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You furrow your brow as you look from the scrunched scrap of notebook paper in your hand to the sad block of concrete you were stood before. This couldn't be right- it was a trick - a prank. Chase was pranking you by pulling on your vulnerabilities, because there was no way this was the kind of place Robert would willingly put himself. He was Mecha Man, for fuck's sake. The idea that Mecha Man couldn't get a bonus pay from like, the city was wild.
Still, your feet started moving without your active thought. This was stupid, and a bad idea. This was a bad thing for you to be doing. You hadn't seen him since you were twenty, he probably moved on- maybe he even found someone else.
That train of thought crashes abruptly as you once again survey the building your currently standing in the doorway of.
…The odds that Robert would be living here with another person seems even less likely, actually. Once that thought passes, you scold yourself. Those are the kinds of thoughts you're trying to shoo away by coming here.
The paper scrap keeps getting rolled uncomfortably in your hand. Feels like lead, feels overwhelming. Your shoes keep tapping on the peel-and-stick tile stairs, your soles keep scraping against the thin strips of abrasive tape at the edge of each step.
Every tap makes your stomach feel heavier. Each little scuff of your shoe sounds louder than it should. You only go up six little flights of stairs, but the closer you get, the realer it feels, and the realer it feels, the less you feel like you're still in your head.
And then it feels like you've blinked and there's a blank, unsuspecting door in front of you. You stare at it with wide eyes, as if it could hurt you. Your grip on the paper scrap tightens so much that it starts to sting your palm. It was fine, you could do this, you just had to knock on the door, how hard could that be?
You think you want to vomit.
After taking a few shaky breaths, you raise your hand, but stop.
What were you doing here?
You didn't need to be here, not really. You could just leave and finally move on. He probably doesn't remember you. You bite your cheek at that- it's not a thought you like, and you're fairly certain it also doesn't make sense- most people don't just forget people they've known since they were like, nine.
A few shallow breaths pass your lips as you stare deeply into the peekhole of the off-white door. Just gather yourself- it's fine. You are here because you want closure. You just want him to say sorry. There! That's an easy start! You want him to apologize for what he did- for just shoving you out of his life and never saying why.
You could even turn it on him! You could hear that apology, and then you could just… not forgive him.
Maybe that would be cathartic. Maybe that catharsis would make this whole detour worth it. Maybe you'd finally find it in yourself to install Tinder again when you got home.
With a renewed sense of purpose, you knocked on the door with a few firm hits.
"Heya, sleepyhead."
Robert blinked, once, twice, slowly stirring awake. He'd been curled up in his rightful position in your passenger seat. Slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows, squinting at the little glowing numbers on your dashboard.
"Shit, is it really that late? Was traffic bad, or…?" He mumbled, dragging a hand across his face.
"Nah. We've been parked in your driveway for a while now." You elaborated, leaning on the steering wheel. "Figured you needed the extra bit of sleep since you conked out right away." A comfortable silence passed- your gaze flicked from him, to his front door, then back to him. "Though- who knows, maybe your dad thinks we were getting a little too frisky, and that's why we've just been sitting here."
"Ah, in the driveway, not at all hidden. That sounds like the perfect place to get away with frisky behaviour." He punctuated it with a chuckle, something that you joined in on immediately. Though, it didn't take long for yours to die down.
"Did you mean what you said earlier today- that- that you were wanting to go out on… like, an actual date?" The heat that rushed to the tips of your ears actually made you more embarrassed than the question, you think.
Robert stared at you for a long while, like you'd suddenly pulled a gun on him. After just long enough of a pause to make your stomach start churning, he just lit up. A grin cracked across his face, and his eyes practically sparkled when he registered what it is you've asked.
"Yeah, I did. You didn't say anything when I brought it up earlier, so I thought-"
Whatever he thought, it went unspoken. The words died on his lips as you brought a hand to his shoulder, gently but firmly pressing against it.
He could only find himself mirroring you as you leaned closer to him. He didn't protest when your lips just barely grazed his- in fact, he was the one who'd moved in even closer, making the motion more firmly an actual kiss.
Robert wasn't particularly content to leave it at just the one. Even when you'd pulled away, just by a touch, he'd grabbed for your arm, fingers just barely digging into your flesh with a hint of desperation behind him, and he'd stolen another kiss from you. And another- and another and another. A little laugh of pure joy left him as he just tucked himself into the crook of your neck.
Objectively, the position was awful. People didn't usually half-snuggle from passenger to driver's seat, and while it was something Robert never considered before, he was understanding why it wasn't a thing that happened. Even with the stick shift digging into his leg, just being this close with you unlocked something inside him. The pure physical affection felt more foreign than he was personally ready to admit- and that was just at sixteen. But hey, you were with him now, and surely that touch-starvation would fade away with time.
