Archive of Our Own

It started when you moved back here to Torrance three months ago.

And ever since then, it followed you everywhere.

They followed you everywhere. 

In every corner you turn, in every shop you enter, in every street you take in hopes to lose its sights. It never left. Like a cardinal sin, you could never rinse it off of your skin. Still, you whispered a short plea to the heavens once you felt it again. And no matter how many times you try to forget about it, go about your day as monotonously as possible, and hopefully make them lose interest.

The problem was it never happened.

As far as you know, you haven't done anything to piss off anyone. If you did, then this would've made sense. But you barely talk to anyone other than your closest friends and coworkers. None of them held grudges against you, at least none that you knew of, and you were sure you hadn't accidentally pissed off a mob boss to earn this kind of problem.

You were average. Ordinary. No one special enough to give a second glance on. You didn't even have any glorified superpower to catch the public’s attention. Just a regular employee working a 9-5 job and only having the weekends as your day off. 

So why were they interested?  

You've done your best to ignore it. 

To blend in the crowd and disappear in a sea of faces. 

You didn't try to stand out anymore, you barely did anything to get recognized at your work. You just wanted to disappear at this point, and you almost considered quitting your job. Maybe travel back to where you previously lived, start all over again, and make a new life for yourself. Maybe then, you'd be free of this paranoia. 

However, some part of you didn't want them to win and have the satisfaction of driving you away—if that ever was their goal.

You still feel their burning stare from across the street. You couldn't think properly without glancing all over the place just to catch sight of them. You rarely go out anymore, and your coworkers have all given up trying to invite you somewhere. Your friends dismissed it, all saying the same fucking thing that's just about to make you lose your mind faster.

It's just the stress catching up to you. 

You should get some more sleep. 

Just your imagination. 

Maybe it's nothing. 

You honestly thought you could tear off their tongues if they ever say the same thing again. And again. And again. But you knew damn well it was none of those. Your job didn't stress you, this problem did. You didn't need sleep, because you're afraid they can strike you at your most vulnerable. It wasn't your imagination, or else you'd go crazy for trying to scare yourself every fucking day.

And it's not nothing. 

It couldn't be nothing.

Because you caught them one too many times.

Your cruel stalker.

In the first month, you never could catch their figure. Only felt their gaze bearing down on you the moment you stepped out of your house. It became a sick game of cat and mouse. A predator stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce and claim. 

So, you waited until it got to the point you anticipated it.  

Maybe you have truly gone crazy to be able to think this way, and if this was their goal all along, then they've succeeded.

Day by day, you've grown more accustomed to the distant presence. To the watchful stare that lingered on your back. If you told yourself whoever they were was a secret guardian of yourself, then you'd be a little less paranoid. In a way, you were right. No harm has come to you ever since this has started, and you only realized it on your way home after ending your shift late.

You began taking a shortcut back through a dimly lit alleyway you used to avoid because of the endless crackheads living there, and found yourself unharmed when reaching the other side. Each night you've ended your shift later than usual, you truly never felt safer than before, even when there was a constant presence following you. 

Now, you began to catch glimpses of them out of the corner of your eye. Maybe you've become better at anticipating them, or maybe they started to get lousy at their gig. Or maybe they wanted you to see them. Whoever they were, you wondered if they ever had any spare clothes. Because every time you glance their direction, predicting where they might be, that unmistakable blue turns away just before you could make shape of them.

Before you realized it, you were obsessed as well.

Trying to figure out their identity. Trying to make sense why they chose you. You even asked around the building if anyone saw someone dropping off the containers on your desk. The guards, your coworkers, the staff. None of them noticed anything. You were almost tempted to review the cameras in your office just to see who was the culprit. 

Then, the gifts suddenly started showing up.

The first time you received one was when you were running late for work after your alarm failed to wake you. You had to literally dash off towards your office just to make it in time. Thankfully, you made it there, barely in one piece. After a lengthy meeting that stretched into hours, you went back to your cubicle, and saw something on your desk—an innocently packed lunch with a sticky note on the container lid.

Forgot your lunch.  

That's it.

Those three words that stole all the air from your lungs, and replaced it with dread. 

You didn't need to ask the others where—who—this came from, but now you had a piece of clue who this stalker could be. Their handwriting. Decent, a bit crudely formed, but familiar. Like you've seen it somewhere before. You contemplated whether to eat the packed lunch or throw it away. For all you knew, it could have food poisoning or worse, drugged. And so you did.

The possibility that one of your coworkers might be your stalker filled you with so much anxiety, to the point you grew distant and wary of each of them. But after assessing their handwriting, none of them matched with the sticky note. 

Maybe Blue was smarter than they let on, purposefully changing their handwriting in order to be left as a mystery. 

Or in other words, to fuck you up even more.

Your action didn't stop them, however. It seemed like they took that as a challenge to up their game.

Every other day, you'd expect a packed lunch or a cup of drink waiting on your desk. 

It switched every other day. 

You'd receive sandwiches sometimes, or a burrito. 

A cup of coffee. Tacos. Cupcakes.

Blue was getting bolder and bolder, but you won't give them the satisfaction. Either you threw away your food away, or gave it to someone else. If the latter was chosen, you'd obsessively watch them eat or drink the damned thing to see if it was actually poisoned.

Instead, they'd come up to you after lunch and compliment your cooking wearing large beaming grins on their faces. As well as asking you if you ever plan to bring one again, they definitely wouldn't mind eating it. Only it wasn't your cooking, they were takeouts put into containers to suggest you actually cooked them. 

What the fuck? 

Blue was seriously fucking with you now.

And it's getting on your nerves.

The next time you saw another container on your desk, you didn't throw it away or give it to someone else. You stowed it on the fridge for the meantime, then took it home with you.

Against your better judgement, or the fact you haven't eaten yet for the whole day except for a granola bar and coffee, you sat down in your living room and ate it while watching a show. Even though it was clearly from one of your favorite takeouts, you barely tasted anything other than conflicted disgust. 

You were convinced this was more than a fucking joke now. 

How the fuck did Blue know your exact order? 

