Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yawning, he kicked the front open. Cold rushed past him as the hinges cried from the sudden force, opening with rusted pain. The dream-killing screech sent a satisfying glee down his core. After all, if he had to suffer from being up this early. Or late, in his case. Others should suffer the same if no worse fate as him.

With his usual stride and drama, he opened the foldable chair with a fluid movement. Clapping the flimsy metal so that all the surrounding buildings would sing its note down the street. The chair’s leg stopped the door that was threatening to fling back. He sat. 

Deep purple uniform creasing, its pinstripes messed up as he flung his leg over his knee. Arms crossed, he leaned back, enjoying the slight shriek of the foldable chair under him. Winters cold enveloped him, and he let out a snickering laugh as his first victim scampered from the shades of the building he ruled over.

The high-end apartments above him hosted high-end families with varied fame and money. All over the spectrum, from politicians to musicians to families of new money trying their best to make it in the city. So different one might wonder what they have in common if there was anything at all.

And there was. And that made Robbie smirk with glee, even under the sudden pressure of the sleepless night behind him. 

All of them had fallen from grace. Lazy, slow, privileged, snobbish and stuck up. 

Breath lingering in the cold air, Robbie thought about all the nasty things he could bundle in compliments for the residents this morning. Huffing, he watched the first one emerge from the gaudy lobby’s elevator, Milford Meanswell, the aforementioned politician. Who never really made it, yet he never missed spinning the conversation in a way that would let him gloat at least two to three minutes about his ‘stellar’ career. 

“Morning Mr. Rotten, what a great day to be up and about?” he almost vibrated, his chunky body wobbling in the morning cold.

Robbie reciprocates with a slight mandatory nod, at least memeing to take his job seriously. 

That earned him a complimentary smile from the orange-clad man, his booked taxi pulling up the moment the man tightened his coat around himself. A better doorman would jump and open the car door, but Robbie wasn’t good at anything, so he watched belatedly as the politician opened the icy handle. 

“Ah!” Milford stopped, warming his fingers with his escaping breath. “My sister’s daughter is coming today, she will live here for a while.”

He informed Robbie, hastily rummaging in his pockets. As the head of the resident community, he always had something to push on Robbie, which he promptly ignored.

“The furniture and her packages will arrive around noon” Milford handed him a paper with various contact information, disregarding the honking of the taxi driver. “Please let them handle everything.”

With that, he was gone. Leaving Robbie back, he smacked his lips, rolling his eyes as he tossed the piece of paper to the side. “Whatever.”

-

“Hello!!”

Insolent, high just like nails on a board, a child screamed from the top of their lungs for the last few minutes, and Robbie was debating if he should entertain it. If it would be rewarding to peel his body from the comfort of his fluffy armchair. First, he gave a little time for whoever it was to leave. Usually, that worked, but not this one. The insufferable child kept slamming the bell on the high wooden counter.

“Whaaaaaaa-t”, he stomped out, kicking his ground-floor apartment door closed.

Robbie scrubbed at his eyes, the thin skin as sensitive as ever. He all but wobbled towards the counter. Finding the usual heaps of letters he didn’t care for left, just like he liked. Seemingly, his sudden appearance made the fiend stop harassing his bell and opt to wait and see.

“Yeah, Hello, I am-”

“What is it?” Robbie leaned over the crusty countertop, finding an oddly pink-coloured head peeking over the main piece of the reception.

Not just that, behind the little girl, the lobby was filled with boxes towering, labelled neatly. Whoever put them there must have thought themselves to be mindful, but all Robbie saw was a workload he wasn’t up for. Clicking his tongue, he turned back to the primary culprit, the murderer of his afternoon nap.

The little girl stood tall, at least as tall as a child her age could. Bound in pink, a puffy jacket ate her entire form up, and she dared to pout at him. Arms on her waist, accusing him of something he was sure he was not responsible for.