"Oh shit." You muttered, looking out at the house. Robert peeked up to see what was so offensive, only to make dead eye-contact with his father, waiting for him on the front porch. He gave out a pissy little tongue click, the feeling of relaxation he'd been swaddled with ebbing away from his body by the second. "Scale of 1-5, what are the odds I'm a red smear under Mecha Man's foot by the end of the week?"
The joke landed, hit him with this brief flash of relief.
"You'll be okay- if he's not fine about it then…" Robert trailed off and shrugged. "I'll figure it out. Worst case I start sneaking out of the house more and our relationship gets more strained."
"Robert that sounds-"
He planted another firm kiss on your lips as he pulled back, a quiet 'sh, sh, shhh…' was all he replied with. Slowly, he clambered out of your car, fingers idly tapped against the door as he racked his brain for… something. Without a second thought, you blurted it out:
"My parents are going out of town over the weekend."
The simple sentiment seemed to spark some clarity in him.
"Then I'll make sure I have a bag packed on Friday."
Bile starts building up in the back of your throat as you wait. The toe of your shoe rubs against the cheap carpeting. You could run, vindication and catharsis were petty things to want, after all-
You freeze as you watch a shadow flicker over the peekhole. No exits- not anymore.
After a beat, the door slowly opens, revealing him.
For a moment all you can focus on is the pockets of shadow and darkness on his face. The bags under his eyes are far more pronounced than they used to be, His skin is a bit more sallow, and while the powder blue button-down he's wearing doesn't fit him at all, you can't help but feel like he's not eating like he should be. His eyes don't have that same bright spark they used to, either. Despite everything else seeming more alarming, that's the one that saddens you the most.
But it's not all bad- there's still parts of Robert there. Parts you recognize like it was second nature. The little notch in his ear, his pretty brown hair, and his cute freckles you were kind of thrilled to see still hadn't thinned out by his thirties, among other things.
It's not all bad, it's just not nearly as good as you would've liked.
Robert blinks a few times as he really, really registers who's here to see him. There's a lull of hesitation, and in a flash there's this quiet race between the two of you. He goes to slam the door as fast as possible, and you go to slam yourself into the door, keeping it ajar.
Ultimately, you win. Your shoulder hurts like a bitch now, but you'll take what you can get,
His brow crinkles and he rolls his head around before his forehead hits the door with a soft 'thunk'. Shallow breaths pass him as he stays like that with his eyes shut for a long while, like if he keeps not looking at you for long enough, you'll just leave.
You don't.
"What are you doing here?" He finally asks, voice just an octave lower than you remember, though it's still unmistakably him.
For a moment, you find yourself stuck, only worrying your bottom lip as you mull over how you're going to explain yourself to him. Notably, he's surprised, but doesn't seem upset. You can't tell if that's something that's gonna make your 'mission' easier or harder.
"I… I just wanted to talk?" You offer with a light shrug of your shoulders. "Chase reached out- thought I'd want to know where you were, how you were doing."
There's something about what you say- or maybe how you say it- that seems to offend him. He sighs, but takes his weight off the door. He lifts his arms a touch, and does a little spin for you.
"There. You've seen me. You can go now."
"Don't be a bitch, Robert." You grumble in response. "The least you could do is let me in for a bit."
You watch as he visibly considers your request. His features soften just a touch, and he opens the door in a way that seems, even just the slightest bit, welcoming.
"Fine. Come on in."
"Heyyyyy, hon." You slowly muttered out, resting a hand on his shoulder. "How's it going?"
Robert regarded you as you had honestly expected him to. He didn't. You joined him in the not-at-all comfortable silence, just swishing your fingers back and forth across his shoulders. While you were definitely here to check in on your boyfriend's well-being, there was also a part of you that was here on business. Chase had been asking you how Robert was doing- apparently he'd been making sure to keep all of the Brave Brigade at arm's length. Not that you'd blamed him, considering what you'd picked up second hand from the news.
"Everyone's getting worried, you know. Me included." Finally, the crumpled up ball trying to pass as a teenager peeked out from the cave formed from his arms.
"When you say that- are they worried about Robert Robertson the Third, or are they worried about Mecha Man?"
You hummed and swayed a bit in your seat at the edge of his bed. "Well- there probably are some folks that are worried for Mecha Man- though, can't really say anything about the general public's thoughts on things, since they don't know if there'll be another one or not-"
"No one knows that."
"You might?"
Robert awkwardly twisted himself to look at you properly- something you'd immediately started trying to work with him on. Next thing he knew, his head was cradled in your lap as you gently stroked a thumb along his cheek, He took a deep breath in, then out.
"No one knows that." He repeated more firmly.
