Archive of Our Own

Soulmates exist.

Not for Robby, of course, but he believes in chances—statistics.

There’s a nonzero probability that certain souls out there are bound to cross paths.

Whether that introduction happens because of some cosmic event, divine intervention, or just because, he isn’t sure.

The science behind soulmates isn’t discussed. Academics take the subject as seriously as astrology. A niche field that only a few truly keen spirits can correctly interpret.

The rest is for humanity to misconstrue with fictions of red strings, shared markings, or whatever uninspired journalists use these days to reel in views.

That’s why Robby knows that he isn't meant to have a soulmate.

There’s no invisible rope or past life bond that will pull him towards a person that will understand him. No person out there is enticing enough for him to stick around and let in either.

He’s alone in this universe. It’s a truth that grief has taught him well, and thank God or whoever is in charge of the whole bizarre concept that he learned this lesson early on in life.

Sometimes though, he wonders when he’ll learn to stop hoping for the day that lesson will be proven wrong.

Jake bounces the basketball on the pavement. The dribbles echo in the tranquil park alongside Robby’s own breath. It’s late enough in the day that most other people have left.

“Are you gonna take a shot or just hold all night?” Robby asks at the head of the court.

“Why are you in such a rush to lose?”

“Who said I was losing?”

The incoming summer humidity beats down his neck. His eyes track Jake’s movements. As he creeps closer to the net, Robby swipes the ball.

He watches the ball soar into the tall fence bordering the court. Robby blinks, and his body collapses to the ground.

A spike of pain drills into his lower back. Robby’s feet skid as he crumbles to the pavement.

“Robby! Hey, man, are you okay?”

Through the blinding flash of white, searing hot pain that pinches his body, Robby thinks he sees the tops of Jake’s sneakers.

He nods. It’s the only safe movement he can make.

“You don't look so good,” Jake mumbles.

The tremble in his voice frightens Robby. He presses his lips into a thin smile and looks up.

“I’m okay. Just—you gotta get better at faking,” Robby teases through gritted teeth.

Jake’s wide eyes do nothing to ease his own anxiety. He swallows, feeling like a helpless deer shot in the leg, staring up at a bird who was spared from the hunter’s shot.

“Let me help you up.”

His arms around Robby’s torso pull at the aching knot at the bottom of his spine, but Robby lets himself be moved onto the bench. He slumps against the wood and exhales a shaky puff of air.

“Should—should we call 911?”

Robby raises an eyebrow. Sweat drips down and into his eye. The sting is nothing compared to the fire along his back. He can’t pinpoint the pain. There’s just a definite feeling that something is wrong.

“I’m a doctor.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to treat yourself.”

“It's just a muscle tear. I’ll be fine.”

A fucking grade three muscle tear from what the immense pain swelling in his body tells Robby. Which muscle, Robby isn't sure, yet. Heat of what feels like torched glass slides all down his insides. 

Jake hesitates, completely frozen, before he nods. Robby is glad he doesn't choose this moment to exercise his newfound, teenage stubbornness.

“At least let me drive us back to mom’s house.”

Never mind.

Robby reaches for the keys, and his muscles clench together as if an invisible clamp was pressing his body flat.

“Fine,” he breathes out. “Only because you need the practice.”

Jake grins, swiping the keys from Robby’s hand. “Sweet!”

“If you drive more than ten above the speed limit, I’m swapping you out.”

They close the court’s fence door, Robby using Jake’s shoulder as a crutch. He's getting taller, standing at the perfect height to fit right under his arm.

Shit, he used to be just a baby when they met, even if Jake would scold him for calling twelve a child's age.

“I think you're supposed to be encouraging me to go below the speed limit.”

“No one goes below the speed limit. Some asshole will spend the whole ride tailgating you, and I do not want to deal with that.”

“I thought tailgating was a college party thing.”

“Wrong kind of tailgating. Come on.”

Jake huffs a laugh, but he makes Robby proud and drives just under ten above the limit. When they park at his house, his arms hover in the air, but Robby nods.

Slowly with caution, Jake wraps his arms around the top of Robby’s neck.

“Feel better, man.”

“Ohh, I’ve survived much worse. This is nothing.”

The look Jake gives him suggests he doesn't believe him, but that's fine. He doesn't say anything else as he scoots out of the driver’s side and into his house.

Damnit. Okay.

Time to figure out how he’s going to drive with this distractingly cosmic, scorching pain.

Robby hobbles into work the next morning at exactly 7:43 AM. He hasn't cared about being on time in decades, mostly because he’s naturally punctual, but it's the latest he’s ever shown up.

Robby leans against the nurse’s station with a muffled groan. Dana’s stare bears down on the top of his head, almost too intense to fully ignore like an oncoming headache.

“You don’t look so peachy,” she comments. “Sure you don't want to take a few days?”

Robby scoffs, eyes nailed to the patient board. “Who would keep this place open for business?”

“I run this place just fine with or without you,” she scoffs.

As she walks away, another figure replaces her. He looks down in time to watch Langdon prop himself against the station, mirroring Robby’s stance.

Langdon looks…abysmal.

He’s never seen Langdon so out of whack before. His usually bright, wide awake eyes are oddly dull in the morning light, and his hair that’s usually combed to perfection, accidentally flawless on purpose, resembles a haystack, strands sticking every which way.

“Hey, boss,” Langdon drolls. “How was your weekend?”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me—I happened.”

Robby blinks. “Did you just quote Silence of the Lambs to me?”

It shouldn't be addicting to watch Langdon’s lips curl into a smile. Robby appreciates him showing appreciation for his recognition of the reference.

“I didn't think you were a psych thriller fan.”

“The movie came out when I was in undergrad. It was a huge enough success that it got me curious about the novel.”

“I wasn't even born yet when that film was released.”

Robby’s mouth twitches. What a brat—and a liar too, even if Langdon doesn't intentionally mean to do as much.

“Yes, you were,” Robby argues.

“What?”

“The movie released in ‘91. You were born in ‘93.”

Langdon stares up—up because he’s hunched so far over the counter that he’s eye-level with Robby’s chest—and smiles all toothy.

“You know my birthday.”

Fuck. He said too much.

“You’re the one always telling me stuff against my will, which is why I’m suspicious you haven't blabbed about your weekend plans.”

Does he think he can get away with so blatantly avoiding the topic? Robby gives a flat face and a few beats of silence before Langdon caves, eyes moving like the cogs in his brain are working overtime.

“Uhm—my folks are moving, so I helped with some furniture and pulled a muscle.”

Robby blinks. “You overestimated your gym rat lifestyle and broke your back moving boxes.”

“It was a big sofa, thank you,” Langdon defends with something Robby dares to call a pout.

“And you didn't think to hire a mover? Did you imagine you were The Hulk?”

“No one says ‘The Hulk.’ It’s just Hulk.”

“My point still stands. Should have hired a moving company.”

“Why overpay someone for work I can do myself?”

Cleary, Robby thinks with a huff.

“You don't look any better either, by the way. What exactly were you getting up to this weekend?”

From the corner of Robby’s vision, Langdon splits into a grin as he leans in close. His eyes leer up and down Robby’s form.

He would turn to watch his charming smile grow—or admonish him for his boldness, he’s not sure which one yet—but one wrong movement will definitely yank the pain back to full force.

“Pulled a muscle at the court,” Robby settles on.

“A legal court?”

“Basketball.”

Langdon whistles. “I didn't know you played.”

“Every Sunday with Jake.”

“Yikes. That must have been embarrassing.” When Robby looks back at Langdon, he elaborates. “Wiping out like that in front of the step kid.”

He tries to deny it, but he sighs instead. “Yeah, no kidding. He tried to call an ambulance.”

“No kidding,” Langdon echoes back, voice breathy with amusement. “Well, Dr. Hagan said he could check my injury out later today. You should come with.”

“I’ll pass. No pain, no gain!”

Robby proves his point by walking towards the tablet receptacle. Even if every step shoots a new pain up his back, he’ll take the win. So long as he appears functional, the physical pains will mean naught.

“You’re just saying that because your pain’s from old age,” Langdon says loudly across the hub.

Robby swipes the glasses from his glare and snatches one of the tablets. With a stabilizing breath, he pushes off the counter to make his rounds.

By the end of the week, the pain in Robby’s back has fizzled into something ignorable. A dull ache like a bruise.

The combination of the head pad, 1000 milligrams of ibuprofen, and an impressive night of five hours of sleep must have done the trick.

With the way his body acts nowadays, five hours is a blessing.

His body feels like an archaic temple—one that has lost its visitors to time, but the way Langdon’s eyes had burrowed into his skin and lavished at the sight of him was like a new worshipper after centuries of abandonment.

Getting hooked on Langdon’s attention is dangerous. He shouldn't be encouraging what Robby considers toeing the line between banter and flirtation.

Robby isn't meant to get attached. Langdon will start his senior resident year soon, and then he will leave.

He needs to stop letting Langdon into his thoughts. Keep a professional thousand feet distance between them.

Robby doesn't want to know what will happen if he lets Langdon get too close.

The pain comes back.

Robby doesn't attribute it to his horrific basketball moves. Unexplainable aches are bound to sneak up without reason. He blames vitamin deficiency and age.

The next few weeks fly by with a new routine. Every morning, Robby wakes up with the ibuprofen bottle in his hand.

The pills numb the pain to something he can ignore.

It works until it doesn't.

Then, Robby grits his teeth. Bites back a groan while he’s hunched over a patient. Holds back a whine when someone bumps into him.

“Sorry about that!”

“Mhmm,” Robby grouses to no one in particular.

He rubs a hand down his lower back, massaging everywhere but that knot that clenches his muscles tight.

“You alright?” Dana asks.

He leans against the hub with a shaky breath. It feels as though his pulse is throbbing in his lower back, which medically, he knows is not possible.

“It’s fine,” Robby snaps. “Just takes a second to pass.”

“Alright, well, tier one trauma at the door in three minutes.”

The pain will go away. Robby just needs to push through.

A figure passes on the right, and Robby looks towards them. Reaches out for someone—anyone to help him get through this, because he can't do this alone.

That’s the most horrible part of it all. Reliance.

“Langdon!”

Langdon’s head swivels. His eyes move up and down Robby’s body with a swallow. It’s an almost nervous, defensive movement that looks…strange on him.

“What’s up, boss?”

“Tier one trauma. Two minutes. You want to take it?”

Langdon wipes a hand across his forehead, swiping at the prickle of sweat. The summer heat is getting to all of them.

“Already on it.”

He can rely on Langdon to help cover the gaps in Robby’s care. He’s sturdy. Reliable. Efficient.

At least, he was.

Once an inkling of doubt starts to cloud Robby’s view of Langdon, it's difficult to put aside.

A fresh faced intern takes eight hours to see something Robby had months to discover.

Something Robby had been too blind to see.

Langdon’s hands flail in the air, high-strung and erratic. Is that a symptom of his addiction? Is that a facet of Langdon’s personality?

Robby doesn't know, and that terrifies him.

“It’s not like…you don't understa—”

“I don't fucking understand?!”

How could Langdon even dare to say that? Of course Robby understands pain. He just doesn't stoop to stealing fucking medication to handle it.

Watching Langdon slink out the back door, belongings stacked in his hands, hurts more than the knot in his back ever has.

He never leaves for his three day trip.

His body glues itself to the couch. He supposes rotting inside doesn't require shitty television, but he ends up watching a reality court show for hours to the point he starts remembering the security guards name.

Something vibrates, shaking Robby out of his daze. He glares at his phone, and he’s about to toss the fucking thing across the room, but the notification catches his attention.

Langdon. Of course. It’s always him.

Except, this time, Langdon has gathered enough patience to actually leave a voice mail. Every other call had ended before Robby's voice mail message could even play.

He opens his phone to delete the message. It doesn't matter what Langdon has to say. Nothing will change the betrayal and guilt and disappointment simmering in his chest.

His thumb presses the ‘play’ option. He holds his phone close as Langdon’s shaky exhale comes through.

He’s soothed to know Langdon is in just as much of a state as he is. That the tremble in Robby’s breath matches the fear in Langdon’s voice.

“I’ll do it. I’ll go to rehab and therapy and whatever the fuck else you want me to do.”

Dreadful relief floods his body, even if the hushed volume of his voice suggests that Langdon hasn't told his family either. That he’s still hiding.

Or, maybe he has, and he’s been banished to the couch. Stranded, alone, terrified, because Robby couldn't see what was happening. He wasn't good enough to catch Langdon in his lie—a lie that he wrapped around Robby and fooled him with.

He still doesn't know how to feel. It’s as though his body is coming up with emotions for him to consider as possible options.

Maybe in the morning, he’ll be righteously pissed, or mournful, or perplexed. Whichever synonym he thinks is right that day like throwing darts at the wheel of emotions he’s seen on a therapist’s wall once.

“You know this isn't me. I—I’m better than this. I’ll show you, Robby, you gotta believe me. I’m not…I’m not a fucking drug addict, but I fucked up, I know. Just—please. Whatever you do, don’t fire me. I’m going to come back from this. I’m done.”