And how the fuck was he right all the time?

 As you cleaned the container, you figured you could take a look at things on the bright side. This could be to your advantage. You wouldn't have to spend money on lunch from the office cafeteria anymore. Plus, free food? Come on, in this economy? Where would you get something like that? 

Okay, maybe it really did have food poisoning.

Because why the fuck were you actually considering accepting their gifts?

That meant you'd acknowledge their presence, which also meant they could finally show themselves and God knows what they'd do to you.

Snap out of it.

Sighing, you leaned back against your seat after you sent your last report. 

Fortunately for you, today's Friday. 

And no work tomorrow. 

You could sleep in and wake up in the afternoon the next day, or maybe buy some wine and drink it by yourself during dinner. 

But that’s just fucking sad. 

At this point, you missed a lot of things. Sleep, shopping, and drinks were a few of them. God, what would you give for a drink right now? Seriously, after a week of seemingly endless paperwork, meetings, and rushing back and forth to submit budget plans, you really need a shot or two. Maybe even get laid, it's been so long since you had anyone over at your place or be brought to another.

That wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for your fucking stalker. Hell, if they ever show their face and find out they're actually decent, you might give them a chance.

“What is wrong with me?” You ran your hands over your face, groaning. “Did I seriously consider sleeping with my stalker?”

“Who's sleeping with who?” The sound of your coworker’s voice startled you. “Woah, sorry 'bout that. You doing alright?”

Glancing at them, you blinked before looking back to the mountain of paperwork on your desk.

“Now that I'm done, yeah.”

“Sweet! Maybe you could come with us? Been a while since we saw you out.”

“Well, busy and all. With life, and. . . yeah.”

“I get it, I get it. But it's Friday! We're going out for drinks later, you should come this time.”

You hummed, weighing your options. 

All this time, you've been cooped up in your own company that you barely have any social life anymore. All because of Blue and their fucking games. If it weren't for them, maybe you would've lived peacefully without looking over your shoulder every time you leave your house. Now that you thought about it, Blue hasn't done anything to actively harm you.

Yet. 

Plus, this could be just for tonight. A night for yourself, without worrying about anything or anyone. You could finally let loose before going back to being paranoid. And if you could get lucky, maybe you'll take someone back to your place. Just to release the stress and frustration. Normally, you wouldn't resort to that, but at this point you're fucking desperate to get out there.

You nodded, giving them a tired smile. “You know what? Fuck it, I'll join you.”

Your coworker beamed, cheering loudly. “Hell yeah! Guys, she's down for drinks tonight!”

You heard the rest cheering as well, and you couldn't help but laugh at their reaction.

Okay, you really missed having fun with them. 

Tonight, you're not going to be worrying over Blue. Fuck them. You're going to enjoy your time and they're not gonna ruin the one night you have for yourself. 

What's the worst thing that could happen?

Turns out, the place they chose was a fucking club and not a bar fitting for winding down after a strenuous week. 

Well, you can’t really complain anymore. You were already here, two glasses down and the strobing neon lights distorting everything and everyone around you. Good news, you’re not exactly drunk yet. Bad news, your coworkers were nowhere to be found, most likely on the dance floor, or at the bar ordering more drinks—forcing you to stand guard of the booth while they’re out there having the time of their lives.

What’s worse was, everything was blue. The fucking lights were just making your head hurt even more.  

You wanted nothing more than to get up and walk out of the building just to escape the color. But you remained where you were, not letting your paranoia win over you. Maybe you should dance to clear your head, but you’re not looking forward to someone grinding behind you and getting all handsy. Then again, how can you expect to bring someone home if you don’t go out there and show them what you have on?

Sighing, you adjusted your dress lower to cover your thighs. 

You didn’t regret picking this outfit. 

After all, it was one of your prettiest pieces just lying around and getting swallowed up in dust. A strapless black mini dress, perfect for a night out and drinks. But it looks like you’re not gonna be able to flaunt it around and hope your luck can attract someone, since you were left here alone. Well, the night’s still young, and you could be a little selfish. They wouldn’t mind if you wander around, right?

Just as you were about to get up, someone flopped down across you. A stranger who might’ve mistaken your booth as hers, but you decided to humor her. 

“Back already?”

“Yeah! Just need a break.” Her smile was loose, eyes glazed and half-lidded. “How about you? Why aren't you dancing?”

You gave her a look, then glanced around the booth. “Well, they made me watch over the booth. So, here I am.”

She gasped, leaning forward. “Girl, get out there! You’re too hot to be staying back here.”

Drunk girls at the club were always the sweetest, even when they’re literal strangers. It made you smile, laughing a little as she tugged you out of your seat. “C’mon, up you go! Fuck, you are hot. Look at those legs. That dress is not supposed to be wasted like this.”

“Thanks,” You grinned at her, a little flushed from the praise. “Keep watch for me?”

She gave you a thumbs up, flopping back down on the seat. “Gotchu, girl. Go get laid for me!”

Laughing, you waved at her and made your way towards the dance floor.

If I’ll get lucky. 

As soon as you got to the dance floor, you let everything fall away and just followed the rhythm. 

You didn’t realize how much time had passed, but you were smiling and singing along with the music along with the other bodies dancing around you. At this point, you wouldn’t be too disappointed if you’re not gonna be lucky tonight. This was more than enough to release your stress, and you seriously don’t remember having this much fun. 

Every time a song ended, another smoothly followed and the crowd went crazy each time. You even spot a few of your coworkers not far from where you’re standing, joining them quickly as they welcome you into their circle. The strobing neon lights weaved through the dark room—flashing and gliding—bathing everything in an oceanic glow.

Through your fifth song, you almost didn't notice someone coming up behind you. 

Only until you felt hands slithering around your waist, and you were being gently tugged against their body. Normally, you would've whirled around and pushed them off. But something about the weight of their touch, firm and possessive, and the hard muscle pressing on your back made you melt against them. 

A hot breath teased your bare shoulder, shooting an electric shiver down your spine.