Your lips curled into an expression he'd had a hard time putting a word to. Still, you sigh and rake a hand through his hair.
"Right. No one can make you, and no one-" There's a beat of hesitation. You knew he knew it happened. "I'm not trying to force you."
"I know." He eventually muttered, though something about his tone didn't convince you.
"Do you need people time or do you want to stay here while I go out and grab some burgers, or Taco Bell or something?"
"People time." He croaked out after a beat. You only hummed and acquiesced, not budging from your spot. "…Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"Dad was a big guy, had bravado backing him up, but every now and then he would take me aside and tell me that he'd probably die before I got to be an adult. When I was a kid, I thought that was kind of chilling, you know? Because when your dad's all you got left, that's a lot to swallow. But as I got older, he would tell me that and I would go 'God, yeah I hope', because I thought that if he was dead that meant he'd get off my ass for a while and I could… I don't know… consider my options?"
"Right."
"But he is dead. And now it feels like I have less options than ever."
"You can still say no. I won't hold it against you. Chase won't hold it against you." You couldn't speak much for the rest of the Brave Brigade of course, but…
"Sure. But what else can I do? He never taught me to do anything else, so I may as well just become Mecha Man now." He sighed, stretched, and broke eye-contact. "Besides, helping people full time doesn't sound awful."
You only hummed, running your thumb along the notch in his ear. You didn't voice how… sad that was to hear, You didn't force him to try to 'consider his options' before locking in. It didn't feel like it was your place. After a long while, a muffled gurgle cut the silence like a knife. After a moment, you couldn't help a laugh.
"So, Taco Bell, then?"
"Ah. Yeah, I guess so?" You nodded and smiled, gently shuffling him over as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed.
"Right, right. The usual or-
You froze as you felt something hard and smooth against your foot as you swung your legs off his bed- a reaction that you hadn't at the time realized he mimicked. Reaching down, you pulled up a dull green bottle.
"Malt liquor?" You read the label out loud. You looked over your shoulder, holding out the near-empty glass bottle. "Robert, what the hell is this doing here?"
"It's my dad's." He blurted out almost definitely too fast. "It was- it was in his room. When we were clearing it out I just took it, and…" The tablespoon of liquid sloshing around the bottom of the bottle told the rest of the story. Probably the only entirely truthful part of it, too.
"Right." You sigh, reaching over and tousling his hair. "Don't start doing something like this, hon. That's a slippery slope."
"…Okay."
"Good." You stood up, pressing a firm kiss to his head. "I'll be back in a bit."
Robert watched with a careful eye until the door closed with a soft 'click' behind you, then he collapsed back into his mattress. He wouldn't tell you that drinking was the best choice he'd made since his dad died. That the short hours he got of a buzzed, floaty feeling where his brain turned off was a nice reprieve. Maybe he'd look into weed.
Mm. But weed was expensive. Marginally more illegal, too.
"Oh, wow, it's…"
Robert idly watches you from the doorway as you take in his apartment. It doesn't take long- there isn't much to look at.
"It's…?" He echos, offering a little 'go on' motion.
"Sad." You reply flatly. You stare down at the plastic chair in the dead middle of the room for a long while before you opt to sit yourself on it. Before you have the chance to open your mouth and start cutting to the chase, you suddenly find yourself being inspected by a fat little dog. "Who's this?" You ask as it hops up onto your lap.
"That's Beef. The uh… The whole 'having no one to talk to' thing started getting to me, so…"
The dog is cute, makes you feel a bit better. The sentiment that follows feels like Robert just snapped open your shirt collar and dumped a cup of ice water down your back.
"Yeah?" You spit the word out- you don't mean to, you want to be civil. The ice in your tone doesn't go unnoticed.
"…Yeah." Robert replies. "Listen-"
"What happened?"
His words die on his lips as your question sounds out in the room. He doesn't respond right away- doesn't know how.
"I… Don't know."
Neither of you believe that.
For a while you wonder if it's worth trying to call him out on it, idly scratching behind Beef's ear as you mull over your options.
"Still drinking?" You barely register that you asked the question, but you notice him bristle when you do.
"Ah… I mean, a bit, but it's- it's a healthier amount now."
"Did you… like, did you quit?"
"Well, no-"
"Or is there just less because you can't afford it?"
"…Really? Is that was this is about?"
"No." The word is strained at the back of your throat. "You… you died, Robert."
"…The dead part was an exaggeration. I was just… I was hiding. Trying to fix myself- trying to fix the suit."
"You never called."
"You blocked me! What did you want?!"
There's a little beat where you pause. He knew he blocked you, so he probably did try to call you. Maybe not now, but at some point. But. That didn't matter. You had a point to make.
