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“I don’t know, man,” Robby says. He leans back against Jack’s couch, legs spread, head tipped back, hand scratching at his beard. He came over here for beer and baseball, but now he’s opening up his mouth to talk about shit. He doesn’t know how Jack does it.
Jack nods. He watches Robby, gaze knowing, eyes tracking Robby’s movements. Robby remembers when Jack used to look. That was a long time ago.
“What don’t you know?” Jack asks. He turns the sound down on the Pirates game. He must figure he doesn’t need to hear them lose at top volume. Might as well spare a little attention for the crisis of Robby’s personal life. “Other than what constitutes a decent beer.”
Robby flips him off. It’s not his fault that Jack’s a picky bitch. “Fuck off. I think I might finally call it. Maybe I just don’t like relationships.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “All relationships? You’re not much for commitment, I’ll give you that, but you keep trying, so. I always figured you were looking for something.”
“I don’t know,” Robby snaps. Something. Damned if he knows what. Janey, Jack, Heather. Every time he gets something good, he throws it away.
Jack levels a look at him. Robby holds a placating hand up. It’s probably out of line to bite a man’s head off in his own living room.
“Fuck,” Robby groans. “I don’t like anonymous hookups, but I can’t handle getting serious either. I think I want familiarity, but then I feel like it’s suffocating me.”
Jack huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well. What exactly don’t you like?” he asks. His face tells Robby that it’s just like him to be difficult.
“I don’t like people acting like my space is theirs,” Robby says. “I don’t like it when people assume they have permission to touch me all the time. I don’t like people deciding they know what I want to eat and watch and read.”
He likes when people know him, but he hates when they only think they do.
“Huh,” Jack says. There are entire paragraphs in that sound.
Robby groans. “What?”
Jack doesn’t answer right away. He rolls his beer bottle between his palms. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m remembering wrong.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. Robby takes a long drink from his beer, trying to buy some time.
“Actually,” Jack says, setting down his bottle, “it’s interesting that you say that, because it seemed like those things made you happy right up until you were walking out the door.”
Robby is frozen, pinned to the couch by the weight of the elephant in the room. They don’t talk about it. They never fucking talk about it.
“Hell,” Jack says. He gestures at the beer he picked out, the pizza on the coffee table that he ordered without needing to consult Robby, the way they’re sprawled out on the couch together. “You still let me do most of that. So I think maybe you’re just coming up with excuses.”
“It’s not the same with someone I’m dating,” Robby says. He feels like a deer in the headlights, unable to escape this conversation. Of course it’s not the same with strangers. They don’t know him. They aren’t Jack. “It wasn’t like that with you. It’s different.”
Jack’s face falls. He looks like Robby slapped him. “Because we weren’t dating. I’m your friend. Shit, man.” He turns away, nods a little, like he’s coming to terms with something.
Robby’s no longer a deer in headlights. He has fully been hit by the truck and is flying through the air. It’s different because Jack is more important, but it’s clear from Jack’s face that he heard something else. Worse than the feeling of the imminent splat on the pavement is the guilt at being the reason for that look in Jack’s eyes.
Jack shrugs. He’s holding himself away from Robby now, uncomfortable and stiff. “Okay. I mean, even then, I guess you never wanted more than that. That’s why you called it.” He sighs. “I’m glad I’m your friend.”
Robby is stuck. There’s no way to crawfish out of this conversation without letting Jack believe a half-truth that’s clearly cut him deeply, and isn’t that a surprise? He never thought that part of them was all that important to Jack. It feels good, in a way, that he wasn’t totally alone in his feelings. But Robby is worse now. He’s less than he was when they were together, has even less to give. Being in love with Jack won’t change that. Won’t the whole truth make it worse?
“I’m. I mean. Meant. I meant you’re different because. It’s different,” Robby tries, knowing he sounds like an idiot. “Fuck. I don’t know how to say this.”
Jack nods. “I know. Most of your friends with benefits weren’t your actual friends.” Jack sighs. “Sorry for bringing it up and making shit weird. Guess I always felt bad that I fucked it up. It seemed like you did better with someone steady.”
"You didn't fuck it up," Robby says, shocked into pure honesty. "I did do better with you; everything is better with you."
Jack’s face smoothes out, soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Things are better with you too. I’m glad I helped, even if it wasn’t for long.”
The silence can't be called comfortable, but it's better. For a moment. Until Robby’s heart starts to pound, until he feels his face getting hot, his stomach swooping, and there must be something in his expression because Jack stops looking soft and starts looking concerned again.
“What, Mike?” Jack asks. He tilts his head the way he does, always trying to make Robby meet his eye. Robby can’t.
"I couldn't stay," Robby says quietly, looking at the wall over Jack’s shoulder. "Better to leave the party early than get dragged out after you've done something unforgivable."
Jack brings his hand to Robby’s shoulder. “Robby. What does that mean?” He pauses like his thoughts are coming together. “Hey, you never made me promises. We always said it was casual. Don’t worry about it if there was someone else. There’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive you for.”
Robby shakes his head. Of course there was no one else. There were many people before and after, but during, it was only Jack. “It wasn’t that. I always do something," Robby chokes out, shaking his head. He glances at Jack's hand on his shoulder, so familiar. "I would have fucked it up sooner or later. And we had a deal, right? I wasn't ever supposed to fall for you."
Having said it should feel freeing, but instead he just feels like roadkill.
