pulls at his hair with the hand that’s buried there.

This would be happening to him. One fucking night with a hot stranger and he’s already losing it.

“Fuck,” he breathes out and then repeats a little louder when he remembers he’s lucky enough to be in his own room.

He’s had wet dreams before, of course he has, but the intensity of this throws him entirely off guard, and he gives another frustrating and hard thrust of the hips into this mattress.

Why him? Something about this damn resort. The heat and the freedom and the way Robbe’s been able to relax for the first time in as long as he can remember. His head pounds vaguely, and the night before comes back to him, alcohol and all.

When he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, he sees it’s half past six am, and he knows he’ll be dragged to breakfast soon enough. He’s still hard and decides he’ll do something about that in the shower, where his friends are less likely to barge in on him. He can hear some rustling around in the main room and grabs a towel and random clothes from the small suitcase thrown open in the corner.

It’s a straight shot to the bathroom, and he manages to slip in with only a quiet ‘morning’ from Jens, who’s pottering around the kitchenette brewing coffee.

His shower is quick, jerking off perfunctory. He really tries not to focus on the imagery from his dream, but he also can’t help the residual flashes of white and the smirk that has him coming for real. He muffles his small noises into his forearm and hopes that it's enough in this small cabin.

After, the sluggishness catches up to him. The pounding in his head gets a little louder and lets him off the hook from having to think, but the trade-off is that it hurts like hell. He takes it one step at a time, one leg through each hole of his sweats, shirt grappled over his head, teeth brushed, hair towel-dried. Even when Moyo bangs a loud fist on the door telling him they have to leave soon, he just takes a couple deep breaths and collects his dirty clothes.

They walk to the main resort in relative silence, and Robbe notices how few people are out and about. It looks gloomy, like the day may call for rain, and maybe that’s why there aren’t guests and employees milling around. It doesn’t stop him from looking though.

The dining hall is sparse too, but they might just be on the really early side. For some reason unfathomable to Robbe’s young adult brain, Jens’ parents seem to prefer the mornings. Like, early mornings. Vacationing would suggest the opposite to Robbe, but then again, the kind of people that frequent these resorts aren’t really his type.

They all file in a line at the buffet, clinking plates and silverware doing no favors for his head, and load up on a variety of everything. Now, this he does like. Bottomless breakfasts. The smells remind him he’s ravenous and that the best cure for a hangover is sometimes just the greasiest, most mediocre food in existence. He’s hoping that’s the case now as he begins to shovel one of everything they have to offer onto his own set of plates.

When the three of them have gotten their fill (Jens having to come back for his third helping), they take their seats at the table backed up to Jens’s parents, and, as part of the deal they’d all agreed to even make this trip happen, are having their one meal of the day together, albeit at separate tables. They must have come a bit earlier, but Jens’ mom shoots Robbe a wide and pleased smile over the shoulders of his friends.

He smiles back, gives a tiny wave, and then sinks into the uncomfortable wicker.

“So where’d you go last night, man?”

Robbe tries his hardest not to nod off into his orange juice, cheek propped up in hand in what has got to be a display of his very least polite table manners. His mom would probably berate him if she were here. Robbe would like to pretend he had anyone to blame but himself, but he’d gotten a tad bit carried away with the drinking yesterday. Or well, earlier this morning.

“I told you, for a walk.” He remembers that lie before he’d passed out in bed.

Moyo shovels a forkful of egg into his mouth and raises an exaggerated eyebrow across the table.

He lowers his voice when he says, “and I told you to be real with me. If they have some ragers around here, I need to know about them.”

“Why would I—”

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t drunk as fuck last night,” Jens cuts in.

“And hungover this morning,” Moyo finishes for him.

Both of them level him with a similar look, one you can only give after parsing through years of your friends' bullshit. It’s times like this Robbe wonders if he’s ever really kept things a secret from them after all or if they’re just waiting for him to catch up.

“Okay, Jesus. Maybe there was a little party, but I’m really not supposed to say anything about it.”

Moyo’s grin is wolfish and wide, and he leans in conspiratorially.

“Okay, so who all was there?”

Jens is caught between trying to eavesdrop on his parents’ conversation and trying to participate in theirs, but even he gives in and looks engaged at the question.

Robbe’s mind goes on autopilot for a moment. Names he’d want to remember, names he’d want to remember.

Sander’s smiling face pops into his head first thing, and he presses three fingertips into his temple, hard enough to almost hurt. He wills himself to think of literally anything else to tell them.

“Uh.”

“Was Jana there?” Jens stage whispers. His eyes are wide, and it’d almost make Robbe want to laugh if it weren’t so eager.

“Jana, dude. Really. I haven’t even met her yet.”

“Psht, like we haven’t seen plenty of pictures,” Moyo rolls his eyes.

“No, Jana wasn’t there. Chill out,” says Robbe.

“What about Noor?”

Robbe looks down at his own plate and takes a bite of a piece of sausage in lieu of immediately answering. Or answering at all. He takes a second bite and a third.

“Dude, do not tell me you hung out with Noor,” Moyo drones and tosses his head back.

“So what? It was just her and a couple other employees. That’s all.”

“What happened to our agreement?”

“Agreement?” Robbe scoffs, questioning how he was coined the one with the flair for dramatics in their circle.

Jens looks lost but just eats his own food in peace, content to move on now that the big question of Jana was out of the way.

“Yeah. I called dibs. You know those rules are ancient.”

“Nothing happened, I swear,” Robbe says darkly and lets the “besides” die in his throat at the mental image of her girlfriend. It’s not his place to break that kind of news, especially when he can’t even do it for himself.

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

Robbe closes his eyes and returns the hand to his temple, wishing Sander was the only thing on his mind this time.

“When did you get so damn dramatic?”

“Okay, okay, boys. Chill,” Jens says, like he’d had no part in the escalation.

“Oh, chill. Be more like me,” Robbe pitches his voice lower and mocks.

“Hey, I’m trying to save your ass here.”

Moyo taps two fingers on the table between another bite to get their attention.

“Just promise me that next time, we get the invite.”

“The invite, sure. Let me just ask if the two people I was specifically told not to tell are on the guest list.” His chews get a little heated for a moment.

Jens eyes bulge out of his head, and Moyo looks like he’s ready to choke on his drink.

“You were what?!”

But when the dust settles, Moyo’s left with a grin. “So they know who we are?”

Robbe lets his head fall to his arms, pushing the rest of his food toward them. His head pounds a little harder. And damn, he’s not normally one for massive hangovers. He has pushed his body to the limit far too many times for that to be a recurring consequence, but the whole combination of last night and this morning has his skull aching right behind the eyes more than it has in forever.

“Yeah, and shouldn’t that be proof enough that they don’t want you there,” he mumbles, knowing half of the words are inaudible and his friends are no longer listening anyway.

They devolve into snickering and finishing the food on Robbe’s plates for him.

“At least this entire summer won’t suck.”

“Hey, you guys are the ones that wanted to come,” Jens protests. Which was true, it had been Moyo’s idea. Robbe knows Jens loves this place, has memories all up and down his adolescence attached to it, and it really isn’t that bad. They’ve only been here about five days, but it’s easy to see there’s a pace. Robbe was okay to adapt and try to enjoy it, but Moyo? Apparently not.

“I’m just saying. I cannot do yesterday for six whole weeks, or I might lose my mind.”

“Okay, yeah. That was… not great. You should’ve been there, Robbe,” Jens says and taps him on the shoulder lightly.

Robbe pops his head up on his hands and sighs, deciding to let the line of questioning earlier go. He’ll figure it all out. It’s not that serious, and as long as they’re done interrogating—

“Oh wait. Were any of them at the party?” Moyo whispers and flicks his head toward the door where a group of people in polos had just funneled in inconspicuously.

“Yeah, a couple,” Robbe says. There are a few familiar faces, but they duck into the kitchen through an employee entrance before they spot him, and he’s grateful for it. He doesn’t think he could remember their names for the life of him right now.

When he turns back to look at his friends, both of them have shit-eating grins.

“What?”

“Go sneak back there and find out if there are any other parties coming up.”

Robbe goes white as a sheet, he knows he does. Why can’t they ever just fucking drop something?

“Guys, absolutely fucking not.”

“Fine. I will then,” Moyo says. He takes his napkin from his lap, dabs at the corner of his mouth, and drops it on the table in one swoop.

“You absolutely won’t,” Robbe seethes and catches his sleeve before he can make it very far.

He tugs him back down into his seat and stands up instead, a little dizzy with the sudden movement, but his irritation grounds him.

“Why are you guys so annoying?” He mutters, his eyes flitting between the empty tables and the swinging door to the kitchen.

The last reaction he gives them is an eye roll, and he hears Moyo’s laugh louder than anything else in the dining hall. It feels kind of like a walk of shame as he slips between tables and chairs, and he hopes Jens’ family isn’t watching him about to be an idiot. Truly just what he needs, to be sent back home or kicked out of the resort.

He doesn’t bother looking at his friends as he sidles up to the door, eyes just peeking into the plexiglass when he raises onto his toes. He’d been ready to step inside, but the scene stops him in his tracks.

A tall man, in a fairly formal suit, stands on one side of a steel-top table while the employees he’d seen earlier stand on the other. When he gets to the end of the row of them, he sees Noor, and she must have slipped in somewhere else because she hadn’t been part of that group. Moyo would have noticed, but Robbe’s own interest is certainly piqued now.

This isn’t a friendly encounter, the way the man he presumes to be their boss is wagging his finger and looking pissed. Noor seems equally pissed back, ready to jump in at any moment. Beside her, it dawns on him, is her girlfriend Britt. He thinks so anyway, and she’s got her head bowed, more defeated. In fact, the rest of the lot of them look similar, but Noor is absorbing the brunt of it, practically snarling. It appears so tense, the room incredibly charged with an energy Robbe isn’t privy to.

Robbe’s eyes widen a little. He knows he shouldn’t be snooping like this, but he tries to rationalize it because it’s not like he can hear anything. The door does a surprisingly good job muffling noise, with a room of guests none the wiser on one side.

Robbe gives the dilemma one last intrigued look, Noor’s black bob ruffling with an angry shake of the head, before his conscience gets the better of him. He doesn’t know what’s happening or why, has no clue when he’ll get the chance to ask, and sure as hell won’t be telling Jens or Moyo about what he just saw. His heart pangs a little in his chest, and he doesn’t know them very well, but.

Dropping to his heels, he turns and feigns his own defeat. His friends will buy that, that he just gave up. Hopefully they won’t push, and Robbe can deflect or something. His head pounds for more reason than just the hangover now, as he slinks his way back to the table and drops to his seat.

When he gets close enough, he can hear Jens and Moyo booing in a stage-whisper, and he flips them off, counting his lucky stars that it worked. They’ve given up on that idea for now, still chomping at their food and already onto something else.

“You’re a chicken, bro,” Moyo says, Jens laughs in tandem, and Robbe, well, he doesn’t care. The conversation devolves into something about Jana and her friends, and more people file into the hall for breakfast.

Robbe takes a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee and glances back to the kitchen. It really makes him wonder about who is running the show around here and what the staff get up to. He’s worked enough to know that shitty bosses are abundant, but he knows now that the staff can get a little wild too, after that party. He’s so glad his morning has taken a bit of a turn, and now he has something to focus on other than a white-haired enigma.

A stark, blunt bob and angry exchanges. He lets his mind wander, latching itself to any distraction, and he internally hopes and hopes for an encounter with the staff again soon.

Something about them all draws him in, keeps him fascinated. It’s a culmination of a lot of things, the slight distance from his friends and himself in a way, his physical distance from home. He aches and he doesn’t know why, but he’s got all summer to figure it out.

---

As it would happen, that encounter he’s wishing for comes just two days later when he’s least expecting it.

“Hey,” a voice rings out in the afternoon silence, and Robbe looks up from where his phone is nestled between the pages of the book in his lap, something historical Jens’ mom had let him borrow.

He really had tried to read it, but the urge to know what people were doing back in the city got the better of him. Even the spotty Wi-Fi and long loading times weren’t enough to dissuade him. He also sent his mom a text this morning, updating her and asking her how things were faring at home, but he’s been chewing his thumbnail all morning waiting for a reply, so this would do as distraction. Shitty pictures of parties he wouldn’t even want to go and day drinking at old haunts.

He’s caught off guard, still in his head, when he looks up and sees Sander with a leg propped up on the first step of the wraparound porch, like he’s torn between coming closer and staying put. He looks somehow even better in the light of day, and the memory of the other morning comes flooding back for a second. Robbe tamps down a bit of guilt, stutters a little.

“Hi,” Robbe says. He slips his phone into his pocket, shuts the book, and makes a move to stand. “What are you doing here?”

Sander’s smile twitches in all kinds of amusement, and he must decide it’s safe to approach because he slowly ascends the porch steps and pulls a cigarette from his back pocket. Robbe can’t really read him behind the sunglasses like this, but his presence alone is enough to set the bundle of nerves in Robbe’s stomach alight. The resort polos and khakis are a modest look, but they hug Sander in ways he wouldn’t call conservative, and it really doesn’t help the situation.

Robbe’s eyes only get so far, around the curve of his biceps and most of the way down his spine as he bends over the rail, before they consciously flit to the front door. Moyo and Jens, he prays, better stay the fuck asleep.

“That’s a warm welcome,” Sander says and extends the stick to Robbe, who shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Robbe says softly, and his fingers twitch and bat at his own thigh while he watches Sander exhale. “I just didn’t know you liked to wander the woods like this. Figured you’ve probably seen enough of these dingy cabins.”

Robbe wants to say ‘after six years’ just to signal to Sander somehow that he remembers the other night. He couldn’t forget it if he tried and would love to see it dawn on the other, but the moment passes.

“Dingy?” Sander giggles a little, and it makes Robbe’s heart beat extra hard for a second. What the hell is even happening to him? “You should see the staff’s.”

“Okay.”

As if that had been a genuine invitation.

Robbe watches him lean onto his elbows and push his sunglasses up his head, gaze getting lost between the branches out there somewhere like he hadn’t even heard Robbe. He doesn’t really need them here anyway, tree cover for miles up the side of the hill where guest cabins are. Maybe he was doing something outside back at the resort’s main building, but the only way to know would be to ask, and Robbe’s tongue is thick and awkward in his mouth. He is tan though, something Robbe can tell in the light of day now. It’s quite the contrast with his hair, it shouldn’t work, but Robbe wants to reach out and find some excuse to touch. He twists his hands in the fabric of his t-shirt just for something to do with them instead.

“I’m actually here to ask you if you’re interested in joining some of us for a little off resort fun this weekend.”

“Off resort?”

Sander purses his lips in thought and takes a drag, blowing out of the side of his mouth when he turns to look at Robbe. Even without the glasses, Robbe can’t really read him. He seems a little more closed off this morning, yet he’s still the one specifically coming to find Robbe. Overthinking is really going to be the death of him.

“Yeah. There’s a town about 15 miles south of here that has a few pubs. Live music, actual drinks. Sometimes a couple of us get a wild hair and feel like a proper night out.”

“And by us, you mean...”

“Me, Noor, Milan, Britt. Maybe Zoe and Luca...” Sander shrugs and doesn’t bother finishing.

“When?”

Sander squints thoughtfully.

“Saturday.”

“You all are off on a Saturday?” Robbe hasn’t had time to really put together who works when yet of the couple of people he knows. This place is crawling with employees, all fairly young unless you count upper management, but he’s surprised to hear that a resident dance expert isn’t a hot commodity on weekend nights.

“Yeah, or we can get someone to cover for us. Shows are normally on Friday nights, so a lot of the entertainment staff end up free on Saturdays. It’s not a bad trade off around here.”

Robbe would later learn that ‘shows’ are exactly as old-fashioned as they sound, ballroom dancing on stage in front of a dinner crowd followed by ballroom dancing on the floor with a bunch of people who haven’t the slightest clue how to keep up. It’s part of the charm of the place, giving older generations a chance to relive experiences of their youth. He’d personally hate to feel so inadequate, but maybe that’s Sander’s specific charm too, helping people get lost in it enough to feel good.

He wants to find out.

“Oh, I see.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard any of the horror stories about management around here, but sometimes I think we’re lucky we’re even allowed off the grounds at all.”

“They couldn’t stop you, right?” He feels naïve for asking, but he’s just a one time guest. He can’t imagine what it’s like to go to bed and wake up at the same place you work.

“You’d be surprised.”

One thing Robbe has figured out is that the rumor mill definitely does run, but only through certain people. All guests are included in that, Milan too. Sander, however, seems like the kind to keep to himself, caught up in his own brain, and Robbe can relate. Maybe that’s why his curiosity, the itch to pick Sander apart and coerce him to share what’s just beyond the surface, flares up hot inside him.

“Me personally, though? They could never,” Sander adds after a beat, shooting Robbe a wide flirty smile through smoke.

“I didn’t take you for a bad boy.” It’s sort of a lie. The white hair, the dancing. He’s sure Sander probably has a leather jacket lying around somewhere too.

“No?”

“Definitely not.”

“Guess you must not know me, then,” says Sander, and that startles a small laugh out of Robbe.

He wants to. Oh boy, does he want to.

“That could change.”

“You’re confident.”

“Well, you’re here,” Robbe says and motions to their current position.

The cigarette between Sander’s fingers is getting down to the last drags, but Sander makes no move to pull from it. He eyes Robbe carefully, aware of just how even the playing field is. Robbe smiles sweetly back and mirrors Sander’s position in reverse, facing the cabin but leaning against the rail. They’re close enough that the hairs on Robbe’s arms shift to stand on end when Sander takes the last drag.

The energy of the afternoon seems to shrink in to meet them, heat and breeze and electricity all hitting Robbe at once. His heart speeds up for no reason, and he finds himself accidentally focusing on Sander’s mouth.

“So are you in then? Do you think you could get away from your friends for a night?” Sander says softly into the air between them, pink lips twisting into a smirk as he stubs his cigarette out with the heel of his boot.

Robbe doesn’t mention that, no, he doesn’t think he can. That, in fact, he’d promised his rowdy friends an invite this time, and they’re going to be beyond pissed to find out he’s off without them.

An offer like this though, it doesn’t even matter if he has a cover to sneak off on his own. He’d risk a thousand nights of being discovered gone, or worse—a liar—if it meant he could get another real moment alone with Sander. Hell, maybe it won’t be alone, but there’s something in this feeling between them. He wants to explore it, wants to see what Sander’s like untethered from Edgewood.

“I will, yeah,” Robbe answers, but it’s low and Sander tips his head closer to hear, flicking his sunglasses back down onto the bridge of his nose. He’s grinning.

“Okay, good. I would hate for you to miss out. Meet me in the employee car park at 7:30. Saturday night.”

He lingers in Robbe’s space, smile still firmly and genuinely in place. Robbe thinks he can get a whiff of cologne, something fresh and all boy and it makes his whole body sway for a moment. Almost a little too close until there’s a bang somewhere inside the cabin, and their little suspended bubble has popped, Sander set back in motion.

“See ya later, IJzermans.”

And with that, Sander pushes off the rail and slides by on his way off the porch, hand lingering between Robbe’s shoulder blades in a scorching press. It’s dizzying for a moment, and Robbe knows he could blame it on the heat but he’s trying to get better about that. Letting himself just feel the attraction when it comes, when he’s sober. The oppressive thoughts don’t need to exist here in the open airy countryside too, there are enough of them back home sometimes. Maybe that’s a little bit of what he felt the first day here, the tug to just meld into a summer mirage and let go.

He hangs his head and listens to the other walk away, matches his breath to the slow crunch of gravel until it’s out of earshot. The heat has brought so much out of him already, thoughts and desires to the surface he hadn’t had time or energy to parse through back home, between school and his mom and work. He wants to keep thinking, wants to pick at the loose threads of himself until he is fully unravelled. He sits with it all and imagines.

Blond hair, green eyes. Warm hands, deep voice, practiced hips... All trained on him.

Following Sander seems like a good first step, if he wants to give voice to his own desire this summer, and he’s going to jump at every opportunity.

Saturday. 7:30.

Before Robbe has time to think about how his last name sounded in Sander's mouth or how he even learned it in the first place, there’s more stirring inside the cabin and voices he can’t make out. Then, Jens pops his head around the screen door, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“Were you talking to someone?”

“Oh, Milan just dropped by to make sure everything was still in order,” Robbe lies easily, glancing back down the trail the way Sander had come.

“Damn, they’ve got some nice service this year,” Jens ushers him back inside and he goes, happy to collapse in a wooden chair in front of the air conditioner.