"You never called Chase! Both of us thought you were, at best, in a coma. I was ready to call you dead and call up whoever still liked you to get a little funeral or, or like a celebration of life or something. But then, then Chase called me! Called me and said 'that little bitch never died at all, got him a new job and everything'!"
Robert didn't say anything. He was biting his tongue, you could tell.
"What was I supposed to do with that?" You took in a deep breath, trying your best to steel yourself as you watched Robert slowly react around you. He tightened his grip into a fist. Bubbling. Boiling. "Chase told me to just move on, but, I've spent so long waiting for you and worrying about you that I-"
Whatever you wanted to say, you wouldn't get to finish your point. He decided he'd heard enough.
"Well there you go! Obviously you wouldn't have to worry anymore. No more 'Robert, stop using me as your ride if you've been out drinking.' No more 'Robert, I have problems, too!' No more 'Robert, you made me waste my twenties!'"
You can only stare at him in silent horror once he finishes his outburst. Then, the creeping feeling of rage kicks in. Right. You weren't here to be nice and play catch up, as good as it sounded. You were here to be angry. While part of you wants to thank him for the reminder, something else comes out instead.
"I didn't say any of that. Is that what you think of me?!"
There's a brief, brief, brief flicker of regret on his face, but just as quickly he steels himself to double down.
"It is, actually!" He huffs.
The grinding of your teeth rings loud in your head. Briefly, you wonder if your grip on your palms will make them bleed. You feel like shit. The boiling and bubbling deep in your gut is starting to get to you. You take sharp, uneven breaths, look back and forth, and you weigh your options. Looks like you only really have two if you want to get away from this:
Option A) you leave. The door's right there, it isn't being blocked. You can just leave and not come back, accept that this bridge is just supposed to be burned forever. Maybe if you feel like it you can call Chase and do check-ins that way- reverse the script.
Option B) the balcony.
You opt for option B.
"Sorry, sorry. Thank you but- sorry."
"It's okay, Big Guy. Come on, let's just get you home."
Robert all but collapsed into his seat. He was completely flushed red, looked like he was teetering on the verge of a breakdown. Without another word, he fumbled with his seat, until a loud 'clan-CLANK' sounded out and the passenger seat practically crashed down.
"Do you think, maybe…"
"I have been known to think." Robert mumbled out, not facing you as he curled himself up.
"Mm. Seatbelt?" You chimed out. After a moment, he threw up a hand and pulled down the seatbelt. More fumbling, but the little 'click' sounded out eventually. "Do you ever think that… this is maybe a problem?"
"It makes things seem less… claustrophobic."
"Interesting word for it." You muttered, slowly easing the car out of your spectacular parallel park. "I just… want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."
"Yeah, yeah- I know- hero shit, gotta stay on the ball."
You sigh as you ratta-tap-tapped your nails on the wheel. "Not what I said."
The drive is quiet for a long while, until your voice, soft as ever, breaks the silence.
"You're only nineteen, Robert." There were more words on the tip of your tongue, but none of them came out. Because maybe there was something to say about the nineteen year old hero who was on the news every day, lauded for how strong he'd been to get over his father's death, who was also smuggling himself into bars with a fake ID to order one too many whiskey sours more and more and more often. There probably was, but you didn't want to front load him, especially when he wasn't sober.
But he was quiet. Really quiet. You spared him a glance at the next red light. Ah. Asleep quiet.
You breathed out a deep sigh when you finally made your way to his driveway. The house felt bigger- too big for one person, even if you'd been staying the night more often. Because you were starting to not like the idea of him being alone for too long. Maybe you'd push the idea of moving in together, that might've been nice.
The thought brought a strange cacophony of feelings to the deepest pits of your stomach. On one hand, the idea of moving in together is actually something that elated you to some degree. It felt like a mature step forward in your relationship, and you thought, maybe, Robert might appreciate someone actually being in his home waiting for him to come back after a long day's work.
But then the cynicism crept its thin, spindly tendrils around your guts. There was always the possibility that it wouldn't help anyone with anything. Maybe he'd keep spiraling. Maybe carting the underage drinker that was rapidly nurturing a serious drinking problem around was your fate.
You clicked your tongue against your teeth. Not if you had anything to say about it, it wouldn't.
Minutes had ticked by as you watched your boyfriend soundly doze in his passenger seat. He kept mumbling little nothings and half phrases, none of which you could find the coherency to. But he looked sweet like this- at piece. Maybe that's why he drank. Why he felt 'less claustrophobic' like this.
"Don't you ruin this, Robert Robertson."
The words were swallowed back down as soon as they came up. You stilled for a moment, waiting with baited breath for any sign of him stirring or questioning what the hell you meant by that, but by the mercy of whatever Gods were out there,he remained fast asleep. After another moment, you reached over.