Robby loses track of how many promises Langdon manages to cram into a three minute long voice message.

In the end, his thumb hovers over the trashcan icon for longer than he likes. He keeps his phone on the couch that night.

Langdon’s absence brings a bug. A biological bug that nips Robby’s skin and twists Robby’s guts with nausea.

He has the brief, insane thought that it's psychosomatic. Some kind of mental guilt that is reflecting as physical pain.

He throws that idea out alongside the breakfast he could only eat half of that morning. The cold medicine he swallows down only dulls the ache cramping his stomach.

Days start to blur together in a repetitive loop.

Robby wakes like a scared cat. His body jumps from the bed before he can even open his eyes.

The rumbling of his stomach and his feet pattering across the carpeted floor echo in synch as his body steers towards the bathroom.

He throws himself at the toilet and watches a stream of liquid spew from his mouth. It’s the first thing he sees all morning. The next is Dana’s contact page on his phone.

“Dana, I—” Robby’s exhale warms the toilet seat. “I can't…can’t come in.”

The line is quiet, but the buzz of the phone rings loud in his ears.

“I’ll let the team know,” she says. “You don't sound too good.”

He opens his mouth, and he says—

His thumb taps the mute button before bile gushes out. A clump of whatever he ate last pummels up his throat and plops in the water.

“Robby, you there?”

He unmutes the phone. It takes a few seconds of heavy breaths before he can respond.

“Yeah.”

“Stay home and get better. We’ve got this without you.”

“If you’re sure,” Robby huffs, despite being the one who called first.

“Keep your cooties to yourself.”

His laugh echoes in the toilet bowl, and his face heats with shame. He distantly wonders if she can hear the reverb to his voice. If she can paint a pathetic picture in her mind of how he’s curled into the toilet seat.

The end of the phone call rings loud in the closed room. He’s not sure why he shut the door. It's not as if anyone will walk in on him, but it's instinct at this point.

He just needs time. This isn't anything more than a bad flu.

Robby ignores the medical instinct in his mind telling him to consider other differentials.

It takes two weeks for Robby to realize what is happening to his body.

A startling amount of time for a head physician to diagnose his own ailment, yes, but he had mistakenly used logic. Medical reasoning from verified sources. 

His shaky hands grip the pen over the notepad. His vision swims as he begins listing his own symptoms.

It doesn't help that one of the parents of a child patient jokingly asks if he’s on a sugar rush. Halloween or not, the question goes unappreciated. He can't gather much of a response besides a thin imitation of a smile.

• Vomiting and nausea
• Headaches
• Tremors
• Sweating
• Blurry vision

The agitation and paranoia and insomnia aren't new, but his sudden bout of symptoms heighten the feelings.

He takes the list of symptoms to Abbot when he sees him that morning. They have matching eyebags.

“You giving me a grocery list?” He says, flipping the page around.

“If you had a patient presenting with these issues, what diagnosis would you give?”

Abbot holds the paper steady, narrowing his eyes. “I’d tell them to get better handwriting and take some ibuprofen.”

Robby rolls his eyes, but he doesn't take the paper Abbot offers back to him.

“No fever. Normal body temp.”

“Stomach bug?”

“Already ruled out.”

“Migraine?”

“No headache.”

“Jesus, man, is this a diagnostic or 20 Questions?”

“I don’t know.”

Abbot stares at him with his intense eyes that strike an oddly vulnerable amount of fear into Robby. Then, he glances over the list again.

“Well, if there's no presenting cause, I’d say either this is some kind of chronic disease, or their soulmate is having a pretty terrible time.”

Robby’s heart drops. His body sinks into the ground.

“No soulmate,” he immediately claims.

“They’ve passed?”

“No—just. There’s no soulmate in the picture.”

“Are you sure?”

Abbot leans close, head tilting as he sears his eyes into Robby’s head. He’s been stripped of his skin, and Abbot is climbing into the folds of his brain.

“Since when did you believe in soulmates?” Robby mutters, looking away.

Abbot’s smile flattens as he leans back. It’s softer in the way he gets when he’s consoling a patient.

“A man can have a bit of whimsy.”

“Whimsy. Right.”

“I believe in evidence-based research—”

“Oh, boy.”

“—and there have been many reputable journals suggesting clear soulmate ties.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry I asked.”

Abbot hands the paper back with a wiggle. Robby balls the list up and shoves it in his pocket, ignoring the trashcan sitting two feet away.

“This a patient I should be looking out for?” 

Robby runs a hand down the back of his warmed neck.

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

He’s not sure why, a few hours later and in between cases, he brings the list to Mohan. 

She’s the first person around who would agree with Abbot. Even proves him right when she starts making all the same medical guesses Abbot made without Robby’s prompting.

“Withdrawal,” she says suddenly, and the word blares loud like a triggered fire alarm.

“What?” Robby asks, a bit harsher than intended.

“It makes the most sense,” she shoots back, voice picking up speed in that way it does when she gets on a roll. “If there’s no virus, migraine, hypoglycemia, or any other prevalent medical history, a withdrawal would fit all those symptoms.”

Robby despises Mohan, but only because it does make sense.

“The patient hasn’t taken any medication.”

She blinks. “Well, then they’re lying.”

“They aren't,” Robby grits through his teeth, and he can't tell which one of them he's trying to convince.

The shock on her face scares him. Robby scratches his beard as she treads through the puzzle. Terror builds in his chest as he watches the cogs turn in her brain.

“Then, their soulmate is going through withdrawal.”

He saw the answer from miles away, but he’s still surprised when it actually leaves her mouth.

“Have you been talking to Abbot today?” Robby grumbles, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“What’s Abbot got to do with this? Was it a patient he saw?”

“Nothing.”

Robby stumbles over his own feet as he scuttles away. He doesn't let Mohan’s confused look deter him from continuing the shift as he normally would.

As if he didn't have the realization that Frank Langdon is soulmate.

The thought plays on a torturous loop in his head.

Langdon is his soulmate.

Langdon is his soulmate.

Langdon is his soulmate.

The universe gave him a soulmate, and it’s Langdon, and he betrayed him.

His soulmate, someone that all forms of media and authority claim is a person’s most trusted, devoted, and loved partner in this life, couldn't burden Robby with his pains.

Robby is tied to a man who couldn't trust him enough to let him in.

And now, Robby’s cosmically paired with a man he can't trust either.

With all great epiphanies, Robby does what he does best—ignore it.

The longer Langdon has been gone, the easier subduing his thoughts about him become.

The little reminders of him start to dissipate as the weeks drag on. The cases that Langdon has tainted start to wean out of the hospital just as people’s mentions of his name.

The gap becomes obvious. They're down a senior resident, and the position for a second day shift attending is still open.

When Whitaker comes back from his rotations, Robby thinks he’s found a replacement.

He’s competent, eager to learn from Robby, and a nice, familiar face.

“Good work, Whitaker.”

And when Robby praises his consistently sufficient work, Whitaker beams up at him with a confident, toothy smile. 

He doesn't question Robby’s authority. He’s seen Robby at his lowest and still follows his command at the drop of a hat. He’s loyal and truthful and—

It should fill Robby with pride.

He ignores the weight of emptiness that still sits heavy in his chest. His only thought is that something doesn’t feel the same, but he pushes that down too.

Whitaker is just a reminder of how he let Langdon down.

The thought breaks through the trudge of work like a car ramming through a building, and Robby pats it back down. Covers the wall with some duct tape and gets back to work.

Before he has time to think otherwise, Robby wonders if Langdon can feel the suffocating weight on his chest too, and if Langdon blames himself for it.

Langdon’s arrival on the Fourth of July ruins Robby’s plans.

His sabbatical was supposed to be pleasant. A breezy vacation to take time for himself and explore the open roads.

Now, it feels like an escape.

Langdon’s arrival wasn't supposed to happen today, but there he is, standing across the room and trailing Robby’s every move with an overtly open look that is far too intimate.

He can't meet Langdon’s eyes. Every glance at his face brings back memories.

One look, and Robby is hunched over the toilet again thinking about Langdon hunching over a toilet in his rehab’s open bathroom.

At least Robby had the privilege to close his door. An employee must have had to stand at the door, watching as Langdon tossed up his guts.

One look is just a reminder of how Robby’s soul is eternally attached to Langdon.

He wants to wonder if Langdon is aware of this too, but that implies curiosity. Robby won't allow himself to indulge in the intimacy of knowing.

The rest of the day progresses steadily until four hours into the shift slams them with a power outage, patient overcrowding, and impressions of Langdon all over the hospital.

Robby volunteers to escort the airlifted patient from the rooftop. Fresh air. He just needs some room to breathe.

His first breath of air is suffocating when the elevator door closes on him and Langdon.

The mechanical clicks of the elevator dragging them up does nothing but bolster the total silence simmering between them.

“I—I never meant for this to happen,” Langdon stammers out suddenly. “I am sorry.”

I never meant to fail you, either, but here we are.

Is Langdon referring to the elevator? His addiction? Their falling out? Robby can’t tell anymore.

Everything between them is blurring, and where Langdon starts is slowly becoming where Robby ends.

Anger has its talons wrapped around him still. Robby turns away, forbidding Langdon the chance to look too deeply into his eyes. He won't let Langdon see him waver in his resolve, because he's terrified about what emotion is lurking beneath the indignation.

“Too late now.”

From the corner of his vision, he can see the light reflecting in Langdon’s eyes. He wonders how there’s so much hope there when this situation is beyond saving.

Robby is a coward. He flees to Alberta before Langdon can cram in another word.

The skinny trees and dense horizon of never-ending mountains does nothing to ease the guilt he seems to have brought with him.

At every turn, Langdon follows him.

The energy drink he buys himself to stay awake during the drive up is Langdon’s favorite flavor. The creak of the cabin stairs reminds him of Langdon's habit of following Robby wherever he went.

It doesn't help that, some mornings, he wakes with that familiar ache in his lower back. He’s almost surprised that Langdon isn’t lying beside him with how close Robby feels to him.

Robby had never needed to see a physician for the pain despite the muscle cramps and tears and sleepless nights.

What made Langdon cave? What was so terrible that he had to hide it from Robby and steal from their supply? Tamper patient medications and risk a felony.

He realizes it never occurred to him, because Langdon had been carrying the weight of alleviating their shared pain by himself.

There was no reason for Robby to seek out an alternative solution when Langdon found a temporary cure for the both of them. Robby’s pain only disappeared, because Langdon had carried the burden.

He isn't sure what he would have done in Langdon’s position, and it's an ugly privilege to not have to think about it. Every time he remembers how he swore he would never resort to relying on medications, the blighting pain that twisted his body and burned his muscles into useless flaps of skin flares in the back of his mind.

There’s no way he would have survived that—not alone or without some sort of guidance.

He wonders if this amalgamation of emotions—the fear and jittery urgency to call out for someone, anyone—is even a fraction of how Langdon felt.

He takes the bike out for another ride that afternoon instead of lingering on that thought. 

A nagging voice thinks that maybe he should think about this, because that's what drove him out here in the first place.

The next thought he has is that the deep autumn chill bites sharply into the exposed parts of his body, which is strange, because he remembers layering up.

When Robby stares down at his body, he is no longer on the motorcycle. His left leg wraps around the metal of his bike, trapped under the heavy weight.

The cold and the adrenaline fight against his neurons, holding back the pain. He knows with time that the trauma of whatever has happened to him will come back to him in full force.

“Shit,” Robby mutters to no one. “Shit. Shit.”

A few minutes pass before a minivan pulls to the side of the road. A burly man bumbles out of the car and gawks down at him.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Robby pants, breath clouding the air. “Yeah, just took a nasty fall.”

It's not funny, but a laugh rushes out before he can stop it.

“Poor Langdon,” Robby gasps through tight, heavy breaths.

“Uhh—is that your friend? I could call ‘em.”

And…say what?

‘Hey, Langdon. I know we haven’t talked in months, and I’m still figuring out how to not let you down. By the way, that pain in your leg is because I dropped my motorcycle on my tibia. See you in a month!’

Yeah, no.

Robby shakes his head and lets the burly man—’Please, call me Tim'—and his lovingly large family of six crammed into the minivan, are kind enough to drive him to the nearest hospital.

“Welcome back. You look refreshed,” Dana comments.

Robby nods his head with a wispy exhale. “I feel refreshed.”

He hobbles around the counter and sets his bookbag down. Dana's eyes are a hefty weight, her glance moving up and down his body.

“You take a fall?” She asks.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, alright. Hey, trauma in five minutes. MVC.”

Robby sighs, stretching his neck side-to-side. “There goes time for my morning calisthenics.”

Dana scoffs, knocking a palm into his arm before walking away. Robby follows the movement before his eyes stray to the other side of the room.

Langdon stands there like a gargoyle. Perched and patient as if he’ll come to life and swoop down on Robby.

The glare he’s giving Robby is startling. He doesn't think they left on that horrific of a note.

Then again, Robby left in an attempt to avoid him in total, so maybe they aren't as steady as he thinks.