“Yeah, Hello, I am Stephanie, and my uncle Milford Meanswell invited me.” she chirped, sounding still cheerful, a grave contrast against her body language. Smile playing on her lips, she went on, “I need help with the luggage.”

“Must suck.” Robbie deadpanned.

Eyeing the girl’s suddenly dumbfounded expression. Her small hand even lifted from her waist for a split second. “It’s- no!” she grumbled, fishing for her phone. 

Robbie took long dramatic steps, leaning forward, throwing a shadow over the newcomer. Hands deep in his pockets, she smirked down at the little menace. A challenging shift in his tone made Pinky shake her head disapprovingly while she called her uncle. 

“Uncle Milford, yeah, I arrived, yeah it was fine”, she smiled, minutely forgetting her whole situation, it seemed. “I have some packages, no, I mean some maybe…” she looked around the lobby.

Robbie knew what the fatass of an uncle was inquiring, even without hearing his voice. He would have lied if he said he didn’t enjoy the dawning of the task ahead of the girl. Just imagine her struggling to push and lug her stuff to the elevator, at least four more rounds and start all over again. 

As the pink bundle tried some more to ask for help, Robbie walked out, finding his old pack of cigarettes in his inner pocket. Tapping the box against his chest, one stick jumped out, and he pulled it with his lips. Stomach growled in the face of the only ‘nutrition’ that he was about to consume for the day. Well, what could one do? Shrugging, he struggled with the lighter. 

Hissing around the cigarette as the lighter’s flame bit into his thumb, he cursed slightly, taking the first drag, the nicotine doing nothing for his nerves. 

“Hey!” 

He choked on the sudden appearance of the girl. Fighting the urge to swallow the smoke, he wobbled to the side. All but coughing up his struggling lungs. Standing a few steps away from Pinky, he lowered the stick out of the way as he scoffed.

“What now?!”

“Could you help me, please?” she openly asked. No hint of doubt in her gaze. Finally, finding the smoke in his hand, she scrunched her nose up. “That’s bad for you.”

Robbie flicked the ash away; it coloured and melted the thin snow that collected before the LazyPlaza. “Actually,” he started smartly, leaning forward, towering over the girl half his height, lit smoke still stretched behind him. “You are bad for me. Pack the stuff,” he gestured widely with his free hand, waving toward the little girl’s stuff. “There is a strict no loitering rule.”

“I’ll,” she pouted again, moving from one foot to the other. “I called for the handyman Uncle told me about bu-”

“You did what?!” the cigarette fell from his lax fingers. As anger and anxiety filled him. Teeth grinding, he left the girl once again.

Stomped over to his towering boxes and tried to remedy this as fast as possible. Meaning he pulled the first box, his heels skidding on the old wooden boards. Screeching under his unexisting ‘power’. Muscles fought, and bones cried as the first box finally moved a breath. Robbie triumphantly struggled some more. Grunting and cursing while Pinky looked at him with wide-eyed wonder.

“S-seee”, he gasped “, no ne-need for -urgh- any handyman.”

Heaving, he pushed the elevator button, fingers already shaking from the exertion he had just put them through. Heart going over a mile, lungs were giving out. A smug smirk stretched on his face, forcing his more amenable tone to come through his gritted teeth.

“Let’s not ca-”

It is too late. 

And fuck, the little shit did call for the freaking handyman.

The idiot just skidded to a halt before the building, bike tires slipping slightly against the cold pavement. Ignoring the cold, the man slung his leg over the bike with vigour, too much in Robbie’s opinion. Bare arms flexed as he hurried towards them. There was no doubt in Robbie’s mind that the handyman left everything back, hopped on the bike, and rode down the road. Dressed like it was the middle of summer.

Beanie secured on his head as always, clad in blue as he strode over to their pair like he owned the place. 

“Robbie!”

“No, thanks,” he mumbled and tried to evade the sudden friendliness towards him. In vain after the tiring exercise of moving the one box a few metres.