"C'mon, Robert…" You quietly coo. Still, he didn't move. Admittedly, there was a moment where you had this creeping fear that he'd somehow died in your passenger seat- too many problems would spring up from that. However, just before that tangled ball of anxiety could spiral and roll further, Robert 'responded' with a particularly aggressive snore. A sigh of relief breezed past your teeth before you got out of your car and made your way to his side.
"Robert, honey, we're home." You muttered as you brought a hand to his cheek. You watch as his expression scrunched and he slowly stirred awake. His eyes fluttered open and he stretched in his seat before he just held out his arms to you. You didn't say a word as you reached out and helped tug him out of the car seat, pressing a little kiss to his temple before he'd draped his arms over your shoulders.
He was actually walking better than you thought he would. Maybe the nap had sobered him up. Maybe he was getting better at holding his liquor. You… weren't actually sure which one sounded better.
"Key?" You asked, holding out a hand expectantly. Robert furrowed his brow and pat one, two, three different pockets before he deposited a little shiny keyring into your palm.
It's a short journey from the door to the couch. You try to keep him from literally crashing on it, but the best you can do is just making sure he doesn't literally throw down all his weight. There's a long silence of him resting his head against you. You only idly run your fingers through his hair in the meantime. Honestly you just assumed Robert was asleep.
After a while- maybe five minutes, maybe fifty, you didn't know- you huffed out a soft sigh and gently maneuvered yourself. You had places to be, your own bed to sleep in. Though as you tried- tried- to stand up, you found your assumptions wrong.
"No, no- please, please stay." His grip on you was tight, tighter than you thought he could grab.
"Robert-"
"Please." He buried his face in your shoulder for a moment, but only for a moment. "I can't- I don't like it when you aren't here. You're one of the only things in my life that still makes sense to me. Mostly." It took you a moment to properly parse his words. You furrowed your brow as you looked down at him- though he seemed more interested in playing with the tips of your fingers.
"Mostly?"
"I don't know why you're still here. I'm a bit shitty, I think."
"Sometimes you are." You concede.
"I'm sorry I'm shitty." Slowly, he laced his fingers with yours, warm hand clasping over you. "I want to be better- you know I want to be better?" You only hummed, your free hand finger-combing his hair. You didn't necessarily know, but you believed him.
Robert stayed quiet just as you had, bringing your trapped hand to his chest as he stared up at your face. After a moment, he smiled. A small smile, but his eyes had compensated on the brightness front.
"What is it?" You ask, mirroring his expression.
"I just like it when you're in a room with me. You make rooms good." Just as quickly as his little bubble of happiness rose up, it popped. "Can I tell you a secret?" He practically whispered, pulling your hand closer to his face.
"You can tell me whatever you want to, honey."
He seemed to take his time to elaborate though, holding your fingers against his lips, expression strangely serious given his current condition. When he eventually spoke, his voice was soft.
"I… Am scared that I won't get to be in rooms with you anymore."
The sentiment carried a lot of unspoken implications. At best, he was worried you'd leave him. At worst, he was worried he'd be forced to 'leave' you.
"It's alright." You whisper back, leaning down and pressing a little peck against his lips. "I'll be around to be in rooms with you as long as you want."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You wanna head to bed?"
"Only if you come with me."
You can feel each and every breath pulse through your body as you keep tightening and loosening your grip on the balcony railing. Wasted your twenties, please. You furrow your brow. Did you waste your twenties?
You rattle the question around in your head for a while, so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear the balcony door slide open and shut.
What does wasting time even look like when you're a human person, anyway? Like, you guess in a capitalistic sense, it means not making money, but that means kids are wasting all their time all the time. That's stupid. You haven't really been like, suicidally depressed. You had a job, had a house- which in LA was impressive, you'd like to think. Really you've only been stalling the breaks in the romance department.
…Well, and there's that promotion you turned down because it would've uprooted you to the East Coast…
Whatever. You didn't waste your twenties. Saying a human can waste time is relative. Being alive kicks ass.
"Are you done?"
You jump when he speaks, but elect to not answer. It was an open question, and you weren't sure what kind of 'done' he meant.
"Are you?" Is what you finally ask in reply.
"…I think so." And that stuns you for a minute. "Blowing up…" He sighs, and rests his arms on the railing. "It just… probably wasn't as called for as I thought it was."
"I… thanks." You look at him for a moment, but only for a moment. "I came here wanting to blow up, if that makes you feel better." When he doesn't respond, you continue. "But- I mean it was for the whole pretending to be dead for a few months thing, that's the part I came here to be mad about. I didn't," You aimlessly rake a hand over your head. "I didn't mean to dig into past stuff. The drinking and all that." After a beat, you drum your fingers on the rail, and say in a much softer voice: "But being mad seems so exhausting now…"
"Then what are you doing here?" He finally asks you. You say nothing for a while- taking in the Torrance air that somehow feels shittier than normal in his neck of the city.
