Work Text:
-/-
The glass front to the store opened with a jingle. Robbie gave an automatic 'welcome to Lazy Shoesie' without looking up from the register, but a moment later a bookbag was dropped on the counter and then his young daughter followed, hanging on the edge of the counter by her arms folded in front of her. He made a mental note to stop letting her spend so much time around Sportacus, and carried on counting while she watched him. She knew not to talk to him while he was counting money.
As soon as the drawer was closed, though, he turned to her, and before he could say a word she said, very loudly, “Are you dating Sportacus yet?”
Because of course she did. Robbie glared. “No. And stop asking that! Especially when there's a chance Sportacus could hear you.”
“Why?”
“Because it might give him ideas.”
“Good!”
Robbie turned his gaze skyward, let out a long-suffering sigh, and turned back to his daughter. He frowned. “Where's your brother?” he asked, and, when she shrugged and refused to look at him, “Beatrice Rotten, did you leave your brother asleep on the bus again?!”
“No!” A pause. “...yes.” She huffed. “It's not my fault he sleeps on the bus! What am I, his keeper?”
“Yes!” Robbie groaned, and touched the talk button on the mic clipped to his shirtfront. “Sportacus, can you come run the register for me? I need to go call the bus driver. Again.”
A beat, and the earpiece crackled with static and a cheery “Sure thing, Robbie!” Robbie gestured sternly to the ottoman nearest the register, looking pointedly at his daughter.
“Sit,” he said. “Do your homework. Quietly. I'm going to go see if I can get your brother dropped off here before five o'clock.”
Trixie pouted, but dropped heavily onto the ottoman and pulled out the book her class was reading. She'd already read well past the point that she was meant to to stay with her class, but she was actually enjoying it, and it beat doing her math homework.
Meanwhile, Robbie swapped out with Sportacus, who, with the absence of customers, decided to tidy the sock display beside the register instead. While he sorted through the scattered socks, lining them all up evenly with their fellows and facing them, he became aware of a pair of eyes on him. He turned around. Trixie was regarding him thoughtfully: specifically, her gaze was drawn a little lower than he was comfortable with.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“My dad says you have a cute butt,” Trixie said, looking up. Sportacus's ears turned pink. “I don't get it, though. It's a butt. What's so special about it?”
“Ah- um.” His blush was spreading from his ears to his neck. “That's, um. That's an adult thing. It, ah.” He squeaked. “Did he say this to you?”
“Nah, I overheard him talking to Bobby on the phone. So adults like butts?”
“Some of them.” Oh dear, now his face was hot too. Sportacus half-turned back to the socks, then hurriedly moved behind the counter instead, blocking his lower half off from further scrutiny. “Um, this isn't really appropriate conversation. You should. Talk to your dad about it.”
Trixie let out a long-suffering sigh, for just a moment seeming so much like her father that Sportacus had to suppress an amused smile. “Adults are weird ,” she said. “Are you gonna date my dad? You should date my dad.”
Now he did smile. “No, Trixie. We've been over this. I'm not going to date your dad.”
“Well you should,” she huffed, and finally returned to her book.
-/-
Robbie put the last display shoe in place and rocked back on his heels, giving the column of shoeboxes in front of him a satisfied look. “There!” he said, standing and stretching himself out with a series of cracks and pops that, had Sportacus been within earshot, would have sent his coworker into convulsions. Speaking of Sportacus, where'd he disappear to?
He found him in the kids' section, organizing the first-walkers, and dropped himself onto the nearest ottoman with a groan. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing the ankles, and leaned back on his hands.
“Boot and sandal aisle is done,” he said. “I've got it looking nice and pretty and I swear to god if anyone messes it up like before I'm coming after them.”
Sportacus slotted a last box into place and turned to Robbie, folding his arms and giving him that look of fond amusement . “Just don't go off on any customers,” he said. “Again.”
“Don't tell me what to do, Sportaboss.”
“But... it's my job?”