The handyman stopped at Robbie’s blatant display of disgust, his smile not wavering in the least. He turned towards the little girl who was still idling by them. “Are you Stephanie?” the handyman crouched before the girl, and Robbie had enough of the sweetness already.

Pinky went even pinker in her face, eyes widening. She smiled, her previous gusto back. “Yes! Are you the handyman?!”

Like two magnets turned on the wrong side, they vibrated with an odd buzz that Robbie wanted nothing to do with. 

So slowly, he sneaked away from the scene. Stopping fast when the damned blue menace lifted the box, he had trouble moving with one hand and took another in the other.

Showoff… he thought, not eyeing the muscles flexing while the nap murderer also took a smaller box herself.

“See… you could have done it yourself….” he hissed close to his usual spot behind his counter. Feeling protected by the wooden furniture. “I don’t get why you had to call Sportadork over…” sniffling, he lowered to the seat, catching the last glances of the pair. Not missing the rather disappointed stares he got.

-

When his phone went off, Sportacus could never guess where he would be called. When a little girl’s timid but steady voice announced she needed help at the LazyPlaza residence, his heart started up. Pumping him with so much adrenalin, his muscles all but constricted, so much so he didn’t even take the time to grab any layers before skipping down the stairs with his bike over his shoulder.

He didn’t get a call from that residence in over half a year. That alone wouldn’t be enough for him to be this exhilarated. No, sometimes he wouldn’t be called for some of the housing he handled. It wasn’t the excitement of a new renter either, well, he was curious who just moved to that particular complex, but that wasn’t it either. 

The sole reason he ignored the risky slips as he took the block by the minute was one and one person only. The forever grumpy doorman was making sure to challenge him on everything going on in that building. A chuckle escaped his lungs that suddenly reminded him it was in the middle of winter, and he was flashing down the street like a maniac. When the old apartment complex came into view, with its old, rusted doors wide open, another wave of excitement washed over him. 

He pulled the brakes, skidding a few steps forward, and his cold skin broke into another wide grin. Inside the old-fashioned lobby, Robbie was struggling, fighting a box. Heaving and mouthing off the little girl standing next to him. He flung himself off the bike and all but ran in, the cold following him inside. But it couldn’t battle the heat that bloomed behind his ears when he saw him.

“Robbie!” Sportacus opened his arms wide, foolishly hoping for a greeting at least.

Instead, the man channelled his usual distant self, shuffling a little to the side, averting his eyes. “No, thanks.” 

Sportacus could tell that not much had changed in six months; then, smile still in place, he swallowed the odd feeling nesting right above his gut. Deciding to turn to the task at hand, or to be more precise, to the little girl gazing at their exchange.

“Are you Stephanie?” lowering to one knee, he made sure to be on eye level with the girl, who he put around ten years old, maybe younger.

“Yes! Are you the handyman?!” she chimed, her tone higher and filled with more emotion than on the phone. Hands balled before her, she chattered about her move to the LazyPlaza.

While they chatter, he can tell that the grumpy doorman eases away, hidden and sneaky like a small animal. Sportacus couldn’t hold his chuckle at the mental image, so instead, he grabbed the box Robbie was struggling with and took another. 

Stephanie also took a smaller box herself, bathing in Sprotacus’ praise for her strength as the elevator finally opened with an odd chime.

“See… you could have done it yourself…. I don’t get why you had to call Sportadork over….”

Robbie lamented with a scowl and sunk behind the wooden counter, away from their questioning glances. 

Shrugging, Stephanie was the first to step inside the elevator, feet holding the door open. At the same time, Sportacus raised to his toes to catch a glimpse of the grump in hiding. 

A smile he couldn’t tamper broke on his face, and he huffed while joining the small girl.

“Sportadork?” she opened, her round face turned up to see him clearly. “That’s an interesting name.”