“I think they just like Robbe here. Can’t say I know why, but,” Moyo mutters from where he’s sprawled out on the couch.

“Fuck you.”

“Hey now, boys. You better be on your best behavior tonight. Don’t ruin this for me,” Jens says, head buried in his suitcase.

“If you haven’t ruined it yourself by now, then it might just be a miracle.” Robbe laughs along with Moyo at that one.

They have dinner plans with Jana and a couple of Jens’ other friends from previous summers tonight. It’s the only thing Jens had been able to talk about since they got to this place, the colliding of his two worlds. Robbe wants to laugh at him, but he’s starting to think he’s going to owe Jens more than he could ever repay him for by the time the summer’s up.

If these plans he keeps falling into are a tell.

“Ha, ha, very funny. But I think I actually have a shot with Jana this year. She was telling me a couple weeks back she’s thinking about transferring somewhere closer to Antwerp because of all the fashion programs.”

“Oh?” Robbe indulges him.

“Yeah. So like, we could skip the long distance shit.”

“You’re serious about her.”

“Well, yeah. Have you not heard me talk about her before…”

“To be fair,” Moyo says, “you talk about every girl in a ten mile radius, so.”

“When did you get to be such a hypocrite?” Jens pulls his t-shirt over his head and flings it at Moyo, making him burst into a fit of laughter.

“True. What about you Robbe? Anyone here actually catch your eye?”

Robbe tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling. He debates lying again, but there’s a flicker of ambition somewhere in him. He wants to test the waters, wade out into the sea of his friend’s unknown opinions. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth for a couple seconds and thinks of a certain dancer.

“There might be someone.”

Cue a chorus of curious noises from both Jens and Moyo.

“I knew those parties must be hot. Any word from Milan about another one?”

And Robbe is so surprised that they don’t push to know who he might be interested in that he’s caught off guard by Milan’s name. They must be so absorbed in their own shit, and Robbe eyes them both suspiciously.

“Milan?”

“Yeah, you said he came by.”

“Oh, no. He was really just checking on the cabin,” Robbe says, back to lying through his teeth. “I told you I’d let you know. It’s only been a couple days.”

Moyo hums and goes back to scrolling on his phone. Jens is walking in and out of his bedroom, buttoning up his shirt and ruffling at his own hair.

“Maybe Jana knows something about them.”

Robbe recalls what Sander said about management and his eyes go a little wide. He doesn’t know her yet, but from the way the guests talk about employees and vice versa, Robbe has a hard time believing just any person is being invited to these things. Jana’s probably the daughter of some ambassador who works with the owners somehow. At least, everything around here feels like that, like one big connection he can only fit himself into by proxy.

Robbe hasn’t realized how little he’s actually looking forward to this evening, and he sighs and lets Jens start to ramble again.

Dinner comes far too soon.

It’s almost like he blinks, afternoon flashing in front of his eyes in a hazy blur of the three of them lying around and joking until they’d had to get ready, and now he’s sitting down in the fancier of the two dining halls, dressed in a button up and some slacks. These are certainly the fanciest clothes he owns, and he’s thankful he’d remembered to stuff them in his suitcase last minute.

They go around the table and introduce themselves. There’s Jana, Gill, Senne, and Luka, all of whom look like they could probably model for the clothes they’re wearing, and it becomes abundantly clear as soon as they start talking that Robbe’s estimations of how and why they’re here are rooted in truth. Stereotypical, but true nonetheless.

“My dad’s best friend owns the place. We’ve come here every summer since before I could even walk,” Senne’s finishing up saying over the lip of his wine glass. The most expensive wine had been poured the second they sat down.

Robbe feels far from himself right off the bat, floating above his own body and beyond this conversation. He doesn’t know what about this whole situation kicks in his fight or flight response, but he feels uncomfortable in his own skin even being around people like this. Jana and Gill seem nice enough, but it’s the whole atmosphere. It’s the way Jens fits right in with them, like a hidden life Robbe had never known about or been part of. Even Moyo takes on his role with extreme ease, charismatic and happy to pretend.

At one point, Jana, who looks even better than her pictures and is beyond out of Jens’ league, smiles brightly and flits her eyes between the two outliers before asking, “So tell me. Do you two have any embarrassing stories about this one?” with an index finger aimed at Jens.

And the rest of the dinner goes much the same way. Moyo and Robbe take their turns talking about Jens and life back home when prompted, but it all devolves very quickly once Senne and Luka take over the conversation.

Time crawls, various waiters come and go, all of which seem nervous. It’s almost like they know who they’re serving, and Robbe wants to bust out into laughter at how ridiculous it sounds. A bunch of early twenty-somethings sitting around a table at a summer resort. The ostentation doesn’t suit him.

Jens’s ability to fit in is by no means a show, Robbe realizes rather quickly. He has rapport with these people. And it’s so obvious he’s into Jana, almost always eyeing her direction no matter who speaks. Robbe thinks she’s into him too, the way she leans in every time he talks. He watches Gill, Senne, and Luka go through expressions of boredom depending on the topic and watches them go through a whole second bottle of wine within the first hour too. He’s still on his first glass.

Every time a new person comes to their table, whether it’s to top them off or to take their order after the obnoxious amount of time it takes Gill to decide, Luka has some disparaging comment at the ready. It’s like a game to him, one Robbe wants no part of. He catches Jana even grimacing a couple times, and it’s plain to see she’s the most decent among them.

Robbe spaces out so much he’d almost be scared for himself, but then he’ll catch the end of some unrelatable story or Moyo will knock a knee into his and roll his eyes and he’ll remember that this is a minor favor for Jens and that’s it. Part of him wonders why it wasn’t just Jana having dinner with them tonight. Maybe they all hung around each other most summers, friendship born of convenience. The only real commonality needed at a place like this was age anyway, if you were a guest. Robbe’s feeling a lot less like a guest right now and more like an ornament.

It’s okay, it’s just one dinner, he reminds himself.

Robbe’s so grateful for the distraction when his phone pings in his pocket that he raises his glass in a mini cheers to whoever is looking and then downs the rest. He doesn’t have a taste for it at all.

“I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me,” but he’s already out of his seat and heading for the door to the hall. If it’s abrupt, he doesn’t mean it to be, but it’s not like he’s contributed much to the conversation or atmosphere tonight anyway.

He slips out and immediately finds an empty doorway in the hall to duck into and breathe for a minute. He undoes the top button of his shirt with one hand and pulls out his phone with another.

Robbe. Hi, dear.

It’s nice to hear from you. I’ve been thinking about you, but didn’t want to bother. Hope you boys are behaving. I’m glad it sounds like fun. Please send some pictures when you get a chance.

I’m doing okay. Therapy yesterday was tiring, but I made our old favorite dinner and watched some television to make up for it. Might go to the beach this weekend. Love you always, talk soon.

Robbe thumbs carefully over the messages, letting his heart swell in his chest. Then another ping comes through, an image of his mom curled up on the couch with her evening cup of tea. He saves it immediately and types out a quick response.

When he’s done, he lets his head fall against the stone of the building and breathes some more. Sometimes his worry about her eats at him, right beyond the veil of his consciousness, and he doesn’t even realize how nice it is to know she’s fine until he can take a full deep breath again. It’s sheer relief, and he’ll never take it for granted, after all those tumultuous teen years.

She’s been fine. She’ll keep being fine.

Things don’t feel as stifling with that reminder now.

He makes to head back in when a waitress, the very same one who’d taken his order earlier, busts through an employee door right in front of him, clearly in distress and a rush all at once. She comes to a halt though when she spots Robbe, sniffling into her apron and spinning on her heel so he won’t see. Another person, a girl with white blond cropped hair he’s pretty sure he’s also seen before, slides out and pulls her into an immediate hug.

“Amber, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t believe they’re giving me a strike for this,” Amber the waitress hiccups, barely audible.

Robbe feels bad for eavesdropping on a private conversation, especially when they know he’s standing right there, but they’re now blocking his path back down the hall and into the dining room.

“Is everything okay?” He tries, and the taller of the two keeps an arm around her shoulder but turns to look at him.

“Oh, hi. Sorry to block your way,” she gives him a vacant, customer-friendly smile as she shuffles them to the side, but clearly everything is pretty far from okay. That was a stupid question.

Robbe, suddenly self conscious, looks down at his shoes and struggles with himself for a moment. He doesn’t really want to go back in, and he doesn’t feel right leaving the two of them out here, unsure of what he can do about it. He hadn’t seen what went down, but it surely had to do with how rude Luka had been to the staff all evening.

“Is… can I help with something? Did something happen? I’m sorry.”

When the blond with the girl in her arms turns to look at him again, fully in the face this time, her expression shifts from sourness to realization.

“Oh, you’re Robbe, right?”

“Yeah, how-”

“We met at the party. I’m Zoe,” she says, nodding down like she’d shake his hand if it weren’t for the armful of sniffly girl.

Zoe. Right. He feels a bit of shame seep down his spine, forgetting the face of someone he ought to know. He really doesn’t want to be that kind of guest, but it’s a bit too late. He doesn’t remember his own waitress’s name either, too caught up in trying to keep up with Jens and his friends.

“Oh, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, it’s fine. Those things can get out of hand, and you’re new.”

“Right,” he agrees. The air turns awkward.

“You wouldn’t happen to be having dinner in there, would you?”

Robbe looks down at his slacks and button down and then bashfully looks up, one hand twisted in the hair at the back of his head.

“I am, actually,” he says and then thinks to add, “Not that I want to be.”

It feels good to be honest, and Zoe smirks like she can tell.

“Well, this is Amber,” Zoe says and nods down to the girl she’s holding. He thinks he hears a little muffled ‘hi.’ “And some asshole in there just sent his entire meal back and personally complained to our boss because his steak was medium and not medium rare, and that’s somehow a server’s problem.”

Zoe’s tone of voice is forceful and incredulous, like she’s cataloguing it for herself more than repeating the events for Robbe.

Amber pulls away from Zoe’s grip, wiping at her eyes, and turns to look at Robbe.

“Sorry,” she says. “I know that was your table and I’m sorry if I messed anything up, but Luka and Senne are-”

Robbe puts his hands out in front of him to signal her to stop.

“Hey, no, no. You’re all good. I’m the one who should be sorry. I just met these guys tonight as a favor to my friend, and I’ve mostly been trying to ignore them. They’re kind of dicks, right? Like it’s not just me...”

Amber’s face lights up a little in amusement as she snorts, and Robbe smiles right back, happy to be on more even footing.

“It’s definitely not just you.”

“I really wish I could afford to give them a piece of my mind. Senne needs to fucking rein his friends in and stop acting like he owns the place and its employees,” Zoe mutters, and she’s clearly harboring some kind of contempt deeper than just this situation.

Robbe doesn’t know either of them well, but it’s astonishing how much he’d rather stay put here with them than go back and make nice with people whose only topic of conversation consists of… fucking land ownership and business and partying. Or something like that, he hasn’t been paying all that much mind.

He’d rather pick Zoe and Amber’s brains about this place and how it all works, if they’ve been here long and why they even are, what Zoe’s real problem with this Senne guy is.

“Is there anything I can help you guys with? I mean, I don’t have any kind of influence, but I can accidentally… spill something on him?” Robbe tries lamely, shrugging and stuffing hands in his pockets.

“No,” Amber laughs, sticking out her hand to properly shake. She’s gotten herself together a bit more, apron smoothed out and initial embarrassment worn off. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your friends. It’s nice to meet you though.”

“Likewise. I just came out here for some fresh air,” he says and motions to where they can see all the grounds of the resort laid out in front of them. “Now... I kinda don’t want to go back in.”

Zoe smiles at him. “I don’t blame you, but your friends…”

“You’re right,” Robbe agrees ruefully.

He moves to step around them, giving them both quick squeezes to the shoulder, and he makes almost back to the doorway before Zoe calls after him. She’s grinning when he turns to look.

“It really was nice to meet you again,” she winks.

He smiles widely at her and then at his shoes, squares his shoulders, and makes to return to his table. As he does, he can tell not a lot has changed except Jens and Jana’s chairs have moved closer together and they’re lost in conversation with each other. Everyone else is chewing their food and listening to Luka, who apparently hasn’t shut up since Robbe left. His cackle is grating and booming in the hall, and Robbe drops to his seat with a heavy sigh.

Robbe looks down at the food that arrived while he was out, cuts into his steak, and takes a single bite. It tastes really fucking good and, although it’s not a hard mantle to achieve, is probably the best thing this dinner has going for it.

Moyo seems somewhat engaged at least, willing to hear out whoever is talking as he chomps down on his own food, and Robbe’s grateful he can field the rest of the questions for the evening. He keeps his own head either down as he eats or spends the time pivoting around in his seat, trying to soak up the atmosphere and any familiar faces. His attention is rarely ever on the table itself.

Their server has been swapped out for someone different after the complaint, but Robbe still catches Amber’s eye across the room and waves, not bothering to check if anyone’s paying attention to him. Part of him wishes he had Jens’ experience year after year if only to get to know the staff, to linger in the environment, to learn the halls and corridors. He wants someone to show him, but they all seem like busy people. The promise of Saturday and of something new lingers in his periphery.

Dinner ends not with a bang, which is shocking considering Luka and Senne are here, but with a whimper. Gill slips off early with some excuse, Senne makes sure the meal is covered and drags Luka toward the same exit with a two fingered salute. Robbe and Moyo finish off their glasses and leave Jens behind after checking that he’s all good, still fully engaged in conversation with Jana.

Jens being into-into someone is a sight his friends aren’t used to, the delicate hand on her knee and all of his attention actually focused on a single point. Robbe’s mouth twitches as he throws an elbow into Moyo’s side to snap him out of the snickering.

“Shut up,” he whispers, trying not to draw the attention of guests still dining all around them

“Bro, if I ever look that lovesick, please put me out of my misery.”

And as they break back out into the airy night, Robbe thinks he longs for that sort of attention, fierce and intimate and aimed solely at him. He’s never really considered it before, but he wants to have that. Maybe he’s even hopeful for it.

Moyo gives him a playful jab before he can get too far into his thinking, and they spend the rest of the evening shooting the shit and placing bets on when (or if) Jens will be returning to their cabin.

He does come back in the end, although it’s well into the early morning, but Robbe doesn’t bother calling out to him or harassing him, too preoccupied with his own brain and schooling his thoughts. After such a mundane evening, the days and the nights cannot move slower. He clenches his fist in the sheets, ignoring Jens shuffling around, and tries to count his own breaths and not think of a certain someone.

--

It’s a crawl to Saturday, and slower still to 7:30, as he kicks back and watches 2pm tick by. The summer sun spares no one, and it does more than just burn. It leeches the energy, the breeze, the thoughts straight out of his skull. He’s always liked summer, but it’s never felt more draining than it does right now, in direct and blazing heat.

He lulls his head to the side of his lounge chair, shielding his eyes and watching the water. Maybe he should get back in and try to wake himself up a bit, doesn’t want to nap until he’s burned to a crisp, but the thought bobs in time with the rope float buoys tens of feet out and then disappears among subtle waves.

Robbe still hasn’t exactly found a way to get around telling Moyo and Jens, who are sitting on either side of him by the lakefront now, sprawled haphazard in their own chairs. They aren’t going to be happy and he was hoping he could slip out unnoticed, but from the sounds of it, their evening plans amount to zero. Which means zero window for an escape.

Robbe moves to stand, shadow stretching long in the sun, and yawns. There are a handful of other people out here today, a couple of young kids splashing in the shallow water, some older folks with their own umbrella reading in the shade. He watches it all and rubs absentmindedly at his bare chest, fingers rolling the pendant between them.

“Are you getting back in?” Jens peeks one eye open, blinking fully awake, and Robbe jumps a little, wrong in his assumption that they were both asleep. He sinks his toes into the sand and glances at Moyo, who has a towel pulled over his eyes.

“Nah, I was actually gonna head up and get some snacks. You wanna come?”

He gives Jens a look like he better say yes.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No. C’mon.” Robbe offers his hand and yanks him up out of the chair. He then launches his own towel at Moyo’s chest. “We’re going to get some food. You want something?”

He was right in the case of Moyo, who groans at being woken up.

“Nah, but maybe a beer?”

“Do they even—” Robbe doesn’t bother finishing. He just laughs in place of the rest of the sentence and tells Moyo to watch their stuff while starting the trek back up to the resort’s main building.

“So why exactly am I going with you?” Jens asks as he follows up the pathways.

“Because I need a favor from you, and you owe me for dinner the other night.”

“What do you mean I owe you? It wasn’t that bad.”

Robbe’s only response is an exasperated glare over his shoulder. Maybe it hadn’t been bad because Jens had someone to ogle all evening, but he should know better than to assume Robbe had any fun.

“Okay, I get it. What’s up?”

Robbe slows to a stop and steps off the path so other people can go by. They’re far enough away that Moyo can’t hear, and he needs to be careful how he words this.

“I was invited… out.”

Jens blinks at him expectantly.

“Like, off the resort out, and I need you to cover for me.”

“To do what?”

Robbe sometimes questions how he even befriended Jens. When his mind is somewhere else, it really is somewhere else.

“To party. With some employees.”

“Bro, seriously? Moyo is gonna be so pissed,” Jens says and runs a hand through his hair as it dawns on him.

Robbe swipes at his shoulder with a light fist. “That’s why he’s not gonna find out.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“I don’t know. Keep him occupied here and say I’m sick in the cabin or something.”

“Robbe.”

“Jens.”

Robbe crosses his arm and rolls his eyes at the standoffish nature of this. He recalls a time when he probably would’ve called Jens his favorite person in the world, back when he was fifteen and wondering why he couldn’t look away. Now, though, things are a bit different. He loves Jens, but it borders on exasperation more often, with Jens head constantly elsewhere. It’s a symptom of their drifting apart since college, he’s sure of it, but they both know how this is going to end. Robbe’s just waiting for him to reach the same conclusion.

Jens sighs and shrugs, giving up in five seconds flat. He’s never liked to be in the middle of conflict, especially between friends, but Robbe knows how to motivate him here.

“Come on, Jens. Just drag him to hang out with Jana and promise other girls are going to be there. He’ll fall for that.”

“And go where?”

Robbe starts them back up the trail to the commissary.

“Like I said, steal a golf cart and… have a picnic on the green or something.”

“Have a picnic? What are you, fifty?”

“Girls love that shit.”

“Oh yeah, because I’ve seen you with so many.”

Robbe’s mouth clicks shut and he clenches a fist in the pocket of his swim trunks. He doesn’t know why it bothers him, creeps under his skin like this. Nothing inherently derogatory about it, but he feels this sudden need to prove himself and he doesn’t want to deal with that. He doesn’t want girls. He’s known and been okay with it for a while now.

He just wishes he could find a way to say that out loud.

“Hey, bro. You know I’m just kidding,” Jens slaps his shoulder, now walking in time with him. “I could probably supply a carton of booze and Moyo would go along with anything.”

“Where are you going to get a carton of booze around here?” Robbe asks.

“I have my ways.” Followed by a wink.

“Do your ways include the employees?”

Jens lets out a hearty laugh at that, and then they crest the last hill, shoes hitting pavement with faint slaps.

“Maybe. But I think the better question is what employees are inviting you out all the time now, huh?”

Robbe knows he goes a bit sheepish for someone who essentially just bribed his friend into lying for him, but the memory of Sander’s smile immediately inflates to take up all the space in his head. Toothy and happy and handsome. He grins at his own feet and doesn’t even mind when Jens leans over to playfully push at his head.

“Just Milan and some of the entertainment staff.”

“Oh, you’re making friends with the wild ones, huh?” And Robbe forgets that this place is a summer home to Jens. That he’s full of as much gossip and knowledge about the history of it than anyone else is.

“The wild ones?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard so many rumors about the shit they get up to. Stealing stuff from cabins and kitchens and breaking into places after hours. There was even this one summer where—”

The way Robbe’s blood turns cold is abruptly interrupted when Jens thinks he spots Jana ducking into the lobby of the main building thirty feet away. Robbe watches his eyes light up and hates that the pit in his stomach is begging him to finish that sentence. There’s no chance in hell of it now.

“Do you mind if I...?” He waves vaguely in the direction he thinks she went, but he’s already inching backwards with excitement.

“Go ahead. What do you want from here?”

“I’ll just get whatever you’re having! Be right back.” Jens jogs off in the other direction, leaving Robbe to wait patiently in line at the little shack.

The wild ones. He hadn’t really gotten that impression at all. The party was no more rowdy than any other house party he’d ever been to; maybe Jens was just mistaken. But Jens had been coming here for years, perhaps just as long as someone like Sander or Milan.