Sportacus looked confused. Robbie just stuck his tongue out at him, and turned to head back to his section. He stopped in front of the handbag wall and stood looking at it thoughtfully. It was a disorganized mess, and it would take the rest of the day to get it in order. Luckily they had the rest of the day, since Lazy Shoesie closed on Sundays. It was just the senior crew at the moment, five sales associates and the two keyholders, running stock into the shelves in preparation for their next truck later in the week.
Robbie hit his mic. “My poor handbag wall looks like a tornado hit it,” he said. “Honestly, this job would be so much easier if it weren't for the customers.”
“The job is the customers,” Sportacus said. Robbie blew a raspberry into the mic.
-/-
Truck nights were never fun. Long after closing, Sportacus and Robbie were still in the store, cracking open boxes, sticking on labels, recording everything, and pulling lefts. They'd gotten something like two hundred boxes, and they would be here tonight and the next night too, getting everything ready to be put out.
Sportacus stood and dropped his box cutter into the bucket, then did a few quick stretches.
“It's late,” he said. “Let's take a break and get something to eat. Pablo brought us dinner earlier.”
Robbie was tired, and blamed that for the bitter, “Of course he did,” that he wasn't able to keep in. Sportacus raised an eyebrow at him, but Robbie just gave him a sour look. “I mean, it was awfully nice of your boyfriend to cook for us. That's all.”
Sportacus's ears had gone pink again. Robbie very carefully didn't notice, or think about how endearing it was, or imagine tracing the shell of those ears with his tongue to see just how red he could get them.
“Pablo's not my boyfriend,” he mumbled. “He's just a friend, a very nice friend who likes to make food for us because he likes us. Us,” he added. Robbie scoffed.
“No, he's got a crush on you and he's hoping that by including me in his meal plans, you won't catch on. Face it, Sportablivious, you're living in a shojo manga.”
“A what?”
“A shojo manga.” Robbie waved his hands around vaguely, making gestures that Sportacus couldn't interpret. “You know, Japanese comics with romantic and fluffy themes, generally stories about schoolgirls and aimed at the same.”
“Why do you know about them?” Sportacus asked, surprised. He took a bowl out of the fridge in the breakroom and stuck it in the microwave.
“I have kids,” Robbie said, as if it was obvious. “And contrary to popular belief, I do actually pay attention to them and their interests.”
“Trixie?” Sportacus furrowed his brow- it didn't sound like Trixie's thing- but Robbie shook his head.
“No, she likes- what is it-” His lips moved silently for a second while he tried to remember the unfamiliar word. “-Senpai? Sentai. Something like that. No, Stingy is the one who likes the shojo manga. He's into this one called 'Tokyo Vampire' right now, and this other one, 'Magical Boy KameKaze', and in both of them-” He gave Sportacus a stern look, dragging them back to the point at hand. “-the girl makes lunches for her love interests. Of course,” he added, “In Tokyo Vampire the love interest is a vampire and in Magical Boy Kamekaze Kame always turns back into her male alterego before she can deliver the lunch so the love interest thinks Kaze is the one who has a crush on him...”
Robbie trailed off, because Sportacus was watching him with a look on his face that Robbie recognized, but had never been able to put a shape too. A blush climbed up his own cheeks.
“What?”
“Nothing. It's just nice that you read the stories your kids do, that's all.”
Robbie shrugged half-heartedly. There weren't many people willing to compliment Robbie's parenting, for all that his kids were happy, healthy, and mostly stable. He wasn't sure how to respond. “Only so I can follow what they're talking about. Don't you read those comic books your kid likes?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Sportacus laughed. “We read them together. He likes to do the sound effects and he makes me voice all the good guys. I'm not very good at that part,” he added. “But it's nice that he doesn't mind.”
“We can't all be classically trained actors,” Robbie said, hoping that came out as assuring as it had been intended. The microwave blinked, and Sportacus opened it. “Say, that actually smells good. Be sure to tell your boyfriend thanks for me.”
“Robbie! He's not my boyfriend!”