"I don't know." You mumble, hard focused on a squirrel that's parkouring back and forth along some trees. "I don't know- maybe- maybe I wanted an apology, just so I could say I didn't forgive you." From the corner of your eye you can see Robert's expression sour just a touch. It looks more normal on him than a smile does. "But then- then you opened the door, and I saw you, and then this stone sank in my gut. I think I still want to be angry but there's something deep inside that feels like that'd be cruel."
You crinkle your nose. The last conversation you'd had with him before today was, what, twelve years ago? You don't remember what spurred it on- and, even still, you don't know if anything spurred it on- you just remembered that it ended in a screaming match because he just wanted you gone.
You had every right to be mad, so why did it feel so wrong? What were you doing here?
"…You didn't waste my twenties, by the way." Your voice is soft. He can barely hear you- you can feel him shift a bit closer so he can. "I just… Fuck, this is stupid, isn't it?"
Robert opens his mouth to respond, but you only set your hand on his arm- not now.
"I mean, I didn't exactly go easy into that goodbye. Clawing and screaming and all that. But I think it was just… I loved you, you know? And I'm pretty sure I still do." Bitter laughter bubbles from you as you let your head drop onto your forearms. "I've loved you for seventeen years, and I've never loved anyone better."
You give him a moment. The silence on the balcony is palpable, but you appreciate that things have cooled down. Both physically and metaphorically.
"It's probably sad- every time I had an opportunity with someone else, I'd just. Stop." You sigh, tracing your fingers along the railing. "They probably noticed. I mean- you go on a few dates with a person on Tinder and then they look at the news while you're at a bar together and stare a little too longingly at the footage of Mecha Man." Another beat. "Probably thought it was a weird parasocial thing instead of even weirder personal baggage."
This, interestingly enough, makes him chuckle along with you as he huffs out a little "Yeah…" in agreement. For a brief moment, he lets the quiet sit before he unsubtly clears his throat. "I did… I did try to call you, by the way. A few years ago." A few half-formed syllables ebb out from him. "I wanted to be better, for you, but I didn't know if I was, and I didn't know if I could be. But I was still doing… better for myself. And I wanted you to know. Even if you didn't answer your phone, I could still tell you. I could still hear your voice again."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I called, and it went straight to the operator." Checked out- you'd lost your phone like, five years ago. The new number took a while to get used to. "Which, y'know, meant I couldn't tell you anything. But I still wanted to prove that I could- that Robert Robertson- could be better. For something. So, I got a Beef."
"Well, your Beef seems very happy."
As if on cue, there was a quiet 'scrt scrt' and whine from inside Robert's apartment. Both of you turned to see Beef, seemingly baffled as to why his father had abandoned him to talk to seemingly a complete stranger.
"…You think we'll be okay to head back inside?"
"Far be it from me to make you abandon your child."
There was a cheery tune on your lips as you emptied out the dishwasher. The house was on the newer end, on the smaller end, but Robert had insisted to you when you helped him move in that it was fine- a perfectly fine house to live in so he could finally get that fresh start he needed.
He was out at the time- something you had initially protested because he'd just come out of the hospital after a particularly colourful altercation with whatever villain of the week it was that could break right through the Mecha Man hull and crack his ribs- something something. He had insisted that even though it hurt really really badly, especially if he twisted or bent his torso in any meaningful way, which you both learned was something he did frequently and often, he had a responsibility to LA that he had to uphold. It was fine, anyway. He was getting used to it, apparently.
You leaned over the sink for a moment, a feeling of nausea doing its very best to tangle and ride its way up your throat. It was a strange juxtaposition to be in. Every day you saw that Mecha Man Blue was out there, being a man of the people- saving people, donating what he could to charities- especially those supporting youths with either no powers or powers that were incredibly self-destructive- he'd done the interview circuit again and again and again. Then he'd come home and fall apart the moment he'd walked through the door.
Silently, you put away the last dish and looked at something on the kitchen counter for a long, long while. Without another word, you picked up that something- a shiny, though heavily used, cocktail shaker. You sighed and lightly shook it, listening to the cap rattle against metal. It felt weird to project all of your problems onto a piece of metal that literally couldn't feel. But then, that was probably better than taking it out on Robert.