Before you knew it, you were dancing to the beat along with them. In every sway of your hips, their hands fell lower until they were guiding your movements. Your head fell back, resting on their shoulder, as their lips—rough and warm—met your neck in a ghost of a kiss. They pulled you closer, until your ass pressed into their crotch, and you grinded back instinctively. 

Something low caressed your neck. A grunt mixed with a sigh. It lit molten heat underneath your skin, blood replaced by fire. Their hands flexed around your hips, but they made no move on stopping you. And you wanted to hear it again. So, you pushed back—harder than before—playing it off as dancing to the music.  

A wrecked groan this time, followed by heavy breathing. 

Oh, fuck.  

That was the hottest thing you've ever heard. 

Somehow, in a club drowned under echoing bass, you were able to hear everything from them clearly. How they grunted whenever your ass brushed against them. How they cursed, rasped and quiet, when they grinded back. How they hummed in approval next to your ear each time your hips swayed, until your dancing gradually turned into fucking foreplay.

The molten heat in your veins rushed low, sparking arousal between your legs the moment you felt something hard throbbing against your lower back.

“Holy shit,” You turned around, missing the way the stranger jumped away. “You're pretty good at dancing.”

You're met with a hooded man, you couldn't really see their face properly. The lights only managed to strike some of his features. His pointed nose, sharp chin, and those lips that did wonders on your skin. Their eyes, however, remained shrouded under the darkness. But you didn't seem bothered by it. Up close, you're able to breathe in his scent and almost wilted at the masculine aroma. 

Woodsy cologne, the smell of coffee, something sharp like metal, and smoke.

You didn't think all four of those combined could smell so amazing. But from him? Somehow, he wore it like a sin.

And you were tempted to bury your face in his neck just to have more.

You almost did, until the stranger finally spoke.

“I was following you,” You shivered at the sound of his voice. Fuck, he sounded like sin. “Got any more of those moves, sweetheart?” 

His hands were back on your hips, thumbs stroking a pattern across your dress. 

“Maybe,” Your tone dripped with suggestion. “But those ones aren't for the dance floor. We could dance someplace else?” 

This was dangerous.

You didn't know the guy, for all you know they could be a criminal. Or worse, your stalker. But at this point, you couldn't care any less. You told yourself you're having fun tonight, let loose and relieve some stress, and the thought of Blue was not going to ruin that. 

So, fuck it. Fuck everything. Because right now, you have someone else to fuck.

You fluttered your lashes, caressing his chest lightly. “Meet me outside?” 

The stranger chuckled, low and heavy, and your knees almost buckled underneath you at his next words.

“I'll be waiting, sweetheart.”

Then, as if a dream, his hands were gone and he vanished into the dense crowd. 

You stared after him, dazed and stunned, the only question in your mind was what the fuck just happened?  

Did you really just grind against a stranger, flirt with him, and now you're about to leave the club to meet up outside? The stress and paranoia must be so bad because you would've never done something like this back then. You would've left the moment you’re alone in the booth to find a nicer bar to spend the rest of the night in. But now, desire clouded your senses and logic threw itself out the fucking window the moment you heard his voice.

Like a sailor lured by a siren, you were about to follow him out when someone else tugged you back by your arm. 

You pivoted around and saw another man there. 

And this time, something foul reached your nose.

It wasn't the hypnotic masculine scent from earlier. 

It was straight alcohol, dark and bitter, the kind that made your head dizzy and stomach curl in disgust. It was revolting. It sickened you even more when he grinned, teeth catching the strobing lights, and his eyes gleamed with sick intentions.

Your breathing picked up in panic. 

The first thought you got was your stalker, it was him, and you could feel the tears springing in your eyes. He was here. He followed you here. And by the looks of it, he’s not gonna let go of you anytime soon. It took you a second to realize the man was speaking, his grip on your arm painfully tight. 

“Hey there, doll.” The stench of his breath made you grimace, struggling against his hold. “Look at you all dolled up. Been watchin’ you all night. Just needed to wait my turn before I stepped in. Wanna dance?”

You tried to resist from his touch, but he only tugged you closer. “Let me go, you fucking bastard!”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” He neared his face to yours, and you blanched in disgust. “C’mon, doll. Just one dance, yeah? You were givin’ that man a nice one earlier. Can’t I have the same?”

Glancing around, all the bodies around you were too busy to notice what was happening. No signs of your coworkers either. Great, just your fucking luck. Your stalker knew you were here, and now he has you in his grasp.

The blue lights painted him in a cerulean glow, but all you could see was red the moment his hand—large, greasy, unwelcomed—grabbed your ass and squeezed the flesh.

“Whaddya say, doll? You wanna show me those same moves and we could–”

You didn’t think. You only moved. 

His sentence never got to finish, because in the next moment, your knee shot up to his crotch and your fist met his nose. 

Immediately, the man doubled over in pain—releasing you—clutching his nose and crotch. 

“You fucking bitch! Come back he–”

But you didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest of his words, because you swiftly turned around and slipped into the crowd. Your heeled feet carried you towards the restroom, slamming the door open and shut behind you. 

Thankfully, no one was inside to see you crumbling on the floor. The tears clouding your vision finally escaped, flowing down your cheeks and ultimately ruining your makeup. But that was the last thing on your mind, because right now you’re busy trying to erase the image of him from your mind. 

The slimy grin. The predatory stare. The foul stench. The feeling of his hands on your body.

Everything made you sick. The restroom suddenly smelled like the rancid smell of his alcohol, suffocating your lungs until you’re gasping fitfuls of air trying to breathe. 

You needed to leave. This club. This state. This country if you have to. Just as you thought you’ve settled back here in Torrance after thirteen years of being gone, everything fell apart again. Just as you thought everything will return to normal, that fucking bastard has to ruin everything you have built for the past few months. 

It must’ve been a while since you entered the restroom. A few minutes, half an hour, or maybe even a whole hour until you managed to calm down. Still, your heart thundered beneath your chest. After gulping down the lump in your throat, you wiped the tears away hastily. The muffled bass outside the door matched the sudden headache pounding in your head, and you forced yourself to get up.

Holy shit.

Seeing your disheveled state in the mirror, you slowly approached the sink and took a deep, shaky breath. 