Half way during his trip, he had convinced himself that Langdon didn't care about him. He has a wife, and children, and relatives. Coworkers who cared about him and patients who he was always quick to bond with.

(Langdon would do fine without Robby’s acknowledgement. He can live without Robby’s influence, and it's for the best that he does.

If Robby hadn't laughed off Langdon’s pain all those months ago, would they still be here? Would Langdon have disappeared for ten months to recover from his addiction? Would Robby still be riddled with guilt and humiliation at letting his best doctor and friend down?)

That’s not what Robby thinks now.

The look Langdon gives him across the room makes Robby feel hunted. Like he’s staring into the eyes of a wild animal starving for three months.

It makes Robby cautious.

It makes Robby nervous.

His heart hammers quicker with each step Robby takes forward, and Langdon’s face becomes clearer.

He isn't glaring. That’s too harsh of a word. No, he’s scrutinizing. Analytical in the way he scans over Robby’s body.

Langdon’s tense stance looks cautious, too, and maybe he has good reason to be on edge. Robby’s surprised that he’s amassed the courage to approach Langdon first.

“How were the Badlands?” Langdon asks, suspicion lacing together his words.

“Good. Spacious.”

They stare at each other, but Robby has the nagging feeling they’re not really looking at one another, too lost in their own thoughts.

“I have pictures.”

Langdon stares harder. “What?”

“You know—” Robby holds two hands up, wiggling one forefinger. “With a camera. Ever heard of them?”

Robby had taken pictures—before the motorcycle crash and weeks spent in the hospital nursing a fracture.

As he pulls out his phone, he wonders who he had taken the pictures for. It wasn't for himself, because he was there witnessing the beauty of the open lands for himself.

He tilts the screen towards Langdon. His eyebrows shoot up as he leans close. Robby can feel his body heat against all along his side.

“Wow. I’m jealous.”

Robby swallows.

“Never been?” He asks, testing out the words.

Langdon swipes through the pictures on his own. Robby watches the emotions meld on his face.

“Never had the time. Two little monsters keep you busy.”

“Maybe one day.”

Robby isn’t sure why he said it like a promise—like he’ll one day prop Langdon onto the back of his motorcycle and take him along for a ride.

Langdon smiles up at him like he wants to come along.

“Hey, gossip girls,” Dana shouts from across the room. “Trauma at the door.”

Langdon steps away, and Robby finds himself moving after him. They walk alongside the gurney two EMTs wheel inside.

“Do we have a name for this guy?” Langdon asks.

“Yeah, Aiden Callens. The airbag deployed, but we weren't able to do a full-body exam.”

A creaking pain snaps Robby’s back forward, and his grip on the gurney’s rails fumbles. He glances up at Langdon on the other side, but he’s on a mission to not stare at Robby.

“That’s fine,” Robby grits out, holding the door open. “Let’s look for internal bleeding first.”

Because this is a teaching hospital, Robby steps back and observes.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and the satisfaction at Langdon’s efficiency still lingers deep in his chest.

Langdon leads the med students as he points out the obvious bruising on his stomach. His methodical, calm demeanor as he walks them through the next steps. Even Garcia’s barbs to Langdon and his reciprocal jabs are nothing to blink at.

His eyes do catch the slight limp in Langdon’s walk. Each time he takes a step forward, his foot hesitates in the air as if he was hovering over a cliff’s edge.

“See you at the next one,” Garcia chimes, wheeling Mr. Callens out the back door.

Her departure leaves him alone with Langdon. Robby crosses his arms, eyes glued to the way Langdon looks glued stuck to his spot.

“Nice save, boss.”

He won't let the endearing title distract him, but it rolls smoothly off Langdon’s tongue and licks up his spine, anyway.

“I’m just calling the shots. You worked the case.”

Langdon bows his head, and Robby gets a quick flash of a toothy grin that heats his own face up.

Robby starts to pace backwards. He’s surprised to find Langdon rooted to his spot, standing in the middle of the room and anxious at the sight of Robby leaving.

“You coming?” Robby asks at the door.

“Yeah. Just…just a second.”

They stare at each other in a rare and odd moment of quiet. Robby relaxes, crossing his arms to show that he has all the time in the world to outwait Langdon.

"You hurt your back,” Robby states.

He meant it as a question, but the look on Langdon’s face confirms it before he can even add a question mark.

A shimmer of something—guilt or physical pain, Robby isn't sure when the two started to look the same—shines in Langdon’s eyes. He blinks, smushing his lips together.

“Uhh—yeah. I mean, nothing I can't handle.”

Yeah, right.

If the pain in Robby’s lower back is nagging at him this badly, Langdon must be using all his self-control to not writhe around and scream.

“Right. Were you going to tell me?”

“I—yes,” Langdon stammers. “Probably…at some point, eventually.”

Each word discourages Robby more and more. With a grunt, Robby opens the door and motions for Langdon to follow.

Robby walks slow, letting Langdon keep up, as he scopes out the closest room with a door and no patient. South 17 will have to do.

Holding the door open, Langdon hobbles in and stares at the room like he's never seen it before.

“Sit,” Robby says.

Without a word, Langdon creaks onto the mattress, staring up at Robby like a lost puppy.

Jesus.

Robby rummages through the cabinets. Whoever last restocked these deserves a free breakfast on him. He finds an Icyhot box in the back and opens it up.

“What do you usually do?” Robby asks, then adds, hushed, “when the pain is bad.”

Langdon ducks his head down. He’s not sure where the sudden bashfulness is coming from.

They never did really discuss Langdon’s pain, and maybe they should have. The origin of all their shared grief shouldn't be strong enough to keep them away from each other.

“I have a session with my physical therapist tomorrow. She—uhm. She usually knows what to do.”

Robby hums. “I would hope so.”

Carefully, he sits on the bed beside Langdon. They stare at each other like animals encroaching on the other’s territory, each wondering if they’re friendly.

“You don't have to do all this. I don't know why you are, but I—uhm. I appreciate it. Really.”

“This is for both of us.”

Whatever Langdon reads in those words has his eyes shimmering again. Robby really hopes Langdon doesn't start crying. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back from following in his footsteps.

“Lift up your shirt,” Robby pleads gently.

Langdon’s fingers curl around the waistband of his scrubs. He tugs his shirt out, lifting both it and the scrubs up.

It's inappropriate to look at Langdon. It shouldn't be, but the thoughts running rampant at the sight of his toned stomach are…unbecoming.

He looks good. Model-esque—and paired with that brilliant, witty head of his makes him all the more alluring. Smart and handsome should not be allowed. It’s almost unfair that Langdon has it all.

Robby would almost be jealous, wanting to be in his position, but he gets the even better honor of seeing him like this.

“Robby?”

His shirt rests just above his pecs. The fabric falls where Robby thinks his nipples would be. The amount of chest hair he has surprises him too.

It’s not what he was expecting, and Robby curses himself for having expectations of what Langdon would look like shirtless.

“Robby.”

What the hell is he thinking?

Fuck.

“What is it?”

Langdon exhales, eyes wide and searching.

“The—the Icyhot.”

Robby looks down at the box in his hands.

“Right.”

He takes out a patch. The plastic crinkles loudly in the room as he unravels the patch.

“Where do you want it?” Robby asks, his voice dropping to a soft whisper.

Fuck. He can't let whatever this moment is get to him. Why is he caving into the quiet intimacy of caring for Langdon’s pain? Their pain?

Langdon lifts a hand, tapping the lower left side of his back. “Right here is fine.”

“You sure?”

He nods, ears flushing red when he looks away. Robby finds it difficult to not stare at the blush as he smoothes the patch on.

A fresh wave of pain jolts Langdon’s body—then Robby’s body next. Langdon hisses, biting into his bottom lip.

“I know,” Robby murmurs. “It’s okay. I know.”

More than he ever will, he thinks.

Robby has the absolutely deranged idea to suggest he kisses the spot better, and before he has the even more insane idea of following through, he stands up and closes the box.

“Thank you,” Langdon stutters.

He looks up at Robby for the first time. His eyes are wide and wet. Had he put too much pressure on the knot in his back? Robby would have felt as much.

“Thank you,” Robby repeats back.

Langdon breathes out a laugh, and he's giving Robby an approximation of a smile. Not happy, but definitely far from upset.

“I don't know why you’re thanking me. I just sat there.”

“And let me take care of you.”

The words tumble out on their own, and Robby feels a similar flush engulf his face. It’s not anything untrue, so Robby strengthens his resolve.

“You let me help you,” Robby says. “Take a few minutes to rest.”

Langdon’s mouth flounders open, his face still exposed and flushed and too honest. Before he can get the words out, Robby flees from the room.

The pain for Langdon ebbs. Switches up its usual haunts and weaves in and out of his bones like a draft of air.

Robby knows, because he can feel it, but also since Langdon finally lets him in.

“What’s the matter?” Robby asks.

Langdon looks up from the pile of papers he’s shuffling, pen in mouth. Robby really hopes that’s his own, because he would hate to chastise Langdon for chewing on a hospital pen like a middle schooler.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

Robby levels him with a flat look, and Langdon sighs, rotating his shoulder.

“I don’t know. Every morning, there’s a new ache in my body.”

“I feel that.”

Literally, Robby adds in his head, because it's Robby’s shoulder that caused this. He gnashed it hard on the doorway a few hours ago.

“I’m too young for this,” Langdon complains.

Robby rolls his eyes. “Are you saying I’m old enough to justify this?”

Langdon smirks. “I’m just repeating what my physical therapist said—and something about chronic pain manifesting in different places. She’s going to switch up the stretches we do, but….”

He trails off, and there’s a wimpish sadness that smells like defeat. Robby stands in silence, waiting. Langdon turns to him, bitten-raw bottom lip and heavy eyes.

“I just want to know why this is happening to me. When I think I’ve made a step forward, I actually take two steps back, and I’m right back at the beginning again.”

Shit.

They’re trapped in a cycle of pain—of hurting one another without intention. Guilt sits low in his stomach.

He needs to break them free of this before he hurts Langdon again. Before he pushes Langdon towards risky vices—again, his thoughts suggest.

“Want to grab a drink? After our shift.”

Langdon’s face drops. His hand drops the pen he’s spinning.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“And, it’d just be you and me?”

“That…was the implication.”

Langdon stares at him. He fiddles with the pen, biting his lip. “I don’t drink—uhm. Anymore.”

“The type of drink isn’t the important part.”

“Yeah, okay. That—that sounds great, actually. Thank you.”

Typically, Robby would respond with ‘it’s a date, then’ just to be a tease. The words already feel loaded on his tongue, so he swallows instead and nods.

He tries to not think about being alone with Langdon for an extended period of time. There is so much he has to say that he ends up saying nothing at all for the first ten minutes of their dinner together.

“Did you…want to talk about something?” Langdon asks, probably running out of fun facts to pull out of his ass.

“Yeah.”

“Okay….”

Fuck. Now or never.

“What do you think about soulmates?” Robby asks.

Langdon raises an eyebrow. “Not much.”

Oh, boy. This is going to be a pain to explain. Literally, too, if Robby has to start providing physical evidence.

“I tried convincing myself for a long time that Abby and I were meant to be together. We ended up being too different to the point it became hard to ignore.”

“Do you think you have one?”

Langdon fiddles with his straw, circulating the ice cubs in his cup. Robby's eyes linger on the patch of skin around his ring finger that hasn't seen the light of day in many years. Not until recently, Robby figures.

“Maybe. I don't—I try not to think about that.”

How come? Robby wants to ask. You don't think you’re my guy, anymore?

“There’s a bunch of theories on soulmates. You know about them?”

“Uhh—yeah. Like twin flames. One soul split into two, right?”

Shit. It sounds a whole lot more romantic coming from his mouth than Robby thinks he means.

“No one’s really figured it out, but I think I have,” Robby blurts out.

At that, Langdon raises an incredulous eyebrow. Actually, he looks half a step away from scoffing.

“I didn't know you believed in soulmates.”

“I didn't for a long time.”

“What changed?”

You, Robby thinks. It always comes back to you.

No amount of words will amend this. Nothing can turn the handle of time back and fix what they’ve done to each other.

So, the other option is to move forward.

Robby picks up his hand and pinches his forefinger and thumb together. He grabs a bundle of his own skin, and with his blunt nails, he squeezes, sharp and fast.

“Ouch,” Langdon mutters under his breath.

“Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Me pinching you.”

“You didn't touch me.”

Langdon’s face hasn’t moved, but Robby thinks he’s growing curious, putting his caution aside.

“Do that again?” Langdon requests.

His eyes stay glued to Robby’s fingers as moves up his arm. Robby rolls up his own sleeve and pinches the muscle of his bicep.

“What the—dude. Robby, did you learn some kind of magic trick in Alberta or something?”

“I learned about soulmates.”

Moving his arm like he’s approaching a growling dog, Langdon hovers his hand over Robby’s arm. Robby can feel the heat of his hand, warm and inviting.