You remembered pretty clearly the only time Mecha Man Blue had publicly fallen apart. It was another interview- he'd gotten a lot of those basically all the time, but they really spiked after he got into the swing of things- and it was all business as usual, a couple 'What really motivates you in your line of work?' ('I just… like helping people.' True.) 'Do you know what we can expect from you in the future?' ('More of the same, I imagine.' Again, true. To a point.) 'What's the hardest thing about being Mecha Man?' ('Facing the reality that I can't save everyone.' Partial credit. The financial side hadn't been particularly smooth.) Robert was poised and funny, actively feeding into whatever bit the interviewer thought could plant their flag in the comedy circuit, but then there was this strange moment at then end- something close to a serene calm- where they leaned forward and asked, tone low and serious;
"What was it like losing your father when you were only seventeen?"
You furrowed your brow as you kept rattling the shaker lid. Did he even answer that? You… actually weren't sure. But you knew the answer- at least, the roughest outline of it anyway. The shortest way to answer was bad, bad enough that this fucking thing got to be in the house despite neither of you legally being allowed to drink yet. You eyed up your bag that you'd halfheartedly tossed on one of the chairs in the kitchen.
You had an uncle once- didn't really talk to him anymore- but he was the main producer of all the second-hand smoke in your life. You'd thrown away a pack of his cigarettes once, school was really drilling in that smoking could and would kill you instantly at the time. He'd found them and gotten angry, saying it was 'evil to try to help people who don't need helping.'
After another moment of considering, you stuffed the shaker in your bag. You could think of a plausible cover story in case he noticed later.
Your ears perked up as you heard the door, and your feet quickly 'tmp tmp'd down the hall. You greeted your boyfriend with a bright smile. Your embrace was gentle, still well-aware of his sensitive mid-section. Yet, the corner of your mouth twitched as you got a better look at him.
Smile didn't meet his eyes. All teeth. When was the last time he actually smiled, anyway?
"What's wrong?"
The question was soft and airy, and you could visibly see him mull it over in his head. A sigh whistled out from between his teeth, and he pulled off his mask. Eyes were tired, mouth now at its neutral, dour rest.
"I need you to go."
"Oh." You replied rather flatly. "Okay, sure. I'll check in tomorrow?"
"No, I mean- I need you to go, And to not come back."
It had escalated from there- quickly and suddenly. You weren't in danger, he wasn't in danger. You just needed to be gone. For the first time, you uncapped the personal grievances you had that had been bubbling away and gnawing down your soul. How the lack of physical affection was starting to get to you, at the emotional distance he kept wedging down. For one of the first times, you complained about the drinking to his face. And yet, despite everything, as you marched your way home, still fuming, eyes brimming with tears, there was just one particular exchange your mind had on a repeating loop:
"Robert, you can't do this. I gave you everything I had! Everything!"
"And where did that get you?"
He… had a point. For the past three years it was more accurate to call Robert a stress-spot than a boyfriend. You put your life on pause for him after high school. You hadn't even looked at any college brochures- there were bigger things to worry about. But you'd convinced yourself that if you could tough it out, you'd be fine, because you loved him. You still did- heart still fluttered when you thought of that fleeting year you had when things were right- when they were normal- when he used to hold you, say he loved you, when he had a smile that reached his eyes.
They happened, they were facts. But they felt blurry and far away now. Like waterlogged photographs.
You threw your bag on the ground the moment you walked into your apartment, the strange jingling from inside making you look back at it. A cursory rummage told you everything you needed to know. Right, the shaker.
You sighed, again rattling the lid absentmindedly as you crashed on your couch. That was unnecessarily heated, you decided. After you'd took a few deep breaths, you flipped open your cellphone and flicked through your contacts.
The phone rang once, twice, three times, again and again until-
"Hey-"
"Hi, Rob-"
"-if I know you, leave a message."
You blinked as the loud monotone beep rang in your ear. After a moment longer, you silently shut your phone and pursed your lips. Another deep breath and your phone flicks open again.
"Hey, if I know you, leave a message." Alright fine, you would.
"Hey, Robert. It's um… It's me. I just wanted to say sorry about," You paused to take a deep breath. "About some of the things I said. They were mean, uncalled for. I know you're just trying to take away the bite of… everything, I just… Want you to be thinking about yourself more. About your health. I care about you and…" You stayed quiet for a while, mulling over your words. "I care about you but I need you to understand that I also need you to start caring for yourself, a bit. I know everyone should have someone looking out for them- even Mecha Man- but…" Another pause and a sigh ripped from your throat. "You get it, I think. I hope. Just… Call me back, okay? We can talk about this."
You don't know why it surprised you that Robert didn't even try to call or text you over the next few days. You called him again. Again and again and again and-
You're stood still and frozen one day. Your phone rang once, then hard snapped to his voice mail.
You blinked. Redialed. It hard snapped again.
He blocked you. You didn't even think he knew how to do that.