Robbe took his turn waiting in line, rolling the ideas around in his head. He hadn’t even mentioned Sander to Jens yet, scared to see what Jens might know, but maybe that was dumb of him. Rumors are rumors for a reason, but he also knows he doesn’t quite know Sander yet. He doesn’t want to rely on gossip for second impressions, but.

Attraction, that insane pull in his gut, can be just as—

“Next.”

Robbe blinks back to himself and steps up to the counter, fumbling for his wallet and the last remaining cash there. He couldn’t even repeat back what he ordered if he tried, pointing randomly at the rows of snacks and drinks. He shows his ID and scoops the brown paper bag into his arms, content to wait for Jens in the shade of the awning.

When Jens finally does come trotting out a couple minutes later, he’s extremely smug with himself, chin physically tipped higher like some kind of show dog. A giggle gets caught in Robbe’s throat, his mind still a little too far into overdrive.

“You’ll never guess what she just told me.”

“What did she just tell you?”

“That I owe her a real date after our charades tonight.”

“Oh?”

“God, dude. I’ve been waiting to ask her out forever, and she goes and asks me after I suggest a picnic? Maybe that was solid advice…” Jens throws a hapless arm into the bag and grabs whatever he feels first.

“I told you,” Robbe mutters noncommittally, and they both start the walk back to the lakeside. Robbe only vaguely registers that means he’s secured his cover for the night, but he kind of wants to know what he’s getting himself into first.

Jens sighs happily, and Robbe takes the lull in the conversation to get back on track.

“You’re friends with Milan though, right?” Robbe asks, brows furrowed and acting like he can just pick up the conversation right where they left off seamlessly. He hates that he can’t shield himself from his own train of thought.

“Milan? What?”

“What you said about the entertainment staff…”

“Yeah, Milan’s chill. Well, maybe chill isn’t the right word, but he’s fun.”

“What about the rest of them?” Robbe’s trying to school his overt curiosity, but it’s hard now that the floodgates have opened.

“They’re not usually the people I hang around, so all I really know are whispers from management and other guests, ya know?” Jens rubs the back of his neck and licks the chip salt from his thumb. “I’m starting to think I should’ve been hanging with them this whole time if it would’ve gotten me into some parties. That’s the one thing missing around here.”

“Didn’t you say they get into trouble though?” Robbe glances sideways.

“Yeah, but I’m a guest so I wouldn’t,” Jens shrugs happily and edges ahead of Robbe on the path. Robbe’s stomach twists a little at that, but he lets it go.

“So you’re squared away for tonight then? What time are your plans with Jana?”

“She said we could all get dinner again so 6:30 maybe?”

“Okay, great,” Robbe says and then adds, “Thanks for covering for me.”

Jens scoffs, but he’s clearly in a good mood now. If there was any grudge over his plans, Robbe knows it’s wiped clean. “Like you gave me so much choice. You do know you’re going to have to get us into a party before the summer’s up though, right? Moyo’s not gonna let that go.”

Robbe waves him off playfully and lets the next couple minutes of the walk pass by in silence. But then the beach comes into view, and there’s a name sitting too heavily on his tongue not to actually ask, so he slows a little, forcing Jens to too.

“Do you,” Robbe starts and then swallows, shielding his eyes from the sun and taking a particularly steep step. “Do you know Sander?”

Jens steps stutter for a moment and he sends a tiny look Robbe’s way. Robbe’s heart beat crawls up his ears, cheeks pinking.

“Sander? Like the ballroom dancer?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that another person you’re hanging out with?”

Robbe nods but keeps his eyes trained on the ground. He’d been so eager to know what Jens knew, but it was a mistake as soon as he asked. Sander deserves a chance to be the one to explain if any of those rumors are attached to him, and Robbe doesn’t like that traitorous itch in his palms. He doesn’t even know Sander, he has to remind himself repeatedly. He wants to, but he doesn’t yet.

“Just be careful, Robbe. He’s kind of… all over the place, from what I’ve heard.”

All over the place. What does that even mean?

Before he can speak and ask, Jens says, “I’m sure he’s cool or whatever. I’ve only talked to him once or twice, but look out for yourself, okay? Try not to get into trouble tonight.”

And then Jens drops it, and Robbe lets him. All over the place. Cool or whatever. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t expected a little more, but he would also be lying if he said the nerves in his gut didn’t intensify at that info alone.

“Where the fuck have you guys been?” Moyo groans, moving into a sitting position and making grabby hands at the bag.

Robbe drops it unceremoniously in his lap and the slumps into his own lounge chair and kicks his feet up. His mind reels, but he’s trying to hide it on his face.

“We ran into Jens’ dream girl, that’s where.”

Jens shoots him a disbelieving look over the rim of his sunglasses, like Robbe was really testing him after all that, and he can only grin back.

“At least we have plans tonight now.”

“We do?” Moyo swivels to face them, emptying an entire packet of pretzels into his mouth.

“Yeah. Was thinking we could grab a quick dinner with Jana and her friends and maybe sneak some alcohol onto a golf cart. Go hang out on the green.” Everything he says is very half assed in a way only Jens could pull off, like he came up with it on spot.

Robbe has to give himself and Jens props. It’s a very good plan considering all the older golfers take to the course early in the morning. They’d likely have the whole thing to themselves on a random Saturday evening, and Robbe could think of ten different ways to make a move on someone while playing putt putt.

The idea only sends him into a tailspin of a wild head of white hair. Toned arms around him, guiding his hands to the right positions on the club. Chin tucked right over his shoulder, breathing in the same air.

He can almost hear Sander’s voice echo in his own little bubble of summer heat until Moyo flings a small bag at him and knocks him out of it.

“You’re in tonight, right?”

Robbe just hums in agreement and lets the sounds of splashing and general atmosphere lull him away from the conversation once again. He has a lot to mull over and not enough time in the afternoon left to do it.

After that, the crawl to 7:30 becomes more of a run.

Robbe gets roped into going with them to at least grab some dinner, Jens swearing under his breath that it’ll be more realistic this way. Robbe blames his mini panic over attire on the fact that Jana’s friends will be there and nothing else, and it kind of works. Moyo laughs at him but smooths a hand down his shirt one too many times to be all that chill either.

Robbe stands in front of the bathroom mirror, in a plain white t-shirt and his best pair of jeans, and curses himself for having no fashion sense. He expects that Milan will be even more dressed up than before, with bars full of outsiders to impress. He doesn’t even want to think about Sander just yet, the knots in his stomach twisting and turning with every new flash of memory or idea.

The three of them take off for the main clubhouse around 6:30, like Jens had said, and grab a table at the more casual dining room.

“Do I look okay?” Jens murmurs, checking his own reflection in the darkened screen of his phone once they’ve taken their seats and put in their drink orders.

“Yes, jesus. You look fine. Did she or did she not already ask you on a proper date herself?” Robbe snaps.

“Someone’s pissy.”

Robbe glances a quick moment at Jens and then looks down into his lap. It’s showtime.

“Yeah, sorry, I just don’t feel very good,” he says with a small wince.

“Seriously?” Moyo says.

“Yeah, seriously,” Robbe squints his eyes and can tell Moyo doesn’t quite buy it.

The table goes a little quiet after that. Jens incessantly checking his phone, 6:40 goes by, then 6:45, then 6:50. Robbe himself matches Jens’ anxiety level because he knows he needs to go soon, but Moyo clearly won’t let him live it down if he leaves before the girls show. Jens chews nervously at his lip, and Moyo orders a round of appetizers the next time the waiter checks on them.

It isn’t until 7:03 that Jana and two of her friends Robbe’s never seen before come speed walking into the dining room.

“God, I am so sorry that we’re late,” she says, her words a touch away from a giggle. It’s clearly enough for Jens because he’s grinning, and it only gets wider when she leans over to press a kiss to his cheek and pull out the chair on his right.

“Thought you forgot about me,” Jens fakes a pout, attention entirely occupied now. Robbe’s only real obstacle is Moyo.

The girls introduce themselves as Kiesha and Marie, and Moyo and Robbe lean across the table to politely shake their hands. This place is so weird to him, the faux politeness of it all. He smiles, and it’s clearly contrived, making both of them direct their gazes to Moyo immediately. Bingo.

The waiter comes back with some bread and the chips and dip Moyo requested, and they all put in their orders. Moyo makes a joke that has everyone erupting with laughter, even the staff, but Robbe’s wholly tuned out.

At one point, Moyo leans over and elbows him in the side.

“You good, dude?”

“No, I told you earlier…” Robbe whispers, “I really don’t feel well.”

The sharp gaze on him softens, and Moyo lifts a hand to squeeze his shoulder. It dawns on Robbe how grateful he is for his friends sometimes, how nice it is that their edges have softened. Still rowdy and clumsy with affection and words, but he thinks it’s a testament to their friendship that they survived mostly intact through their first year of college, which involved mostly time apart. He’s had fun here with them, and as he glances up at Moyo now, he can tell he’s having fun too. It’s probably more because of the girls he’s got wrapped around his finger, but still.

Right, wrong time and place to go all sentimental.

“Do you need to go back? You look a little out of it,” Moyo asks.

Robbe blinks a couple times and then turns his own phone over on the table. 7:28, oh fuck.

“Yeah, actually-”

He abruptly gets up, chair behind him almost falling in the chaos of his movements.

“I’m really sorry, I think I have to go.” Robbe squeezes his eyes closed and hikes a thumb over his shoulder for effect, and he doesn’t waste a second getting out of there.

Now, the hard part is trying to remember where exactly the employee car park is. He thinks he knows, but considering he isn’t just wandering in the middle of the night, it’s hard to be sure. He chooses a direction, sparing only a second to look at his phone, and thinks about why the fuck he doesn’t have someone’s number. Milan, Sander, Noor, anyone. But then he’s off.

Feet hit carpet, pavement, freshly watered grass, stone, gravel, mulch. It’s all too much to keep track of. Once he gets to a familiar area, a memory surfaces. Sander, holding out his hand and helping him step over some shrubs. Looking unreal in the moonlight.

“I promise it’s a shortcut. You gotta trust me.”

Robbe only grins, knowing he’s minutes away from hearing that voice, seeing that face again. That is, if they waited for him. It’s 7:42. He vaults the shrubs and hopes.

It takes him a few agonizing minutes more before he’s stuttering to a stop just beyond an ‘Employees Only’ sign. There’s a car in the lot, and there are familiar voices, and Robbe, with his heaving breaths, feels like he dodged some kind of bullet. His heart pumps out of exertion, but now the excitement is there too, coursing from head to toe. He carefully approaches until he knows he’s been spotted.

“Was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” Sander loudly teases, but he’s smirking around his cigarette.

Robbe completely underestimated how good he was going to look and he’s not sure how because he’s been mentally preparing himself all afternoon. But here Sander is, leaning against his car door with a hand tucked into that leather jacket Robbe knew he had to own. He thought he was done with theatrics after his stunt at the lodge, but it’s easy to think he might not make it through the night as he slows to a stop in front of the car.

Robbe only mistakes that they’re alone for a second before Milan pops his head out the passenger side window with a wave.

“Robbe! You made it!” Milan howls in joy, and he’s smiling in such an easy, almost goofy way Robbe has to wonder if he’s been pregaming. Before he gets a word in, Milan adds, “I thought I was gonna have to talk this one off the ledge for a second.”

“That’s not funny, Milan,” Sander gripes.

“Okay, okay.”

Robbe’s eyes bounce back and forth between them, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. He really had to sprint back there, and his lungs are just now starting to catch up again.

“Sorry I’m late. My friends wanted me to go to some dumb dinner, and I lost track of time and needed an excuse, and I had to run and I— Yeah.” Out of breath, he makes a wild motion with his hands before shoving them back in his pockets.

Sander’s watching him with amusement, but he ducks his head and steps on the remainder of his cigarette before Robbe can think of something to say to him, anything to keep his attention.

“Well, we are so happy you’re joining, but,” Milan gives him a onceover and purses his lips. “I do think you’re going to need a wardrobe change. Just a small one.” His hand makes a sign with pinched fingers out the window.

Sander nods at the car, looking right at Robbe again and motioning him to follow. All the while Milan goes to root around in a bag at his feet. Robbe doesn’t know why but his whole body relaxes as he climbs into the backseat, like he’s no longer holding some invisible breath. He doesn’t know if it’s the company or the fact that he’s not running anymore or the leather seats or the smell of the pines around them, windows rolled down, but he lets his head fall back against the cushion for a moment and he revels in it. It warms him from the inside, all the uncertainty and anxiety of the afternoon evaporating.

“Okay, I think this will work.” Milan chucks a shirt into the back as Sander starts up the car and pulls out of the lot. “You’ll have to change on the ride over, everyone’s already headed out.”

“Thanks again. I’m really sorry for making you wait,” Robbe says.

“No worries, cutie.” Milan pivots in his seat to smile at him for a second and then launches into a story about how one time he made them all late to this concert that was in town, and without meaning to, Robbe tunes him out.

He thumbs over the fabric in his palms, a cuffed short sleeve button up that is definitely too big for him. It’s a rusty color, something he’s sure his mother’s told him suits him before, and his heart stammers a little in his chest.

“Go on, give it a try,” Milan tacks on to the end of his tale, like he can feel Robbe’s apprehension without even looking at him. He kicks his long legs onto the dash, and Sander, who’s gone fairly quiet navigating the stretches of roads and hills, slaps at his knee.

Robbe can’t help his tiny smirk as he watches Sander settle back into the driver’s seat and flick on the radio, surely to stop Milan from talking at this point. Robbe gets the vibe that they’re longtime friends, wants to ask Milan how long he’s been working here too, but he doesn’t want to ruin Sander’s mood. Especially not when the track clicks to something that has him practically melting into his seat, hands gripping the wheel in excitement.

“Oh boy, here we go.” Milan says and turns his attention out the window.

Sander’s voice joins the opening lyrics of a song Robbe doesn’t know. It sounds a little oldschool. Robbe watches in total amusement, how much life a single song can breathe into him. His hands drum along to the beats of the music as he turns the steering wheel, head bobbing from side to side with the lyrics. Sander’s got a full blown grin on his face the whole time, and Robbe can’t help the way the corners of his own lips twitch. Even that night at the party when he was dancing he hadn’t seemed this alive.

The song’s good, Robbe decides rather quickly. Both for the way it sounds and for the way it’s making Sander so happy. Sander’s voice is good too, but Robbe isn’t too far gone enough to realize that he’d probably say that regardless. It doesn’t matter objectively because Robbe could listen to him all night.

Robbe waits until the final words have faded, not wanting to muffle even a second of Sander’s voice, stowing the sounds and some of the lyrics in his brain for later, before he turns his attention away from the blond and yanks his own tshirt over his head. But it might have been bad timing on his part because when he looks up, eyes catching the rear view mirror, he finds Sander looking right at him. Well, maybe at his bare chest and abs, but his gaze guiltily slides up to his face.

Their eyes meet, and Robbe only wishes they could stay like this, just the two of them trapped in this intensity and trying to read each other. He feels heat crawling down his body, and he squirms in his seat until Sander’s eyelashes flutter and he’s turning his attention back to the road.

“Sander, wasn’t that the turn?” Milan asks.

“Fuck.”

Sander mutters a quick ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ under his breath while Milan bemoans his driving skills, and Robbe just tries to sink back into the leather and come to terms with the fact that the world hasn't actually shifted. His body is certainly feeling the effects of something though, restless in his seat and readjusting his jeans as subtly as possible.

He throws the orange shirt on and starts the laborious task of buttoning it when Milan turns back to look to look at him.

“Oh, boy. I don’t think people are gonna be able to stay away from you tonight, Robbe.”

Robbe looks down at his own body, the way he’s tucked his shirt in and left the top couple buttons undone. It’s mimicking what Milan’s wearing now because he has no real idea how to look fashionable, but with a compliment like that, it must be working. He risks a glance at the mirror and is immediately rewarded with Sander’s eyes, although they linger only a fraction of the time this go around.

“By the way,” Milan starts, “you’re into guys, right?”

And there it is. The million dollar question that has Robbe’s heart and stomach diving straight off a cliff, his comfort zone halting in its tracks and hiking him off the train. His eyes widen, fixed on the mirror where there’s no one to meet his gaze anymore but himself.

“Hey, you don’t have to answer. I just figured I should warn you that one of these places is a gay bar, so.” Milan’s grinning, ruffling and checking his own hair in the visor mirror. He hardly knows the bomb he’s just dropped or the way Robbe’s trying to put the verbal pieces of his identity back together and understand it all himself. How to express it. “Prepare to be hit on regardless.”

Robbe pauses only a minute more, avoiding the rear view now and twitching his hands in his lap.

“No, I am. I just...” He starts, then stops. Doesn’t know what to say. Has never gotten this far admitting it out loud to other people before.

“I haven’t told my friends? Or anyone, really. It’s weird to hear out loud. In relation to me.” Everything comes out in a clumsy swoosh of breath, hardly recognizable, but Milan certainly hears.

He turns fully in his seat, eyes wide, and still Robbe can tell he’s overflowing with empathy, reaching out to pat at Robbe’s knee for a minute. Robbe puts so much effort into focusing on Milan, wants to avoid Sander’s eyes and his smile for as long as he can in this state. He might just wholly come undone if he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you—”

“No, it’s okay. Really. It’s just never been the right time? I don’t know.”

“I get it, believe me,” Milan says. “But I think that’s a reason to celebrate.” And he somehow turns the whole thing a little cheery with a single look. “Everyone here tonight understands that too, I promise. You also deserve to be yourself.”

A sweet sentiment but. Everyone?

Robbe glances at Sander, who’s pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and is making rapid turns now. He’s unreadable, almost unknowable, and it makes Robbe want him more than before.

“Okay, I lied. Maybe not Zoe, but she tries to understand,” Milan laughs. “Anyway, don’t worry. You don’t have to do or say anything you don’t want to, obviously. We’re just here to have fun, whatever that looks like for you.”

“Thanks, Milan,” he says quietly, and the master of conversation that he is, Milan easily transitions to something else as they pull into a packed parking lot.

“Here we are,” he sings, “First stop is Freecloud.” His tone is almost reverent.

Turns out, Freecloud is a popular bar for young people in the area, almost packed to the gills this early in the evening when the three of them slip inside. Milan gets caught up saying his ‘hellos’ to the employees, so Robbe’s left following Sander, just a foot or so on his heels with how packed the place is. If he were bolder, he’d reach out and hold onto his jacket or put a hand on his shoulder, but instead he stays quiet, letting Sander order them beers and guide them through throngs of already-drunk people. The night is still extremely young.

“There you guys are!”

And there she is, the ever vibrant Noor, climbing out of a booth to pull Robbe and then Sander into side hugs.

“We were starting to get worried you’d never show.”

“Well, someone,” Sander says, teasing and hooking a thumb toward Robbe, “took his sweet time.”

But the look Sander sends him immediately after gets him a little hot, a private smile like he’s checking to make sure it’s okay. Robbe nods and then ducks his head and hopes the dim lights cover the flush of his cheeks. Noor can probably feel the heat though when she lifts on her toes to press a kiss there. She shushes him as soon as the word ‘sorry’ leaves his lips.

“We would’ve waited all night for you!” She crows, then she turns a squinted eye toward the blond. “You, not so much.”

The group of people in the booth, Britt and Zoe and a couple others he doesn’t know, laugh when Sander sticks out his tongue, and the conversation flows easily after that. As do the drinks. Robbe relegates himself to the background, content to sip at his beer and listen. He did come here just to get to know them better, enjoy some different company, and it’s easy to feel welcome when Zoe sends him a little wave and some winks and Noor’s at his side jostling him every time she laughs.

He has a hard time keeping his eyes off Sander though. They follow him hunching over in his seat and getting up to let Milan into the booth and being pulled into some of the chatter himself. Robbe even catches him looking back, and his senses don’t know whether to send a shiver or a spark down his spine.

“So Robbe, what’s your deal?” Milan asks with a loud slurp of his drink.

“My deal?”

“Yeah, like where are you from? What do you do? All that.”

And it dawns on him then how these are relatively new people to him. He feels right at home in their presence, and yet they don’t even know the basics. Just his name, some of his jokes and banter between these party nights. His mouth forms in a little ‘o’ shape, everyone’s eyes falling to him.

“I’m from Antwerp. Um, I’m pursuing a fine arts degree in school,” he says, and a few people at the table let out a hoot at that. He shoots them all a happy look before his eyes settle directly across from him, as they have been all evening.

“Really? What are you studying?” Sander asks, wide-eyed and wholly intrigued. He’s got his glass pulled close to him, hands around the base of it, and Robbe’s burning from all that attention.