He doesn't cave into the desire to curl closer. He forces his body still to let Langdon test his hypothesis.

With the corner of his nail, Langdon pokes Robby’s arm. He looks up, patient. Robby nods and watches Langdon as he drags his nail down.

It’s not painful, but Robby would be a liar to say that the prickling sensation didn't bother him.

A path of pink blossoms on his arm like a marching column of fire ants. Langdon rolls up his sleeve and watches a matching fleshy mark climb up his arm.

He lays their arms in front of one another. If they move any closer, the lines form one continuous path, trailing down the hills of Robby’s muscles and into the pastures of Langdon’s arm.

“Holy shit,” Langdon whispers. “Does—does this only happen…with me?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are we…soulmates, Robby?”

It feels like a question he’s been asking himself for years.

“What do you think?”

“I think you don't want to admit it out loud.”

The words stick Robby between Langdon’s piercing eyes and the back of his chair.

“It—uhh. It took a long time for me to accept.”

Langdon sighs, smushing his lips together. “Figures.”

The weary look on his face shakes something awake in Robby’s chest. He bites down on his tongue, literally, and watches Langdon jump from his slump.

“What—ow.”

“I was disappointed in you for a long time, but most of that disappointment was with myself.”

“Robby—”

He holds a hand up and tries to ignore the satisfaction at Langdon obeying immediately, his mouth clamping shut.

“I let you down. For whatever reason you had, you did not feel like you could come to me about your pain. I’m sorry.”

The bob of Langdon’s Adam’s apple gives him something to look at. 

“You never let me down,” Langdon whispers, almost inaudible over the restaurant’s quiet commotion.

Robby shakes his head, because it's just not true, but he has a feeling they’ll have a lot of time together to argue over that point.

“Wait!” Langdon’s back shoots straight up. “When I hurt my back, you felt that?”

“Unfortunately.”

“God, Robby. I—I could barely stand it, how the hell did you manage that?”

“I didn’t.”

The realization melts over Langdon’s face like plastic warping in the scorching sun. His jaw clenches, snapping in Robby’s own face.

“How long have you known about this?” Langdon asks.

“A few weeks after you left.”

It would be comical how expressive Langdon can be if it weren't for the multiple layers of dismay he was descending through. Like Dante’s Inferno, each level a new and even more horrifying experience.

“When I was in rehab—”

“Yep.”

“And—and physical therapy those first few weeks with those fucking terrible stretches—”

“That too. Hurt like a bitch.”

Langdon’s hands fumble in the air like he doesn't know where to put them. He clasps a hand over his mouth, rubbing down his jaw. A gloomy beat of silence sits heavy between them.

“There’s twelve steps—in NA. How we should make amends with the people we’ve hurt with our addiction. After today, I feel like I owe you a dozen more apologies.”

If we start apologizing to each other again, we’re going to be here all night.”

Langdon breathes out an amused huff of air, but there’s a shaky glimmer still in his eyes. He plucks the plastic of his straw, nerve-wracked.

“I know my addiction harmed you, but I didn’t know I meant it in a literal way too. I’m sorry, Robby.”

Robby feels his bottom lip quiver. His mouth smushes together, squashing down a sad smile.

“Me too.”

Langdon’s hand twitches on the table. Like he wants to reach over and hold Robby’s hand. Make this a formal agreement and shake on their olive branch.

“Did you…get hurt during your sabbatical?” Langdon guesses.

“My motorcycle couldn’t handle the ice. I rolled and got trapped underneath.”

Langdon stares down at his own feet under the table. His left ankle knocks into Robby’s as he rotates the joint. It’s the same side that Robby injured himself on.

“I was working a shift that day,” Langdon comments. “The family I was with thought I pulled a muscle. I didn't want to tell them I had no idea what the problem was. Who wants to hear that from their doctor?”

Robby huffs a laugh. At the time, he had laughed out of misery. There’s humor in it now that he can share this moment with someone.

With his soulmate, his brain reminds him, the back of his neck heating up.

“Mel kept wondering why the icepacks weren't working. I hopped around on one foot all day until Dana forced me to go home.”

“How is it now?”

“Well, how’s your ankle doing?”

Robby moves his left foot in a slow circle. A creaking ache sits deep in his bones, but it's faint and distant like the last audible echo in a tunnel.

“I’m fine, now.”

Langdon’s derpy smile brings a smile to his own face.

“Then, me too.”

He watches Langdon reach down to pinch his own arm. His eyes intensely focus on Robby’s face, but Robby doesn't react.

Then, he pinches Robby’s arm in a different area. Langdon’s face lights up after the tiny spark of pain blooms in Robby’s arm. Langdon must feel it too.

“Having fun?”

“That’s….” Langdon swallows. “Do you not realize how cool this is?”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well. You don't seem like the type to believe in this sort of thing.”

“You made a compelling argument. Besides, this is something straight out of a superhero comic book. How could I not be stoked?”

“Pretty lame super power,” Robby mumbles.

“I like it.”

Langdon reaches over the table and smooths his fingers over the rough of Robby's hand. He dances his fingers in the gaps between, rolling the skin in a pinch. 

“It’s like we’re meant to be connected.”

Robby’s throat closes up, a thousand words causing a traffic jam in his mouth, and nothing comes out. He swallows them all back down and squeezes Langdon’s hand instead.

The clench of their fingers against each other must register as pain. It must be why Langdon’s smiling.

“This does explain a lot. People kept staring at me for tripping over air. Some kid called me Doctor Clumsy, and everyone ran with it for like…a week.”

“I didn't mean to make you look like an idiot.” Robby pauses, then adds, “you do that enough on your own.”

Langdon scoffs. “Thanks.”

They sit at the restaurant for another half an hour, picking at each other's wounds. For the first time, it's not with the intent to be malicious.

Surprisingly, addressing the predetermined fate that ties Langdon and Robby together doesn't bring the end of times.

What shocks Robby even more is that he’s actually pleased with the development they’ve made.

It’s as if the revelation reeled them back in time. Langdon returns to his old roots, and their dynamic shifts to how it used to be.

It’s better this time around. Robby prefers this fresh version of Langdon. He’s sarcastic and quick-witted in a way that still impresses, but he’s also not afraid to be open and adoring. Being on the receiving end of his adoration has always been too easy to hook onto, but now, Robby's body buzzes with newfound warmth with each step he takes in Langdon's heady gaze.

Langdon still teases Robby for his age. Still slaps a 'boss' at the end of every other sentence. Still keels and nods, heavy and proud, when Robby praises him for his attentive work.

The only thing that has truly changed is Robby's thoughts. He's paying too close attention to every word that falls from Langdon's round lips. He can’t tell if the comments about his grey hairs are bordering on flirtatious, or if Robby is reading into something that he hopes is there.

Platonic soulmates. That must exist.

It has to exist, because Robby won’t let himself grab onto hopes of anything more.

It’s inappropriate for their dynamic of he’s greedy for Langdon’s attention.

He can’t emulate Langdon’s shameless behavior—how easy and open he is with what Robby dares to call love.

That’s not something he’s practiced in a long time, but maybe their dynamic is changing.

Langdon’s the mentor now, teaching Robby honesty. It’s the most frightening lesson he’s had.

Robby gets two steps out of a patient’s room when their newest intern, Chambers, pops up beside him with a bright grin and a tablet.

“I have North 5’s lab results.”

He slides his glasses on and takes a look. Chamber’s eagerness feels like a physical wave, but he supposes it's within good reason. His initial diagnostic guess had been correct, after all.

“Good guess,” he praises. “What’s your next steps?”

“Uhm—refer to surgery and free up a bed?”

“Yep. Nicely done.”

Raising a hand, Robby clasps a hand around Chambers’ shoulder. He’s glad to see him back at the Pitt after his rotation as a med student.

A twisting pain snaps in his hand. Robby flails his arm away, and Chambers stares up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Robby is…just as confused. He gives Chambers a thin smile before escaping to a different corridor.

He takes a glance down at his hand. There’s a pink circle blooming just above his wrist. Two parenthetical dents sit close together.

The marks resemble a pinch. Robby certainly didn't pinch himself, because he’s not trying to wake up from a dream. He doesn't recall a patient laying a hand on him either which leaves only one culprit.

Hours later, Chambers runs up to him with another question.

“Doctor Robby,” he says, out of breath. “The pulmonary embolism in South 17 was put on a non-rebreather. Her saturation is back to 95.”

“Your call?”

“Ultrasound the heart and lungs. We have to make sure there’s no pneumothorax, right?”

“Bingo.”

A thick tension makes Robby's hand move slower in the air. Just before he can pat Chambers on the back, another teensy pain spikes through his hand.

This time, Robby is sharper on the uptake. He looks around to find that brat.

Across the hub, Langdon’s leaned against the counter, cool as anything. He has both hands on top of one another, staring straight ahead with a patient look.

If anyone else had the time to really look at him, they would notice nothing out of the ordinary.

But, Robby knows better. He sees how his hand is pinched between two fingers, wiggling the loose skin back and forth. He feels the residual sting in his own hand.

There’s a dangerous look in his eyes too. One that says Langdon dares him to try that again.

Shit.

Langdon is training him to behave like he’s a fucking dog.

The worst fucking part is that it’s working, too.

Anytime his hand instinctively moves to praise Chambers, Robby has the forethought to hold himself back. Keeping his touch reserved for one person.

At its best, it’s endearing. A cute little reminder that Langdon enjoys his attention and praise.

At its worst, its manipulation. Controlling his body and prying his touch away from anyone Langdon deems unworthy.

Later that day, Robby corners him by the door leading to the stairwell. Langdon’s face is impressively passive.

“Are you jealous?” Robby asks.

Langdon's face has the decency to heat up, but he doesn't look away. He at least knows Langdon knows what he is referring to and won't try to deny it.

“Are you complaining?” He asks, licking his lips.

“No, I’m not.”

What’s really the worst of it is that Robby doesn't stop him.

He keeps his hands in his pockets the rest of the shift. There’s a strange desire to let Langdon walk him on a leash like the dog he’s being trained to be, and the thought should be humiliating.

It is humiliating, but not as much as it's arousing.

The heat burning bright on his skin will incinerate him if doesn't do something. He’s not sure what that something entails, but his vivid imagination has some lewd suggestions.

Soon, Robby thinks, before he implodes. That’s not the sort of pain he wants to instill in Langdon. There’s no room for hurting each other, anymore.

For now, he lets Langdon hold the reins for once.

Robby stands in the ambulance bay, soaking in the heat of the constantly revolving doors. The chilly air tightens his lungs. He wonders if Langdon feels a cold ache in his chest too.

It’s surprising that this whole soulmate ordeal doesn't change the frequency of thoughts about Langdon. The only revelation is how often Langdon has always been on his mind, the only different now being that Robby actually lets those thoughts linger instead of burying them deep behind a million other thoughts.

The doors whoosh open, letting the inside light spill out. He watches Langdon shiver at the slightest wind. His head whirls around before he spots Robby against the wall.

The smile that curls on his face has Robby’s heart racing. Does Langdon feel that too, or is his heart already beating fast too?

“Hey,” Langdon says, and his voice is too bright for just getting off a twelve hour shift. “Thought you went home already?”

Robby jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Before he can say anything, Langdon interjects, smirking.

“You're not waiting for me, are you?”

Robby blinks. “Not too loud before people start to think I like you.”

Langdon’s eyes widen. He shakes the shock off his face as he nods towards the exit, body jittery with something resembling excitement.

“Want to walk towards our cars together?”

“Lead the way.”

It’s not a surprise that being at Langdon’s side soothes something in him. How easy it can be to slip into the natural ebb and flow of banter like they haven't spent almost a year circling each other like two dogs sniffing each other out.

Langdon has always been one of his favorite people to be around, even if he’s also the last person Robby would admit that to.

“I want to go to Oregon one day,” Langdon says apropos to nothing.

“Why’s that?”

“They’ve got the last standing Blockbuster.”

“You may be the last standing person to prefer physical media.”

Langdon scoffs like it's the most ridiculous notion he’s heard.

“Nuh-uhh. There’s plenty of people collecting DVDs. It’s the superior form of movie-watching.”

“Is that right?” Robby asks, almost not actually asking, because he has a feeling Langdon’s going to voice his opinion on the matter whether Robby agrees or not.

“Look: no ADs, no switching between five different services trying to find what app it's on now. The quality is way better too, and the teams put way more effort into the opening and selection menus than anything on streaming services. Have you seen the Ghostbusters DVD menu? It’s killer, dude.”

Robby looks over, and his eyes glue themselves to Langdon’s profile. He’s peeking at Robby from the corner of his vision, grinning from cheek-to-cheek when his mouth isn’t rambling a hundred words per second.

His heart drops in his chest. Robby rubs a fist over his sternum, testing his own consciousness. Langdon’s feet stammer to a stop, and Robby slows his walking pace to turn around.

Langdon stares at him with searching eyes. The kind of look that makes Robby believe he can feel more than just his pain. He can read his thoughts and feelings too, and it's a terrifyingly vulnerable position for the universe to put him in.

