Chapter Text
He waits for her outside one of the fancy lecture hall buildings. The mossy concrete of the wall is cold and a bit damp under his dark jeans. Robin idly drums the heel of one boot against the wall, the other foot propped up on the coping. He takes a long drag from his cigarette. It’s the second one already, and it’s not making things much warmer. Just how long does this damn lecture last?
People keep crossing the yard, alone, in pairs, in groups. One kid looks like he wants to ask Robin for fire. Robin glares at him until he hastily turns away.
There she is. Robin would know that hair and jacket anywhere. He makes sure not to let his eyes follow her – someone might be watching him. Instead, he stubs out his cigarette before casually sliding off the wall. He follows her with a bit of distance, far enough to make it seem random, close enough not to lose sight of her. He notices when she does – he sees the small halt in her movement, the way her back straightens, the slight turn of her head. When she takes advantage of the next turn to look back properly, he stops to light another cigarette. His hands and the first puffs of smoke may obscure his face, but he is sure she knows who he is.
(She doesn’t like him smoking, or so she says, but she likes Robin well enough, and everything he stands for, everything he exudes, including the smell of cigarette smoke, and so far it has not stopped her from tasting it on his lips.)
He has to walk a bit faster to catch the same cart on the Northern Line. He stands at the other end, but they both know he’ll gradually come closer until he’s almost at her heels when she slips into the Merryweathers’ fancy town house through the back door.
It’s a game of chase, and they’ve practiced it to perfection.