-/-
Robbie strolled into the stockroom before his shift and stopped dead in his tracks. Sportacus was down the toddler wall, half the cubbyholes emptied around him and his shoulders tight while he dug through the pile. A toddler-sized gold sandal sat on a box on the table. Robbie picked it up.
“Did you check clearance?” he asked, and looked down that row. He winced. Another pile of shoes lay on the floor down clearance. “Oh.” He looked down at the shoe in his hand, and up at the wall. Ah. “It's up here, Sporto,” he said, strolling over and plucking a shoe from the very top shelf, where Sportacus would have had no chance of even seeing it without getting the ladder.
Sportacus stared at the shoe like he was about to cry. Robbie patted him sympathetically. He'd been there before. They all had.
“Go on, take it up to the register,” Robbie said. “I'll clean up back here.”
“You don't have to...”
“What, and let you mess up my system?”
Sportacus gave him a weak smile, only about a hundred of his usual thousand watts. They both knew that Sportacus was the better organized of the two, if only because Robbie went for very elaborate organizational systems that no one else could follow, while Sportacus just made sure everything was with its fellows in the cubbies. It would be more organized when Robbie finished, but it would take twice as long and be twice as easy to mess up.
Still, it was a kind offer, and Sportacus had no wish to stay in the stockroom any longer. He gave Robbie's shoulder a grateful squeeze and took the tiny sandal from him. “Thanks, Robbie. I'll come back and help once I get my customer taken care of.”
-/-
Robbie was leaned over on the counter, almost folded in half, with his arms folded and his head resting on them, staring at an infant shoe in front of him, waiting for Sportacus to finish making a new box for it. True, he could have done it himself, but he didn't feel like it, so he'd gotten Sportacus to instead.
“I don't trust baby shoes,” Robbie said, shifting one arm so he could pick up the shoe in question. “They're so... small. It's not natural. Who has feet that small?”
Sportacus looked up from the box he was turning inside out.
“Babies,” he said.
-/-
Sportacus looked like he hadn't been sleeping well. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually lively golden hair was limp and flat, as if it hadn't been washed in a couple of nights. Which was absurd, because Sportacus was a health nut and health nuts believed in showering all the time, or something.
“You okay, Sportaxhausted?” he asked, while the other clocked in for his shift. “You look like a mess.”
“Ziggy has a cold,” Sportacus said, exhaustion coating his voice. “I've been up all weekend taking care of him.”
“Where is he now?”
“I got Miss Busybody to come look after him while I'm at work. He was asleep when I left. Finally.”
Robbie nodded thoughtfully. Bessie was okay at minding sick children, but she wasn't very good at entertaining them. As long as Ziggy was asleep things would be fine, but if he woke up and needed occupying or distracting...
“My shift ends in an hour,” he found himself saying. “Why don't I head around and relieve Bessie? I can take care of the little squirt instead.”
“You don't have to do that, Robbie!”
“I know. I want to. The kids are with their mom this week; I could use the company anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
Robbie just waved that away. “Of course I'm sure, Sportaflop, I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.”
“Well... okay...” Sportacus smiled at him, and then darted forward to steal a hug. He clung for only a moment before pulling away. “Thanks, Robbie.”
Robbie was frozen in place. “D- don't mention it,” he stammered.
-/-
“Are you dating Sportacus yet?”
Robbie didn't look up from the flip-flops he was unboxing. “Get off the counter,” he said. “And no, I'm not. I thought I told you to stop asking?”
“Oh come on! You guys are so perfect for each other! And I want another dad. A good one. Mom sucks at it.”
“That's because she's a mom.”
“Well she sucks at that, too.” Trixie huffed, and stuck her lips out, pulling a few faces before going back to hanging on the counter. “Can Stephanie sleep over Friday?”
“No.”
“Aww, why not?”
“Because she slept over last Saturday. It's Stingy's turn to have a guest.”
“He's just gonna invite Pixel again. All they're gonna do is sit around on the computer.”
Robbie finally looked up from the flip-flops, adopting a blissful look while he stared at the middle distance. “Ah, yes, sweet, glorious peace and quiet. Get off the counter.”