“You know, every time we look at each other, my heart hurts,” Langdon explains, gripping his shirt. “I—I can’t tell if it’s you or me.”

The air in Robby’s lungs suddenly thins, useless and fleeting. He swallows, turning away and willing his heart to slow the fuck down.

“It may have something to do with my side of things,” Robby explains without really explaining.

Langdon’s face twists, eyebrows drawing together as his hands hover close to him like he wants to console Robby.

“God, Robby. You don’t have a heart condition, do you? Are you going to be alright? Are—are we going to be okay?”

Not if you put your hands on me, Robby thinks.

He forgets how much of a blockhead Langdon can be, but it's not the most wild of guesses. Robby could even play this off as coronary artery disease and avoid this conversation all together.

“I’m—We’ll live, don’t worry. It’s not a heart thing.”

“Then, what is it? You’re sort of scaring me.”

Robby scratches his beard, dragging a hand down his neck. He hangs his head as he tries to find some way to explain his feelings that doesn't make him look like the most lovestruck idiot.

“When someone likes another person very much, it may turn into a…physical reaction.”

Langdon blinks. “Are you giving me the birds and the bees talk?”

“That...wasn't my intention.”

"I've got two kids of my own. I think I know how it works."

Robby's mind starts racing and draws a blank at the same time. Langdon and sex in the same sentence, even if not said verbally, draws some vivid imagery in his head. He scratches a hand down the back of his neck, hoping the wind will wipe away the fiery blush.

“Wait, Robby. Are you saying you…like me?”

The words melt onto his face, a heated blush rising to his cheeks. Robby spins his head in any direction that isn't directly in Langdon’s line of sight.

Langdon ignores that subtle cue. He ducks closer, stepping to the side as he forces his eyes to meet Robby’s.

Footsteps echo in the bay, and Robby snaps his head up to watch a night shift nurse wave to them. He smiles back before gesturing for Langdon.

“Walk with me,” he says quickly.

They head to the nearby park in silence. The wind blows Langdon closer, their arms brushing against each other. Langdon must be seeking out his body heat, and Robby lets it happen.

“Can’t we do this somewhere warmer,” Langdon says, standing by the bench.

“That depends on your answer.”

“You haven't asked me anything.”

Robby motions for Langdon to sit. He lets himself remain standing. Gives him an easy route to flee if this goes south.

His shaky breath fogs the air. He watches the cloud dissipate, eyes everywhere but Langdon’s curious face.

Of course, Langdon beats him to the punch. Maybe it's for the best. They’ll succumb to hypothermia before Robby can shovel the right words together and push them out.

“Do you like me, Robby?”

He hesitates before admitting, “we have a good friendship.”

“We do,” Langdon agrees, and he smiles like that’s something he takes pride in. Then, “that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Langdon licks his lips, but it's a slow, deliberate movement that makes Robby feel funny. Makes him feel like he’s being hunted—lured into a trap of his own design.

“Do—uhm. Do you…have a crush on me?”

“I’m a bit too old to have a crush on anyone.”

“Are you?”

Robby looks away. He wonders if Langdon reads the red blossoming on his face as a defense against the cold wind or an enamored blush.

“If—If I’m reading this wrong, you can slap me.”

Before Robby can ask what the hell he’s talking about, he feels his hand be plucked from his pocket. Langdon’s gloved fingers roll over the tops of his bare knuckles.

His eyes, blue as the ice covering the world around them, stay honed onto Robby as he brings his fist to his—surprisingly—soft lips.

Robby wonders if he can feel this too. It hurts to watch Langdon dirty his mouth on Robby’s hand. To let Langdon press a gentle kiss to his knuckles like he’s swearing his life to Robby’s cause.

“Stand up,” Robby mutters.

And Langdon obeys. He pushes his feet against the ground and pushes into Robby’s space, always push, push, pushing until one of them caves into the desire.

He flattens his hands against Langdon’s cheeks and pulls him in. Langdon dives forward for a kiss, and because he can't help himself, Robby obliges and kisses him back.

Only for a second, Robby swears.

Langdon’s body is a blanket of warmth along the front of him. He thinks he can feel Langdon’s heart hammering from where he’s pressed against Robby’s chest.

Gripping Langdon’s arms, he has to force some space between them. Their hot breath clouds the air, morphing Langdon’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Langdon asks, licking his lips.

There’s a sheen of spit glistening his bottom lip, round and soft and red, and his pupils are blown wide like a black hole pulling Robby in.

“I’m not making out with you on an open street.”

Langdon blinks. “Right. You mentioned somewhere warmer?”

“You mentioned someplace warmer.”

“My house, then,” Langdon offers with a sudden burst of confidence.

“Okay.”

Giving in doesn't feel like defeat, anymore. Robby’s surprised that the idea of trailing Langdon home—stepping foot into a space so Langdon—doesn't frighten him as much as it would have before.

As they walk, Langdon’s fingers brush the back of his fingertips. Accidentally on purpose, and Robby lets him.

“Do you actually….”

Langdon’s fast to zip his mouth shut like he doesn't want to even vocalize the last of his sentence. Robby reaches over and squeezes Langdon’s hand.

He feels a tight warmth around his own hands. It’s funny trying to figure out whether it's from Langdon’s hand wrapping around his own or from the pressure he has on Langdon’s hand.

Robby looks up with a raised eyebrow, almost as if attempting to goad Langdon into doubting him. Langdon gives a shaky nod, swallowing with a flush running up his throat.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Soulmates….” Langdon mutters, almost drowsily.

Robby’s hand stills. “You’re asking about this now?”

Langdon’s smile widens. “We could get into some pretty kinky stuff with this thing.”

“You’re being ambitious.”

“When am I not? Can you feel my pleasure too?”

“I think I already am.”

Robby slides his thumb along the slit. Langdon hisses, biting his bottom limp. Robby’s mesmerized by the thought of kissing his mouth until it’s raw and pink and plump—

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No? Did you mean like this?”

He speeds up the curl of his hand, jerking Langdon off like he would on his own. Fast, snappy movements that pull whiny ‘ahh’s from Langdon’s ply mouth.

Like a burning hand, Robby drops his hand away. It takes a second for Langdon to peel his eyelids back and look down at himself. His hips jump in the air, chasing after Robby’s wet fist to fuck into.

Fuck, does he look good like this.

Langdon’s hands are shaky in their grasp of his shirt. He’s not sure how it's still on, but the way it's rucked up and bunched under his chin, showing off his pointy nipples, makes Robby nervous.

It makes him want to ruin Langdon even more.

It’s doing something to Robby to see Langdon so exposed. Not just aesthetically. He feels the tight wave of pleasure in his own cock.

Langdon’s close, and Robby’s teasing him, balancing him between pleasure and pain. It’s cruel and testing a limit neither of them know the boundaries of quite yet. 

“You think you can keep going?” Robby asks.

Langdon nods, whirling his head up and down almost like he is out of control of his body. He reaches a hand up to pull at Robby, but his trembling fingers do nothing but paw at his bicep.

“Of course I can.”

With a breathy laugh, Robby lays down beside Langdon. He curls Langdon’s thigh over Robby’s own. Langdon buries himself into Robby’s side, their shoulders knocking into each other and overlapping.

Langdon’s arm flails backwards and circles around Robby’s neck. He lets himself be pulled closer, if that was possible, and presses kisses into Langdon’s neck.

“Robby,” Langdon whines.

“I know what you want. Trust me—I’m gonna take care of you.”

Wrapping an arm around Langdon’s shoulders, Robby drags him closer and settles his other hand on Langdon’s chest.

He thumbs over one of Langdon’s nipples, his other hand massaging his pec. Does this feel nice for him? Is he as sensitive as Robby thinks?

Is he as sensitive as Robby is? The tiny pinch echoes in his own chest, and his cock twitches at the heated pleasure.

“Jesus—will you…Robby, I need you to touch me again.”

“I am.”

“Not like….”

“Not like…what?”

Robby trails his hand down. He ghosts his fingers over Langdon’s cock, smearing his precome around.

“You’re wet,” Robby comments idly.

Langdon turns his head into Robby’s neck. His face must be blossoming with a furious blush. He’s an undeniable ball of heat.

“Don’t—shit.”

“Need something to fuck?” Robby asks.

He wraps his hand loosely around Langdon as a reminder. It’s fascinating to watch how quickly Langdon jumps up, hips snapping back and forth.

“Yeah, you do. Come on.”

Tightening his fingers, Robby sits back and watches as Langdon tilts his hips, rutting into the air as pretty moans fall from his lips.

It's like the only thing on his mind is chasing the pleasure from Robby’s hand. Langdon doesn't even have room for embarrassment.

“Robby, you feel so fucking good,” Langdon babbles. “Fuck—you feel incredible.”

Robby huffs. “I know.”

“Baby,” Langdon coos, and shit, it goes straight between Robby’s legs.

Robby begins to move his hand again. He avoids going at Langdon’s staticky, messy tempo and pumps like they’ve got places to be.

Langdon curls into his chest, tossing an arm over his face. From what Robby can see, he doesn't block his view though, watching Robby’s wrist snap at every draw up his length like he can't tear his eyes away.

“I’m—I’m close. Robby, I’m so close—ahhn!”

He knows. He feels Langdon’s orgasm clench in his own thighs. Feels how tightly Langdon is holding himself in the strain of Robby’s hips.

At the top of Langdon’s whine, Robby’s hand slips away. Langdon groans.

“Fucking—Robby! Dude, what is wrong with you?”

“Don’t call me dude,” Robby complains, but he feels himself smiling.

It’s just so clearly something Langdon would do. It’s the strangest pet name a partner has given him, but he hears Langdon's voice purring that stupid nickname over and over in his head.

“Baby, light of my life, sweetheart—”

“Someone’s overdoing it.”

“Someone’s getting desperate.”

“Think you can do one more?”

Langdon glares up at him, and he nods like it's an offense to think he can't handle being teased with the brink of orgasm time and time again.

“Good. That’s my boy.”

“Shit. I won't have one more in me if you call me that again.”

Robby presses a kiss to the top of Langdon’s head. He’ll keep that in mind, but somehow, it doesn't feel like new information. Langdon has always been his boy.

Langdon turns into Robby’s body, his leg pressing into the hard-on he had sort of forgotten about. Rutting up, he digs his face into Robby’s neck, mouthing at the skin there.

A snappy bite melts just beneath Robby’s jawline.

Is that what Langdon wants him to do? Or, does he just enjoy the feel of what surely must be a sting of heat on his own neck. He feeds into his own pleasure by satisfying Robby.

It's entirely possible that the combination of receiving and taking pleasure is what truly gets Langdon going, because he’s a good boy.

His good boy.

Wrapping a tight hand around Langdon, Robby thinks that's how they’ve always been. Their bond was built on mutual fulfillment.

Robby praises Langdon for his good work, and Langdon prides himself on being good, and he is being so good for Robby right now. Letting Robby pull him through the loops of pleasure so slow and delicious that it tears at Langdon's outer layers, shedding him until he's nothing but the bare soul that links him to Robby.

Pliant and panting against his neck. Hand clamoring for a steady grasp on Robby’s skin. His chest heaves up and down in a desperate attempt to get air.

“You’ve got this,” Robby murmurs, a bit dazed at the sight of Langdon chasing his own orgasm.

Robby pulls his fist over the sensitive head. The slick movement draws a shaky gasp from Langdon. He’s wet everywhere, making the slide of Robby’s quick fist even snappier.

“Robby—hahh. I’m close. Fuck, you’re tight.”

And, Robby can’t stop the blush fighting its way onto his face, because he’s not tight.

“You—you feel so good, Robby. Shit.”

This must be how he acts when he’s close. Mumbling nonsense in between breathy whines.

Saying shit like Robby’s tight and feels so good around him like Langdon’s the one pleasuring him and not the other way around.

Langdon’s pleasure is his, and his pleasure is Langdon’s. A cycle of taking and giving what they owe.

Now, Langdon’s really working for his release. His hips twitch, hovering off the bed as he fucks into the circle of Robby’s fingers fast like he would fuck into Robby.

Watching Langdon lose himself, how he can't keep his mouth shut and the way his fingers tremble, is too mesmerizing.

Robby feels his own orgasm distantly approaching, like watching the waves come rushing towards the shoreline. His hand stammers to a stop as his body tenses with overwhelming pleasure.

“Robby?”

Langdon looks up at him with furrowed eyebrows, and Robby speeds his hand up again, biting his own lip to keep his moans silent.

“You got it,” he encourages, nodding. “Go on.”

“Kiss me?”

Fuck. He can't refuse Langdon—not before and definitely not now when he asks in that high-pitched, needy tone.

Robby licks into Langdon’s ply mouth. His tiny gasps slip into Robby’s mouth, panting hot and wet.

“Yes—fuck,” Langdon moans, body clenching.

He burrows his face into Robby’s collarbone as his hips jam into Robby’s fist. The sight is tantalizing. Langdon, chest heaving and his cock sputtering, glistening Robby’s fingers.