“What the fuck just happened?” You placed your hands on the counter, studying the streaks of mascara running down your cheeks. “Supposed to be a fun night out. Stupid fucking prick–”

The door opened, and your heart stopped.

Instead of the man from earlier, a group of women stumbled inside—all tipsy and laughing—causing you to relax. 

But then, they all saw your state and gasped collectively.

“Oh, honey!”

“Are you crying?”

“Who fucking made you cry?”

“Shit, I have some napkins in my purse.”

The four of them quickly gathered around you, festering about your appearance, and the scene eased the tremors in your body. One of them began wiping your cheeks, another one started fixing your hair, and the other two stood aside while glaring.

“Don’t tell me it was a man,” A blonde sneered, though her annoyance wasn’t directed at you. “What did he look like? We could get him for you.”

You let them hover, smiling weakly at their efforts. “Sadly, it was. Real ugly one too. Well, there were two of them but the second one fucked up my chances with the first.”

A redhead clicked her tongue repeatedly, making quick work on wiping the mess on your face. 

“Two? Shit, that’s messed up. Also, fuck the second guy. Is the first one still around?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet him outside.”

“Good, you’re still meeting him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you worry, hon. We’ll fix you right up. You’re not going home crying.”

“But you’re still gonna cry after we doll you back up,” A brunette quipped, uncapping a lipstick and smiling at you. “In bed, of course. Completely fucked out. Hopefully with the first man. You okay with this shade?”

You blinked, mind reeling from tonight’s events.

Seriously, what the fuck was happening right now? Coworkers ditched you, someone else claimed your booth, a stranger danced and flirted with you, your stalker came in and fucked it up, cried in the bathroom, and now these women were doting over your looks. If someone asked what happened tonight, you were sure they wouldn’t believe you if you told them the story.

Before you could stop yourself, you answered.

“That shade is fucking perfect.”

The women eventually let you go, cheering for you as you exited the restroom.

They actually did a great job at fixing your makeup, and you didn't have the heart to stop them once they started working. Because honestly, you were in no mood to stay here. You wanted to go back to your apartment, drown yourself in the shower and scrub off the feeling of him from your body, then sleep in until the next day.

Sighing, you quickly made your way back to your booth while casting wary glances all over the place.

The club only seemed to brighten when you were gone, and there were more bodies on the dance floor than earlier. Good, it meant you could slip out undetected. Maybe that bastard finally gave up and went home. God, you hoped he did. You seriously hoped he took that as a fucking sign not to mess with you again. But knowing men, rejection might just be your downfall. 

“Hey!” One of your coworkers greeted you upon your arrival. “We were looking for you. We ordered more drinks–”

“Thanks,” Your smile was tight, and your tone was tighter. “But I'm gonna head out. Not used to clubbing anymore. Massive headache too. You don't mind, right?”

They waved you off, smiling easily. “Nah, you're good. Just happy we're able to get you out again. Be safe out there!”

“Tell the others I’m off.”

“For sure!”

“Thanks, man. Enjoy your night.”

Then, you were walking out of the building with your purse clutched under your arm.

The cool breeze outside replaced the musky air inside as soon as you stepped out, and you were able to breathe properly. Finally, after hours being inside there, you got some fresh air. Well, as fresh as the south side of Torrance can offer.

You released a breath, turning and walking towards the direction of your apartment.

Until you passed by the alley next to the building and heard a pained groan. 

“Please, he–help.” 

Your head whipped to the side, seeing a man laying on the dirty ground with his arm outstretched towards you. His face was busted up, blood all over nose, mouth, and temple. Absolutely beyond recognition. The sight made you gasp, stumbling back in shock. The man repeated his plea, attempting to crawl towards your way, and you almost dashed forward to help.

Until your gaze fell to his clothes, only then you froze upon recognition.

Blue.

The same fucking blue you kept seeing everywhere. In every corner. In every street. In every fucking path you took. That same shade matched it perfectly, but darker—drenched in blood. Nonetheless, it was the same fucking hoodie you've been seeing for the past three months.

Who did this? 

From the shadows, a figure stepped over the man's body and you tensed.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

That voice.

You squinted through the darkness, your heart racing faster now. “Were you– Were you the one who did this?”

The man, the stranger who danced with you, hummed in reply—proving your suspicion correctly—before he responded.

“Hope you don't mind the mess,” He still didn't step into the light. “Don't worry about him. I took care of the fucker.”

Your eyes dropped to the barely conscious man, before looking up again. “Why would you– Why did you do this?” 

“Because he touched you.”

“You saw that?”

“Yes.”

“So you did this?”

“Yes,” The shadowed stranger repeated, voice growing darker. “He hurt you. I only returned the favor. He deserved it.” 

You stepped forward, glaring at him. “Why didn't the bouncers stop you?”

The figure shrugged, lightly kicking the body below him. “Told them he was a creep and touched someone inappropriately. They left me alone to deal with him.”

This is fucking crazy.

Since when did Torrance become this fucked up? Was moving back here the right decision?

Alarm bells rang in your head, you clutched your purse and whispered. 

“Who are you?”

Silence washed over the area, and you waited on bated breath. You almost considered walking away and never looking back. However, curiosity stopped you from leaving. Whoever this man was your saviour, even through an unconventional way, he saved your life. You honestly didn't know whether to run away or thank him. This night just kept on getting even more fucked up.

After a moment, he spoke again. “Just promise me one thing.” 

You nodded, still tense. “What is it?”

“That you won't run.”

“Just promise me.”

“Okay, I'll. . . I promise.”

You heard a long sigh, shuffling, before the shrouded figure finally took a step forward into the light and you were able to see their face.

No fucking way.

This can't be happening.

This seriously cannot be happening right now.

I must be drunk. I must be dreaming. I must be dead.

The face hidden by shadows, the same one you've never expected to see again after so many years. The teenage boy living just a few blocks down from your old house was now the man standing before you. The man you knew from childhood, who watched you cry and watched him cry in return when you were both sad. The same one who cut contact with you even after you left Torrance and moved to another state. 

Your first love and heartbreak.