She dropped from the counter, and wandered aimlessly around the island that made up the register area, touching various sock and accessory displays absently. By the time she made it back to Robbie's register, the door to the stockroom had opened and Sportacus came out with a large box tossed effortlessly over one shoulder. He was stopped by a customer, and turned to speak to her, seeming not even aware of the box he was carrying.
Trixie paid him no attention, pulling herself back up on the counter, but when she turned to address her dad she saw his gaze had been glued to Sportacus, and a blush was crawling across his cheeks. A wicked grin split her face in two.
“So about how you're gonna date Sportacus,” she said. Robbie snapped out of his daze.
“No. And get off the counter.”
-/-
Robbie was arguing very loudly into his phone in Icelandic when the stockroom door open. He looked over and then broke off with a groan. Of course it would be the only person in the entire store who could understand him anyway. He growled irritably, low in his throat.
“We'll talk about this later,” he snarled. “After you go fuck yourself.”
And smashed the end call button hard enough to bruise his finger. Not nearly as satisfying as slamming it down on the cradle; one of the downsides of cell phones. Sportacus gave him a sympathetic look.
“Family troubles?” he guessed.
“Pabbi. He's-” Robbie broke off, and made a lot of irritated gestures. “-being Pabbi,” he finished lamely. “He wants me to come home. Says he wants to see his grandchildren at least once before-”
He stopped, not quite willing to voice the rest of the sentence. To put it out into the world and make it real. Sportacus rested a hand on his back, and started rubbing it gently, up and down, just enough pressure to be reassuring. Robbie leaned back into the touch, rolling his shoulders a little and sighing before reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“It's not that I don't want to see him,” he added. “He just doesn't understand that plane tickets cost money. And I can't take off work for that time, and the kids have school, and I would need to sort out passports...” He pressed the heel of one hand over his eyes, and took in a shuddery breath. Sportacus kept rubbing his back, and politely pretended not to notice that a few tears had leaked out of Robbie's eyes. “I'm not ready to say goodbye,” he said quietly.
Sportacus made a soothing noise, and pulled Robbie into a hug. Robbie went willingly, a testament to how bad he felt. “It's okay,” Sportacus said. “Just let it out.”
-/-
Robbie always knew when Pablo was coming into the store, because the man managed to fill up an entire room just with his very presence. He called the usual greeting on autopilot, and gave the pricing gun a scowl as Sportacus came sweeping out of nowhere to pull his friend- friend, Robbie repeated in his mind with disgust- into a tight, rib-cracking hug.
He continued to ignore them while they talked animatedly about putting fliers up in the store, advertising Pablo's latest event, accompanied by much gesturing and a long-winded explanation of said event. And he snapped a few markdown stickers off onto the boxes with a little more force than necessary when they parted, and Pablo gave Sportacus his usual kiss on each cheek in farewell.
He didn't look up again until he was aware of Sportacus behind him, a piece of paper in hand.
“I got an order from another store,” he said. “Do you know where the black-patent Megans are? It's a high heel.”
“Last aisle, far end, just before you get to the peep-toes,” Robbie said automatically. He sat back on his heels and leaned back to look up at Sportacus, who was watching him thoughtfully. “Did your boyfriend leave, then?”
“He's not my boyfriend, Robbie,” Sportacus said wearily, and headed off to find the Megans.
-/-
Robbie wasn't sure why he always got stuck training the new hires. Milford said that he wanted to make sure they were trained right, but that didn't really explain it. Sure, Robbie had been there longer than anyone, but he'd also done everything for so long that it came to him as instinct and he was bad at explaining how and why he did things.
Still, someone had to do it.
The newest victim was a young college student, whose name was Maggi but he went by Jives. He'd called Robbie bro four times since they'd met and used the word “totally” in every other sentence.
Robbie found himself hoping that this one would be like all their other hires, and never show up again. He wasn't going to deal with this.
