Work Text:
You never thought you would see him again.
The last time you had been face to face with Bob, you were convinced this was the last you would ever see of him, because deep down he was just as much.
Because despite his glassy and bloodshot eyes looking at you one last time as you begged him not to, you knew this was bigger than you. Bigger than his own will.
A desperate attempt at a new start.
His words stuck with you for the next few months he was gone.
They cut deeper than they should have.
You would see him in your dreams repeating that if you hadn’t mattered so much to him, he would have left for Malaysia without a single word, without even letting you know, just the way he did it for everyone else.
That he wanted to say it, owed you as much as a goodbye because you had been the only person that really ever had his back ever since high school.
You knew what he had gone through. You knew it had been foolish and innocent to expect you could just fix him. But you also knew that he did his best and if he figured starting a life in another country would be good for him, then you would let him, no matter how much having him disappear on you left a hollow place inside.
So when you saw him on the television at work when a customer switched it to the news channel, you almost dropped the cup of coffee you were in the middle of preparing. You had set it aside, stepping closer to the television hung on the wall to make sure you weren’t hallucinating it, to make sure it wasn’t your subconscious playing sick jokes on you by making you see him in other people.
But it was him. His hair was just a bit longer than when he faced you on your porch the night he said goodbye.
The first few seconds of realizing he was back in America had you unconsciously smiling, but the next few hours had you properly shattered.
How long had he been back?
Why didn’t he come see you?
Had this trip to Malaysia just been a way to cut you off and never look back on you?
You had done your job for the rest of your shift on autopilot, like a robot programmed to do so. Your mind was somewhere else completely as you were turning it all around in your head, desperately trying to make sense of it all. You had been buried so deep inside your own head that you didn’t even realize that your shift was over until your coworker shook you out of your thoughts and told you to get going.
You took the longest way home, picking the most impractical metro line just so you wouldn’t have to ponder about this back home and drive yourself crazy in your own space.
That didn’t stop you from doing so, but now you knew that you were going to have to come to terms with the fact that Bob doesn’t need you anymore.
—
“Oh, some Bob guy asked for you yesterday”
You glance to the side, your heart skipping a beat and a wave of nervousness filling your torso as you suddenly stop wiping the counter clean. You blink, fazed, and watch as your coworker writes Robert on a cup. “What did he say?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly before you toss the dishcloth aside, lightly clearing your throat as you brace yourself.
She shrugs. “He looked like he didn’t really know what he wanted. Looked around for a bit, asked if you still worked here. Then kinda spaced out when I told him you weren’t here that day”
“Yeah, that would be him,” you mutter under your breath, taking the man’s payment.
“That Bob’s an ex?” she asks lifting an eyebrow as she prepares the man’s order.
You thank the man, tell him his order is coming up and sigh once you turn back to your coworker, scratching your forehead. “Uh, worse,” you joke.
She takes the answer with an amused smile, not asking for more. She calls out for the Robert in question once she’s finished with his order, and turns back to you once the man leaves with his cup. “Well, whatever that was, it seemed important”
—
Your friendship with Bob had worsened when you found out he was taking meth, but then again, you knew giving up on him wasn’t the solution.
Bob had been a good man since as long as you had known him, so it would have been unfair.
Then he was the one to give up on you.
But still, you couldn’t even entirely blame him, and even less as he sat in front of you.
Bob's eyes flicker along your face, a beaten expression painted over his own. You’re not sure what to say, or in fact you are just unsure of where to start.
But you’re not the one that is owed an explanation.
“I uh–” he clears his throat. “Do you remember the presentation we did in high school?” he eventually asks, fiddling with the coffee cup in front of him. “The one that made us become friends” he specifies with a nod, a small, weak smile growing over his face as he reflects on it.
You nod slowly, cautious. “Drugs,” you say. “It was on drug abuse” you mutter under your breath.
“Yeah,” he breathes out. “It goes way back so you probably don't remember, but when we were done presenting it some girl raised her hand and said something like ‘Some people just don’t want help, they chose to do drugs, they don’t deserve sympathy’”
The statement makes you grimace, a sour scoff escaping your lips. It stings even more now considering the circumstances, but you wait for him to go on.
“And you said– you didn’t even hesitate and you said, ‘You don’t know what made them turn to drugs, no one chooses to be broken, everyone deserves a chance’” Bob nods, swallowing hard, pinching his lips into a small smile. He looks down at the coffee you made him, nodding again as he smiles before he looks back up at you.
“You don’t know it but it stuck with me for so long, and even more when I became an addict” he confesses with all the sincerity he could convey. You say nothing. Your chest tightens. “I wanted to be better. I really did. That’s why I left.”
Your gaze softens at his words, and it all comes crashing back on you when he dives in and tells you about it all – the lab thing being part of the reason he left for Malaysia, how it all went wrong, Sentry, the Void, his new– friends? Everything. As crazy as it sounds.
You let go of a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding once he’s done telling you all about it.
“This is insane,” you eventually murmur, rubbing a hand over your face. He tilts his head to the side in silent agreement. “But you do look better” you eventually say, granting him a genuine smile.
His mouth twists into a coy smile and he shrugs. “I’m past the meth thing”
“That’s… That’s good for you. I’m glad” you smile.
An ugly, awkward silence falls between the two of you. Charged with the weight of tension.
Way different than the comfortable silence you used to share by just existing within each other’s space.
You don’t know what you should say to him.
You don’t know if you should ask him if there was any chance it would have held him back if you had finally confessed your feelings for him that night on your porch.
You stop wondering when Bob calls out your name. “I’m trying my best. I want to make it right” he explains. “I didn’t reach out sooner because I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know how to face you again”
You take a moment to process his words, the effect they have on you. The truth is, you don’t know how to face him again either. Not when everything between you has gotten this hard.
You look around the empty coffee shop just to give you a break from looking at him, from his pleading gaze. “Bob–”
“–I wanted to be someone worthy of you.”
You halt, your eyes fluttering close. The knot inside your throat tightens. You look back at him, tears threatening your eyes. Your hand reaches for his over the table. “I’m proud of you” you whisper.
He exhales sharply, like he had been holding his breath for months just waiting to hear that from someone. His fingers twitch under your hand, then turn gently to hold it. It’s tentative at first, then firm enough to let you know he wants this. Wants you.
Your thumb brushes lightly across his knuckles, gently, and suddenly the air between you is full with all the things you never explicitly told each other. The glances that lingered too long, the late nights you spent on rooftops and porch steps, every time you would hang out in your childhood home because his wasn’t even an option if his parents happened to be here.
“I know I ruined everything for us. I’m sorry. Give me a chance. Please” he pleads, his voice rough and low, his eyes shifting from your linked hands to your face.
You look at him, really look at him, and you know he means it. He means every word he says, never meant to hurt you, only ever tried to save himself.
A weak, tentative grin grows onto your face before you speak again.
“Everyone deserves a chance, right?”