“Robbie?” Your lips parted in disbelief, stepping closer. “Fuck– I’m not dreaming, am I? Is that really you, Rob?”

He smiled, lazy and tired. “I told you to stop calling me that, sweetheart.” 

Robert fucking Robertson the third. Alive, worn-out, yet still handsome as ever. Suddenly, you're back to the night you were standing on his porch, a box of Twinkies in your arms while you waited for him to open the door. After a couple of more knocks, it opened to reveal him—fifteen, freckled-face, and still donned in his black suit from the funeral—and your heart broke at the sight.

You never saw his father during your visits, but Robert assured you the senior Robertson was just busy with a family business of theirs. Something he never shared with you no matter how many times you asked. Hence why you always hang around their house whenever Robert's home alone. All you cared about was your best friend being lonely, and you were the only person who knew how lonely he could get. Alongside his old babysitter, Chase.

You won't forget his words that night. The same words that still haunted you to sleep every now and then.

“Hey, Robbie. Chase gave me this and told me to visit you. Figured you haven't had dinner yet–” 

“Don't call me that.” 

“But–” 

“Don't fucking call me that!” You flinched at his outburst, staring at him in shock. “I'm not a kid anymore. Everyone keeps treating me like I'm still twelve. I'm not! Stop treating me like one.” 

“Robbie–” 

“Stop– Just stop! Leave! I don't need anyone. I don't need you. Just leave me alone!” 

That was the last time you ever saw him before he slammed the door to your face, and you were left standing alone in the dark. No matter how many times you tried to talk to him, how many times you knocked, he didn't open the door. Weeks passed by, then months. Torrance only became more dangerous when Astral Mecha Man died in battle, one of the only true protectors of the city.

Your family decided to move away in fear of getting involved with the rising crimes and deaths, and you didn't even have the time to say goodbye to your best friend.

Maybe that was for the better, because some part of you knew it wasn't a farewell, that you'll see him again in the future.

You just didn't expect it to be in this way.

Outside of a club.

You in a mini dress, shaken up after an assault.

And him wearing that massive button down dress shirt (probably from his father) with dried blood on his knuckles and jaw. 

For the hundredth time this night, what the fuck was happening?

Many emotions rushed through you, literally the five stages of grief in a span of five minutes. But what stuck with you the most was anger. And you were fucking angry for all the right reasons.

“Holy shit,” You scoffed, shaking your head. “What? You expect me to run into your arms? Cry tears of joy? Thank you for doing this?” 

Robert winced at that, looking to the ground sheepishly. “I kinda did expect that–”

“What the fuck, Robert!”

“Hey, hey, hey. Just calm down–”

“How can you expect me to calm down after all of that? First you ignored me all these years. You cut me off from your life. I tried to contact you many times. I called everyone I knew just to ask how you're doing, none of them knew too!” 

“Sweetheart, let's talk somewhere else–”

You still continued, glaring heatedly. “Then, I move back here. And guess what? I have a stalker! Who may or may not be dead right now because of you!”

Robert blinked, glancing back to the unconscious body on the ground. “Stalker?”

“That's not the point!” You exclaimed, ignoring the people passing by behind you. “After months of being afraid of him, I finally decided to have one night of fun. And you showed up, started rubbing yourself against me–” 

Robert sputtered, eyes widening. “I wasn't–”

You jabbed a finger at his chest. “You were. And the worse part was? I went along with it, and I didn't know it was you. Fuck, and he showed up after you left. I ran to the bathroom after I kneed him–”

“You kneed him?”

“And the only good thing about my night was those women who helped me with my make-up again cuz I told them I was meeting with you. They fixed me up for you!”

“For me?”

“Who else!”

Finally overwhelmed with the amount of stares you were gathering, Robert quickly grabbed you by your arms and whispered low. 

“Sweetheart, as much as I deserve all this, we can't cause a scene here. How about we leave first, okay? Then, you can shout at me all you want.”

Oh, you really hated him.  

You hated yourself for still being in love with him. You hated how your body melted easily under his touch. You hated how his voice soothed you, how those warm brown eyes both broke and stitched your heart. You hated everything about him right now. You hated how you're releasing your frustration on him right now even though he saved your life and did you a favor.  

“I hate you,” But you didn't struggle against him, forcing back the tears from resurfacing. “I hate you so fucking much.” 

He pursed his lips, briefly glancing down at your lips and lingering there. “I know, sweetheart. But you can hate me later. For now, let's just go back to your place. Okay?”

Your mind screamed no.

Don't do it.

He'll shut you out again.

Don't fall for him.

Leave now.

But your heart yelled louder.

Take him back.

To your apartment.

To your heart.

To your life.

Ignoring the alarms in your head, you finally relaxed and nodded. “Fine.”

When he smiled, grateful and relieved, you cursed at your traitorous heart for swooning.

That was the fastest walk home you've ever had in your life. Maybe because you were just so fucking pissed off, fuming along the way, while Robert tried to catch up to your brisk pace. You felt his eyes on you the whole time, but you didn't spare him a glance in fear of breaking down faster. The entire walk was silent, thick with tension, and charged with something dangerous. 

Arriving shortly at your apartment, you quickly unlocked the door in record time and pulled him in.

Locking it, turning around, and you were back to glaring at him.

"Get those blood off of your hands. Now."

He didn't say a word. Only nodded, and followed after you as you directed him to the kitchen. You watched him rinse off the dried blood, the silence thickening into that tension again. Nearly suffocating and unavoidable. When he finally finished and dried his hands, you moved.

You took a step closer, clenching his shirt into your hands. “I hate you.” 

He only let you, peering down at you through a half-lidded stare. “I know.”

You backed him towards the wall, until he was pinned against him. “I fucking hate your guts, Robert Robertson.”

He nodded, entranced, fingertips ghosting over your waist. “I know.” 

“I hate you for shutting me out,” You leaned up, your voice losing its ferocity. “I hate that you told me you didn't need me. I only wanted to help you.”