He spotted Sportacus coming in for his shift while he was showing Jives how to run, and his face split into a wicked grin. He beelined over to his coworker.
“Sportacus! How much do you love me?”
There was a clatter as Sportacus dropped a display board, fortunately not cracking the signcard slot when it landed. He picked it up hastily and cleared his throat.
“Um? What?”
Robbie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I have to do markdowns,” he said. “Can you take Jeeves here off my hands?”
“Jives, bro.”
“Whatever. Sport?”
“Sure thing, Robbie!” Sportacus's voice was higher than usual, and he fumbled with the display board, ears turning pink under his hair. “What all have you shown him?”
-/-
Robbie was not above snooping. It was how he stayed ahead and always managed to know what was going on. After all, communication in their store was horrible, the dm depending on Milford to pass on messages, who relied on his keyholders to get information to the ranks. And usually tended to leave notes, since it might be days before he was able to tell them in person.
Sportacus and Milford had been talking privately for almost an hour earlier, tucked away in the stock room at Milford's desk, falling silent whenever anyone came in. Robbie had tried eavesdropping, but it was difficult when they spoke so quietly. He'd managed to catch his own name at one point, but that could have meant anything from “let's talk about Robbie while he's not here” to “Robbie's probably trying to listen in on our meeting”, and was unhelpful.
(Robbie was telling himself it was likely closer to the latter, but he had a sinking feeling the former was more likely. He pushed that feeling away.)
So now he was poking around at Milford's desk, nudging papers around looking for some clue about their meeting.
And then he found it, and wished he hadn't.
There was a form on the desk, set at the bottom of a pile of papers, a leave notice form. He twitched the pile a little and saw the name at the top: Íþróttaálfurinn Íþróttaálfurinnson. He froze as something heavy settled deep in his gut.
Sportacus was leaving?
-/-
Robbie was folded over the counter when he heard a high, small voice shout “Robbie Rotten!” and a small body collided with his legs. He looked down to see Ziggy gazing up at him, wearing an adoring look so similar to his father's that Robbie couldn't stop the fond smile spreading across his face. He reached down to pat Ziggy's head.
“Hi, Cookie Boy,” he said. “Are my kids by any chance with you?”
“They're outside talking to Pixel. How long do we have to wait until time to go?”
“Two hours,” Robbie said. He reached down so he could lift the boy up enough to see the clock on the register. “See that? It's three-thirty now, and my shift ends at five-thirty. When that first three turns into a five and it's back up to thirty, then it'll be time to go. Can you remember that?”
“Absolutely!” Ziggy snapped into a childish salute once Robbie set him down. “Can I go sit in the kids' section and watch tv?”
“Do you have any homework?”
Ziggy giggled. “Kindergartners don't have homework.”
“Then all right. Just don't bother the customers.”
Another salute, and Ziggy had scampered down the middle runway to the children's section, where a tv playing cartoons kept kids occupied while their parents shopped. When the other kids came in, he sent them over as well, and kept one eye on the security monitor. It wasn't that he didn't trust them to behave themselves, it was just that, well, exactly that. His own kids especially, since he knew them on a much deeper level.
Sportacus came through not quite an hour later, a hefty bookbag slung over his shoulders. He beamed at Robbie, and caught Ziggy when his son hurled himself at him, lifting him up over one shoulder.
“Thanks for watching Ziggy for me, Robbie,” he said. “It means a lot to me that I can count on you.”
Robbie waved that away. “It's fine. Trixie was born while I was in college; I know how hard it can be to study for an important test when you've got a kid to look after.”
“I still appreciate it. You're such a big help.”
Robbie could feel the blush spreading up his cheeks, and he turned back to the register with a huff. “Of course I am. Now go on, get going. You've got a test to study for.”
-/-
The day was drawing closer. Sportacus had put in that he would be leaving at the end of the semester, and there was only a month left. Soon he'd have his degree, and he could move on with his life. Robbie would be promoted to senior keyholder, Penny- their most senior sales associate and the most responsible- would be given her own set of keys, and life would move on, as it always had.