Pulling your phone from your ear, you stared at his contact for a long while. 'It's not him, it's the emotional disregulation talking for him!' A silly, silly optimistic part of your brain chimed as you stared at the black-on-off-green text. 'Just give him a few days and this will all blow over!'
With a loud snap, you closed your phone.
You tried. You really did. Robert Robertson the Third was not a man you were ever able to fix. Maybe he was already sitting in the jaws of death he'd been trying to numb his fear of this whole time. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he'd die in the suit like he always thought he would, maybe he'd just choke on his own vomit one day and not be found for days.
Because who was left to find him, anyway?
You took in deep, even-paced breaths. He wanted you gone. You weren't obligated to worry anymore. You tried and tried and you weren't enough to solve his problems. Maybe it was time to start solving your own.
You opened your phone and blocked his contact. There. That was a start.
"So… now what?"
"I… I don't know."
You fiddle with your hands as you mull over the past couple hours of your life. You plonked yourself on the floor, a silent offering of the terrible plastic chair that Robert did not take, stood right across from you instead.
"Do you think it's too late for us?"
"I don't think there's such a thing as 'too late', unless the other person's like… dead." A solidary, mirthless chuckle leaves you as you tuck your legs against your chest. "So- I guess I had once thought it was too late for us, yes, but then you sprung back up and I went 'you know, I wonder'."
Robert doesn't say anything, he only stares at you from the other side of the living room, arms cross against his chest, ankles locked together.
"No." You flatly clarify. "It's probably not too late. But…" Your lips twist as you try to articulate yourself. "I don't think we're on time though."
"What- like, we're early, somehow?"
"Yeah."
He seems surprised that he's right.
"I mean like- maybe, maybe we could be something again. I think I'd like that, because I do miss you. A lot. More than I probably should. But then we also couldn't, and I actually don't think I hate that either, because I think with how we… you- we were, it wasn't like… healthy. Co-dependent relationship, something something…" You kiss your teeth as you trail off. "I just think… if we want to really be in each other's lives long term again, we got to ease into it. Jumping into the cold pool isn't gonna make us used to the temperature, it's just going to send us into shock and someone's gonna drown."
"Right. Okay, yeah, that makes sense."
There's a long stretch of quiet. The passing of time looms over your head, but it feels more forgotten than ever.
"…I don't have to work today. Would you- do you want to go somewhere? Get some drinks?"
"Like… alcohol drinks?"
"Coffee drinks." He clarifies, lightly shaking his phone at you and showing off the '11:46' on it's display. "Besides, I don't drink- not before noon, anyway."
While there's a part of the joke that makes your stomach twist in an ugly way, you still huff out a little chuckle, stepping up from your spot on the floor and making your way to Robert in a few swift strides.
"Listen- I… I actually have to get going but… Can I borrow your phone real quick?" You ask, holding out an expectant hand. Robert furrows his brow, but still quietly acquiesces.
"What are you up to?" He asks, watching as you flick and tap through his phone. You don't respond directly for a moment, only smushing a shushing finger over his lips as you finish tap-tap-tapping. Just as quick you hand his phone back. His gaze is scrutinizing, but it softens almost immediately.
"It's my new number. I mean- newish, anyway." You shove your hands in your pockets and awkwardly rock back and forth on your heels. "Just… you know, call me. Whenever you want. We could go out for coffee-drinks, or just like…" Well, you would have said 'hang out here', but… "I could show you my new place- whatever. I just… I want to reconnect, I want us to be able to try again."
While this made him smile, it quickly fell.
"What if this… doesn't work? What if we try to make it work and it just… doesn't?" You turn his question over in your head, and then shrug.
"Then we move on. You and me get closure, and we move on. Accept that while we've changed each other, maybe it's for the best if we just… don't exist around each other."
He doesn't say anything, but there's something in his expression… You're right, and he knows that. He just doesn't want to say it. You watch his tongue swipe across his lip. There's a dryness in the room that wasn't there before. The silence is starting to feel crushing. It's only then that he finally speaks up again.
"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"
You hum. "When tomorrow night?"
He rolls his shoulders. "I mean, I get off work at 8- unless something comes up." You've both started walking to the front door, and you give up trying to fight the smile creeping on your face.
"I think I can make something work for then, yeah." You don't bring up that 8PM at the earliest sounds like kind of a silly time to go for coffee-drinks- if that's what he's planning, anyway- he's making an effort. You can tell. "You've got my number in case something does come up."
When you step out, he suddenly lurches for your hand, catching it with a grip that seems just a touch too tight. You blink and look up at him.
"I…" Whatever he was going to say dies on his tongue. Slowly, he takes his hand back, jamming it in his pocket. "I missed you." He breathes out.
Your convinced it's not what he wanted to say. Still, you reply:
"I missed you, too."