The room envelopes into a tranquil silence save for Langdon’s jackrabbit breaths.

Robby has never been an expert on what to do afterwards. Is Langdon the type to fall asleep? Crawl away and make up an excuse to leave?

Of course, the most obvious answer is often the correct one—and the last he thinks of.

Langdon flops onto his side and curls and arm tight around Robby’s torso, head burrowing into his neck.

He’s a fucking cuddler. Go figure.

The wet mess he’s made smears across Robby’s sensitive clothed cock, and he hisses.

Langdon’s hand slides down his stomach and around the waistband of his boxers. He mouths at Robby’s neck, knuckles grazing his stomach.

Robby holds his wrist still. “You don't have to.”

This close, he can see the confusion in Langdon’s eyes. He licks his lips, and it's as distracting as it is seductive.

“I want to. Let me do this.”

His gentle, pleading voice charms Robby into a soft smile.

“That’s great, but you may be a little late.”

“What do you mean?”

Robby moves Langdon’s hand over the fabric. Their fingers brush against the damp spot on his boxers, and Langdon’s face takes a few moments to catch up.

“Did you…from me?”

“Don’t sound so cocky.”

Apparently, that is asking for too much. Langdon breaks out into a satisfied grin.

“About the hottest sex I’ve ever had? No way.”

“That wasn't sex. It was a hand job.”

“Look at me, man. I’m a complete mess. That was sex.”

Robby does look down, because it's hard to bring his attention anywhere else.

The top of Langdon’s thighs glimmer with precome and sweat. They shake, a faint tremor of his post-coital haze. Splotchy, red bruises litter his chest, trailing all the way up to his neck.

Robby will probably have matching marks if he takes a peak under his shirt.

Langdon blinks up at him with beady pink eyes and unshed tears, and he shouldn’t look so appealing like this but he does.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks, keeping as much amusement off his face as possible, which isn't much.

Robby looks him up and down again, fascinated by the image. Langdon is toned and muscled, yet completely vulnerable and weak right now. He’d probably drop a dainty teacup if Robby handed one to him.

“You look nice,” Robby comments softly.

Langdon huffs, flopping back into the pillow. Like the bastard that he is, he runs the tips of his fingers up his stomach. Robby’s eyes follow the motion.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t say it like you’ve got another round in you.”

“Who said I don’t? You’re the one who should be worried.”

Before Langdon can get a joke in about his age or coming in his boxers like he’s not the age he is, Robby tosses his shirt off and throws it at Langdon’s head.

It’s classless. He would never do that to someone he had just slept with. Except, just like everything else, it's different with Langdon.

They’ve seen the worst of each other, and yet, they keep circling back for more.

Robby distracts Langdon with a kiss to his lips before heading to the bathroom. He hears echoes of Langdon’s grumbles as he dampens a spare towel.

When Robby comes back, he spreads Langdon’s legs and dabs at the cool wetness left behind.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” Langdon rushes to say, clamping his legs shut.

He reaches a hand out, and Robby’s quick to snap the towel at his wrist. A sting of pain radiates on his own hand, dull but enough to dissuade Langdon from making another attempt to stop Robby.

Once Robby finishes cleaning up, he rolls the blanket over Langdon’s body. Tucks the sheets around him tight and huffs a laugh at how coddled Langdon looks.

“Stay. Please.”

The words stumble out of Langdon’s mouth fast like he’s afraid Robby will vanish before his eyes.

Maybe he’s not wrong for thinking that, but Robby thinks it's time to change that assumption.

Robby can’t leave. There’s no escaping Langdon in this life, and it’s taken him a long time to realize that it's a good thing. He’s right where he wants to be.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Robby assures.

Langdon pulls the duvet to the side. It’s a cramp fit, squeezing two grown men into a queen size bed, but they make it work.

Even when Robby’s sleeping body hogs all the blankets and Langdon’s obnoxious snores follow him into his dreams.

They make it work.

The floodgates must have opened at some point between Langdon falling asleep, cradled against his chest, and Robby walking into his shift a week later.

Somehow, Langdon’s head doesn’t explode from the confirmation that he truly is Robby’s closest friend. Robby despises the universe for not letting him keep that secret buried.

As much as he grumbles, bitches, and protests, Robby doesn't mind. He finds that the little reminders of their bond get him through the day.

When Robby is standing completely still, and he knows somewhere Langdon has just stubbed his toe on a door or chair from the pain radiating in his foot, he chuckles to himself about Langdon’s clumsiness.

Or, when he feels a pinprick in his arm, Robby knows to look up, because Langdon somewhere is seeking his attention.

“Fuck,” Robby swears under his breath. He swivels his head around. “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” Dana asks, not looking up from a chart.

“Langdon.”

“It’s like you got a sonar system on him,” Dana jests. “He should be in North 2.”

With a grumble, Robby marches down the corridor to where Langdon and Mel are talking with a patient.

“I can ask for our attending—oh, Dr. Robby!” Mel whirls around, eyes wide and smiling. She leans close to Langdon like she’s telling a secret. “That was fast.”

Langdon wiggles his fingers. “I told you he’d be here in just a pinch.”

Robby looks down to find Langdon staring up at him, a muted smile by Robby can tell he’s trying his very best to subdue.

It starts to make less sense when they’re not at the hospital, and Langdon has no work-related reason to be signaling him.

After the tenth snap to his wrist, a thin fire wrapping around his hand like rope burns, Robby picks up the phone and dials.

“Hey, tiger,” Langdon drawls.

Robby can't differentiate the shakiness in his voice from the static of the technology.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

A heavy exhale. “It’s my…a hair tie.”

“Robby blinks. “A hair tie?”

“Those elastic bands that people use to keep their hair pulled back?"

"Thank you. I had no idea what that was until this very moment."

"Well, I’ve got a million all over the apartment ever since Penny turned four, and her hair suddenly grew ten inches.”

“And the hair tie is...what—fighting you?”

Langdon huffs an amused breath of air, but he takes a moment to reply.

“Uhm…I use it every time I get a craving, or—or a thought.”

Before Robby can respond, the words trample out of the phone like a herd of angered elephants.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not the healthiest, but it keeps me from bouncing off the walls. I was getting in my head, but it wasn't my intention to—to hurt you as well.”

“Want to come over?”

The invitation slips out of Robby's mouth just as quickly. A silence suffocates the thin air between his lips and the phone’s receiver.

“I’d like that.”

When Robby hangs up, he keeps a tight hand around his wrist. He’s not sure what motivates him to do as much, but he squeezes as tight as possible.

Wherever Langdon is, Robby hopes he can feel him. He hopes that the pressure conveys all the words he can't.

Half an hour later, Langdon’s twirling around the living room of his townhouse, absorbing all of the books and furniture he owns.

“It’s not much,” Robby says.

He flops onto the couch, resuming his mind-numbing reality television.

“No—uhh. Your place is nice. This is nice.”

Robby has the nagging thought that maybe he’s talking about more than just his house. He averts his gaze, only watching from the corner of his eyes as Langdon plops down on the far end of the couch.

For a minute, they stare at the television. The silence of the commercial break underscores the total awkwardness.

Maybe Langdon would rather keep his wits about him. He’d definitely prefer something nerdy and educational like The Animal Channel than his reality court drama.

“Sorry I don't have a DVD player,” Robby says out of nowhere. “It is 2026.”

“When your monthly subscriptions start to cost more than my entire DVD collection, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Robby scoffs. Yeah, alright.”

He can’t help looking Langdon up and down. His stiff posture and nervous hands. How he’s got a bit of a crazed glimmer in his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a full twenty-four hours.

“Are you going to sit at the edge of my couch the whole night?”

“No. Sorry—just. It’s not my best night.”

Robby opens his mouth, but Langdon beats him to the punch.

“I should—I should go. It’s wrong for me to put this on you.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re not a burden to me, Frank.”

Langdon blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Doubt exudes from Langdon’s every slow movement. He scoots over a seat, fingers playing at the edge of the cushion.

“Why? Why am I not a burden to you?”

“You’re hurting.”

“Is this your Hippocratic Oath? Do no harm?”

Robby tries not to cross his arms. Instead, he drags his hands down his sweatpants, flexing all ten fingers before responding.

“You’re not a patient to me. It hurts me to see you in pain.”

“But, it’s not a physical pain,” Langdon states, maybe just to try and point out the obvious.

A shaky breath sits on his tongue. Robby swallows.

“You are someone I care about…maybe a bit too much. I don’t want to see you hurting.”

“It’s bound to happen. There’s good days, and there’s bad days.”

Despite the pessimism, Langdon scoots closer. Robby pauses him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Yes. You don’t have to go through these bad days alone. Lay down.”

“Like…on the couch?”

“Unless you want to lay on the floor.”

With narrowed, suspicious eyes, Langdon starts to back away, but Robby shakes his head. He twirls a finger in the air meaning ‘other way.’

Langdon looks three seconds away from jumping off the couch like a frightened cat, but he slowly drops his head to Robby’s lap.

“Let me take care of you.”

His leg grows damp with Langdon’s breath. He turns into the muscle of this thigh, rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton of his pants.

Robby raises the volume of the television. Apparently, it doesn't matter what plays on the television, because Langdon falls asleep within twenty minutes of his arrival.

Robby thinks it has more to do with his fingers in Langdon’s hair than the mind-numbing show, his head settled in his lap, cheek squished against his thigh.

His fingers massage his scalp, the deep pressure just passing the threshold of an ache to register on Robby’s head too. He soothes them both into something like a dream.

“Like a dog knocked out from running wild,” Robby mutters to himself.

“Mmmm?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay….”

Langdon flops around, digging his head into Robby’s stomach. When Robby sighs, releasing the footrest of the couch and leaning back, Langdon follows, wrapping his arms as far around Robby’s torso as possible.

His warm, sleepy breath heats up his shirt. He’s a strip of warmth all along his front. It’s overwhelmingly sweltering to be this close, but Robby only continues to pet the soft strands of Langdon’s hair in soothing circles.

Robby doesn't remember getting them into his bed, but it must have happened at some point.

That’s the only explanation for a shirtless, pantless, messy-haired Langdon wrinkling his sheets.

A fuzzy warmth numbs his arm, and he follows the path down to see that Langdon’s using his bicep as a neck pillow.

Apparently, Langdon is actually warm everywhere. He didn't have time—or patience—to feel Langdon’s body. Too rushed and greedy to appreciate the dips and curves of his skin.

Robby runs a hand down Langdon’s bare chest, still thoroughly surprised at the amount of hair there. He watches goosebumps come alive under his cool touch.

Langdon’s mouth drops open, but Robby can't discern the little mumbles that fall out. Probably something obnoxiously nerdy like a fun fact about the sheet count of his blankets.

Pushing the strands of hair from his forehead, Robby drags his fingers down his face. He stops at the dimple on his chin, resting there to pull down his bottom lip.

Langdon’s eyes peel back. He looks around before finding Robby. Like a magnet to a fridge, his tongue immediately darts out, moistening the tip of Robby’s fingers.

With little resistance, Robby pushes his thumb inside the wet heat of Langdon’s mouth. Langdon gnaws gently on the skin of his thumb.

“Good way to start the morning,” Robby comments.

As he draws his thumb out, a whiny huff and a trail of saliva follow. Langdon looks a bit too blissful, still teetering between sleep and lust.

“I can think of better ways.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Langdon scoots closer, and finally, blood rushes through his veins to his hands. He curls an arm around Langdon’s back and drags him closer.

The morning light guides him towards Langdon, leaning down on his pillow to kiss him.

The unruly strands of his hair tickle Robby’s eyes. He runs his hand through his hair, maybe a bit too intensely. Too quick or with too much force. Something to justify the stunned look on Langdon’s face.

“You okay?” Robby asks softly.

Langdon lunges forward, wrapping both arms around Robby’s neck. He drags their bodies close, and the air between them grows hot and thin as Langdon mouths openly at his lips.

“You’re a really good kisser,” Langdon mumbles between their lips.

His face brightens with a flare of heat, but Robby still manages to say, “I know.”

“Robby,” Langdon murmurs, and it's such a sweet melody to hear his name, breathy and wanting, fall from Langdon’s tongue.

“What is it?”

Langdon blinks, licking his lips. “Do you—uhm….”

“What’s with the shy act?”

His eyebrows furrow. “It’s not an act. I just—I’ve never done this before…with another guy.”

“This?”

“Sex.”

Robby’s heart revs to life, sputtering and speeding from zero to a million.

“I thought you said we’ve already had sex,” Robby counters, biding time.

Langdon rolls his eyes. “We haven’t been inside each other yet.”

His throat bobs with a swallow. Jesus. He's not going to survive Langdon, will he?

“It feels like we already have.”

The curl on Langdon’s lips, that easy smile, makes Robby think he found that funny.

“Yeah, it does, but not in the way I’m thinking.”

Robby breaths out at the same time as Langdon inhales.

“You want to fuck me.”

“Or the other way around. I’m not picky. Is—Is that okay?”

“No. Yes. Yeah, it is.”