Her smile was wavering, and Sportacus had to have mercy on her. 

“Sportacus, actually,” he said, a reassuring smile still in place. 

She hummed in return, and Sportacus decided to have a small talk with her. Her micro-movements as the elevator rushed up were a dead giveaway that she wanted to say something to someone. Anyone as it seemed.

“So, excited about the move?”

“Yeah, I love travelling with the train, and the movers were kind, but then I arrived and -” she blabbered, and the elevator arrived on their floor.

Sportacus laughed good-naturedly, moving the boxes slightly to help Stephanie navigate to the door of the Meanswell residence. “No one was here to greet you?”

“Uncle called, he had to attend a meeting, but he said he will be back soon, and then that man didn’t really he-” she stopped herself, catching her negative thoughts before they could spill from her lips. 

She was polite, not to mention that, as far as first impressions were, she wasn’t very charmed by Robbie.

“Oh, well,” Sportacus beamed, flexing his hand after he put her boxes by the door “open this and I’ll get the rest up!”

“Thanks!” she matched his energy, jumping a little in excitement. 

When the elevator door closed, Sportacus let a sigh escape him. Six months. He hasn’t been here for six months. Listening to the building, he felt he was, in fact, needed, so how come no one called him? Hands on his waist, he shuffled to the side. He had a hunch, a powerful one at that. No one else was as hardheaded as the grumpy doorman. If he didn’t want Sportacus here, he would do anything to keep him away.

Which, if Sportacus was honest, wasn’t riveting news. Robbie did repeatedly tell him to scram, to never come back. Leave and don’t look back. Knowing the tall man, he was telling the truth, too.

Sportacus was assigned to this building complex and some others three to four years ago. Keeping everything in order, in pristine condition and up to standard was his primary task, and he enjoyed doing just that. He also loved to get to know the residents in each complex. With a slight chuckle, he had to confess that this one, LazyPlaza, was by far the best and most interesting one. With around twenty units rented, only nine families and Robbie were his usual conversation partners.

Well, until he was kicked out by Robbie himself six months ago. 

The elevator door opened, and he pulled a box to the door fast to keep it on the ground floor. Standing there now with no distraction, he could point out at least six things that needed his attention, just this floor alone. And one person who didn’t want his attention, but Sportacus was about to shower him in it, nonetheless.

“Robbie”, he started walking to the counter.

The culprit was leaning back, legs propped on the table, scattered with letters and printouts. A machine, old as the earth, wheezed, making noise just by being turned on by his side. The lanky man was like a cat, leisurely leaning back, envelope in one hand. He held it up to the light, which needed to be changed, and squinted.

“I am busy, Sportadork.”

Sportacus leaned against the counter, fingers tapping away on the surface. Dust sticking to his skin, clammy and sweaty for some odd reason. “How have you been?”

“I was dandy until you waltzed in,” he said, a smirk growing.

The one that Sportacus learned to appreciate, as there were rarely any other expressions tossed his way. He opted for his genuine smile, hoping it would soon break through Robbie’s ice wall. “Is there anything you might need help with?”

“Nope. Nada. Nicht. Nothing,” Robbie went on, tossing the letter effortlessly into one compartment behind him. 

“Wouldn’t they call for you if they needed something?” he kicked the following letter towards himself. “Business must be dead, huh….”

Sportacus followed the lines of the long fingers pinching the letter like it was dirty. He looked the same as he did the last time he saw Robbie. Maybe the dark circles under his eyes became more prominent, and yes, his pale skin seemed to thin a little. And if Sportacus wanted, he could call out many changes in Robbie. One thing, however, remained the same.

His attitude.

Fanning Sportacus away, he flapped the new envelope. “Get the squirt’s stuff, then scram….”

Sportacus smiled again, rolling his thumb and forefinger together in amusement. Robbie really liked to pretend to hate him. The thought made him chuckle; it emerged as a huff. “There is a lot to repair here. Things that need attention.”