“I know,” He breathed out, placing his palms over your waist. You didn't stop him. “I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” You seethed, but the words lacked venom. It lacked the heat, because it was elsewhere—somewhere in your body. “I just– Fuck, stop messing with my head. I hate you.” 

Robert pierced you with a dark look, not the same one from that night years ago. This one burned through you. Right through your core, flashing lower and lower until—

“Your head tells you to hate me?”

“Yes.”

“What about your heart?”

“I. . . I don't know.”

He hummed, voice deepening into a drawl. “But you do, sweetheart. I can feel it against my chest. It's beating so fast right now. Not telling you anything?”

You only realized how close your faces have gotten, barely an inch apart, noses brushing together. How your breaths mixed between your parted lips—your hands flat on his chest, and his now on your hips. 

Your heart only told you two words.

Fuck it. 

“I hate you.”  

You hissed, before you tugged him forward and seared your hatred into his mouth. 

He groaned into the kiss—half from the force, half from relief—kissing you back just as hard. Just as desperate. Just as frustrated. His hands slid behind you, clutching your ass before travelling lower, until he was grasping your thighs from underneath. The next moment, he hauled you up with your legs wrapped around his waist and turned around to pin you to the wall.  

The kiss only grew hungrier, parting your mouth and tasting his. He didn't hesitate on meeting your tongue, devouring you deeper until you were dizzy and aching. You released all the tension into him, all the feelings you've buried through many years and months. 

The stress, the frustration, the unbridled anger, and carnal lust.

All fueled in that messy, imperfect, and breathtaking kiss.

“I hate you,” You whispered in between kisses, tugging on his hair harshly. “I hate your stupid fucking face.” 

Robert merely groaned, your words triggering his hips to buck forward against your clothed center.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I fucking hate you.” 

“Mhmm.”

He hummed as he started moving you from the wall and towards the direction of your room. 

You didn't notice he started walking, too focused on losing yourself to the taste of his lips as he opened your bedroom door with one hand and closed it behind him with a kick. He carried you over to your bed, settling you down on the sheets and climbing on top of you. 

“Sweetheart,” He rasped against your neck, pushing the hem of your dress higher. “Come on. Where's that anger? Take it out on me.” 

You glared down at him, threading your fingers through his hair to tug his head back.

In the next second, Robert's head snapped to the side. Cheek red, eyes wide, and lips parted in disbelief. Your other hand paused mid-air, your own breath freezing the moment you realized what you've done. Fuck, that might've been too much. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with you today—

“More.”

“What?”

“Again.”

You must've heard him incorrectly, because you weren't sure why he wanted it again. Until he slowly turned his head, and you were taken back by the eclipse swallowing the russet hues in his eyes. 

His breathing became heavier, pupils impossibly blown, staring at you through those long dark lashes.

“Do it again,” He tried to lean forward, but you stopped him by his hair. “Take it out on me. Hate me more.” 

Somehow, that infuriated and aroused you at the same time. Everything that has happened from the past three months, starting from your move in up until now, has officially turned you into a different person. You barely recognized yourself when you slapped him again, relishing his groan of pain and pleasure. That bastard really fucked you up, huh? Good thing Robert didn't seem to mind it.

Maybe he's as fucked up as you were.

You tugged on his strands harder, and he cursed aloud at the action. “You're enjoying this?”

Robert smirked at you. “As much as you are, sweetheart.”

“You think I'm enjoying this?” Another tug, another grunt. “You think I like acting like this? I'm a fucking mess, Robert.”

He only nodded, still completely transfixed. “You’re not the only one.” 

That evoked a scoff out of you, pushing his head down until his face was between your thighs. 

“Maybe I'll hate you less if you do something useful for once.” 

He seemed to get the message.

Dark eyes brightening in realization, freckled cheeks reddening. For a second, he looked exactly like the fifteen year old boy who stole your heart. Until a shadow fell over his eyes, and you were staring back at the eyes of a hungry man again. 

Robert grasped your thighs, never breaking eye contact as he began kissing the insides.

His lashes fluttered shut, breathing in your scent and sighing into your skin.

“Fuck, I've been dreaming about this.” His admission startled you, but it didn't fail to warm your cheeks. “Always thought of you, sweetheart.”

His lips met your skin, reverent and light, dragging from your knee down to your thigh. He held your other leg open, gently pushing it to the mattress as his kisses continued lower and lower.

“You smell so good,” He nearly growled, nearing dangerously close to the wetness between your legs. “Fuck. You're driving me insane, sweetheart. So fucking pretty.”

You tried to keep a neutral mask on, but it quickly cracked to pieces when he proceeded to kiss your clothed center. Directly on your clit. He exhaled, sharp and shakily, and the gush of air hit your core like a lightning strike.

“Lace? You making me jealous, sweetheart?”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“What if I wasn't the one here in your bed?”

“Then, that would've been none of your business.”

He fixed you another dark look, flickering with a barely concealed restraint. “That may be so, but here I am. The one in your bed.”

He pushed your panties aside, and you gasped at the hot sensation of his breath against your exposed folds.

Before you knew it, his mouth was on you.

And fuck he knew how to use it.

“Oh, fu–fuck.” You grasped his hair with both hands now, tossing your head back from a sharp suck on your clit. “How are you so—shit—good at this?” 

Robert hummed against you, the vibrations sending another rush of heat through you.

“I'm not. Maybe it's been so long for you. Or maybe, you don't actually hate me.”

“Fuck you.” 

“In a minute, sweetheart.”

The next words died in your throat the moment his tongue traced a path from your entrance up to your clit, killing you instantly at the salacious swirl that followed. One thumb held your panties to the side, the other hooked under your dress and pulled it up to your stomach. 

Your mouth fell open when his tongue shifted from an experimental pace to full on assault. He ravaged you in a way you would've never even dreamed of. Starved, messy, and downright blasphemous from the way he made you chant his name like a prayer. 

He wasn't just good, he was better than you expected. So much fucking better. The previous hatred you had for him instantly melted, the same way your body melted on your sheets—squirming helplessly against his onslaught.

“So good,” Robert rasped into you. “So fucking good. Hold still, sweetheart. Need more.”