Langdon nods, face a bit too serious. “Just…be gentle?”

Robby scoops Langdon’s face in his hand, dragging him closer and laying a kiss to his lips.

“Always.” He lays another kiss to Langdon’s cheek. “Always.”

He can be gentle. He can be sweet and cradle Langdon in his hands like a porcelain cup. It’s almost a bit too easy like a cracked dam finally letting loose gallons of gushing water.

He kisses down Langdon’s body, pressing wet marks all over his chest and leaving a trail of purple-red bruises. His fingertips melt into the hard muscle under his hands.

Langdon’s fingers massage his scalp. As Robby drags down his torso, Langdon sighs, breathy and dreamy.

“You look really good like this,” Langdon purrs.

Robby plants another kiss just under Langdon’s belly button. His fingers play up and down his torso, and Langdon’s body convulses.

“Ticklish?”

“A little. Don’t—don’t try to tickle me.”

“I won’t. There's better ways to make you squirm.”

Robby snatches one of the many pillows thrown on the floor in Langdon’s mid-night turbulence. He motions for Langdon to sit up and hoists Langdon’s hips up.

“Oh,” Langdon breathes out. “This feels….”

“Too much?”

Langdon shakes his head, a flush rising to his cheeks. “It’s nice…being the center of your attention.”

“I’m all yours,” Robby coos.

“Yeah?”

“And you’re all mine.”

Langdon nods furiously at that, and Robby smirks as he pulls his boxers off. He’s already half-hard and glistening with pre-come at the tip.

Robby strokes a hand up and down, slow and leisurely, as his other hand pops open the lube bottle. It’s enthralling to watch Langdon’s hips jump in his fist.

“You’ll tell me when to stop,” Robby states, “if it gets too much.”

Langdon nods. “I trust you.”

Robby smiles, and with a slick finger, he pushes past the tense ring. He shushes Langdon’s hissed breath, running a free hand up and down his chest.

He knows just how far to stretch before it becomes intolerable. He knows how much Langdon can take, because Robby can feel the same muscle stretch in his own body.

Fuck. It’s a thought that shouldn't be as arousing as it is, but he can literally feel just how much Langdon can handle. A wave of heat floods south and between his own legs.

He curls one finger up, moving into new spaces, and rubs against a bundle of ridges. Langdon’s chest heaves up, a spiky, surprised breath of air punching out of him.

“Jesus—Robby, what the hell.”

“I told you I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Do that again.”

Robby does, because Langdon asks in that sweet, whiny voice, and gets rewarded with Langdon’s breathless sigh, legs wrapping around Robby’s hips and urging him closer.

When Robby feels the pressure alleviate in his own body, he taps the knuckle of his second finger against Langdon’s hole. The slick glide almost has him sliding in, but he teases Langdon’s rim, in a will-he, wont-he motion.

“Stop—shit. Stop being a tease,” Langdon stammers.

“You’re ridiculously chatty.”

Robby works a second finger in, finding a rhythm that both works him open and brushes up against that spot. Langdon tries to rush him, hips fucking the air in wild circles.

With one hand to Langdon’s pelvis, Robby pins him against the mattress. He spreads his fingers wide across his stomach.

“What—”

“I thought I was gonna have to get my hand around you to get you through this, but you’re taking me very well. Almost like you’ve been waiting for this.”

A patchy red blush stumbles up Langdon’s neck. “Shit.”

“Does that feel good?” Robby asks, partly to be a prick but also from genuine curiosity. It’s the closest he will get to feeling Langdon’s pleasure as well as his pain.

“Yes—” Robby curls two fingers, nudging that spot. “Fuck—hah. You’re funny.”

“Oh, no need to charm me, Dr. Langdon. You’ve already got me between your legs.”

Langdon’s hips jam against Robby’s hand. He pushes him down, not letting Langdon control the tempo.

“Maybe—nghn. Maybe I’m trying to get you to speed this up.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Yes, Robby,” Langdon responds, as close to monotone someone as wild and breathless as him can get. “Keep wooing me with poetry. I’m almost there.”

The thrusting of his fingers shatters Langdon’s eye roll as he scrambles up from the sheets. His fists writhe around, grasping for purchase as his legs knock into Robby’s hips.

He is an uncontrollable bundle of pleasure. A ticking bomb with no timer.

Langdon’s hand flies to Robby’s wrist, fingers wrapping around tightly and eyes wild.

“Wait! I—I really am close!” Langdon stammers, voice a panicked shout.

That much was obvious from how leaky and wet Langdon’s cock has become in the past few minutes. He’s standing straight up too, and Langdon is looking down furiously like he’s embarrassed at how hard he’s gotten.

This flushed, wanton side of Langdon only that brings a flair of shame to him just makes Robby infatuated even more. He looks up with a slight smile, wiggling his fingers just an inch.

“That’s okay. You can come.”

Langdon blinks, eyelashes fluttering up at him. “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

Oh.

Oh god.

Robby’s fingers freeze, and Langdon’s body melts around him. A heat consumes buzzing in his fingertips, making Robby swallow.

“Do you want me to?”

Langdon raises an eyebrow, and in the current situation with Robby and his two fingers curled into Langdon’s ass, it shouldn't be as endearing as it is.

“Want me to beg? I’m not above that.”

Before he can stop anything, Langdon pushes past Robby’s hand on his hip and leans off the bed, into his space. He wraps an arm around Robby’s neck to draw them closer.

“Please fuck me, Robby. It’s gonna feel so good when you’re inside me.”

Robby takes a moment to let the words melt his brain before his face lights up with a roaring blush.

And he used to think Langdon was a platonic soulmate. It’s a hysterical idea now, especially with Langdon’s legs wrapped around his hips and his cock dripping at the thought of getting fucked by him.

“Fuck, yeah. Okay. Let’s get you ready.”

Langdon’s head flops back onto the pillows with a teensy smile. He keeps a hand at the base of Robby’s neck, feeling the muscles spanning across his shoulders—doting, really, in a way Robby isn’t used to.

Robby presses a kiss to Langdon’s wrist—it’s right there, and he’s finding it exceedingly difficult to not litter Langdon in affection—and works a third finger inside.

“What are you doing?” Langdon asks, looking down between them.

“Preparing you. I’m a lot bigger than just two fingers.”

“Wow,” Langdon says, monotone, but he’s biting his lip and wiggling around like he’s excited to find out just how true that is.

Robby’s so intensely focused on watching Langdon’s face, how the hair of his bangs stick to his forehead, that Langdon’s hand on his cock is a surprise. He twitches in Langdon’s grasp.

“You don’t believe me?” Robby asks, huffing a bit.

There’s a curious furrow in Langdon’s eyebrows that’s adorable—too much so for the context of their situation. Like he’s trying to figure out where a puzzle piece belongs.

His hand moving up and down with an inexperienced, stuttery hold distracts Robby. His fingers stall inside Langdon as he breathes out, shaky.

“Have to get you ready too,” Langdon pants. Then, in a quieter voice to himself, “Shit, you are big.”

Robby can’t tell if he says that to heighten his ego or because he genuinely means it. Either way, hearing the words come from Langdon brings a flare to his face.

“Shut up, Frank.”

“I—” Robby curls his fingers up, letting Langdon really feel what three fingers. “Hah, yeah, alright.”

Robby thinks the hot muscle clenching he feels is his own body. It can’t be Langdon. He looks too fucked and pliant to be tensing so much that Robby could feel it.

Maybe it’s his own pleasure coursing through him at such an outstandingly fast pace that his body’s crossing signals.

Robby can’t blame his body for the confusion. Langdon looks too fucking incredible to not be a wound-up, dizzying mess. His brain is fuzzy with one pure, looping desire to bring Langdon down to that same lewd wreckening.

Langdon’s mouth hasn't shut in a few minutes, panting hot against the pillow. Robby thinks he doesn't know what to do with all the pleasure his body is doused in.

“Feel good?” Robby asks, just to make sure.

Langdon nods his head, eyes batting, and shit, he looks like a dream. Completely out of this world.

“Really good, Robby, so fucking good. You gotta fuck me, man.”

“Alright, alright,” Robby huffs.

He pulls his fingers out, slow and easy, and his ears prickle at the sound of Langdon’s mewl. Langdon chases after him, hips twitching in the air.

His slippery fingers miss the lube bottle. It flops up the bed towards Langdon, who opens the bottle and pours some on his hand. It’s ridiculously lewd how Langdon plays with the slick weaving between his fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m being helpful.”

Before Robby can question him, Langdon curls his hand around Robby, this time with something resembling technique. He’s always been a fast learner, so it shouldn't be a surprise when he’s able to get Robby properly wet and hard.

“Shit,” Robby mutters, mouth watering. “Enough of that.”

Sometime between Langdon’s smirks and the way he falls against the sheets or when he wraps his legs around Robby’s hips just a little tighter like he’s begging for Robby with his body—an untameable urge overcomes him.

He needs to fuck Langdon. Needs him trembling and needy and so out of his own mind that all he remembers is Robby's name.

“Roll over,” Robby commands.

Langdon raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a dog.”

“But, you’re such a good boy.”

A cautious silence lingers between them just long enough that Robby starts wishing he kept the strange words to himself.

It takes a few more beats for Robby to understand. A bright red flush spreads across Langdon’s bewildered face.

He looks clueless, and fuck, Langdon doesn't know what to do with himself, does he? Robby’s truly showing him the ropes, and the desire to be so good, the best that Langdon has seen, crawls up his spine like a forest fire.

“It’s okay, baby,” Robby assures. “Roll over for me.”

Slowly, Langdon turns around. Without any guidance, he props the pillow below his waist, jutting his hips in the air.

His two forearms sit at the top of the bed, propping Langdon up as he looks over his shoulder. There’s that beautiful blush again.

“Like this?”

“Just like that. Good boy.”

Langdon drops his head, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” Langdon whispers in a laugh.

Robby strokes himself once, then when his eyes land on the muscled structure of Langdon’s body, he indulges himself a few more times. He looks too fucking good like this. Perfectly toned and eager and wanting—

“You don't know how good you look, Frank. So goddamn amazing.”

“Robby, shit,” Langdon mutters, looking—leering over his shoulder again. “C’mon. Don't be a tease.”

“I won’t keep you waiting.”

Lining himself up, an indescribable heat floods him as he pushes into him. Langdon’s still tight, but he’s also warm and—shit, he feels really good. Robby sinks all the way in, letting that drowsy, dizzying heat take over.

A muffled wince stops Robby in his tracks. His fingers clench around Langdon’s hips as he freezes.

“You okay?”

Langdon nods, head buried in the pillow.

Robby exhales. “Take all the time you need.”

When Langdon shakes his head, confusion takes over, especially when Langdon starts talking into the pillow, tiny muffled words not making it past the damp pillowcase.

Robby massages a hand up Langdon’s back. His fingers feel the different knots of his spine, counting all the bones until he’s reached his neck.

Weaving his fingers into Langdon’s hair, he yanks Langdon’s head out of the pillow.

“Robby—”

“I couldn't hear you with your head in the sand.”

The blush on Langdon’s face shouldn't be stunning, but it is, and he looks so good, flushed and surprised and smiling.

“God—you have to fuck me, Robby,” Langdon stammers, throat bobbing. "Just—fuck me hard.

Robby rubs his free hand over Langdon’s ass. He spreads one of his cheeks, watching Langdon clench around his cock, seated fully in him and waiting.

"What happened to being gentle?"

Langdon shakes his head. "We can do gentle later. You gotta fuck me now. As hard as you can."

“That’s what this is about? You like the idea of me using you like…like a toy?”

“I—I didn’t,” Langdon swallows, eyes locked onto Robby. “I wasn't expecting to….”

“Getting fucked to feel so good?”

Langdon nods, and he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I want you to use me, and—God, I sound...I want to feel like, but I want you to feel it too."

Fuck. His boy wants it rough. He wants it to hurt, and it's gonna affect them both, and Robby’s surprised how badly he wants that, too.

“Keep your mouth open for me. I want to hear you.”

“Ahm—yeah, okay.”

Robby huffs a fond breath. His baby doesn't know what’s about to happen, but he has ideas. Fantasies.

Robby wonders how long Langdon has been holding onto this for. If it feels good to finally let go of control and hand the reigns to Robby. 

It probably feels unnatural being taken care of like this, but Robby always promises to show his partners a fantastic time.

And Langdon isn’t just a partner. He’s his other half.

Not too gently, but cautious enough to not cause serious injury, Robby pulls all the way out, his tip holding open his hole. Langdon clenches around him, hissing and laughing.

Robby pushes Langdon’s head into the pillow before he slams back into him. He feels the impact in his own body as a warmth spreads through his hips, blood rushing south.

“Fuck—yes, Robby, fu—”

Langdon’s voice peaks, shaky and breathless, as Robby rocks in and out. His hips snap, pushing Langdon deep into the mattress.

Except, he can’t go anywhere, because Robby still has a heavy hold on his head. Langdon can only stay there and let himself be fucked the way he wants Robby to.