That high eyebrow raised higher on Robbie’s forehead, mouth quirking the slightest, as he peeked from behind the large yellow envelope. “Nothing needs your attention here….”

“Oh, deary me!!”

Sportacus grabbed after Robbie in vain over the counter. Arm stretched out, he watched the man topple backwards, hissing in pain as he crumpled to the floor from the sudden cry of the newly arrived woman.

“Robbie!” “Mr. Rotten!”

Ms Busybody quite literally clutched her pearls. In her other hand was her phone, held to her chest, where someone on the end of the line screeched. 

Sportacus was about to round the border when Robbie gathered himself, standing and padding his pants down. 

“That was on purpose, there, there was a fallen letter, I just got it.” yet he had nothing to show for it, so he scampered for one obviously on the table. 

And here it was. Sportacus smiled, a fond warmth nesting over his heart. One of the many faces of Robbie Rotten, a disguise for everyone. For the gasping woman, he was a nonchalant, honey-toned snake. At least, that’s what Sportacus gathered.

“Sportacus should take a look, your chair might be crooked.” she offered, eyebrow lifting. 

“No need I -” Robbie tried.

“Oh, yeah, back to it,” she smiled, shushing her chatting partner on the other line. “Do you have capacity again?”

“Capacity?” Sportacus blinked an itch at the back of his mind urging him to get to the point.

“He is terribly overworked.” Robbie, once again, tried subtly rubbing his flank from the fall.

“I am?” Sportacus felt his smile waver.

“How unfortunate…” Ms Busybody sighed, cupping her head in her free hand. “No other handyman could take us either, and there is-”

“I can handle tha-” Robbie cut in just to be ignored again.

“-so much to repair, upgrade….”

Sportacus debated on his next move, how to cushion the fact that Robbie was most likely sabotaging the whole complex. Either out of share boredom or because he couldn’t suffer Sportacus’ presence. Whichever, it seemed to crumble around him. Firstly, he could tell that the deterioration in the building in the last six months was rather severe. On the other hand, Robbie seemed utterly shaken. 

Sportacus’s gaze fell on the hands of the doorman, twisting uncomfortably. Mask slipped here and there as he tried to win over the most headstrong resident. When pipes or insulation were mentioned, one or two curse words slipped here and there. Even the snow collected before the main door or in the first few steps inside.

“As luck would have it, I just freed up!” he announced, feeling giddy even in the light of evident disgust in Robbie’s eyes.

Chapter Text

A week flew by, and Stephanie was bored to tears. Her Uncle had some business every day, disappearing for hours on end. Even though they promised she would find LazyPlaza full of fun and kids, she didn’t manage to meet any of them. Or found fun, for the matter. 

On the other hand, she found something quite amusing, at least a little interesting. So today, too, she rode the elevator down to the lobby. She listened to the racking of the lift in its descent, rattling and crying, not scaring her at all. No. The slight twitch in her fingers was not from the possibility of the cage falling and ending her life.

Her heart gave a little leap when she reached the ground floor, and the door opened with a slight hitch. Eager, she pushed through the gap before the door could open fully. Skipping a few steps when her body got free, a smile grew when she found her sole source of amusement.

Sportacus was busying himself with something near the main door. The few pieces of furniture that were the lobby’s seating area were pushed to the side, out of the way. The handyman tinkered away with something as sporty and concentrated as ever. Since the first day they met, it became a routine chat with the man. Seemingly he showed up every day, and if she looked around, the place looked better already. Not that it was shabby, it was just dull and boring. A little cold, maybe.

“Sportacus!” she ran up to the man, skipping and jumping a little she landed with an enormous thump next to the handyman.

“Stephanie!” he also jumped up, matching her energy.