It was natural, Robbie told himself. Sportacus couldn't just spend his life selling shoes, he had hopes and dreams. He wanted to be a teacher, he wanted to teach kids, he was rotting away here, working in retail. Working with kids in the children's section wasn't enough for him and never would be.
And it didn't matter that Robbie would miss him, it didn't. It didn't matter that Sportacus was the only thing that made the job worth it, or that being a college dropout meant Robbie's options would forever be limited, and it didn't matter that Robbie had gotten so attached to Ziggy that he actually enjoyed looking after him so that Sportacus could study.
None of that mattered. All that mattered was that Sportacus was going to be happy.
-/-
“I'm planning to ask him out once I'm gone. It's been hard enough waiting, but this last few weeks are dragging.”
Robbie halted outside the door, and set his ear against it. Who was Sportacus planning to ask out?
“I'm so happy for you,” Milford was saying. “I know you haven't had much time for dating since you've been focusing on your degree. And you two are so close- I've always wondered if anything would come of you two.”
“Thanks, sir.” Robbie didn't have to be looking at Sportacus to know that he was blushing. “What do you think of this chicken?” he asked hastily. “Pablo is thinking of adding it to the menu, and I told him I'd get some opinions.”
“Oh, it's very good,” Milford agreed.
Robbie didn't hear anything else. He was crossing to the breakroom with a feeling that he'd just been shot. He ignored the call from Penny to ask for his help, and disappeared into the bathroom, the only safe haven available. He managed to send off a mumbled message to her to get Sportacus to help, that he was indisposed, and then clicked his mic off.
Now that he was alone, he sank to the floor in the bathroom, folding his arms over his head. He wasn't sure why he was surprised. Sportacus and Pablo were so close. They hugged constantly. And Pablo was always feeding him. No, this wasn't surprising at all.
But sometimes Robbie had thought- maybe- he'd read them wrong. That maybe he had a chance. That if he just waited, maybe one day Sportacus would come around.
There was a knock on the door. “Robbie?” came Sportacus's voice, soft and gentle. “Are you okay? Penny said you didn't look okay.”
“I'm fine, Sportacus,” he called back. “Just- that chicken your boyfriend made didn't sit well with me. Upset stomach.”
There was a long silence, and then Sportacus sighing on the other side of the door. “He's not my boyfriend, Robbie,” he said quietly, and then Robbie heard him walking away.
Robbie buried his face in his knees. “Yet,” he muttered.
-/-
It was time. Pablo had brought in a cake, made entirely from fruit since Sportacus couldn't eat processed sugar, and it was taking up most of the work table in the stock room, where anyone could come through and help themselves throughout the day. There was a punchbowl. And cupcakes. And a crockpot full of meatballs. It was the nicest going away party they'd had in ages, since usually Milford just brought in cupcakes to wish his leaving employee well.
Robbie toothpicked a meatball with a vengeance and stuffed it into his mouth, not caring that his tongue was getting a scorching. He had to go open in a few minutes, and then he'd have to go make nice with customers, and pretend that his heart wasn't caught in a vice.
Trixie and Stingy were sat on the desk- both had been told not to, but both also knew Milford would do nothing to them for it, and so were still there. Trixie had an entire cupcake stuffed into her mouth, but Stingy was cutting delicately into a meatball. They exchanged a look, and both looked up at their father.
“So are you gonna ask Sportacus out or not?” Stingy said, while Trixie nodded.
Robbie shot a glare at his young children, and immediately regretted it. He shouldn't take his bad feelings out on them, even if they were pretty immune to his faces.
“We've been over this,” Robbie said. “Sportacus and I are just coworkers- not even that, after today. We are not going to date. That's the end of it.”
“Why not?” Trixie demanded, spraying cupcake everywhere. Robbie sighed.
“Because. He's- not interested in me. He has his eyes on someone else.”
“Who is it?” Trixie asked. “We'll fight him for you.”
Stingy nodded. “Yeah, Sportacus should be yours. We can get rid of the competition for you and clear the way.”
