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Summary
He drags both hands hard through his hair, down the back of his neck, fingers catching in his beard like it’s enough to ground himself through it. Everything feels too loud, too tight, and Robby feels like he can’t get enough air.
”I don’t have to do this,” he says, more to the room than to Whitaker. “I booked this time off to reduce stress, and it’s already fucking worse. I don’t need any of this shit, I don’t need anybody worrying about me, and I sure as hell don’t need you trying to baby me in my own home.”
“What the fuck did you expect?” Whitaker asks through a laugh, his hands mirroring Robby’s as they claw at his skin. “With the way you’ve been behaving?”
”The way I’ve been behaving?” Robby echoes, sharper, turning fully back toward him now, incredulity bleeding into anger. “And how exactly have I been behaving?”
”Like you’re going to fucking kill yourself.”
Or: Robby asks Whitaker to housesit, not expecting him to ask for a ride there. When Whitaker brings up his concerns and confesses his feelings, Robby’s left deciding what to do: ride off and never come back to Pittsburgh, or take what he doesn’t deserve from the eager R1 in his home?