Instead of answering right away, he downs the rest of his drink, a familiar distracting taste, and focuses on where Sander’s fingers are dragging at the condensation on the table subconsciously. It could lull him into a trance if he let it, loud music and chatter and the overpowering smell of alcohol aside.

“Video and film production.”

“Oh?”

“So you’re artsy like the rest of us, huh?” Noor cuts in, bumping his shoulders a little. “Maybe you should come work at Edgewood too.”

“Don’t say that name here,” Milan hisses playfully.

Robbe lets out a snort, pushing his glass to the middle of the table. He’s artsy, sure. Glancing around the rest of the table, they certainly fit some kind of alternative vibe when they’re out of their work polos, and he’s not that.

“And do what?”

Her whole face is pulled up into a squint as she thinks, and Sander, when Robbe sneaks a glance, still looks completely invested in him.

“Okay, I don’t know.”

“Besides,” Milan says, “I don’t think this cutie deserves that kind of torture.”

There it is. Robbe’s caught on to a bit of a theme with the staff, their vague distaste for their bosses, which is normal, but torture?

No one elaborates though. Noor admits defeat with a sigh, and the chatter swallows them up again. Robbe looks to his left to see Zoe ranting and raving in a whisper to Britt as she scrolls through some texts. Noor gets pulled into that convo, Milan excuses himself to the restroom, and then there’s Sander, still looking at him and smiling gently.

“Come to the bar with me?” Sander asks, nodding his head in the direction.

It’s an obvious yes, all the unanswered threads and spouts of random conversation leaving him dizzy at the table. He follows Sander and slides right up to his side as they lean against the wood. Sander raps his knuckles there a couple times.

“I’ll have another round for the table, and whatever he’s having,” Sander says, effortlessly grabbing the bartender’s attention. Robbe gives him a once-over and knows there’s very few people who wouldn’t be willing to offer theirs.

“Just a water.”

“Already calling it quits?” Sander raises a dark eyebrow and shuffles closer as more people file up to the counter.

“I uh,” he falters when someone bumps into his back, and his eyes drop to Sander’s lips for an accidental moment, “don’t want to be drunk tonight.”

Sander doesn’t respond right away, but his face morphs into something understanding, like he knows exactly what Robbe’s thinking. Maybe he does, maybe that’s what makes this thing between them feel so electric. What Robbe isn’t expecting is the pivot back to school talk when Sander asks him if he likes what he’s studying. It knocks him for a loop, and yet he can tell just by the way Sander’s looking at him that he actually cares about this too, wants to continue with their conversation from the table.

“Yeah, I love it. I thought about going into biology or, I don’t know, something medical for a while. It seemed like the practical thing, but the whole time I was growing up, I was just really interested in videotaping stuff. Like in high school, my friends and I had a vlog channel on Youtube where we messed around…” Robbe stifles a laugh into his hand and then runs it through his hair.

He drops his eyes to the ground, where his shoes are clinging to the sticky bar floor, and then looks back up at Sander who wears a grin so wide it almost looks painful. Robbe can’t help but smile back. Everything is really effortless. The way Robbe’s body feels warm where their hips and arms are nudged together, the way none of the rowdy noise seems to reach him when he has Sander’s voice in his ear.

“Can I see them sometime?”

“The vlogs?”

Sander nods and hardly looks away from him when the bartender slides them their tray of drinks. He takes it gracefully, nods for him to follow back to the table.

“I don’t know. Might ruin my reputation.”

And Sander’s laugh at that brings them to a standstill when the whole tray of drinks goes teetering in his hands. He goes from the graceful, composed dancer Robbe thinks he knows to a beautiful, goofy dork in the span of seconds, and Robbe reaches out to right the drinks with an incredulous smile on his face because apparently Sander is just too easy.

“Careful there.”

“Should be saying that to you,” Sander responds, too smooth for what just happened as he slides the tray onto their booth’s table. So maybe he can be both, Robbe’s mind supplies. They’re met with cheers, all of which Sander waves off as he turns back to Robbe.

Robbe’s sure his eyebrows are in his hairline, probably hidden behind his messy fringe when he says, “Why’s that?”

“I’m gonna find that vlog channel.”

For all the chaos going on around them, there is no distraction in the way Sander’s looking at him. No faltering as they slide into their opposite sides of the booth again. No wavering when he pulls from his own pint and certainly none when he reaches out and bumps the toe of his boot into Robbe’s ankle.

Robbe knows he flushes and is grateful he can blame it on the one beer. He lets himself get sucked up into the conversation because there’s no telling what he’d do if he lingered on Sander any longer. His brain already has been for a week now, but there aren’t any barriers to stop him here, with the real thing right in front of him. So he takes the path of least resistance as Zoe passes around her phone, aggrieved in expression and tone.

“Can you believe he fucking said that to me?”

“What happened?” Robbe asks carefully.

“Senne happened,” Milan sing-songs. But Zoe glares at him, like he needs to be taking this more seriously.

That’s right, he remembers. The way she was infuriated that night at dinner, definitely something to do with Senne most of all. Curiosity in him is piqued as he leans over the table and tries to get a glimpse of whatever messages are there, and when he can’t, Zoe picks up the phone and makes to read them out loud for everyone. She clears her throat, jaw set.

“Zoe, I need to see you. It’s urgent. Where are you?” She tries to mock his voice, clearly seething, and Robbe wants so badly to find it funny. He’s uncomfortable with the clash of this anger and the general happy vibe of the evening. “So I told him he could just text me whatever it was, since he’s been doing that this whole fucking year anyway, and you know what he said?”

The table goes quiet, breaths bated. They’re clearly in on this drama, but Robbe looks on wide-eyed and out of the loop.

“He said I owe him that. After all that bullshit, I owe him? What the hell? The fucking audacity—”

Noor reaches over to rub at her shoulder and so do the other people Robbe doesn’t know. He blinks a couple times, eyes going to Milan who shoots him a small wave and then Sander who is smiling at him over the lip of his glass. Everyone breaks back into conversation, although most of it involves whatever the hell just went on, so he stays quiet. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, everyone talking and drinking some more. The weird energy of Zoe’s outburst dissipates as even she finds herself in a good mood again. Another round’s being poured at some point, he’s mostly swallowed whole by his own head and the atmosphere in general, content to people watch and vaguely listen in for a while.

Robbe sips at his water, playing with his own hands, and jolts a little in surprise when Noor leans over and focuses on him again.

“Hi there,” she says innocently. A little too innocent.

“Hi?”

“So Milan tells me you’re…”

Of course. Robbe rolls his eyes because he already knows what’s coming. All that talk in the car, but he can hardly be sour over it. He trusts them all, for some intuitive reason right in the pit of his stomach, and he’s light enough to let it go tonight. He’s pretty sure the way he looks at Sander gives it all away anyway, at least to those paying close enough attention.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You see anyone interesting here tonight then?” She grins and then she walks two of her fingers up Robbe’s forearm.

He smiles, corners of his lips curling. To humor her, he peers out across the bar where people are gathered in bunches. They’re all fairly young. Like he suspected earlier, everyone in this area must flock to a place like this. His eyes catch on random tufts of blond but none of them are quite white enough, and he knows it. He turns back to Noor with a small shrug.

She, however, isn’t buying it.

She ducks in close, bright red lips probably smudged a little at his ear, and says, “You should at least pretend. Give him a bit of a chase.”

Robbe’s eyes bulge and he almost spits out his water, doing everything he can not to glance across the table. He knew he and Sander were being fairly obvious, but what kind of advice is that?

“Noor, that’s terrible,” he laughs lowly.

“What do you mean?”

“Why would I…”

She pouts and holds up her left hand where it’s interlocked with Britt’s. “Well, it worked for me.”

Robbe lets out a small giggle, watching Britt turn to give her a couple conciliatory pecks, but all too soon he has to look away when she’s practically climbing into her lap. Her words of wisdom play in the back of his mind, but he’s too new to this. He doesn’t want to give Sander the wrong idea. Hell, he doesn’t even really know if Sander’s after the same thing, and he can’t chance it.

When he does look up, Sander’s scrolling on his phone and nursing his beer. He’s not here to get drunk either, it seems, but Robbe doesn’t want to interrupt him. He slips out of the booth.

“Anyone need anything?”

After a resounding no, Robbe decides to head to the bathroom just for something to do. He snakes between groups of people, mumbling a lot of ‘sorry’s, and then locks himself in the single stalled room. There’s signage of some sort plastered to every surface, sharpie lines and even some spray paint. He runs his fingers along portions of it, finding himself in no rush.

There are drawings of dicks everywhere, but what could be expected, Robbe thinks with a small laugh. Stickers of local bands, graffiti tags. He finds hearts with initials scratched into them, some crossed out. He feels a little ridiculous, almost like a schoolgirl, when his first instinct is to look for an R or an S. He gives himself a good stare-down in the mirror for that one, but immediately his eyes start to wander again. Quotes of all kinds, inspiring or tormented or flat out drunk. Lyrics, words of wisdom, dirty jokes. The tiny room is a time capsule of young adulthood angst and memories he only briefly gets to be a part of. If he had all the time in the world, he thinks he still wouldn’t be able to untangle the feelings behind every one. He stands around so long that he actually does need to piss.

He’s in the middle of washing his hands, still laughing to himself about a joke on the wall when there’s a loud bang on the door. Fuck, it didn’t occur to him maybe this was the only bathroom in the whole place but-

“Robbe, you in there?”

It’s Sander, and he feels his face heat up.

“Yeah, hold on.”

He slips out of the door to see Sander propped against the wall, grinning and flushed himself. He’s cute, more than cute when Robbe’s eyes catch on just how long his legs look crossed in wait like that.

“Not to rush you or anything, but we gotta get going.”

“Why?” He asks, but once again ends up following wherever Sander’s leading when he kicks off the wall and starts through the crowd. This time he gets a small grip on the leather at his back.

“Someone spotted Senne,” Sander says, almost shouting over the noise of the crowd. It isn’t long until they’re pushing out of the bar door and into the open, bustling night. The streets are hardly any less crowded, but it’s a lot less loud so he continues. “Don’t worry, there’s a club just a few blocks over we go to a lot too. Everyone else headed that way already.”

Robbe lets go of his jacket and starts walking in stride with him. He rubs self consciously at the back of his neck. Way to be a nuisance and make Sander wait twice in a night, huh.

“Sorry to make you wait up again.”

There’s nothing but mirth in the twitch of Sander’s face. He shoves his hands in his pockets and knocks their shoulders playfully.

“No worries. Though I did wonder what was taking so long…”

If Robbe didn’t know any better, he’d say Sander’s tone was suggestive, and it’s only confirmed with a sideways glance. He shoves back harder.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was just—” but maybe the truth is equally as embarrassing. He can hardly tell when he’s around Sander. Up is down, and left is right, and he gets a fluttery, woozy feeling. He finishes quietly with, “I was looking at the stuff on the walls.”

Sander hums, lets their shoes against pavement be the only sound between for a minute.

“Did you see any of my work?”

“Your work?”

“Yeah, my work,” Sander says, whipping a sharpie out of his pocket and twirling it around his fingers. His cheeks dimple with mischief as he tucks it safely back in with a ‘shh,’ like it’s their own secret, and Robbe can’t decide where to look.

So Sander draws. Or maybe he just writes, but now that he thinks about it, he definitely seems like the vandal type. As much as bathroom graffiti can be considered vandalism. Robbe eyes him suspiciously.

“Oh, you’re the one that draws all those dicks, huh?”

Sander sputters and cackles, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“You caught me.”

“Well,” Robbe gives him a teasing onceover, pursing his lips, “I don’t know how to tell you this, Driesen, but some of those were not anatomically correct.”

“Thought you opted out of going to medical school.”

Robbe laughs and bumps his shoulder again. “I don’t need a formal education to know what a dick looks like.”

He wants to say he has one of his own, but he doesn’t want to invite another suggestive look from Sander, doesn’t know if he could take it. He’d end up dragging him down one of these sparse alleys, and desperation isn’t a good look. Neither is being hard in public.

“You do need one to critique my art,” Sander holds his nose in the air a little. “Except they aren’t actually mine,” he finally admits with a laugh.

“What kind of things were yours then?”

Right before Sander steers them around a corner where Robbe sees a short line of people outside what he assumes is the club, and he can feel the distant pulse of a beat in the pavement when the two stop at the back of the fast-moving line.

“Ask me next time,” Sander grins. It takes no time at all for them to be funneled to the front and let right in. Sander’s whole group really must be great regular customers because they treat him like an old friend, pats on the back and well worn grins. The lick of jealousy in Robbe’s stomach is more than uncalled for, but he can’t help it.

Next time, he decides to get hung up on that instead. The implication makes him go weak in the knees but there’s hardly any time as takes his spot at Sander’s back once again. This place is even louder and more distracting, with plenty of strobe lights and grinding bodies to give any clear-headed person a headache. Sander seems to know exactly where to go and how to avoid minimal contact with the thrashing bodies though. All of the fresh air in Robbe’s lungs gets traded for a mix of cologne, sweat, alcohol, and smoke, and by the time they’ve pushed their way to the seating area where their friends are, Robbe’s almost gasping for breath.

“Hey, you two. Welcome, welcome,” Milan grins, like he hadn’t seen them only a bit ago. It definitely hasn’t been that long, but he’s also well on his way to drunk, so Robbe gives him a pass.

“Hi, Milan,” Robbe smiles.

“Robbe,” he says back, reaching like he wants to pinch at Robbe’s cheeks. “Have I ever told you,” he pulls Robbe in by his sleeve, “that you’re cute?”

He leaves a smacking kiss on Robbe’s cheek, and Robbe hardly knows what to do with an armful of flirty, tipsy Milan. He looks to Sander for some help, but when he does, he sees a split-second of furrowed eyebrows and a frown before that cool, level facade is back.

“Yeah, you have,” Robbe says.

“Good. I think everyone agrees with me. Right, everyone?” Milan gestures like there’s a crowd waiting to answer, but all he gets back is the deep pulsating beat and Sander’s laugh.

“Okay, I think you need some water,” Sander says and gets up to head to the bar.

Milan’s voice comes in a stage whisper, still loud enough to be heard over everything pounding in Robbe’s ears.

“He totally agrees.”

Robbe smiles. He already knows, Sander’s left little room for doubt, but it’s nice to get the confirmation. His heart can’t help but wonder if things are too good to be true. If tonight can really go as well as he wants it too. God, he hopes.

When Sander comes back to their table with two glasses of water, he’s shed his leather jacket and thrown it in the booth, and Robbe’s tongue gets caught in his throat before he can say ‘thanks.’ His arms look so good where the sleeve of his t-shirt has rolled up into a cuff, and Robbe’s damn thankful for Milan distracting Sander so that he can recover.

Milan wolf whistles and then takes two huge gulps of water like he’s parched.

“Listen up, boys,” he says, suddenly very serious. “I need to get laid.”

“Don’t we all,” Sander rolls his eyes.

Robbe squints a little at him as he laughs, wondering what that means for Sander. Any of his own plans to sleep with someone are very much tied up in a meter’s radius, and he hopes Sander’s are too.

“But I need you two to be my wingmen.”

“Your wingmen? Like you need any help,” Sander says.

Milan coos at the compliment and reaches over to run a hand through Sander’s hair, but he gets smacked out of the way. Their dynamic is amusing to no end from Robbe’s point of view, and he takes a sip of his own water to hide a snort.

“Fine,” Milan huffs, turning fully to face and catching him a little off guard Robbe. “Will you be my wingman then?”

“I guess?”

“Robbe, you really don’t know what you’re—”

But Milan shushes Sander and gets a tight grip on Robbe’s wrist. And then he’s pulled up from his seat, though he feels like he just sat down. He kind of longs to stay, didn’t know that being Milan’s right hand man meant leaving Sander behind, and he sighs. That club smell, the sounds, they permeate everything the closer he gets to the dancefloor and Milan looks easily lost among it while he drags Robbe along. Robbe spares a single glance back at Sander, who gives him a tiny wave and a smile, and Robbe’s heart picks up the pace. He can almost feel the burn of eyes on his back when he turns around.

Milan’s not satisfied until they’re in the center of the mess, Robbe making some sort of contact with a stranger from all sides, and then he stops and spins around to smile at him.

“You wanna dance?”

“I still don’t know how.”

“Oh come on,” Milan grins, throwing his forearms on Robbe’s shoulders. He’s already taller, using that to his advantage when he ducks down to talk into Robbe’s ear. He sounds a little less drunk now, and Robbe wonders if he played it up back there. “No one’s taught you how to dance yet?”

There’s an insinuation in it. Sander’s name is written all over a question like that without even needing to say it.

“No.”

Robbe coughs a little, staring down at his feet, and Milan lets his arms drop off Robbe’s shoulders when it’s clear he’s not too comfortable. Robbe has a feeling dancing isn’t something that necessarily needs to be taught, at least not the way all the people in this club are doing it. He takes a couple deep breaths and shakes out his shoulders.

“You gotta get lost in it, Robbe,” he says, loud and nodding as the beat picks up.

“Is this really what being your wingman means?”

Milan giggles and then winks, “Nah, my wingmen normally already know how.”

Robbe’s first instinct, as always, is to overthink. The mechanics of his limbs, his relationship to the bodies around him, even down to whether or not the song’s technically good. He stands there so long, so unmoving, that Milan checks his shoulder when the song changes and he’s yet to give in. Milan’s about to say something when he spots Noor and Britt bobbing along in the crowd and ushers them thataway, still moving to the music. Robbe feels a little ridiculous, but his body won’t loosen up to save him.

He’s greeted with smiles all around, and then the girls are on either side of him, wiggling their hips and eyebrows. Clearly trying to get him to laugh or move or both.

No one speaks any words, would hardly be heard over the loud music anyway, but Noor and Milan start gyrating in front of him together, as if to show him how it’s done, while Britt flicks imaginary cash from her palm. His joy bubbles from his chest until he’s bent over in stitches. They spend so long trying to make him laugh, and succeeding at it, that Robbe jumps a little when he feels a hand on his hip and a body sidle up next to him in their little circle.

“Mind if I join?”

A chorus of ‘Sander’s rings out, even a couple of drunk strangers joining in and chanting his name when they get too loud, and Sander’s own laugh has Robbe’s brain quieting.

“Saw this one struggling, huh?” Milan motions toward Robbe’s stagnant body.

“Maybe I’m just here to save him from you guys.”

“As if,” Milan says, but then, “Have fun.”

He pulls Noor and Britt into another orbit of people who have got some kind of grinding conga line going on, and it’s amazing how easy it is to get lost among the mass. They’re swallowed in a second flat, leaving Robbe no real choice or even a minute to process. He turns to see Sander close and has to look up a little to meet his eyes.

“You’re really not going to dance?”

Robbe huffs a sigh, forced a step closer with an accidental push until their shoes are almost slotted between each others. By some miracle, he keeps looking directly into Sander’s eyes, even when he feels a light hand at his waist. He doesn’t answer.

“Don’t tell me you never have,” Sander mutters, teasing.

“Shut up. I have.”

“Then what’s stopping you now?”

Robbe narrows his eyes, jumping right and left between Sander’s. The truth is, he doesn’t know. He’s reveled in the ease of this summer so far, wondered how he could feel so comfortable, but there’s a tiny part of him yet to let go. It’s holding on by a thread, and he can feel it. Instead of saying that and admitting he doesn’t know, he lifts an arm and curls it over Sander’s shoulder. He doesn’t look away when Sander’s pupils dilate. He doesn’t think about the fact that he’s close enough to see them.

He wants to be even closer.

Sander, on the other hand, does let himself look away. His eyes trail down Robbe’s body wordlessly, arms winding around the small of his back with that subtle permission. It’s like he knows Robbe needs the guidance, and as he starts to sway, a gentle rock at a time, Robbe’s gut clenches where they’re practically pressed together.

When Sander gets really into it, Robbe has no choice but to follow. Their legs slot together, and then Sander’s adding dimension to their movements, front to back just as much as side to side. Robbe’s practically learning how to move all over again. He listens to the music and feels Sander’s breaths in time against his chest, and he grows a little bold knowing Sander’s got him. He leans back, throat exposed and rocking his shoulders.

“That’s good, Robbe,” Sander murmurs.