“Hey,” Jack says, soft, a little confused, a little worried. He moves his hand to the back of Robby’s neck. “You didn’t do anything wrong with me, Robby. Nothing, okay?”
Jack's not getting it. Robby shakes his head again. "I was in love with you," he says, clear and sharp this time. "With a choice between hurting myself then or hurting you at any time, it was always going to be me. No contest."
“I don’t understand,” Jack says. He sounds like he’s trying to stay calm. “I wanted you to be in love with me. I thought you knew that. I thought that you broke up with me for wanting too much. Fuck, man, it only hurt when you left.”
"No. I didn't think. Jesus Christ." Robby pulls away from Jack's touch, just a fraction, an inch. He hurt Jack. He has to fix it. "We were headed somewhere, and it was good. And I don't get to keep good.”
Jack bites his lip like he’s thinking about what to say. “I’m gonna say this, and if you don’t like it, you have to promise you’re not gonna freak out and put your walls up so high that we don’t talk about it again until we’re both warfarin years old. Promise me.”
“We’re already warfarin years old,” Robby deflects, but he nods. “Yeah. I promise.”
“I want to keep you,” Jack says. He leans toward Robby, inviting his touch back. “I wanted to keep you. I would have liked the chance to try.”
"Aren't you sick of trying? God, I am so fucking tired of it. Of never being…enough." Robby shakes his head when he sees Jack's mouth open. "You were, you are so good for me. To me. I can't match that, man. I can't live up to you."
Jack pulls Robby into his side and wraps his arm around him. “Did you ever hear me say that you weren’t enough? Did I ever tell you to try harder?”
“Nobody ever says it when things are good,” Robby mutters even as he leans into the satisfying warmth of Jack’s shoulder. He shakes his head again, can’t resist pushing his face into Jack’s bicep for a moment. “Didn’t want to wait for it to stop being good.”
Jack cups the back of Robby’s head in his hand. “You ended it because you were afraid I’d leave when it stopped being good. But you left me, and I didn’t actually go anywhere, did I?”
Robby sucks in a deep deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You didn’t,” he admits. Jack’s fingers are curling ever so gently into his hair, the softest touch. “You didn’t, and it’s been everything else that fucking sucked.”
“And since then?” Jack asks. He scritches at Robby’s scalp. “Did I ever tell you that you weren’t enough? Did I ever ask for more than you wanted to give me?”
Robby exhales again, slowly. “You did not. You never have.”
Why does it hurt so much to admit this? Why does he feel like the last fifteen minutes have been torture, like his fingernails have been peeled off one by one?
“But if I let you down, that’s it, you get that right?” Robby looks up, eyes watery but meeting Jack’s gaze at last. “I cannot. I can’t lose you, and if that means playing it safe—.”
Jack wraps Robby up in his arms and pulls him into his lap. “What makes you think I’m a quitter?” Jack asks. He holds Robby’s gaze. “What exactly do you think you’re gonna do that I can’t handle?”
"I don't know." Robby bumps his forehead against Jack's, needing the closeness. "It was good, right?"
Jack groans. “I cannot believe I’ve been in love with you since the Bush Administration. Yeah, Mike. It was good. Really good.”
"Wait, which Bush?" Robby can't help but grin.
Jack rolls his eyes. “H.W.,” he says flatly. They both know they didn’t meet until 2006.
"That long, huh?" Robby sighs and puts his hands on Jack's face, brushes his thumbs over Jack's cheekbones. "You can't say I won't piss you off. It’s not going to be easy."
“What about anything I’ve ever done makes you think I want easy?” Jack rocks them side to side a little. “You think you never pissed me off before?”
Robby doesn't feel small, exactly, in Jack's arms like this. But he does feel...protected. Safe. "I wanna try again," he whispers.
“It has to be for keeps,” Jack says. Robby can hear him holding back tears.
"I already said, this is it for me. I’m so goddamn tired, Jack,” Robby admits.
Concern crosses over Jack’s face. “So let me help you rest.”
Robby leans down the rest of the way, pushes his face into Jack's neck as he wraps his arms around him. "I would really like that," he mumbles against the warm skin there, so familiar. "Can I stay?"
Jack kisses Robby’s temple. “Mike, you don’t ever have to leave if you don’t want to. You want to go to bed and sleep for as long as we can?”
"Please, yes," Robby groans. "Can we call in sick tomorrow?"
“Yeah,” Jack agrees immediately, but Robby can hear that same concern in his voice. “You, Michael Robinavitch, want us both to play hooky? Baby, how bad have you been doing, and why were you hiding it from me?”
Baby. Fuck, Robby missed that.
“Oh, you know,” Robby says, lifting his head a moment. “I thought. I don’t know. I thought I had it handled. And then this conversation, and—.” He makes a gesture; he’s not even sure what it means. “The dominoes fell really fast tonight.”
Jack rubs Robby’s back. It feels nice.
“I see that,” Jack says. “So right now, you let me hold you, and we worry about picking the pieces up tomorrow.”
It sounds so easy when Jack says it like that.
Robby nods. He leans forward until he’s sharing Jack’s breath. Jack takes them the rest of the way, cupping Robby’s face in his hands and kissing him until they have to break for air. Robby leans his forehead against Jack’s.
“Yeah,” Robby says. He closes his eyes, lets himself rest against Jack. “Let’s do that.”