As entertaining as it was to imagine inflicting his kids and their wrath on Pablo, Robbie had to shake his head.
“No,” he said. “Love doesn't work like that. I want Sportacus to be happy- if this person will make him happy, then that's all that matters.”
And he'd tell himself that as many times as it took for him to believe it, too.
-/-
Robbie was trying not to think of today as the first day of the rest of his life, but the lack of Sportacus in the store made it feel like he was starting a new chapter. Lazy Shoesie had always been just a job for him, but Sportacus had made it an enjoyable one, had made it easier to come in every day and go about the business of selling shoes and not going off on customers.
But Sportacus wouldn't be coming in today, or any other days, either.
Except this one, apparently. Robbie broke off in the middle of his automatic greeting and caught Sportacus's eye as he came in, pushing his shades up and making a beeline for the counter.
He looked good. The collared shirt he was wearing fit perfectly, and the jeans fit even more perfectly. Robbie raised an eyebrow at him.
“You know you don't work here anymore, right?”
Sportacus grinned. “I'm aware! What time do you go on break?”
“One,” Robbie said. “Why?”
“I want to talk to you. Come across to Magnifico for your break?”
Robbie nodded, and Sportacus headed back out with a wave, turning left to go next door to Pablo's restaurant. Robbie folded himself over the counter with a groan. He wondered if Sportacus had asked Pablo out yet, if he was going over there so that they could make out in the employee bathroom.
-/-
The time till one dragged by, Robbie imagining increasingly detailed and intimate scenes of Sportacus and Pablo finding ways to sneak away for some time alone.
At one, feet heavy, Robbie headed next door, and found Sportacus waiting for him just inside, in a booth tucked away into the corner. He lit up when he saw Robbie, and Robbie couldn't help but notice the flush on his face, or the many apple cores sitting on the table in front of him.
He slid into the seat with a sigh. Time to be supportive.
“Robbie,” Sportacus said, fidgeting in his seat, at the same time Robbie said, “Look, Sportacus.”
A pause. Robbie took a deep breath and plunged in. “Look, Sportacus, I know that you- I know you were planning to ask Pablo out. I just, I wanted to, I want to apologize, about teasing you so much. I was just being bitter and jealous, you two really are good for each other. Anyway, that's all. What did you want to talk about?”
“What?” Sportacus tilted his head at Robbie, and then sighed. “Robbie, for the hundred millionth time, I am not interested in Pablo. He's a friend. That's all. You're the one I was planning to ask out, not him.”
“What?” Robbie echoed. Sportacus reached over the table to touch his hand gently. Robbie furrowed his brow. “But- you told my kids you weren't going to date me.”
“You said the same thing,” Sportacus said with a shrug. “Corporate has rules about fraternizing between employees. Isn't that why you said that?”
“There are rules agai-” Robbie broke up, and slapped himself in the forehead. “Why didn't you say so? We could have worked something out!”
“Robbie?”
“I could have gotten a new job- I am not dedicated to this one, I've just put in the time, or we could have just snuck around, it's not like Milford would have cared. We could have been going out all this time! Do you know how many times I've had to tell myself to get a grip because I thought you weren't interested?”
“Robbie!” Sportacus laughed. “How could you have thought I wasn't interested? Everyone else said I was being everything but subtle.”
“I guess-” Robbie broke off, and blushed. “I guess I was so convinced you weren't, I dismissed anything that suggested you were.”
“You shouldn't have done that.” Sportacus reached over and touched his other hand, and then took both of them in his own. “Robbie, do you want to go out with me?”
-/-
Sportacus followed Robbie home that evening, the two holding hands the whole time Robbie unlocked the door to his apartment. He could hear the sitter in the kitchen making dinner, and his kids were sprawled across the couch watching Grim Reaper Academy. Trixie was upside down on his favorite easy chair; when they came in, she gave them an upside down look for a long second, and then flipped upright.
“So are you two dating or what?” she asked. Robbie smiled, and held up their joined hands.
“Yes.”
“Finally!”