“You’re so good,” Robby coos. “You feel fucking amazing.”

Langdon nods, and Robby feels him grinding back like he wants to help be good. He curls a hand around Langdon’s hip, letting them fall into a quick, pummeling rhythm.

Langdon’s hands crawl at the pillows. Robby wonders if he’s looking for stability. Something to cling onto, because his body is trembling with want.

Robby curls down—and the angle changes, but he’s still deep inside Langdon, so he makes those breathy whines again. He wraps an arm around Langdon’s chest, splaying his fingers wide and bringing them close.

Immediately, he feels Langdon’s fingers find his hand. Langdon looks to the side where they’re sharing a pillow now.

“Good?” Robby asks.

“Yeah—fuck, Robby, keep going.”

Langdon leaps forwards, catching Robby’s lip in a kiss. He doesn't even tease the tip of his tongue, slow or seductive. There’s no control in his movements besides the hot intention to get as close to Robby as possible.

His tongue fucks into Robby’s mouth, panting hot each time Robby pushes back into him. Langdon’s body shakes, and Robby holds him close by the hip to keep him up in the air.

Something slips past him, down Langdon’s chest, and it’s not until Langdon moans into his mouth that Robby realizes what he’s doing.

His hand on Langdon’s hip moves forward and yanks Langdon’s hand where it is wrapped around his cock. He pins his wrist to the mattress, stalling deep inside Langdon.

“You either come on my cock or not at all.”

“I don’t—shit, Robby, I don’t think I can do that.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Langdon huffs. “You’re serious."

Robby only raises an eyebrow, letting Langdon decide. They blink at each other for a few moments, but like the good boy he is, Lamgdon nods, twisting his wrist in Robby’s grasp.

Robby strengthens his hold before he pulls out and slams back into him. He sets a brutal pace, minutes of pounding in and out of Langdon, lube creating a wet slide.

Langdon’s heart hammers fast in his palm, and Robby curls closer, holding Langdon’s back against his chest. He can hear every one of Langdon’s breathy gasps. His sweet mumbles and pleads.

“Robby, Robby, shit—I’m close,” Langdon stutters.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Robby can feel it in the way Langdon’s body clenches. How tight he’s holding himself to the point that Robby feels it too. Langdon writhes around, and Robby feels his own hold around Langdon’s wrist grow brutal, a trail of fire blazing around his own hand.

It feels like finally falling from the top of a rollercoaster when Langdon’s body twitches under him—like the drop he’s been anticipating for hours.

Langdon’s head slams into the pillows, hips stuttering as he fucks back onto Robby’s cock, pulling Robby deeper in.

“Shit,” Robby mutters.

He places Langdon’s body gently into the sheets. Langdon’s arms cave, chest hitting the bed and too blissful to care. Those dreamy blue eyes glaze over to him, fluttering and hazy.

Robby smiles down at him, patting his hip. As he begins to pull out, Langdon places a hand to his hip.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Robby asks, his voice a surprisingly soft coo.

“I wanted you to use me,” Langdon whines, repeating his earlier sentiment.

It takes a beat before Robby looks down. His hard cock is half-seated inside Langdon, slick with lube and precome. His eyes follow the curve of Langdon’s spine, following up until he sees the blush sprinkling his beautiful face.

“Look at you, dirty boy,” Robby teases under his breath.

“Just—fuck. Will you just….”

“Come inside you? Yeah, baby, I’m gonna do that.”

Robby curls his hands around Langdon’s hips. He angles him in the way that feels best for Robby, enveloping his cock in a wet heat.

“Don’t you worry,” Robby mutters, pulling out. “I’m gonna fill you up.”

Langdon whines, surely sensitive and buzzing, but that seems to be exactly how he likes it. Being pushed to just beyond his limits, striving for a challenge.

Robby snaps into him, really fucking him like it’s the last day on Earth, chasing after an oasis in a desert of heat.

He watches Langdon’s hands scramble around, clenching his unruly hair and the messy sheets. All he can hear is the blood rushing and Langdon’s whiny mewls.

That’s the way he likes it. There’s no space for anything that’s not Langdon’s lithe body and the dizzying feel of his own pleasure.

He doesn't last long, but it's much longer than he was expecting, especially when Langdon scrambles around like that and whines with that wavering sob.

When he pulls out, Robby takes a moment to watch his come glisten Langdon’s skin. His thumbs stretch his hole, and Langdon mewls.

“Just looking,” Robby murmurs.

“Do—do I look good?”

“The best. My most perfect boy.”

Robby presses a kiss to Langdon’s cheek, palming the other. One day, Langdon will let him spend the whole day between his cheeks, eating him, slow and leisurely, until he comes from just his tongue.

When Robby moves the pillow, Langdon’s hips immediately drop from the air. His shaky legs find comfort in the plush duvet.

Langdon’s eyelashes brush his red cheeks, eyes closed and heavy. If it weren't for his crazy breathing, Robby would think he had already fallen into a deep REM sleep.

He stands and finds a spare towel from his hallway closet. Finds some water bottles from his fridge as well before making his way back to the bedroom.

Langdon has switched poses but still remains in that blissful world between dream and reality, one leg hitched at a ninety degree angle and arms wrapped tight around a pillow.

Robby feels a soft smile curl at his lips. He sits at the edge of the bed and brings the towel to Langdon’s body.

This time, Langdon doesn't stop him. The damp towel is practically dry compared to the slick mess they’ve left behind, but Robby does his best to clean up. He’ll need to wash the duvet as well, but that's a problem for future him.

Several questions muddle Robby’s brain, and, maybe it’s reassurance for himself, but Langdon looks too zoned out to be bothered with social conversation.

Actually, Robby isn’t even sure he would know what day of the week it is if he asked.

“Frank,” Robby tries.

Langdon drags his eyes open, heavy and slow. “Mmm?”

The plethora of words jam in Robby’s mouth to the point he ends up saying nothing at all. He stares like he’s got a vocabulary that only consists of Langdon’s name.

“Come here,” Langdon mutters.

It’s strange to be invited to lay down in his own bed, but it's like Langdon had peaked inside his head and analyzed what he needed.

As soon as Robby’s back hits the bed, Langdon rolls over to him and plants a slow path of kisses up his chest and neck.

Robby sighs, playing with the short strands of Langdon’s hair as he works his way up Robby’s neck until they are face-to-face, and Langdon is gleaming at him with those wide blue eyes and dashing smile.

Robby swallows. “You…okay?”

“Yeah. You did amazing. Exactly as I asked.”

Fuck, the reflief that floods his system leaves him breathless.

The adrenaline from the entire morning crashes his system, and he caves to the urge to pull Langdon close, because he did exactly as Langdon asked, and it feels good to do that.

Wrapping his arms around Langdon’s chest, he drags him closer, and Langdon squeals a shocked noise as he hurdles on top of Robby’s body.

Some base instinct to hide crawls up Robby’s spine, and he burrows his head into Langdon’s neck.

He smells of sex and skin and something vaguely woody like a cologne. It’s entirely reminiscent of Langdon that Robby almost sheds a tear.

Langdon is safe and warm, and it’s incredible how long it took Robby to realize that.

Langdon rolls closer, squishing himself against Robby’s frontside. He uses Robby’s sternum to prop his elbow up, holding his charming face in one hand, looking pleased as anything, grinning down at Robby.

Is it age or an innate part of Langdon’s natural personality that gives him a boundless amount of energy?

“What? What is it?” Robby mutters, still a little whoozy.

All he sees is Langdon’s unruly bangs as he leans in for a kiss. Robby runs a hand through the messy strands, keeping him close. There’s a brief moment of stubble on Langdon’s cheek that surprises him.

“Wanna go out?”

“On a date?” Robby asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that too, but I meant for breakfast.”

“Most important meal of the day,” he says, quietly like an afterthought.

“You can bring me to all the good spots in the area.” At Robby's silence, Langdon leans closer and drops his voice. “Don’t you want to show me a good time?”

“Oh, I think I already did.”

Robby curls a hand down and around Langdon’s ass, massaging the flesh there. Langdon dips his head down, his ears flushing despite the massive grin on his face.

Then, like a rocket, Langdon jumps out of his arms and slaps a hand on Robby’s shoulder. Before he can blink, Robby gets pulled off the mattress into a sitting position.

“C’mon, up! I don't want to waste a good day in bed.”

In bed is exactly how Robby spends a good day, so he’s not exactly sure what to expect leaving the house before ten o’clock on their day off.

It’s surprisingly nice, is what he learns. 

Bringing Langdon out in public, having him an arm’s length away when they order, sitting down at the same table together at the park and people watching, even if most of the conversation is just Langdon spouting off random facts and observations.

Watching the light reflect off the shininess of Langdon’s shower-damp hair, and how he indulges without shame or guilt into the egg and ham croissant Langdon lets Robby buy him.

Robby takes a deep sip of his dark roast as Langdon rambles, hands picking at the flakes falling off his croissant.

A faint pink bruise wraps around his wrist like a bracelet, and Robby feels the back of his neck heat up. It matches the light bruise forming around his own wrist.

Jesus, they’re going to have to talk about that.

Later. Definitely later.

He doesn't know what he’s thinking when he slots their ankles together under the table. He leans his foot against Langdon’s ankle.

The little stutter in Langdon’s words charms him. Then, Langdon’s smile softens, and he just…stares at Robby.

“Something on my face?” Robby asks.

Langdon taps his foot against Robby’s ankle, holding them together like they were glued and stuck that way.

“Let me try your drink,” Langdon says, apropos to nothing.

“I asked if you wanted one at the shop, and you said no. Now, you want a sip?”

“Why would I pay for something I might not like?”

“Technically, you didn't pay for anything.”

Robby hands his drink over and watches Langdon take a sip. He doesn't even sniff the drink or savor the taste before he swallows.

“Holy shit,” Langdon blanches with a chuckle. “That’s…really bad, Robby.”

Langdon hands the drink back, disgusted crevices on his face. Robby laughs, taking a sip of his drink that he ordered to his liking, thank you very much.

“What was that?”

“A red eye. Drip coffee with a shot of espresso.”

“It was so bitter and lifeless.”

“You drink Redbulls. I think that disqualifies you from having a say about drink profiles.”

Langdon looks half a second away from actually sticking out his tongue at him. Robby pinches his own tongue between his teeth, biting down. Maybe to shut him up. Maybe just to see what Langdon does.

“That hurts you know,” Langdon mutters with a smile.

Robby smiles back. “I know.”

The patient board shines brightly at Robby. The letters and lines have jumbled together. Just one more hour before he’s out of this horrific shift.

He scratches at his beard. There’s paperwork to fill out still, and cases to hand over to the night shift. A meeting tomorrow morning that he's not looking forward to either even though it feels like tomorrow isn't a concept that exists right now.

A line of warmth materializes beside him. Robby looks over to see Langdon standing beside him.

“You rang?” He asks.

Three angry lines mark his cheek like a cat attack. Robby’s hand drops, burned and scolded, stuffing them in his pockets. He tears his eyes away.

“I—I don't know what came over me.”

Langdon stares at him, eyes narrowed and seeking. When Robby won’t return his gaze, he simply nods and walks away.

In the dark of the parking garage, he finally lets himself decay. Robby’s body seeps into the seat, eroding away with every shaky breath.

A teensy dink-dink-dink sends his heart racing. His head swivels around until he spots Langdon outside the passenger door. He unlocks the car and watches Langdon crawl inside.

The slam of the door created a vacuum space, sucking all the air from the space between them. There’s a ringing fuzz in his ears that makes him jittery.

“Will you kiss it better?” Langdon asks, softly.

“What?”

Langdon tilts his cheek, pointing to the fiery red scratches

Fuck. He hadn't meant to…he doesn't know why he did it, but his own injuries staring back at him sits ugly in his stomach.

But, it’s not ugly, because it's Langdon. He’s handsome and whole even with everything they’ve done to each other.

Robby cups a hand under Langdon’s chin, dragging him forward. He leans over the console, planting his lips on each line. 

Langdon’s hand seeps into his hair, scratching the short strands at the base of Robby’s neck. Soothing and empathizing in a way that used to be terrifying instead of comforting.

When he pulls back, Langdon stares up at him with gleaming eyes, smile subdued.

“All better,” Langdon whispers.

The dulcet tones of his voice sooth the snappy beats of Robby’s heart.

A thought hits like the inevitable explosion of a firework, crackling into the air into a thousand directions.

Robby is so fucking glad he didn't lose him.

“Come home with me.”

Langdon doesn't grin, look victorious or haughty at Robby’s invitation. He just nods, buckling himself in, and props a hand on the console.

Robby meets him halfway. He locks their fingers together like the interwoven nature of their souls.

He knows that when Langdon runs a blunt fingernail over his knuckle, distracted and thinking about anything but, he’s not trying to hurt Robby.

Just like how Robby knows when he pinches Langdon’s arm after a crass joke, he’s not attempting to reopen old wounds.

The pain in their relationship isn’t bitter. It’s alive, and the universe has given him a way to finally say thank you, I love you, too.