Without warning, he tugged you closer until his face was flushed against you and you were sure he couldn't breathe.

Just when you thought that was it, the bastard has the audacity to slip a finger inside you. 

How he managed to do that was a mystery.

Fuck, you can't even process it.

His tongue worked in tandem with his finger, swirling and curling torturously slow. Every time your hips jolted, he'd stop his actions until you begged him to continue. Hold still. You tried to remember his words, but it was becoming more difficult when another finger slipped inside. Then, a third—you almost kicked him off of you with the last one.

“You're squeezing me already,” You distinctly heard his muffled voice below you. “Close?”

You nodded, not finding enough strength to formulate words. The only sounds in the room were your rising volume, breathless moans, the obscene sounds between your legs, and the occasional moan from Robert. 

It only spurred him to work faster and deeper, until your legs were shaking violently.

“Rob– Robert,” You tugged on his hair harder, arching your back. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, I'm close–”

 “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Light flashed behind your eyelids. 

You were convinced you went to heaven, mind soaring above the clouds. But then your body burned as your release came crashing down. Suddenly you fell from the skies and swallowed up in eternal flames. 

Once the fire in your veins subsided, you slowly opened your eyes and breathed out a curse. 

For a moment, every muscle in your body was numb. Completely lax and swimming in the afterglow. Until you noticed Robert still hasn't stopped. Still drinking your release and not letting his grip on you loosen. 

The overstimulation sent your body trembling more violently. His tongue didn't relent, causing you to flinch away only to get pinned harder. You weren't sure whether to cry for him to stop or for more. 

“Rob–” You tried pushing his head away, whimpering at the sensation. “Rob, too much. It's too much.” 

His gaze flickered up to you, unwavering and resolute. 

As if to say, one more. 

All you could give him was a weak glare, to which he reciprocated. Sharper. Darker. Intent on coaxing another climax out of you. So, all you could do was take. Until your lungs started to fail again. Until more tears streamed down your cheeks. Until you were writhing and gasping at your nearing peak. Robert was as adamant as he was hungry, not even faltering once to let his tongue and jaw rest.

When that same light flickered behind your eyelids, your hands flew to your sheets and your back arched off of the mattress.

“Robert. Rob, I'm–” 

“Not yet.”

“But I'm– Fuck. Let me–” 

“No.” 

You sobbed at his cruelty, but obeyed nonetheless. 

Gods, you fucking hated him. You hated how your body begged for him. How pliable you became. You could just punch him in the face, maybe kick him out for this. But you wanted to let go. You needed him to let go. This was torture, and you were trapped in his mercy.

Your sobs echoed around the room, reaching back to your ears like a mockery. The coil tightened, burning hotter and hotter underneath your skin, threatening to snap. You thought you could hold on for much longer, but then Robert’s groan vibrated through your core—splitting the cord—and you came undone for the second time of the night with the light bursting from your eyes down to your body.

“Fuck.” 

You're not sure who said that.

It could be either or both of you.

There was ringing in your ears, as loud and sharp as Robert's wrecked groan.

Your legs gave out, your body sagged into the sheets, and you barely even processed the sound of a belt unbuckling. With little strength you have, you opened your eyes and saw him removing his button down overhead. Holy shit, were those scars? Why the fuck did he have so many bruises? 

The thought didn't last long because you felt your dress being pulled down your body, and you shivered at the cold hitting you.

When you were finally bare, Robert went straight to kissing the newly exposed skin. From your stomach, up to your breasts. He paid extra attention to each one, licking a nipple and massaging the other. Then he ascended, trailing a path with his tongue up to your neck. 

His scent reached you again.

And your brain missed the metallic scent of blood.

“Doing good there, sweetheart?” His gravelly voice bloomed goosebumps on your skin. “Still hate me?”

“Yes,” But you were pulling his face up, and kissing him weakly. “I still fucking do.”

He hummed against your lips. “Good. I can just fuck that out of you.”

Before you could retort, you felt him. Hard, throbbing, and waiting. Sliding between your folds, coating himself with your release. Fuck, this guy might just ruin you. He might just ruin you for anyone else. But you didn't stop him when lined himself up to your entrance. You didn't stop him when he grasped your hips like how he did at the club, firm and possessive. You didn't do anything but wrapped your arms around his shoulders and whispered.

“Please.” 

Like a trigger, he pushed himself into you. 

Slowly, teasingly, and patiently.

As though he had all the time in the world.

You clung on him, sighing his name shakily, and gasped when he finally sheathed himself all the way in. 

Holy fuck. 

You hated how he fit perfectly inside you. How your bodies molded together like they were made for each other. You hated how Robert filled the void you desperately wanted to bury. You hated how you're already grinding back against him for more—begging him to move—despite your words.

Robert looked like he was struggling himself, cursing through clenched teeth. His head dropped to your shoulder, groaning loudly the moment you moved and clenched around him. 

“Still got one more in you, sweetheart?”

“Robert, if you don't fucking move–”

“That's a yes.”

Then, he was sliding himself out.

Before he snapped his hips and knocked the air right out of your lungs.

You barely had the time to prepare as he started fucking himself into you. All that restraint gone, all that hesitation vanished. Now, you were just holding on to him as he fucked you to the mattress. And fuck, it must've been so long for him too. Maybe he was releasing all of his stress in every deep, and punishing thrust.

Your mind blanked, and your eyes rolled back.

The last thing you heard him grunting in your ear—promising and threatening.

“You're mine.” 

After that, you lost track of time since he started fucking you. 

It could be minutes. Hours. The next day.

All you vaguely remembered was the feeling of him. Moving in and out of you. Deeper and rougher each time. His ragged groans against your lips. The dark look in his eyes. His teeth on your neck. Lips on your jaw. Body on top of yours like a blanket of sin. On his back, new scars blossomed in crimson lines. On your hips, hand-shaped marks began to bloom. 

Everything else fell away into a distant echo.

The third orgasm racked through your body—just as intense as your first—and the last thing you saw was Robert's face above you and felt his rough lips pressing on yours.

“Mine.” 

Then, exhaustion took over your body into a dreamless sleep.