The praise thrills him, sets his skin alight, and he ducks his head into Sander’s shoulder to hide his smile, body really moving now. It’s like he’s being thawed, limbs coming out of a deep sleep where he has Sander to conduct them. The tips of Sander’s fingers burn through his borrowed shirt, and his breath loosens the kinks in Robbe’s neck where it hits. Everyone around them might as well not be there, and as Robbe gains a little more confidence and freedom, minute after minute, Sander’s smile grows wide too.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but they’re interrupted by chaos to their left. A couple shouts have Sander pulling away, peeking through the crowd like it has anything to do with him, and then, with no words, he’s tugging Robbe slightly in that direction by the finger hooked in his belt loop. Whiplash is not a strong enough word for the way Robbe misses Sander’s arms around him all of a sudden.

The confusion doesn’t let up until they’re stumbling off of the dancefloor, vision clearing, and Robbe spots Zoe’s blond bob as she’s waving emphatic arms and an empty glass. It makes a lot of sense and no sense at all when his eyes land on Senne, soaked and looking… amused?

“I’ll be right back. Stay put,” Sander squeezes his hip.

Robbe bawks at him, not comprehending, and Sander slips away and trails Zoe when she darts off in one direction. It’s too fast for Robbe to follow, feet planted and frozen solid again with Sander’s command. Wasn’t Senne supposed to be at the other bar? And what made her mad enough to throw her drink? And maybe just… what the fuck?

He swivels, looking for any face in the crowd, and he wades back out into the dancing when he spots Milan.

“Milan, hey,” he says as loud as he can without shouting.

The other pulls back from where he was whispering to the random guy in his arms and gives Robbe a startled look.

“Did Sander leave you by yourself?” He asks, a little surprised.

“He went to find Zoe. Apparently Senne’s here? I don’t know what happened,” Robbe shrugs his shoulders, and it’s clear Milan’s going to bolt at that news, too.

Robbe sighs and hikes a hand over his shoulder in the direction, without even needing to be asked. Abandoned once again when the pair stumble off, and he blinks, a little unsteady on his feet with how rapidly everything transpires. And right when he was starting to get really into it. He thinks about trying to find Sander and Zoe but figures he’s probably safest in the crowd, where he can catch an occasional glimpse of Noor or Britt and be sure he’s not completely alone.

There’s nothing much else to do besides go back to dancing. Or trying, at least. He’s awkward without Sander, but he starts to sway and the more he lets himself go to the music, the less he has to think about all the things he doesn’t understand. All night, they’ve been playing some upbeat poppy music, but a voice comes over the mic and says the next couple will be a breather. He doesn’t know whether or not to be grateful.

Robbe’s body rocks side to side, hips getting into the rhythm of the music easily, but without someone to touch or hold, his arms just kind of hang to his sides. Part of him wants to practice, wants to somehow ‘wow’ Sander when he gets back. Sander, the actual dancer of the two of them. He shakes his head darkly and continues on by himself for a while.

He’s doing fine until he senses a change in his small bubble. The strobe lights flicker with a shadow. There’s a new figure behind him, he can tell. His first thought is optimism when he feels someone so close to fitting their hips together, hands ghosting over Robbe’s. But something’s off. The person’s too tall. It’s not the right angle when a mouth ducks close to his ear, the voice even worse.

“You’re so hot.”

And Robbe doesn’t know what to do. The question is all wrong, the compliment amiss too. His body wants to revert back to it’s pre-Sander motionless, and he remembers Milan saying how he’d have people all over him tonight. It’s just a little jarring to go from so much warmth and intensity to this cold approach all over again, reminds him of his escapades back home, and he shivers. His hips do stutter to a slight stop, and he pries one of the stranger’s wrists from his hip.

“Uh, thanks?”

He gets a good look at the guy when he spins on his heel, a head taller and classically handsome. Shirt unbuttoned almost completely and alcohol on his breath where he’s refusing to leave Robbe’s space.

Robbe takes another step back and the guy follows, mouth curved into a grin. It strikes Robbe that this is the type of guy he’d probably go for in clubs back home, anyone eager enough to pursue him right here in the open. Easy enough to be dragged into some bathroom or back room. But after everything here, it feels bad. It makes the knots in his stomach, the ones that formed the second Sander left his side, twist even tighter.

“Been watching you,” the guy whispers, an attempt at suave.

But in reality, it’s a bit weird to Robbe. They’ve hardly even spoken a line to each other. Robbe presses a palm to the guys chest, and it must be an accidental invitation because he winds an arm around Robbe’s waist and pulls them together.

“Listen, I’m flattered, but—”

“I’m Lou,” he says, looking like he’s about to go for a kiss.

The knots in Robbe’s stomach turn to stone and he gives Lou a hard shove. He’s too short, and they’re too close for it to have much power because he’s still just there, towering in front of him with his hands edging toward dangerous territory.

Until he’s not.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Lou mutters, suddenly a couple feet away, and Robbe’s chest heaves.

Sander’s slipped himself between them somehow and has one hand fisted in the guy’s shirt, pressing knuckles to his chest and giving him a shove of his own. He doesn’t look happy at all, almost sneering, and Robbe spreads an unthinking, comforting palm against his back. He feels immediately better with Sander beside him again, even if they’re just to ward off some creep.

“Fuck off, yeah?”

For being shorter, Sander’s presence certainly looms, that collected facade coming in handy. Sander tilts his head and takes a small threatening step forward, and Lou doesn’t bother putting up any more effort, just flips him off and disappears into the crowd. Robbe’s still wholly surprised by how quick things just happened, loves the rush of adrenaline despite it all, but when Sander turns back to him, cheeks a little red and eyes wide, Robbe can’t help his genuine grin. He’s certainly got the perfect timing.

They both ask ‘are you okay?’ simultaneously and then bust into a laugh, gripping at each other’s arms.

“No really,” Sander says, tone dipping sincerely once they’ve collected themselves. “Are you?”

Robbe’s heart skips, pulling in closer to him until their bodies are pressed in a warm line, and he nods. Sander doesn't seem to mind it at all.

“Do you want to dance? No disruptions this time,” Sander says and gives him a curious look.

When Robbe nods, he expects them to assume the same position as before with their legs slotted and arms thrown around each other, but Sander has a different plan. He turns Robbe around, ears already starting tuning into the music as his body loosens to the rhythm. He doesn’t need to ask if it’s okay because Robbe’s canting back against him gently. Robbe forgets to ask about things with Zoe, forgets to do anything but just feel and thrive in the beat with Sander.

When they dance this time, it’s real and goes uninterrupted.

Robbe’s so glad he stayed sober for this because it’s just as good as his drunk brain thought it would be, now that he’s got the proper time to revel in it. Every muscle in his body is high strung, pure potential energy, and each beat of the music knocks another atom loose. He’ll be putty in Sander’s arms by the end of the night, probably sooner, if how he’s feeling right now is any indication.

“You still doing okay?” Sander asks after a bit, breath hot against his ear.

“God, yes.” And maybe that’s too eager a thing to say the way he does, but they’re already plastered together. He feels Sander pull him impossibly close, his whole body fitting snugly in the cradle of Sander’s hips, of his hands, and of his chest. Sander’s fingers grip tight at his sides, thumbs tucked just into the waistband of Robbe’s jeans, and the heat from that tiny touch is more intense than a summer’s worth of sun.

It really is a kind of magic, to feel so free in the presence of so many other people. He doesn’t give a single fuck about anyone’s eyes on him but the person he’s dancing with, so he winds one arm up and around Sander’s head, twisting his fingers in that blond hair and tugging a bit just because he can. Because he’s wanted to. He doesn’t get to reap the rewards of a visual, but Sander’s little noises are more than enough.

Sander breathes a sound into his neck, like it’s been punched from his lungs, and gives a particularly hard sway forward. It feels a lot like payback. Robbe’s tempted to pull his hair again and see what happens, wants to know if they can make some game of this.

There’s another part of Robbe that wants to turn around, be just as bold to his face, and see what happens then too. Hopefully he’s finally going to get what he’s been chasing. Instead, Sander beats him to action and presses a surprising open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck, slowing down the rhythm of their hips by a fraction.

“I could do this all night.”

An image of Sander grinding with a stranger, some other faceless girl or guy, pops into his head and makes him wonder. All night with anyone?

And then he’s being slowed to a stop, disoriented among a crowd of people still dancing. Sander turns and steadies him by the hips until they’re looking directly at each other, and it’s one of the most intense moments of the night so far, maybe even of his whole life. He gives the smallest shake of his head, eyes warm and amused, and Robbe realizes he must have asked something that dumb aloud.

“No, Robbe.”

Sander reels him in until they’re toe to toe, cradling the side of his neck with one of his warm hands and his hip with the other. He leans close, and Robbe isn’t sure what to do with his own, so he twists them in the fabric at Sander’s chest. Their next moves feel so out of his control. Robbe hates to admit how much he loves it.

And Sander, the tease that he’s proving himself to be, drags his lips gently across Robbe’s cheek bone when he whispers, “Just you.”

Robbe’s knees beg to give out. God, he’s good. More than good.

He lets his head fall forward onto Sander’s shoulder, trying to outthink his own arousal, but it’s useless and he knows it. What he doesn’t know is whether or not to press forward and give into friction. His head is swimming, and his whole body just wants in a way he’s never felt but they’re also in the middle of the dance floor in public. Sander hasn’t even kissed him properly yet.

“You can’t say that.” It’s borderline a whisper.

“Why not?”

He debates honesty and decides, yeah, that’s probably the best way to knock himself out of his trance before he’s too far gone.

“Because I’m hard,” Robbe says.

Sander’s grip at the base of his neck tightens and then he’s shaking with laughter, pulling Robbe closer and swaying them a little haphazardly, not in time with any music at all. A unique rhythm all to themselves, and Robbe wants to live in it.

“I think we can fix that.”

“How?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

The bass is still booming, so Robbe just nods against his shoulder and lets Sander peel them apart, air rushing to fill the gaps where they’d just been pressed together. Robbe can already feel himself cooling off immediately, but it makes him miss the dizzying heat of the moment. His stomach swoops when Sander tangles their hands together. He wants to get out of here. He wants everything he’s never let himself have before.

“Come on. I want to make sure Milan’s found a ride.”

Sander throws Robbe a bright smile over his shoulder, leading him through the groups of people on the dance floor. It’s a little confusing, navigating the layout of the dark club, and he’s grateful Sander’s taking care of it.

For only having one beer to start out the night, he’s certainly more useless than usual. Stumbles over his own feet and steps on the back of Sander’s boots more than once. Sander’s nothing but cute about it, eyes scrunched up happily every time he turns to look and check on Robbe.

Milan and two other guys are tucked in a corner booth with everyone’s things piled in a heap beside them. The rest of the group they came with must be occupied or gone because when Robbe swivels around to look for anyone else, he can’t find a single familiar face.

Milan’s kissing one of the men until Sander clears his throat, rifling through the pile for his jacket. He keeps hold of Robbe and squeezes his hand. Robbe doesn’t know if it’s conscious or not but likes the idea of being attached to Sander. Wants to be associated with the beautiful boy at the end of his grip more than anything in this second. Robbe thoughts lead back to Sander no matter how hard he tries right now, so he focuses on what’s in front of him instead, Milan’s startled expression at being interrupted. Then Milan winds comfortable arms around both the men at his sides and winks at Robbe. Robbe can’t tell if he’s really drunk or just enjoying himself, but he smiles widely back. It doesn’t even cross his mind to be embarrassed.

“You good to get home, Milan?” Sander asks and throws his leather jacket over his shoulder.

“I think so. Either of you boys have a ride?” He directs the second question with a swiveling head between the strangers and nods along when one of them says yes, leaning in to kiss him again.

Robbe watches, feeling heat crawl up his neck because he wants that. Just not with Milan. Everything in him, everything his head can produce or think about is just want.

He licks his lips and glances at Sander out of the corner of his eye, wondering what he’d do if Robbe just turned and did the same right here and now. But he doesn’t want to push, can’t afford to ruin whatever tension has built up between them over the last few hours. Sander’s been a tease, but Robbe still wants it all on his terms too.

“Okay, then we’re going,” says Sander.

He starts to pull Robbe toward the exit but only makes it a step and a half before Milan’s opening his mouth again.

“Wait! Wait! Did you see?”

Sander rolls his eyes and turns to look back at Milan, who Robbe decides must be extremely plastered with the way he’s slamming his palms on the table to get their attention. Milan is loud and demands attention in his daily life, but there’s a sloppiness to him right now that’s replaced his poise.

“Did I see what?”

Milan leans halfway across the space, hands curled around his mouth in a stage whisper as he says, “Zoe left with Senne.”

Robbe’s brain starts the mental gymnastics of trying to connect dots, from the dinner with Senne and Zoe’s words about him to the way she clammed up tonight when she saw him to the way she’s suddenly disappeared with him? There’s history in the thread of those connections, and he cares but not enough to meet the moment. All he really wants to do right now is get Sander alone.

Speaking of, the blond has shuffled back to the table, pressed almost entirely against Robbe’s side. His brows are furrowed, and Robbe wants to reach out and smooth them over.

“Milan, hey,” Sander uses his free hand to snap in front of Milan’s face before he can get too carried away with his dates again. “She went willingly, right? You saw her?”

Milan scoffs and takes a huge drink of whatever’s in front of him. Plastered and then some, apparently. Robbe doesn’t know how much longer he can watch.

“You know Senne’s not that kind of guy.”

“Sure,” he says, but he still pulls out his phone.

Damn, can you get drunk just from this atmosphere? Because Robbe certainly feels it. He blinks blearily as he watches Sander’s fingers type at almost lightning speed and then tuck his phone away, still not exactly following. What he does know is that he wants those hands on him in any way he can get, and he needs to get out of his club right now.

“She wasn’t drinking, no worries,” Milan tries again for comfort, and as soon as Sander waves him off and starts to head for the door, he goes back to what he was doing with the strangers. Robbe follows obediently, holding Sander’s arm with both hands until they bust through swinging doors into the night air.

The difference between the temperature and pressure inside versus outside is enough to make him almost collapse with relief, coming back to himself. Sander’s warmth beneath his hands becomes an immediate grounding presence, and he lets out the smallest sigh, head tilting toward the sky as a reflex. As if he’d just conquered some big marathon, chest heaving.

Sander guides him a little out of the way, so other patrons don’t run into them, and then turns to make sure he’s in one piece.

“You alright?” As if he hadn’t asked Robbe minutes ago.

“Yeah, sorry. I promise I’m not drunk this time,” Robbe says, “It’s just… really nice out here, right?”

Sander follows his eyeline to the stars but circles back to looking at Robbe, and it’s then Robbe realizes that this entire night had gone a bit similarly. The car, the bar, the dance floor. Sander’s eyes always come back to him. His heart flutters in his chest, and he feels transported back to his 15 year old self for a moment, unsure how to move forward but all in regardless.

“You’re so fucking cute,” says Sander. Blunt and unexpected.

Robbe blinks a couple times, slowly and deliberately right at him, and Sander only watches. Muscles in his jaw and neck do these tiny jumps, like he’s holding something back, and it’s so hot, Sander really probably has no clue. God, if he thinks Robbe’s cute.

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?”

Robbe wants to pull him closer, shuffle until their legs are slotted together and he’s forced to confront that small height gap. He envisions Sander pressing him up against the brick wall of this building and having his way with him. Feels the imaginary press of lips to his jaw and his neck, leaving marks like brands. He’s done it before, really the furthest he’s ever gotten, but with Sander? That’s an entire different league. Robbe gets lost in it all, closing his eyes and forgetting the real thing is right in front of him. He doesn’t know what it is about this place, this summer, that has him so wholly trapped in these fantasies, unafraid to confront them.

Sander’s low voice, a little rough from the shouting and singing along tonight, is his call back to earth. His eyes flutter back open, red neon reflected on white hair and tan skin.

“Are you up for something fun?”

“Something fun?” Robbe’s whole face twitches, watching Sander watch him. This whole night had been Robbe’s exact definition of something fun.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to trust me.”

And Robbe doesn’t know why, but his gut immediately wants to say ‘I do.’ Maybe it’s the way Sander’s still holding his hand, thumbing over his knuckles. Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to ignore Jens’ apprehension about Sander and the entertainment staff. Maybe this whole night could turn out to be a mistake. But Robbe’s been his fair share of reckless, and he’s ready to be now if it means Sander keeps smiling at him like this. Besides, nothing tonight has been anything but normal.

He nods and sees Sander light up.

“Okay, but we have to find my car first.”

That turns out to be kind of hard, the streets of this town crowded like these two blocks are the sole form of entertainment for miles. It’s apparently only 11:30pm, they’re probably leaving during prime time, but there’s no one Robbe wants to party with more than the guy leading him to his car, opening his door for him, and ushering him inside.

“Aren’t you just a gentleman?”

Sander jogs around the hood and ducks into the car, grinning like he couldn’t stop if he tried. “I try to be.”

He reaches a hand behind Robbe’s headrest as he backs the car out the space, and the tips of his fingers lightly brush the nape of Robbe’s neck. His whole body feels the shivers down his spine at that unconscious, tiny touch, and he turns to stare unabashedly at Sander’s concentrated face.

“Can I ask you a question?” Because he cannot stand to be trapped in this car without some break in the tension.

Sander hums a ‘sure’ and quickly gets them onto the road to… somewhere.

“What’s up with Zoe and Senne?”

“Oh, that’s complicated,” Sander says, adjusting the radio volume a little lower. “They have history together, like since she started working here a few years ago, but most of it went down last summer, I think.”

Robbe hums and twiddles his thumbs to stop himself from reaching out and touching Sander somehow. His head is in tune with the question, but his body is almost operating of its own accord right now, free of summer heat and secrets all evening. He feels like a coil wound tight but in the best way, and he’s just waiting. Zoe and Senne though. Right. After the drink spectacle tonight, they’d just disappeared together?

His mouth gets the better of him and he asks the question out loud.

“I think so. I sent a text earlier just to check up on her, but...”

Robbe looks at him and he looks at the road, and they stay that way until Sander feels like explaining more. It's a comfortable silence anyhow.

The empty stretch of road feels like possibilities this time, stomach fluttering pleasantly.

For all Robbe knows, they could be driving in circles. He alternates between looking at Sander in the dashboard light and staring out the window at blurs of trees and the dark, starry expanse of the sky. Thirty seconds could pass or fifteen minutes, and Robbe probably would have no way to be sure.

“Basically, Zoe and Senne had something going on last year. No one knows what exactly. Zoe’s not too forward about it, but there were feelings involved. I guess Senne went and fucked around with some other girl while that was happening, and voila,” Sander makes a motion with his hand, “They’ve been on bad terms since. At least from Zoe’s perspective.”

“Is this just a rumor or…” Because Robbe’s not an idiot by this point. People talk and tend not to stop.

“I mean, I trust Zoe’s judgment and try to stay out of most of it. All I really know is she got hurt and spent the last year fielding texts and calls from him, and now that we’re back here, it’s inevitable they’d run into each other in person. He’s really adamant about her, and that’s why tonight I…” He chews a little at his bottom lip before he finishes, “I just hope she’s okay.”

Robbe reaches out to rub at his shoulder for a second, completely on autopilot, and Sander sends him a small smile.

“I’m sure she is. I know Senne’s an asshole, but that kind?”

Robbe tries to remember any of the dinner conversation, but he can hardly recall anything that dull in the midst of a night like this. He remembers Luka being the nuisance, Senne having more of a quiet arrogance about him. He’s sure he spent half the dinner on his phone anyway, not like there were many context clues to pick up on.

“I don’t think so, but I just wanted to check. Zoe’s been through some shit, and I owe her for the times she’s looked out for me too.”

The times she’s looked out for him. Robbe eyes Sander with a bit of a raised brow but can sense that’s the end of that conversation. It’s only compounded when Sander cranks the radio a tad and sends him a wink, all bravado, as he starts up with the singing. This time it’s “Under Pressure,” and Robbe thanks his lucky stars he knows enough lyrics to join in for the ride.

Turns out, they are just kind of going in one big circle tonight when minutes later Sander pulls back into the resort, gravel road crunching beneath his tires.

“I thought you said we were doing something fun,” Robbe says, trying not to let a pout set in.

“Patience, Robbe.”

They take a road that’s unfamiliar, almost hidden on the outskirts of the property, and Robbe doesn’t want to be nervous, but he can’t help that it’s his default state.

“Where are we going?”

Sander’s smile is megawatt but he stays facing forward. He doesn’t bother answering Robbe’s question, just steers them around another bend and a couple more dips in the road, and then it all becomes a little clearer.

In front of them, right beyond a few towering trees, is the lake. Robbe can see the reflection of the moon on the water from here and doesn’t bother to stop his jaw from dropping or the tiny ‘oh’ he lets out. It’s a private area, more so than the manufactured beach-front look for the guests. A perfect hidden cove if you knew where to look.

