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It was easy, really. Jack had half a mind to be upset about it. He knew Robby had a death wish, but Jesus, brother. It should be harder to break into your house. The only real issue Jack had was actually getting through the window, but that was mostly because he wasn’t as nimble as he used to be.
As soon as his shoes hit the wood floor, Jack felt a sense of calm wash over him. The buzzing that had been under his skin since he got off of his shift finally calmed. He loved Robby’s house. The framed Bowie poster, the bookshelf of classic lit and Transformers figures, the hoodie thrown over the sofa—Robby was everywhere here. Jack zeroed in on the hoodie. He picked it up, held it to his face, and took a deep breath. It hadn’t been washed. It smelled like sweat and antiseptic and Robby’s stupid beard oil that Jack swears has some kind of mind-altering drug in it. He put it on. A little tight around the shoulders, but the sleeves were long enough to go over his hands. Jack gave in to the urge to bury his nose in the collar. The smell was intoxicating, and just so quintessentially Robby.
A battered copy of Pride and Prejudice lay on the coffee table, dogeared to hell and back. Jack felt a little silly, flipping through the book’s soft-worn pages and wondering how many times Robby’d read it, what part was he at now, does he lick his finger before he turns a page? Jack put the book down and shook his head, ears red with a blush. Best not to think too hard about Robby’s mouth.
The adjoining kitchen was dark. Jack flicked the light on, pleased to see clean dishes in the rack. Much less pleased when he opened the fridge. A beer, cans of zero sugar Dr. Pepper, a half-empty Brita pitcher. Takeout from the Thai place Jack likes, ketchup packets, cheese sticks. No actual food. The microwave burritos in the freezer and single ancient box of Cheerios in the pantry didn’t inspire much confidence, either. Jack made a mental note to take Robby to Aldi, and wandered down the hall towards Robby’s bedroom, half-heartedly looking at the photos on the wall. He’d seen them all before—Robby’s high school graduation with his grandparents, at Hershey with a 10 year old Jake, with Jack on the quad back in med school—actually. The last one was new. Robby and Jack, mid-twenties, shirtless and sweaty, arms slung over each other's shoulders and a football in Jack’s hand. Jack’s heart aches a little looking at it. They were so young. He shook his head, and turned into Robby’s room.
It was so…empty. No matter how many times Jack did this, he would never get over it. Robby’s living room was so full of personality, but his bedroom felt more like a guest room than anything. No posters, no photos, no figures. Just the bed, the wardrobe, and a TV in the corner. Not even a mirror, which Jack tried not to psychoanalyze too hard. He ran his hand over the rumpled navy bedspread, pulling the comforter back and crawling into the bed, just to re-envelope himself in that godforsaken smell. He had the brief thought that this obsession was getting a bit ridiculous, but promptly brushed it off. Maybe Robby shouldn’t smell so damn good.
He wasn’t planning on falling asleep. He was only supposed to be in the house for half an hour, plenty of time for him to check on things, be kind of weird, and leave before Robby got back from his shift. But it’s been a rough week, and Robby’s bed is so soft…
Jack’s jolted awake by pain in his leg and the sound of a door slamming. He looks at his watch. 7:34pm. It’s been 6 hours.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood, and bit back a groan of pain, leaning against the wall. He could hear footsteps in the kitchen, so he went through his options: climb out Robby’s bedroom window and hope he gets down before Robby shows up? Try sneaking out the way he came and inevitably get caught? Wait for Robby to find him here? All terrible choices. …First one it is. No problem. Jack could totally climb down that sheer wall. No biggie.
He made it 5 steps before he collapsed. Not even to the window. And of course it was loud as hell. The clattering of plates in the kitchen paused, and Jack knows what it sounds like when Robby speedwalks. He heard the steps approaching, and he froze, swallowing panic and bracing for…he wasn’t actually sure. He supposed he was about to find out. The door creaked open, and there was Robby, breathing heavy, brown eyes wide, and fucking stunning. Jack stares like an idiot, but Robby doesn’t skip a beat, immediately going to help him stand.
“What the fuck, Jack? Are you alright? Brother, what the hell are you doing in my house?...Is that my hoodie?”
Jack looked down. He forgot he was wearing the hoodie, to be honest. For once he doesn’t have a sarcastic comment queued up. Robby’s hand is warm on his elbow. His leg hurts. The prosthetic needs to come off. Robby helps him sit on the bed, and Jack takes the hoodie off to hand it to Robby, who looks like he still hasn’t processed what’s going on.
“I… need to go.”
“Hell no, Jack, you look like shit, and clearly we need to talk because what the fuck. Sit down.”
Jack obeys.
“It’s your leg, right?”
“...Yeah.”
Robby reaches for the prosthetic and looks up at him expectantly.
“Can I?”
“Go for it.”
This isn’t new. Robby’s done it a hundred times, when they crash at each other’s houses and Jack is too tired to think, much less take off his prosthetic. Robby is so gentle, massaging Jack’s leg like it’s second nature, focused on rubbing out knots and tension. Jack sits quietly, watching Robby’s hands. The thought occurs to him that he should be thinking of an excuse, or a way to get out without having to confess to his creepy hobbies, but he’s too busy counting the grays peeking through Robby’s brown hair. It takes him a second to realize Robby’s talking to him.
“What was that?”
“I asked if you were going to tell me why you’re in my bedroom. And wearing my hoodie? Brother, you know that thing is gross, right?”
But it smells like you was definitely an inside thought, and it really should’ve stayed inside. The furrowing of Robby’s brow told Jack it had not done that. He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.
“Shit, man. Ignore me. I don’t know what’s up with my head today.”
The laugh that he forces isn’t even convincing to his own ears. Robby looks concerned, and Jack hates that he put that look on his face. He fights the urge to smooth out the frown lines with his fingers. Robby’s magic hands leave his leg, and he mourns the loss until one of them comes to rest on his hand. Jack is suddenly grateful that he doesn’t blush the way Robby does.
“Jack. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“You know, you’re taking this really well.”
“What?”
“Robby, I broke into your house? Most people wouldn’t be very calm.”
“Oh. I…guess I hadn’t really thought about that? I don’t know, man, you looked upset, and you fell. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Jack will not cry. But god, does he love this sweet, stupid man.
“Now that you bring it up though… How did you get in here?”
“I climbed in the living room window.”
“You what. Jack, we’re three stories up.”
“It’s not that hard. There’s a bunch of balconies. I’ve-” Jack stops himself. Robby doesn’t need to know how many times he’s scaled the apartment building.
“Do you… do this a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot. Only a couple times.” (At least 15 times. Sometimes while Robby sleeps.)
“Jack, why?”
“I-” Jack brings the hand not holding Robby’s up to run through his curls. “I guess it helps. Sometimes everything gets to be too much and being around you helps. But I don’t always have you, do I, Mike? Your place is… the next best thing.”
Jack has managed to avoid looking directly at Robby until now. His breath hitches when he realizes Robby’s eyes are glassy. Robby leans forward, presses his forehead to their joined hands.
“Oh, Jack.”
Robby stands up, and Jack winces at the popping of his joints. Robby stands between his knees and wraps his arms around his shoulders. The angle is a little awkward, but Jack can’t bring himself to care when Robby presses a kiss to the top of his head.
“I’ve got you.”