You look so beautiful when you sleep.

Robert tucked a fallen strand to your ear, gazing down at your sleeping figure with a small smile. He has his arm wrapped around your back, your cheek pressed against his chest. There's a little drool coming out of the corner of your mouth, but it only made him smile at the memory of you like that.

Years ago, back when you were younger, when you stayed over his house whenever his dad was gone. The amount of times you spent the night there, sleeping on his couch, just to accompany him until the next morning. He remembered taking pictures of your sleeping face, because you had a habit of drooling in your sleep. It seems like that hasn't changed even now. 

He pulled the blankets over your bare shoulders, kissing your forehead softly.

After fifteen years of not seeing each other, he finally got to be with you again. During those fifteen years, not a day went by without him thinking about you. The regret and guilt consumed him day by day. He pushed so many people away, especially those who only tried to help, including two of his best friends. You and Chase. It was a dark period of his life, and he was afraid he'd only affect those around him.

But he didn't realize he was too far gone until he started to miss the light. He missed you so much, but he knew he can't face you again after saying all those things that night.

Imagine his surprise when he saw you again after so many years. 

That night, he was munching on a cereal box alongside Beef while they watched the local news.

A recorded video played his fight earlier that night. 

He almost lost his life during that battle, sustained major damages to his suit afterwards, but ultimately managed to defeat the villain and helped all the hostages out just in time before the building collapsed.

The reporter began interviewing all the witnesses and survivors from the scene. One face after another, each one of them thanking Mecha Man wearing grateful smiles on their faces. It brought a smile to his face as well, to be recognized and acknowledged even when his identity was hidden.

Until the camera switched to another survivor, and the smile on his face fell when he saw a person he didn't expect to see.

You.

You were there.

You were one of the survivors.

And you were being interviewed.

“I'm extremely lucky to be saved,” You directed a weak smile towards the camera, face stained with ash and dirt. “All I have to say is thank you, Mecha Man. For saving us. For saving me.” 

Robert remembered not being able to move until the camera shifted again to another person, but his eyes never left the screen. You were back in Torrance, and he had saved you without knowing you were there. 

You returned.

And he wanted nothing more than to get you back and apologize for everything he had said that night. 

So, he started finding out more details about you.

Where you worked, a corporate company that offered a 9-5 job. Where you lived, and you lived alone much to his surprise. Who you hang around with during your day offs, some friends you made at work. What places you liked going to on weekends just to see if your interests had changed. Why didn't you like to go to the park anymore when you always dragged him there when he was sad.

For three months, Robert followed you wherever you went. Just to see how you were doing. Just to know if you were seeing someone else. Much to his relief, you didn't entertain anyone even from your job. 

At least not on a serious note. 

He did remember that one time you had a casual hookup with someone you met during a night out with your friends. And he remembered seething silently, waiting for hours until the next morning, and you left their house glowing like the sun itself. 

Robert wanted nothing more than to take you back to his own apartment and show you better than that random fucker.

But no, he needed to wait.

He made sure to stay far enough so you wouldn't suspect him there. He memorized all of the routes and shortcuts you took from work. He was certain you wouldn't notice his presence. Until you started looking over your shoulder, and Robert knew he was closer to being caught. 

Still, he didn't stop.

Even when you almost caught him just before he slipped into the crowd. Even when you started to track him down yourself. Even when you began to throw away all the food he bought or gave it to someone else—until you decided to take home the last one, and he took that as a sign to make a move.

Tonight, he only meant to watch again.

Make sure no one touches you.

But when he saw you step out of your apartment building, wearing that fucking dress that immediately tested his resolved. Robert knew it would take every last bit of his strength not to pull you back inside and keep you there all night with him.

Patience.

He remembered reminding himself.

Once. Twice. Until the third time happened inside the club, when you slipped away from your booth and towards the dance floor.

For a while, he watched you from the shadows.

Never tearing his gaze away. Completely transfixed with the way your body moved. With the way you sang to the music. How you laughed with your coworkers and danced as if no one was watching.

He told himself he was only watching.

But then, his feet carried him towards your direction. When he blinked, he was standing right behind you. He blinked again, and his hands were on your hips and your back was flushed against him. All those reminders vanished like smoke the moment your hips swayed, and he followed along. 

His restraint slowly diminished each second passed, and he almost fled the moment you turned around and wrapped your arms around him.

Thankfully, you didn't seem to recognize him.

His hoodie kept his face partially hidden, and he was glad he wore it. He was supposed to walk away and wait for you outside, when he heard your voice raise behind him. In the next second, he quickly turned around and saw another man there—holding you by your arm, touching you like he deserved it.

His vision flashed red, and he was about to march right back in to help you. But then, you kneed and punched the man until he dropped to his knees, and you took the chance to escape.

Robert was supposed to go after you. To ask if you were alright, and take you home to comfort you.

But his instincts told him to take revenge.

Before he knew it, he was making a straight line towards the man. He didn't care about all the people he bumped into, what they said to them or the curses they threw behind his back. All he was focused on was the bastard on the floor, and he needed to pay for what he did.

All the eyes on the dance floor fell on him the moment his fist connected with the man's jaw. He remembered every single one of them jumping away from his path when he dragged the unconscious man out of the building. He even argued with the bouncers outside the entrance when they tried to stop him.

Thankfully, they let him off after he explained what had happened.

And so, Robert took the pleasure to drag the man towards the alley beside the building.

As much as he was furious with what he did to you, Robert saw the opportunity right in front of him. He could use that moment to his advantage. 

Just when the disgusting fucker opened his eyes, Robert grinned down at him and apologized.

Before his fist made contact with his face again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

You were convinced the man he killed was your stalker. The one who has been following you for the past three months. The one with the blue hoodie, the same one he wore every single time and at the club. The same hoodie he swapped clothes with the man, taking his large button down to himself, before he mashed his face into the ground. He let you take him back here, and he made sure you'll forget everything that has happened tonight. 

Forget about the club.

Forget about the bastard.

Forget about your stalker.

Oh, you'd hate him even more if you knew the whole truth.

He didn't kill your stalker.

He was your stalker.