Sander turns to look at him the same time he shuts the ignition off, everything going dark. Robbe’s world dims to a peaceful navy blue, eyes rapidly blinking to adjust.

“You want to go for a swim?” Sander asks. It sounds suggestive, his voice dropping a little, and Robbe’s caught off guard by the jolt of heat in his gut. He’s been feeling it increments tonight, but this time it makes him almost woozy.

He can only stutter in response, “Sander, what—”

But the blond is out of the car and marching to the trunk, pulling out a couple beach towels. It’s still pretty hard to see, and Robbe feels nothing but an anxious intrigue, a building something, as he climbs out of the passenger seat and follows Sander blindly down a small trail towards the embankment.

“Watch your step.” Sander holds out a hand, and there’s no hesitation in the way Robbe grabs it.

They both slow to a stop as soon as the pebbled shore starts, and Sander drops the towels and shrugs his leather jacket off into a pile with them.

“What are you doing?”

“Well I’m not going to swim with my clothes on,” Sander mutters, bending to untie the laces of his boots. Robbe spends a second watching him hop around on one leg, almost toppling over, and muffles a small laugh.

Sander’s dropped Robbe’s hand, and for some dumb reason, Robbe feels its absence. He clenches his fist around warm air and nothing else and watches Sander yank his shirt over his head. One boot kicked off, then the other. Socks stuffed into them and dumped in a pile with everything else. Sander stands to his full height, still some centimeters taller, and Robbe knows his face heats up when Sander pauses to look at him. His expression is more open than it’s been all night, eyes bright in the moonlight.

He looks like he belongs here.

“You’re serious,” Robbe says, finally realizing.

He’s really about to swim in this lake, in the middle of the night, with the hottest guy in the whole resort. Logically, he knows how he got here, step by step, choice by choice, but that doesn’t stop any of it from feeling surreal. He looks down at himself, still in Milan’s shirt, and then looks between Sander and the lake a couple times. Sander blinks at him, head cocked, blatantly amused at his confusion and willing to wait it out.

“Dead serious. Do you need help?” Sander asks, motioning to Robbe’s whole body with his ringed hand.

“Do I need help?”

Sander mimes buttoning a shirt and gives him a curious look as he drops his arms back to his own sides. He’s waiting, for whatever approval Robbe wants to give him, and it sends a little thrill down Robbe’s spine. He takes a deep breath, takes stock of how lithe and beautiful Sander looks in the moonlight, takes another breath. This mounting tension between them is his favorite part—as much as it’s killing him—and he smiles to himself and then nods.

Within seconds, Sander’s crowding in front of him, fingers starting to work deftly at the buttons of Robbe’s shirt. It’s almost like he couldn’t stand to be so far away. Falling naturally into position right in front of Robbe, it’s similar to the club, only this time they’re more exposed and more alone. Robbe wonders if he’d been thinking about this in the car, these buttons hindering his access to skin. Robbe certainly would’ve had their positions been reversed.

Robbe’s caught between wanting to watch Sander’s hands and his face at the same time, but he’s so close now. The smell of his cologne and alcohol from the club lingering on his skin, the warmth of his body all within an arm's reach. Sander’s presence infiltrates every inch of his space, and Robbe’s never been so tempted to take a leap in his life, hair standing on end and goosebumps breaking out across his arms with every brush of Sander’s hand. He can feel his muscles tightening along his abdomen and thighs, half hard in his jeans just from this.

God, he wants to be kissed.

Sander’s hands slow when he gets to the final couple buttons that dip into the waistband of Robbe’s jeans, not crossing that boundary and not asking to. His curled index finger rests near Robbe’s belly button, deliberately grazing his abs, and Robbe’s breath hitches, spasming slightly under the touch.

Robbe doesn’t mean to, but he sways forward too, body more into this than he can necessarily control. It’s a kind of magnetism he can’t resist, and when Sander lifts his head, they’re almost nose to nose. At this point, Robbe’s about to decide to just hold his breath and take off sprinting for the lake, desperate for relief of any kind but not wanting to be the first to make a move. Sander shuts that idea down when he leans even closer and nudges their noses together. It’s heartbreakingly soft for the sexual tension that’s got them drowning, and Robbe isn’t responsible for the noise that leaves his lips.

“You can do the rest yourself, right?” Sander waggles his eyebrows as he removes himself from their bubble, stepping away and thumbing at the zip of his own jeans.

Robbe watches, throat going dry while Sander shimmies out of his pants. His whole body’s practically on full display now, toned, lean muscle and tan skin and striking hair, and it sets off all remaining instincts in Robbe. He’s that fit. When Sander leans to take his underwear off, Robbe tries to avert his gaze entirely.

“Right,” he answers softly, works on the rest of his shirt and then shoves his own pants down his legs.

It’s extremely easy to get swept up in the adrenaline, so Robbe does. Lets go of the tight control he has on himself, shaking out his limbs in a very physical show, and allows his brain to go blank.

The quiet night air, the crickets, the peace, it’s all broken up by the holler Sander lets out as he takes off for the water. Robbe catches sight of his full body, pale in the limited light, right before he wades waist deep and then is swallowed whole by the lake. Robbe waits.

When a soaked blond head emerges further out, he’s facing Robbe and grinning.

“Come on in, the water’s nice.”

Robbe laughs and then hooks his thumbs in the band of his underwear. He’s really doing this, huh? The incredulity of the moment doesn’t get old, and he isn’t thinking more than a few seconds ahead right now.

Sander makes some taunting sounds, voice low and beckoning, and he can’t even know what it does to Robbe, but Robbe doesn’t waste another minute, lifts his eyes and watches Sander as he strips. To no one’s surprise, Sander’s watching back. Robbe can’t follow his eyes from this far away, but he definitely sees his wicked grin, and before he can give the self consciousness room to set in, he’s jogging for the water wading out to meet him.

He dips under himself when he hits waist-deep and lets the dark murkiness swallow him whole, quiet his thoughts and the sounds and Sander’s presence for a minute. A concentrated minute that isn’t dominated by want. He stays under as long as his lungs allow, eyes squeezed shut until something slithers by his ankles. His heart leaps in his throat, and he can’t get to the surface fast enough. His whole body retracts into itself, the magic of the moment gone in a flash.

“What the fuck?” He sputters in panic, shaking his own hair out of his face and looking uselessly into the water at his feet. It’s too dark to see anything, and even if it wasn’t, the water is murky.

“What?” Sander asks.

“Something just-”

But when he turns to actually look at Sander’s expression up close, he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. Robbe points an accusatory finger from a meter away and pouts. He’s a real piece of work.

“You’re a dick.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes,” Robbe says resolutely and then splashes him. If Sander gets to act like a child, he can too.

“What about yours?”

Did he fucking hear that right?

“What about mine?” Robbe’s brain reels, and he sounds flustered. He watches Sander’s blond head bob just above the water, smirk passing under and over the level, and Robbe splashes him again, knowing his cheeks are ruddy.

“You said you were hard earlier. Did I fix that?” Which is not exactly the kind of fix he meant. But earlier feels like a lifetime ago, and Robbe can’t believe how much of a flirt he is. Can’t quite fathom his audaciousness, especially now that they are by themselves.

They bust into simultaneous laughter, grinning and swaying with the minimal movements of the lake. He doesn’t feel the need to answer, but he doesn’t let himself retreat too far into his own head either when silence envelops them. It’s nice to feel so quiet, especially around a person who makes him feel so much. His body rises to the surface and splays out in a starfish shape of its own accord, and he can sense when Sander does the same somewhere to his left.

The night is a little cloudy. No stars to be seen, but Robbe doesn’t need them. He closes his eyes and thinks of as little as possible, and it works. Everything in the world comes startling to a halt right at this specific coordinate in Edgewood Resort.

How long he stays like that, he’s not sure. He knows his skin’s starting to prune up, but the atmosphere is so light, easy to relax into. He could probably fall asleep if it weren’t for the whole drowning thing.

Sleep isn’t something that’s always come easy to him. He’s dealt with his bouts of insomnia, especially the beginning of his first semester of college. It wasn’t even a full year ago yet, but he felt like a completely different person. Back when his mom was going through all sorts and he wasn’t used to the increase in workload for his classes.

On top of that, he’d had to get a part time job to pay for his own rent since his dad took to not responding most days. He’d go weeks at a time without hearing from him, had to deal with his mom’s doctors and visits and making sure her transition home went okay. It was all just too much, and even when he had time to sleep, his brain didn’t slow down.

That feeling was the exact opposite of now, so settled into himself and the night and his company he almost can boil his whole life down to a single moment as he opens his eyes to look at the stars.

There’s some splashing up beyond his head, and then Sander’s face comes into view. He’s upside down, bathed in shadow, but he’s still so beautiful it’s startling.

“Are you getting tired there?”

“No,” Robbe laughs, and he rights himself in the water.

And then there’s just more silence. More staring, more anticipation building in Robbe’s gut.

“So are you finally going to make a move on me?” Robbe asks, quiet for the boldness he’s feeling. He licks his lips and hopes it’ll be a signal. Sander’s looking back, but his eyes don’t waver from Robbe’s.

“Depends on what kind of move you mean.”

“What other kind of move would I mean?”

“A lift,” Sander states simply, and Robbe feels his thumbs make their home in the divots of his hip bones, holding onto his waist.

Robbe’s toes curl into the sediment at the bottom of the lake as he refuses to fully process his words. He knows he’s desperate, must look it too, gazing up into Sander’s face and drunk on every word for being entirely sober. It’s been agonizing all night, and the seconds tick by at a maddeningly slow pace. It seems the more he aches for it, to be kissed and touched and Sander’s in any way he’ll allow, the more Sander himself wants to draw it out.

He tries to school his expression, fake a little unimpressed look, but from Sander’s grin he knows he fails.

“A lift?”

Sander hums and focuses on where Robbe’s hips meet the water for a second, hands gripping tighter and hoisting just a little to test his weight.

“It’s a dance move where one person holds the other over their-”

Robbe rolls his eyes and grips Sander’s wrists, pulling them off and effectively cutting his speech off too.

“I know what a lift is. I just don’t think you’re strong enough,” Robbe says, just to be indignant.

Which is a lie considering he’s had Sander’s hands and arms on him all night. Back in the club and here. He knows Sander’s slim build is deceiving. He’s a ballroom dancer for fuck’s sake. But this isn’t the kind of move he wants, and Sander’s aware of it. He looks awfully devilish anyway though, lips curling into a smile. It’s all games with him, and Robbe hates the way he doesn’t mind.

“Let’s make a deal,” Sander starts. “We try a lift, and I’ll give you what you really want.”

Now that’s a case worth making.

“What do you know about what I really want?”

The water is no barrier when Sander chooses to duck forward, close enough that Robbe’s whole being stirs. He can feel the heat of Sander’s body mere inches away, from head to toe, and Robbe wants to jokingly tell him to ‘fuck off’ so badly, but the words die in his throat.

“Are you actually asking me that?” Sander murmurs.

The gravelly tone of voice goes straight to Robbe’s dick.

He bends his knees and sinks away from Sander’s body, trying to think of snapped skateboards and bloody knees and broken film equipment. Anything to dim his arousal because Sander is wanting to lift him out of the water, and he can’t deal with the shame roiling in his gut. He’s naked either way, but it just feels different.

He takes a few deep breaths and puts some distance between them, knowing he’s going to have to crowd back in his space soon enough.

“Fine, I’ll do the dumb lift. But you have to teach me to dance for real someday.” As if Sander hadn’t promised him a kiss too.

“Deal,” Sander says, shaking out his wet hair and running a hand over his face.

“So what do I do?”

“First, you gotta come here,” Sander says through a smile, reaching out to take his hand and pull him back into his orbit.

“Then,” he continues, letting his fingers carefully settle back where they were on Robbe’s hips, the perfect fit, “you’re going to need to bend your knees.”

Robbe’s head is his own worst enemy, as he immediately pictures himself sinking to his knees in front of Sander, and no. That’s not what this is about, Robbe reminds himself. Not yet, anyway.

Robbe’s own hands go to Sander’s shoulders, needing some place to rest and Sander gives an encouraging squeeze to his hips at the contact. He bends a little more and Sander does too, bracing himself against the bottom of the lake. Robbe doesn’t even know how this is supposed to go, isn’t even sure what a lift like this looks like, but he finds himself nodding along and letting Sander shift him in the water. Anything to distract his head and remind him this is about to be technically awful.

“When I say ‘go,’ I want you to try to center yourself where my hands are, okay? Arms out and legs straight, body relaxed, but centered over me. Use your legs to propel, but since we’re in water, it’ll break your fall.”

“You’ve really thought this through, huh?” Robbe laughs, gearing himself up for the ‘go’.

“Lots of practice.”

He’s really not sure why they’re doing this, other than to play out a small fantasy of Sander’s, apparently. He must do this a lot with his dance partners, but the fact that he wants to try it with Robbe makes his heart flutter a bit, he can’t lie. Sander clearly doesn’t know yet that Robbe and grace don’t mix well, but Robbe just smirks and lets him get ready to find out.

“Okay, on the count of three. You ready?”

Sander furrows his brows in challenge and grins at Robbe’s nod. Robbe wonders if he’s ever actually been jostled by chaos and spontaneity, but he looks perfectly at ease in it right here and now. Middle of the lake on a random summer night.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three, go.”

And then Sander’s lifting with a tiny grunt, Robbe pushing himself upward and out of the water. It’s an immediate and short lived feeling of invincibility. He attempts to rearrange his limbs where Sander told him to while also trying to relax, but Sander’s bruising grip is making it really hard to focus on anything else and he’s utterly exposed and—

They don’t even manage to hold it for a second before Robbe’s core gives out and they topple backwards and under the water in a heap of limbs. Sander elbows him in the chest and Robbe’s sure he got a good kick or two in, but the laugh that leaves his body the second he surfaces is worth the failed attempt and the aches and pains.

“Fuck,” Robbe laughs, grappling at Sander’s forearms to get himself upright. “You purposely just set us up for failure?”

Sander’s whole face is stretched in a wide wet smile, teeth pearly, and Robbe’s eyes can’t help but follow a couple of rivulets of water that race down his cheek and jaw. His mouth waters a little, and he opens and closes it when Sander says nothing.

They stay holding onto each other’s arms, long after it’s even necessary. Robbe doesn’t want to let go, but he does give him a little challenging look. This stillness doesn't suit his now restless heart.

“You did that just to see my dick, didn’t you?” He tries again, taking a different route. Because if something doesn’t happen soon, he’s convinced he actually might die.

Sander’s facial expression goes through an entire emotional range as his laugh bellows out across the water, and it’s so nice and deep Robbe almost forgets himself, could get lost in it alone. Sander lands on the same smile and a curious brow.

“I already have though?”

“Yeah, but,” Robbe glances down into the water, sensing how close they are. Maybe even inching closer. “The real thing, up close and personal.”

For a dumb joke, Sander’s eyes go absolutely fond. They flit between Robbe’s own, to his lips, and back up. Robbe hangs onto every shift, pruney fingers sliding to his elbows, then his firm biceps. Up over the curve of his shoulder until he loses his nerve. Sander doesn’t question it or look away for a second.

The water around them is so settled that Sander’s miniscule movement, slotting their hips fully together, sets off a tiny ripple. It mirrors the stammer of Robbe’s heartbeat, the way his entire body shudders when Sander lifts a hand to cup his jaw.

“Up close and personal, huh?”

The only dignified response is to lean forward, and he can’t stand it anymore. Fuck letting Sander make the first move if he’s going to be a tease. Robbe gives him a last longing look, grips the nape of his neck, and pulls him down in a seamless motion.

And everything around them really does stop when his eyes flutter shut. Sander kisses him back, easy and warm, mouths parting beneath each other. He gets a firm grip in the hair at the base of Robbe’s skull, and everything Robbe’s wanted to say and do all night just melts into this. The push and pull of skin on skin.

All he knows is this.

Sander Driesen is a good kisser, and it doesn’t come as a shock, but to have all of this trained on him alone, it’s a lot more than he’s prepared himself for. More than any dream or other person ever could. Robbe’s noises spill out involuntarily, with each slip of the tongue, and Sander huffs a breathy laugh through his nose. Robbe can feel a hand curl into the small of his back, nails a little biting as Sander hauls him as close as physically possible.

Robbe lets Sander support most of his weight, hooking a foot around his calf and intertwining them further. He’s sure he’s an absolute sight, kissed breathless under the moonlight, wound around the hottest guy who’s ever given him a second look. Probably the hottest guy who’s ever looked, period. It’s a thrilling feeling, like a hummingbird let loose in his chest, and even though adrenaline isn’t a new idea to him, Sander makes it feel like one. The warmth of his mouth and tongue and body all open to Robbe now, his for the taking.

If it were up to Robbe, they’d stay like this forever, wound tightly around each other in the water. Wandering hands and heated kisses. But it’s not, and when Sander pulls away, Robbe smears a pout against his cheek and is shameless in the way he curls into him.

“We should,” Sander starts, but the second his eyes open, he’s watching Robbe with a grin and pulling him back in for a series of small kisses.

A minute later he shakes himself out of it, clearly as giddy as Robbe is, and it sure is something to see the curtain of charm fall away. He’s so fucking beautiful, and Robbe doesn’t want to put an inch more between them than is required.

Sander laces their hands together, body sluggish as it’s pulling Robbe in the direction of the shore. It takes a lot of willpower when all Robbe wants to do is hunker down in place, the place he kissed Sander the first time. It’s going to live with him now, but he has no choice in following along. He was destined to go where Sander led the moment he laid eyes on him, and something about that truth clicked into place tonight. Maybe it’s stupid to think so.

“The faster we get back, the faster we…” Sander says. He hasn’t stopped smiling, and he doesn’t finish that thought either.

They’re a mess of arms and legs and torsos because of Robbe’s refusal to fully let him go. They make it back to their respective piles, but Robbe takes one look at his rumpled clothes, all of which would be dumb to put back on, and then launches himself at Sander again. He’s magnetic, and Robbe loses himself in it, pressing kisses to any place that he can reach as Sander tries to towel himself off.

“Robbe,” Sander laughs, “At least put your pants on. We can’t stay here.”

Robbe fully pulls back and lets go now that he’s asked, watching Sander try to drag his own jeans up damp legs. It’s clearly a struggle and has Robbe giggling as he starts to towel himself off too. He asks the obvious to fill up the space and distract himself while he gets decent enough for the ride back wherever they’re going. Hopefully some place with a bed.

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t want you to throw your back out,” Sander says as he motions at the rocky, uneven ground. His smile twitches wider, waiting for the implication to dawn on Robbe and tossing his towel around his neck.

To his credit, Robbe hardly stutters in his attempt to get dry. His cheeks go red, that’s for sure, even though he’d just been naked and fully pressed against Sander. But maybe he’s just destined to be shell shocked by his own desire as he imagines himself splayed out on the ground, Sander on top of him.

“How considerate,” he says.

Robbe yanks his own pants up his legs. When he throws his shirt back on fully unbuttoned, he feels it cling to his shoulder blades where he’s still wet, but none of it even matters. He wishes Sander’s car had more room, so they could just collapse into the back seat, but part of him is dying to see more of Sander, even if it’s just four empty walls and a bed.

Sander hums and gathers his shirt and boots in a single hand, offering the other out for Robbe to take. He wiggles his fingers and his eyebrows in time and sends Robbe into a tiny hysterically happy fit as both of them climb their way up a small embankment back to the car.

“You do want to come back to mine, right? Sorry, I should’ve—”

“Yes.” Robbe can’t say it fast enough.

“Okay,” Sander says, eyes crinkling as he opens his door for him.

When he slips into the driver’s seat, he eagerly throws his shoes into the back and starts the engine. Everything’s happening in a bit of flurry now that they’re apart.

“It’s just a couple minutes up the way. I promise.”

“You’re making promises now, are you?” Robbe says, desperate for more distraction. If he doesn’t keep himself occupied, he might just jump Sander here and now where he sits barefoot and shirtless behind the wheel.

“Within reason,” Sander grins, eyes flitting to Robbe for a split second only.

Robbe has a sneaking suspicion he feels the same, the way he’s intensely focused on the dusty road.

“Can you promise me something then?”

Sander only hums and turns the car down another branching path, further into the woods. None of the imagery of the night, the black pines or the lightning bugs or stars in the sky, has as much staying power in Robbe’s mind as the way Sander looks.

“Kiss me again,” Robbe says, like it wasn’t a given already.

But he likes a surprised Sander. Loves the way his mouth falls open for a moment and then pulls into a smirk, loves the way he can see the gears turning in his head even if only illuminated by the dashboard light.

Sander forces his foot on the brake, doesn’t even bother putting the car into park as they jolt to a stop in the middle of the road. It’s Robbe’s turn to be a little astonished, but there’s hardly time. Not even a second separates Sander’s firm hand finding the back of his neck and the deep kiss he presses to Robbe’s mouth.

It melts him to his core, so much so he goes boneless in the seat. Every swipe of Sander’s tongue leaves him a little less coherent, once, twice, he loses count, until Sander’s pulling away, and he has absolutely nothing to say at all. Tongue-tied, delirious on the taste of him and the need for more.

Sander lets his palm linger against Robbe’s cheek, thumbing a little at his smile lines, and when Robbe finds it in himself to blink his eyes back open, Sander’s pupils are blown as huge as his grin.

“Was that enough of a promise for you?”

He knows damn well Robbe won’t answer, lips bruised and wanting. The rest of the ride Robbe spends staring, and Sander just squeezes his knee with his free hand.

Sander was right about it only taking a couple minutes, minus the small detour and despite what it might have felt like. They pull up to a sizable, rickety cabin. It sits a bit off the hilly ground on stilts and casts a silhouette among the trees. Robbe pries his gaze from Sander and gets a little awestruck, perched in his seat as Sander collects what he threw in the back and comes to open the door yet again.

“This is all yours?” Robbe asks, because it’s big for a single person.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Sander laughs and leads them up the creaky steps onto the dimly lit porch, spinning his key ring around his forefinger. Such an illusion of cool before he almost fumbles and drops them. Robbe’s burst of laughter can’t be helped.

“Long story short: it was abandoned up until a few years ago,” Sander says, unlocking the door and pushing inside. He turns on a small lamp, drops his boots and shirt onto a chair in the corner, and flicks the porchlight off before continuing. “I asked if I could stay here if I fixed it up, and the rest is history.”

“Where does everyone else stay?”

“There are staff cabins a bit closer to the main building. I’ll show you some time.”

Then Sander grins at him and moves his arms in a small flourish, allowing Robbe free rein to look around.

What Robbe sees is more than four empty walls and a bed, and he feels the sudden urge to study every detail fully, just as strong as the one that wants him to pull Sander to bed. The place is homey, one spacious studio room with a big bed and a small kitchenette in the corner. There’s some furniture in the far back corner where the light doesn’t quite reach. A record player sat on a short bookshelf and a large collection of vinyls and books strewn about. Two of the walls are less walls and more tightly woven screens, allowing a vague and airy look into the outside, and Robbe thinks he understands why Sander likes this place.

“It’s nice here,” Robbe murmurs, turning back to look at Sander.

He shrugs a little, “It does the trick. I’m gonna go use the bathroom, but make yourself at home.”

He crosses the space and slips into one of the two doors Robbe can barely make out at the back, leaving Robbe to kick off his shoes and have a closer look around. He stares down at the scuffed hardwood floors, the way there’s enough space in the middle of the room to dance, and thinks Sander must practice here. The record player and stereo set up along the wall, the perfect little makeshift studio.

Robbe doesn’t let his mind go too far thinking about whether Sander’s brought other people back here, able to shut off the overthink button in his brain when he’s surrounded by all this calm and nature. The temperate night air puts him right at ease.

Robbe meanders over, runs a finger along the spines of some of the records. It’s mostly oldies, stuff he doesn’t recognize, one already sitting in the machine. All Robbe has to do is turn it on and lift the needle, and he’s about to do just that when he feels a warm puff of breath against his earlobe and an arm around his waist. His whole body jumps at the sensation, sending an even warmer laugh scattering across the back of his neck.

“Fuck, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Sander says and kisses his shoulder. “You have a song in mind?”

“Surprise me.”

Robbe feels Sander drum a couple fingers against the skin of his belly, but he’s too busy watching as the blond’s other hand deftly adjusts some knobs and brings the machine to life. He doesn’t change out the record, just delicately drops the needle some place in the middle, and then starts to move without sound for a couple seconds.

“I think I promised you a dance lesson?” Sander recalls.

“What about your actual studio?”

Sander scoffs and spins Robbe in his arms so they’re bare chest to bare chest, brightening the second he can see Robbe’s face. He doesn’t put any more space between them but also doesn’t press impossibly close like he did at the club either.

“This is where the magic really happens though,” he says.

“Oh? Not over there?” Robbe juts his chin toward the bed.

Sander laughs just as the uptick in the music starts, a bright and peppy guitar guiding their hips in a quick little sways.

“There, too.”

Everything else fades away in favor of the full, slightly scratchy sound of a record player. Whatever song this is, Robbe falls easily into step with him and winds his arms up around his shoulders. He doesn’t ask, just lets Sander press their temples together and move them around the small area in time with the lighthearted beat.

It sounds and feels very appropriate for this night of theirs, fun and upbeat, and he starts to try to hum along, mimicking the riffs and the drums. Robbe snaps out of his little trance when Sander turns to press his smile against his cheek. Almost like a kiss.

“What’s that for?”

But he doesn’t get a verbal response, just a deep kiss when he turns to look, and he’s definitely not complaining. It’s an answer in and of itself. Sander’s tongue sweeps at the seam of their lips and his hands pull him tight up against his body now. All their movements restricted to swaying in one spot.

Robbe’s so grateful they skipped fully putting their clothes back on because he can feel Sander’s warm skin beneath his palms, no barrier to stop him from lightly raking his nails over his shoulders. Sander flattens both his hands against the small of his back under the loose button up and lets one of them slide lower, into the waistband of his jeans. Their hips push and pull in a grinding movement, rocking more on instinct than to the music.

“This okay?” Always checking, always a gentleman.

Robbe nods eagerly, ending in a messy collision of their mouths, and he lets his own sounds reverberate low in his throat. He feels Sander squeeze his ass and start shuffling them in the direction of the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, instead of toppling backwards and carrying on, Sander stops all motion and extracts himself from Robbe’s space.

He mutters ‘wait’ and spins on his heel, trotting across the room to flick off the lamp on the entry table. It shrouds them in immediate dimness, the kind their eyes aren’t adjusted to yet.

“Wouldn’t mind you with the lights on, but I won’t wanna get up later,” Sander grins, too coherent for how Robbe feels.

He halts in front of Robbe’s body when he gets back, giving him an appreciative once-over but no touch. Then he raises slow hands and starts to push the thin fabric off Robbe’s shoulder, taking his sweet time watching every exposed muscle. He ducks to kiss the skin of his clavicle, the round of his shoulder, his bicep, and Robbe’s gut clenches hard.

He wants to say ‘get on with it,’ but he also never wants this to end. He feels the heat and the pleasure pulsing through his veins, and it’ll be over too soon when Sander gets proper hands on him. This whole thing is new, but he’s ready for it, has been ready for it since he found peace in the fact that his attraction to guys is normal; something to be celebrated even.

And if tonight’s not something worth celebrating, this feeling inside him not worthy of absolute worship, then what is?

Robbe’s so caught up in his head and watching Sander peck at his skin that he doesn’t register the shirt’s fully off until a hand is gently shoving him onto the bed. He tumbles backward with a little puff of air, and his bare torso hits the sheets.

Sander kneels over him to follow, one leg between Robbe’s, and ducks to suck at his neck. He takes his sweet time some more on the way down, nipping and relishing in the little noises Robbe makes. Robbe’s getting hard in his jeans, and the material makes it sensitive,biting even, when Sander reaches between them and cups a hand around him.

Robbe can hardly breathe, the way Sander looks up through his lashes. His mouth sucks bright, temporary marks anywhere he can reach, and Robbe’s fingers follow after, winding into his damp hair in a loose grip. That gets a couple deep noises from him with the little sharp tugs. They don’t do a lot of talking, but Robbe does hear Sander mutter “off” as he unzips Robbe’s pants and shimmies them down his legs. Now that they’re pretty dry, it’s an easier task, and Robbe's whole body feels freer as he lies there sprawled out naked on Sander’s bed.

Sander backtracks off the bed to peel his own pants off, and Robbe can still hardly make out the length of his body, although he’s desperate to. The record player in the background has gone silent.

“You’re beautiful, Robbe,” Sander says from the foot of the bed, and Robbe shudders pleasantly. He’s one to talk, but Robbe doesn’t have the words at the moment.

Robbe lifts an arm and makes a small grabbing motion with his hand, because he doesn’t want to move where he’s sunken into the sheets. Everything here smells like Sander too, so desirable and intoxicating that he’s drunk with it more than anything else tonight. Sander complies and crawls back into bed, but only makes it halfway up his body. The suction of his mouth latches to Robbe’s abs and his tongue laves over every indent, leaving Robbe to convulse beneath him.

He thinks he lets out a ‘please’, maybe a string of curses, but his mind is gone the second Sander follows his happy trail down. Humid breath hits his dick and the patch of hair there, and there’s just no way in hell a dream, a fantasy, could ever do this justice. He’ll never be able to think straight again, the vision of Sander like this and the sounds he’s making to go along with it.

When Sander gets his mouth on him, wet heat swallowing him up and hand working at the base, Robbe moans so loud he’s thankful Sander has no neighbors out here. Sander works at him, stretches around him, keeps his eyes shut but occasionally blinks up to watch the way Robbe thrashes. The real kicker is when Sander pulls back, smooths a hand down one of Robbe’s legs, and gently hikes it over his shoulder. It gives him better access to everything between Robbe’s legs, the most sensitive parts on his body. He could dip lower, but for now, his swollen lips return to Robbe’s dick.

“Fuck, Sander,” Robbe says, whole body spasming with the heat in his spine. Sander’s name is the only thing that bears repeating.

He’s so close to coming already, and he gets a fistful of Sander’s hair, tries to pull him off where he’s tonguing at the crown of Robbe’s cock, but the blond head stays put. In defiance, he even sinks lower and hollows his cheeks, and Robbe takes a minute to watch his eyes, blown out and ravenous, when he looks up through his wisps of bleached hair.

He wants to say so many things, about how hot he is and how this is easily the best night of his life and how he’d literally beg to return the favor if he had the voice, but it all comes out in a garbled mess of a moan. Robbe fists his free hand in the curls of his own hair and tries to minimize the flailing by pulling at it himself.

His heel accidentally kicks Sander in the back harder than he means it to, where the one leg is thrown over Sander’s shoulder, and he feels Sander’s mouth choke a little around him with all the jostling, constricting as he comes up for a raspy breath.

“You’re so hot,” Sander whispers another hoarse compliment, open-mouthed kisses following a trail along the inside of his thigh and up the side of his hip. Sander presses another kiss to the base of his cock again, lapping up the side. “You close?”

Robbe moans a little ‘yes’ because there isn’t much else to say. He’s right on the precipice, two or three good strokes away from painting Sander in white, and he wishes so badly he could last longer. None of this should end. Ever. He’s basking in Sander’s full-fledged attention and coming to life completely under skilled hands, and there’s no turning back after this. The heat, it’s all internal. A change of pace from this entire summer, and Robbe is chasing that feeling. He hopes Sander can feel it too, hopes he’s getting as much out of this.

Sander grins, boyish and rough, and his lips are absolutely wrecked. Robbe can’t wait to kiss him again, but then his gut pulses with another warning, and the thought gets lost. He’s going to come.

As if there is room for any more surprises, Sander removes his mouth from Robbe’s lap and sucks on his own index finger, making a small show of it that Robbe has to tilt his head to watch. Robbe had hoped this was coming, is ready for him, but that still doesn’t stop the way his toes curl at the idea. If he wanted to stave off his orgasm any longer, Sander’s got a plan of his own.

“Wanna open you up. Is that okay?” He asks around his finger.

It’s more of a slur than anything else, and Robbe feels the heated breaths against his hip. He really really isn’t gonna last, but he nods feverishly against the pillow anyway, hoping Sander’s watching. The grip on Sander’s hair loosens until he lets his arm fall to the side, so Sander can freely dip lower.

As proof of that, he presses a kiss to Robbe’s perineum, and it makes Robbe’s skin break out in a field of goosebumps, all these overwhelming feelings warring for his attention. His hips rock a little without his permission, and he can fucking feel the way Sander smiles against his skin.

It’s the hottest thing.

He’s thought that about a lot tonight, but wonders never cease with Sander. Everything about him is a dream, a fucking wet dream this past hour, but the reality of him is somehow even better.

He gets even lower, face close to the sheets, so Robbe can hardly catch much more than his fringe as his eyes look for something to ground him. He lets them slip shut, feels Sander’s free hand slip up over his hips, scratching lightly at his abs, before he intertwines their fingers together. Sander’s mouth is on him now though, tonguing at his rim, prodding and then pulling out. It’s the ultimate tease, and Robbe’s whole body is shaking. The feeling itself isn’t foreign, between his own fingers or cool plastic, but nothing’s ever been so real and warm as this.

“Sander, please,” he asks, without even knowing what for.

“Please what?”

The breath of those words is chilling over his spit-slick hole and makes for an addicting rush alongside the fire in his belly.

“Close, so close.”

Robbe’s so glad there’s just enough light to see that Sander’s cheeks are pink, lively, and full. They suit him so well. He rubs one lovingly against Robbe’s thigh before he concedes, and Robbe can tell it’s game over just from the hungry look in his eye. The second his index finger applies the tiniest pressure, pressing inside him slowly, happens to be the very same second Sander’s lips close around the head of his cock, and then Robbe has no choice.

The sound that’s ripped from his throat is guttural and loud, impossible to stop once it starts. Every single muscle in his body clenches and spasms as a whole wave of orgasmic feeling crashes over him. He curls up and inward, muscles contracting in on themselves, and lifts his free hand to clench in hair at the base of Sander’s skull again. The other clenches Sander’s hand hard, metal of his ring doing nothing but giving Robbe a tiny focal point of cold to focus on while he drowns in the heat.

Sander swallows around him, multiple times. He pushes himself until his nose is buried in the hair at the base of his dick and then immediately pulls back up for air, chest heaving and eyes watery.

Robbe lets his body ride out the final shakes of his orgasm and then just collapses completely. He’s weightless, like the lake but better. Boneless, like the kiss in the car but better. A shiver runs down his spine as his brain searches for some proper word to describe it all, but there isn’t one and he knows it.

Sander, who has to still be hard and aching, gives him feathery kisses to the abdomen. He wipes his hand on the sheets as incognito as he can then lets Robbe use a little bit of strength to heave him up until they’re laying chest to chest, face to face.

Robbe smiles, satiated as a person can be, and pulls him in for a real, deep kiss. It’s the first one in too long, and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna stop. Sander tastes a little like him, and if you’d told Robbe even six months ago he’d be tasting his own cum out of an attractive dancer’s mouth, he would’ve laughed in your face. Now though, it’s about the realest feeling he’s ever experienced. Never felt more himself or happier to be in his own body.

As he suspected, Sander’s still very much hard against his hip and letting himself grind into Robbe’s bare skin in little movements as he keeps kissing him. Robbe would love to reach a hand down and clutch at him with calloused fingers, would love if Sander fucked down into his grip until he came across Robbe’s abs, but Robbe feels like he owes him a little more than that. He’s far too spent himself, dick flagging and oversensitive, but he can’t help the idea that pops into his head.

“Hey,” Robbe murmurs, directly into the corner of Sander’s mouth, and it halts the rocking motion of Sander’s body.

“Hi,” Sander says back instinctively, voice sounding scratchy and ruined. Robbe feels a painful jolt to his groin at that, but there is just no way.

Sander raises his head and blinks his eyes open in astonishment—like he’s been riding his own surge of second-hand pleasure because of Robbe’s. Robbe can’t help but press another messy and wet kiss to his lips.

“I wanna try something,” Robbe says, and without asking, uses all his remaining strength to roll them over. He’s lying on top of Sander now, the other looking slightly disoriented.

Robbe gathers enough strength to settle himself in a sitting position right on top of Sander’s stomach. Sander grins dazedly up at him, hands instinctively going to his thighs and squeezing. They fit so well, Robbe shouldn’t be surprised at all, but when he presses his palms to Sander’s chest, heartbeat beneath them, he can feel the two of them are in sync for a moment.

“What’s the plan?” Sander asks, lazy. His unconscious attempts to buck up are thwarted by Robbe’s weight, but he doesn’t put any more muscle into it. He’s clearly content to let Robbe do what he wants and savor this moment.

Robbe leans down to cup his cheek and kiss him sweetly instead of responding. It works too, one of Sander’s hands slipping to his ass and squeezing as he forgets about anything else. If Robbe had a good 15 more minutes, he could probably get hard again just from this, but as it stands, he really wants to make Sander come. He wants to hear the sound of his own name and know he’s the cause for Sander’s pleasure.

Robbe sits back up with a peck, leaving Sander to chase his lips, but he falls back against the pillow before he gets very far, lips puckering into thin air and pulling into a frown. There’s still some mischief to his eyes when he looks up at Robbe, but they flutter shut with the way Robbe reaches behind himself to get a hand around Sander’s dick and stroke him a few times.

Robbe scoots back a bit further until his ass is right in the cradle of Sander’s hips and gives a tiny bounce as a test. Sander’s moan is more than worth it, hips pushing his cock up between Robbe’s cheeks in a tight friction. Robbe feels the wet smear of precum between their skin and shoots him a wicked grin. Not as good as being inside, he’s sure, but Sander doesn’t seem to be complaining. Robbe doesn’t think he’s ready for that anyway. He’s certainly never gotten this far with anyone before, and he’s grateful his instincts have kicked in a little.

“Good?”

He doesn’t need the verbal confirmation, but he likes the way Sander’s face twists up in pleasure when he does it again, trying to find his voice and failing. Takes him a few more tries to muster half a sentence.

“So good, Robbe. You’re…”

A couple seconds go by with no conclusion. Sander’s chest is expanding and contracting with little grunts of air. He’s really a sight, sweaty and disheveled and not holding back. His nails dig into Robbe’s thighs with a sharp, grounding grip, and Robbe hopes it leaves marks.

“I’m what?”

Sander teeths at his own bottom lip, hips going a little frantic trying to buck up against Robbe’s body. His dick is leaving a scorching trail of heat between Robbe’s cheeks, and Robbe drops a little harder onto his pelvis with every movement. Robbe reaches up to tweak the pink sensitive bud of Sander’s nipple, and it earns him a little gasp, then a moan. Better yet, he leans down and licks a quick stripe there, lets his teeth catch a little.

“Fuck,” Sander whispers, breathless and on edge.

Robbe knows he’s pushing his buttons a tad when he replies, “I’m fuck?”

Doesn’t even know where a stupid joke comes from in the middle of mindblowing sex like this, but he giggles and then groans when, in retaliation, Sander takes hold of his hips, plants his feet, and pistons his hips quick and hard a couple times. His eyes roll into the back of his head a little, and Robbe can tell he’s close.

Sander stretches his arm up to get a grip on the back of Robbe’s neck, hauling him down for a sloppy kiss. Even when he’s kinda delirious, hanging over the edge of an impending orgasm, his tongue knows exactly the buttons to press to make Robbe’s knees go weak. It’s like even with all of the attention on him, Sander still wants to find a way to master Robbe and kiss him into submission in a single night. And Robbe’s body falls prey, slumping onto him completely. The skin of his own dick chafes between their stomachs, but he can’t care.

“You’re perfect for me,” Sander finally finishes, sincere and not at all what Robbe was expecting. A touch sentimental, and it has Robbe’s heart beating so hard it almost hurts. The words get caught up in the last few millimeters of space between them and linger only a second before Sander’s swallowing him up whole. He hardly has time to process before Sander’s whole body is tensing up and holding him close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Sander’s voice breaks, hips stuttering. Where they meet on Sander’s lap feels like it’s on fire, and Robbe moans with him.

To feel Sander’s body as he comes, tensing and untensing under Robbe’s fingers, is like magic. Every muscle defined and at work to produce one of the most exquisite sights on the planet, Robbe has to imagine. The way Sander throws his head back, letting the residual grind of his hips ride out the wave until he gives up, cradling Robbe’s body to him. Robbe can feel the cum between his legs, and he wonders how it’d feel inside with a shiver.

But now isn’t the time for that. Sander’s whole form going limp into the sheets and Robbe relaxing on top of him. He leans to press a kiss to the base of his throat where he sees a mole, and then another, and then finds himself tonguing at Sander’s skin with no real purpose.

A few minutes pass, probably. Sander’s hand still tangled in the hair at the base of his neck clenches in a little painful twinge before falling to his back.

“You better not be leaving marks.”

Robbe laughs a little breathily and rolls away from him, the evening cooling them off and turning everything less enchanting now that they’ve fallen from their highs. Things do tend to get a little less sexy when cum and sweat start drying, but then Robbe blinks a quick look at how fucked out Sander is beside him and thinks there’s a case to be made for the way certain things stay arousing as long as they pertain to Sander.

Everything about him is appealing.

Robbe’s just about to ask if he has anything to clean up when Sander stretches himself into a sitting position and snatches a couple tissues from his own side table. With a palm pressing against Robbe’s shoulder, Sander urges him to angle onto his stomach for a minute. Robbe can feel the ghost of his hand dip down the length of his spine and then use the tissue to wipe between his legs and cheeks. He sighs contentedly at the gentle touch and mumbles a ‘better’ into the pillow.

Sander crumples the tissues up and tries for a throw into the small waste bin on Robbe’s side of the bed. He misses, but Robbe doesn’t care when he leans in, grips his chin between forefinger and thumb, and kisses him filthily.

“Thanks,” Robbe breathes as he lets up on the kiss, low and into his mouth.

“Are you thanking me for an orgasm?”

Sander’s whole body is slack, skin warm and pliable under Robbe’s hands, and he quirks an eyebrow and coils a finger of his own around one of Robbe’s curls.

“Maybe I am,” Robbe says, muffled.

“Then you’re welcome.”

“I just mean,” Robbe struggles for a way to word it. He knows Sander was present in the car during his conversation with Milan earlier, but that still didn’t quite explain Robbe’s experience. He doesn’t owe it, but he wants Sander to know, vulnerability seeping out of him, “You’re the first guy…”

Sander’s eyes blink rapidly a couple of times, and Robbe smiles up at him. He’s really lovely even without meaning to be, even in the face of Robbe’s inarticulate sentiments.

“Your first? That was your first?” His voice lilts up into a higher pitch, all too surprised but also almost impressed.

“Kind of.”

“Oh, there it is,” Sander rolls his eyes playfully, and his chest deflates. “Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you.”

Robbe slaps him on the pec with a light hand, a smile plastered on his face. God, he feels so breezy, so fucking happy. Who knew? Something about it feels so much less serious when he’s with Sander, like he doesn't need to shy from shame or uncertainty. Things come simpler and more honest than they have in a while.

“Not the first I’ve ever been with, if we’re counting club bathrooms,” Robbe says impishly. “But in a bed? Properly? Yeah, you’re the first.”

Sander glances down at him in the dark, fondness etched into every crevice and line of his face.

“Maybe I should thank you then.”

Robbe hiccups a laugh, “Why’s that?”

For some reason, Robbe was under the impression they’d settled down, but Sander scoots out from under his embrace and rolls out of the bed entirely. He stands on wobbly legs, and Robbe can only watch him round the foot of the bed and reach for something on his desk. He misses his touch almost immediately, but he’s far too wiped to move from his spot. Sander uses his free hand to gesture to where Robbe’s all sprawled out and pliant.

“Look at you,” he murmurs with appreciation and warmth, and Robbe grins happily at him. “I get to be the first one to see you like this.”

Sander must have grabbed a lighter because Robbe hears a light flick and then sees a spark of orange illuminating Sander’s smirk. He lights a cigarette. Robbe tucks his chin to his chest, happy to just let Sander look at him and know he’s looking back. Maybe in some other moment he would have shied away, but he craves this right now. Can’t see Sander’s eyes in the dark, but he can practically feel them.

“I’d love to photograph you,” Sander teases, but it’s soft and accompanied by a little picture taking motion.

Robbe feels pleased and surprised with himself at how much he’d like that too. Branded on film for Sander’s eyes only. He’s never been one to adore the spotlight, thrives in it only under the right circumstances, and things can get ugly when you’re forced to confront details of yourself you want hidden. The idea of Sander’s attention though—and his artistry and love and care—all aimed at Robbe has his gut fluttering.

It’s a little ridiculous considering what they just did.

“You’re a photographer?”

“Yeah, I love taking pictures.”

Robbe hums and wishes he could pull his brain from it’s blissful post-orgasm daze so that he could talk properly about this. A subject they can both appreciate, but for now all he can think to say is, “This is a beautiful place for it.”

That’s definitely true. Rolling hills, ever green. Nature and summer and joy. He means it more for the people, though. He’d love to pull out his own camera and take video or pictures of Sander right in this moment, the urge to see him on film suddenly all he can think about. He watches Sander lean up and flick at where some of his own photos are pinned and strung up over his desk.

“I go back home after every summer with rolls and rolls of film to develop,” Sander says wistfully. Robbe can tell he’s reminiscing, so he stays quiet and lets the memories fill this minute.

Robbe watches the embers of his cigarette glow orange in the darkness. Sander’s profile against the night of the screened in cabin is beautiful and pronounced, and he feels like he’s dreaming, swept up in something too good to be true. He props himself up on his elbows and gives himself a tiny pinch at the collarbone just to make sure he didn’t fall into another fantasy.

“Do you have a lot from this year so far?” It comes out as a whisper, crickets almost drowning out the sound of it, but Sander lets out a deep sighing exhale and stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray at his desk.

“No, actually.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was saving some of it.”

“For what?”

Robbe hears his breathy laugh in response as Sander edges back into bed from the foot. He expects Sander to collapse beside him on top of the sheets, worn out from their earlier activities, but instead, he crawls right over Robbe. Arms caging him in on either side, Robbe drops back against the pillow and is thankful the details of Sander’s face come back into focus. It’s a really beautiful face. He missed looking at him even those couple minutes he was out of bed.

“What do you think?” Sander asks, nuzzling gently into his shoulder and then pressing a kiss there.

Robbe squirms at the attention, cradling Sander’s head in his hands as he presses kisses up the side of Robbe’s neck and jaw. One to his cheek, one to his nose, one to the corner of his mouth. His forehead, his temple, his chin, and just when Robbe thinks he’s going to give out, his attempt at an answer gets swallowed up by Sander’s mouth.

“Me?” Robbe tries, grinning. He pushes a hand through Sander’s fringe and hooks an arm around his neck.

“Oh, someone’s cocky.”

“You’re an ass.”

Sander only laughs, hearty and full and shaking Robbe’s whole body with it. He’d been playfully insulted plenty tonight, and every time, he’s been a good sport. An all around charmer.

“Of course it’s you.”

Robbe didn’t know what to expect when he’d followed him back to the cabin after the lake, didn’t know what to expect of Sander in general. But here’s this guy, this extremely talented and beautiful and creative and smart guy, right at Robbe’s fingertips, and he hasn’t found a nick in his armor. He’s gentle, tactile, warm, and as good at giving as he is receiving, letting Robbe set the pace of the evening.

Robbe can’t help but lean up to properly kiss him, palms flat against the shifting muscles of his back. Trying to thank him for all he’s given him tonight. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t been doing this since day one of this trip. He didn’t know Sander then, but it dawns on him and he pulls away mid-kiss.

“How were you saving it for me if we only just met last week?”

Sander squints his eyes, smirking. He looks like he’s debating whether or not to say what he wants to, but something about Robbe must get to him. He lowers himself until he’s practically laying on top of Robbe and then runs a ringed hand through his curly hair.

“I saw you the first day you got here,” Sander says.

Damn, if that doesn’t leave Robbe a little breathless, heart stuttering beneath Sander’s own. The first day, when Robbe had been a hot mess, tromping around the resort on the mini tour of the place in a sweatshirt and totally not prepared for what was to come.

He opens, then closes his mouth.

“The first day?” He thinks his voice comes out a little higher than normal, lips twisted in disbelief.

“Yeah, Milan was showing you around. I was coming back from a meeting with my bosses and saw you out of the corner of my eye.” Sander’s smiling, nudging their noses together for a second. “You were so cute and actually drowning in your clothes. Didn’t think you’d make it more than a day in this heat, but I’m glad to be wrong,” he laughs quietly.

“Rude.”

“Hey, I said I was glad to be wrong.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Sander shrugs a little and lays his head to rest on Robbe’s shoulder. His fingers gravitate to Robbe’s pendant, thumbing at the chain and sending sparks down Robbe’s spine.

“I figured it wasn’t the right time. I don’t know. Something about you,” Sander punctuates it with a small kiss right over his heart, “made me think we’d meet again.”

Robbe has no idea how he has the confidence to say something so cheesy, but it also just may be the sweetest thing he’s ever been told. He wants to say as much back, tell Sander how grateful he is for every part of this night they’ve spent together. It’s a little life-altering to realize he could be wanted back with just as much fervor, unravelled and made to feel so good in his own skin.

“You believe in fate?”

Sander shifts to glance up at him, pursed lips. “Honestly? No.”

Which startles a small laugh out of Robbe. “What? You were just going to leave it to chance? Thank god one of us believes in it, then.”

Sander nips at the skin of his shoulder with the exposed teeth of his grin, an ounce of payback before he settles down.

“So you do?”

“Yeah, kinda... It’s a nice thought,” Robbe says. He wants to ask Sander if he’s heard of the multiverse theory, but he knows he’ll work himself up in excitement. It’s a little too late, so fate will have to do for now.

Things go quiet for a few beats.

“Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I just… knew I’d get a chance to see you again. I don’t know how, but I promised myself I’d make a move then.”

Robbe squints doubtfully at the ceiling, fingers combing through the hair at the nape of Sander’s neck. He pictures the night of the party and the walk home as best as he can, but so much of the Sander then has been written and rewritten in Robbe’s head with every new little detail.

“You call that making a move?”

“You don’t?” Sander’s tone is incredulous.

“You didn’t even try to kiss me that night,” he pouts.

“Because you were hammered, Robbe. Besides, would you really give this up?”

Sander clearly means right here and now, and he makes a good point. The emotions, the start to something, it wells up inside of Robbe until it’s all too much. The twitches of his face give way to a goofy smile, he can feel it, and he just squeezes his eyes shut and holds Sander tighter to him.

“No, of course not.”

It’s not like he could explain to Sander what the evening meant to him in any coherent sense at 2am. He’s too tired and content. And this is Sander, who could have anyone he wants any time he wants. Sander, who ebbs and flows in every setting, seemingly so confident in the face of anything. Robbe doesn’t know the full story.

There isn’t enough time in the day or night to ask him everything he wants to know, but when he’d joked in passing about an ex-girlfriend earlier at the bar, lighting up the table with laughter, it’d been clear enough that Sander doesn’t hesitate in who he is. He knows that part of himself in a way Robbe can’t yet, and Robbe shrinks a little into himself at the idea of verbalizing vulnerability like that. All this panic over one night? His brain needs to give him a break.

But his thoughts quiet the second he feels Sander press more kisses to his shoulder. Soft, feathery ones he can tell aren’t necessarily meant to be felt, and his heartbeat slows. Sander then turns his eyes on him. He reaches a hand up, traces his jaw and cheekbone before giving a tiny flick to Robbe’s nose out of the blue.

“What was that for?”

“For thinking too much.”

Robbe scoffs but wants to kiss him just the same. Maybe, in all his anxious, overthinking glory, Sander can see through parts of him too. It’s such a nice thought that Robbe lets his brain roll with it, eyes slipping shut and fingers and hands rubbing unconscious shapes into whatever skin of Sander’s he’s touching.

The blond’s sprawled half on top of him, and it’s a comforting heaviness. The perfect amount, like a well worn weighted blanket. Not too warm, but ideal for him to hold, and Robbe, in the cheesy mangled mess of his mind, comes to understand why all those romcoms his mother loves might be onto something. About romance. About new beginnings.

Their silence stretches on for so long, breathing so even, that Robbe thinks Sander must be asleep. He doesn’t want the night to be over, even when physical exhaustion makes itself at home in his limbs.

Robbe risks starting up another conversation, just to hear his voice, to see his smile, to kiss him before the night ends and sleep takes him.

“Do you always smoke?”

Sander stirs quietly.

“No, actually,” he easily props his chin up on Robbe’s chest to look at him, not asleep yet although his eyes droop a little. “Only when I’m working here.”

“Oh.”

“Does it bother you?” He’s got a dark brow raised and Robbe reaches up to thumb over it gently. He doesn’t know if Sander’s aware of the way his body leans into the gesture, eyes fluttering shut and concerned expression gone before it even has time to leave a dent.

“Of course not. I was just wondering.”

Sander blinks his eyes open to smile at him and turns to press a kiss to Robbe’s palm, nuzzling a little there.

“It just gives me something to do. Helps me relax when I’m anxious. Ya know, I love this job. It’s taught me a lot, but it can be so stressful.”

Sander takes a pause and leans up to fully kiss him, clearly savoring it, before he rolls over and falls onto his back. They’re laying side by side now, Robbe’s head tilted to watch him, and his body seems to sag at the mention of his work, depressing into the sheets. Robbe hopes he takes his silence and the quick squeeze of his hand to mean ‘keep going.’

“It’s like, there’s a ton of expectation,” Sander says and runs a tired hand over his face. “Not just from my bosses, but year after year, it feels like there are more people to impress. Old guests, new guests. Investors that want to know their money isn’t going to some lost cause, which it is, but—” Sander laughs bitterly, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. His voice is in no way hurried, but the tone carries something else. “More middle-aged women slipping room keys into my pockets, more wooing I have to do all around to bring in the money, and I get tired of it. It’s such a fucking performance, all of it, and it’s just a job. As much as I love dancing, it’s just a job. I feel so stuck.”

Robbe listens and watches Sander split at the seams a bit. It’s sudden, but it feels like he’s been holding it in, and now that someone’s giving him the space, he’s ready to open up. Robbe is more than happy to be that person, watches him unravel his thoughts with stubborn vulnerability and is grateful to every higher power, every celestial event, that brought him exactly to where he is now.

Sander takes a left turn when he speaks up again, licking his lips and turning his eyes to Robbe.

“You know that song in the car earlier on our way to town and the one we just played?”

Robbe hums.

“They’re both by David Bowie. The greatest musician of all time, do you know him?” Sander quirks a brow, eyes flitting between Robbe’s own and his lips.

“No,” Robbe smiles bashfully, lifting a corner of the cover to hide his face.

“Well. Guess I’ll just have to change that,” Sander challenges. “Anyway, he used to be a mime. An artist with so many talents. And unconventional ones, too... Isn’t that cool?”

Robbe’s slightly confused at the turn of conversation, but beyond endeared. He watches Sander register his lack of answer and roll onto his side to look at him.

“Isn’t it?” He repeats.

“I mean…”

“Oh, don’t start with me,” Sander laughs and then lifts his hands to make like he’s holding and swinging a lasso. He catches Robbe with the invisible string and starts to pull. Robbe giggles like mad, deciding to give into the charade and scooch closer. It isn’t until they’re practically nose to nose on their sides that Sander drops the act and lets his hand fall to Robbe’s hip. Robbe watches him closely, the twitches in his expression and how soft he goes under any gentle touch. He’s yet to fully finish his train of thought, so Robbe gives him the space to again. He’ll yield all his time and space to take in anything Sander wants to trust him with.

“The point is,” he starts, quieter now that they’re so close, “I feel like that sometimes. Aimless. Like the world is full of so much possibility and life’s pulling me in so many directions —too many— and I’m left feeling empty, like I just don’t know where I actually fit. Bowie… he never fit. He just made room wherever he went, and he wasn’t scared of the road less traveled. He didn’t seem scared of any fucking thing. Never stayed still. I want to be like that, and I want to be inspired and not care, and I just—”

He cuts himself off, a little more worked up before he could help it, and Robbe finds that he wants to comfort him in any way he can, lifting his hand to hold his cheek for a minute. He thumbs over moles and really parses through Sander’s words.

“I’m not sure I have that in me,” he mumbles quietly to finish. His eyes are a little glazed and distant.

Robbe's heart aches to say something productive and sincere, to tell him he does have that in him, of course he fucking does, but he fears it sounding disingenuous or glib. It’s not that simple, and he knows it.

Something sits and lurks beneath the surface of Sander, regardless of how open and flirty and free he’s been with Robbe. It’s there, but it’s Sander’s alone, and Robbe can’t make him say anything. He doesn’t want to have to. It’s unrealistic to expect so much transparency after a single night together, and he forces himself to be fine with a small kiss in response. It’s all he can offer to melt the tension.

When Sander looks at him, really looks at him, things have an uncanny way of just melting from his consciousness, and the mood lightens immediately with a kiss to his nose. He still looks kind of out of it, but at least he’s smiling.

They lie there, looking at each other for a while in the dark, and then Robbe says, “You’re so beautiful, too,” because what else is there. No words of comfort besides the glaringly obvious truth that Robbe’s never been so attracted to someone in his life. The high flush on Sander’s tan cheeks, the crinkling at the corner of his eyes, the way one of them only opens half way. He watches Sander’s lips form around nonexistent vowels and consonants before he decides on saying nothing, reeling Robbe into an open-mouthed kiss that leaves him speechless.

He buries his head in the space between Robbe’s head and his pillow, sharing the same one now. He plants little pecks to his earlobe and his jaw and goes quiet for a few minutes while he continues to fiddle with Robbe’s necklace.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sander murmurs against his cheek.

“Of course.”

“This is my last year here.”

Wow. Robbe knows that has to be big for him, a place he’s worked for years put in the rear view. His eyes cut to the top of his blond head, threading his fingers through the hair there. He doesn’t know if this conversation will lead to an emotional end like the last, but he cradles Sander tighter to him.

“Really?”

Sander hums an affirmative, and a sleepy moment passes.

“I haven’t told anyone that yet, but I can’t take it here and I…” Sander stops talking, deep and calm breaths louder with no words to dampen them.

“And you what?”

“I think I’m going back to school in the fall.”

“You aren’t in school now?”

“No,” Sander says, voice tinged with shame. He shuffles against Robbe’s side, hides his face a little, and Robbe would be a liar if he said it didn’t hurt his heart. “I dropped out a year and a half in. Lots of stuff was going on back then, and.”

He’s so tense all of the sudden that Robbe feels like he’s holding onto a wild animal, one that’s ready to run, and he wills him to relax. He smooths his hand over Sander’s shoulder in circles and then triangles, and he tries to think what might be going through his head right now. Wants to ask a thousand things himself, but Sander’s clearly overwhelmed. It’s a long moment until his body’s limp again.

“I just couldn’t handle it, honestly. But, I’ve been thinking about going back and I’ve been saving for a while. Hearing you talk about it tonight felt like…”

“Fate?” Robbe finishes for him, a small pleased sound building in his chest.

Sander hums then pokes his head up to look Robbe in the eye. He’s smiling, that’s good. Sander’s smile can never be anything but good.

“More like a positive coincidence.”

“Sure,” Robbe laughs, content with the buoyancy of Sander’s mood. “Keep pretending like you don’t believe. I’ll get you one day, Driesen.”

“Is that a threat?”

Sander gives him a long pointed yet grateful look, like he doesn’t expect an answer, a small ‘thank you’ buried somewhere in there, and then pulls him into a warm and tender kiss. Robbe’s toes curl at the bed’s end. He lets Sander resettle on his shoulder when they part and the night quiets again before his curiosity gets the better of him. He hopes it’s not a triggering question.

“So what will you study? When you go back?”

Sander snuggles closer, and Robbe thanks the heavens.

“Visual arts.”

“Just photography?”

“Nah, drawing and painting, too,” he answers quietly.

Robbe’s eyes flit to the easel in the corner, he can’t really see anything that far in the dark, but he feels more pieces of information slot into place. The jokes about the drawings from the club, the supplies here. He hadn’t had adequate time to look around before they got wrapped up in each other, but he hopes he’ll get a chance.

“Can you show me?”

“Some other time,” Sander says, tone apologetic but sleepy, and Robbe can hear how fast he’s fading, warm where he’s tucked alongside Robbe’s body and clinging to him. That conversation must have done a number on him. Maybe the whole night did. Robbe sure can’t argue that, his own limbs heavy and aching in the best way.

Because soon enough, Sander’s fast asleep, and Robbe’s well on the way himself. He keeps his eyes pried open as long as he can, watching Sander do nothing but breathe. Robbe traces a careful, feather-light touch over the bridge of his nose, and thinks about how much hope sits light in his chest. It’s been a long time since an emotion has consumed him like this—and never one as tranquil as hope. All worry about his friends, his mom, school, his life outside this cabin, it all ceases to exist.

Just like the summer heat, this place (or maybe it’s just Sander) leaves him suspended in this moment. With a sigh, he leans down to press a kiss to Sander’s forehead and then slips into sleep.

When he dreams of white this time, it’s only halfway as good as the real thing, and he knows it.