She couldn’t help the grin that broke on her face. In one week, she learned he was verrrrrryyyy active. Some would say annoyingly so. But she didn’t think so. Whenever the handyman had a little free time on his hands, he would entertain her a little. Other times, she would stick to him and examine his work.

Today he was working on the nasty, mouldy spot right by the main door. The vent’s flimsy metal frame lay between them, with the screws spaced meticulously next to it. She couldn’t understand how someone as jittery and flippy as Sportacus could do with such a detailed task, but even that seemed to satisfy the man. Just helping, he told her on her third day here. 

Hero complex, Mr Rotten, scoffed at the declaration. Her frown turned to a loud giggle when Sportacus rolled his eyes, pulling one corner of his mouth in a half smile. Talking about Mr Rotten, she turned. Peering over the reception desk, she found the doorman’s usual space empty. She leaned to the side, trying to catch a glance. 

Maybe he was lying down; he did that yesterday. Not now.

“Robbie is in his flat”, Sportacus offered, twirling his screwdriver with a dexterity that Stephanie envied greatly. He shook his head slightly. “said this is a one-man lobby,” he shrugged, crossing his arms.

Stephanie grimaced. The other source of her amusement, or lack thereof, was the doorman. Nasty like the mould on the wall, he had bad manners. He also ridiculed and mocked her. And Sportacus! On a daily basis. Lazy and slimy. She huffed but walked towards the door adjacent to the reception. A simple wooden door with the label staff only.

Stephanie scrunched her nose, squinting. Right under the bold letter of the two words stood a statement. Smaller letters, a little curvier, hand written for sure there stood ‘trespassers will be punished’. She blinked a few before knocking hard on the wood.

“Mr. Rotten!” she shouted.

Silence.

“I have something sweet with your name on it!” she lied, smiling when her bangs flew from the wind created as Mr Rotten tore the door open.

The man towered over her, dark circles or shadows under his glinting eyes. Like a vulture, his gaze snapped around, searching for something edible for sure. 

Stephanie laughed a little under her breath. How someone as grumpy and lazy could have a sweet tooth was beyond her. She found the doorman with some type of cake, candy or overly sweet food lingering in the lobby enough times to find this little weakness. 

“You liar…” he said, hanging from the handle, his other hand on the frame. “Only bad kids lie, you cheater… shame on you….”

Stephanie’s smile just widened, peering into the flat behind Mr Rotten. The room was dark, less for the TV going on a low volume and a small table lamp. But before she could investigate further, the lanky body of Mr Rotten leaned into her vision, effectively blocking her line of sight.

“Well, it is actually your post, it is a sweet spot and your name is on it.” she was pretty satisfied with this one.

Sportacus, too, if the muffled laughter was anything to go by. 

Mr Rotten, on the other hand, scowled, the corners of his mouth pulling down, then with an elongated lip smack, he sauntered out. Body checked Stephanie on his way as he closed the door behind him. Ignoring her from then on, but he did, in fact, fell into his seat, checking his phone. He yawned and all but crumpled like paper into the chair.

Stephanie idled around the reception, hoping for something to do. Cogs turning on how to proceed.

“Are there no kids here in the LazyPlaza?” her question was for Mr Rotten and was promptly ignored. “My Uncle told me there are… why haven’t I seen them?”

Now the doorman shrugged, picking at his fingernail, balancing on the chair’s hind legs. 

She huffed, stomping a little as she returned to Sportacus, who had just finished up the vent. Crouching next to him, she examined the toolbox laid before them. “There is nothing to do here…” she lamented, nudging a small hammer.

“There is plenty,” Sportacus tried to cheer her up. “There is a playground not far, a few minutes top,” he turned on one knee again; he did it a lot around Stephanie “, or just on the other side, there is a karate dojo, and well, this complex has some potential friends.”

“Don’t listen to him. Just sit down and be quiet. Don’t go around flipping like that idiot of a handyman.” Stephanie could almost hear the eye roll in Mr Rotten’s tone.

Before Stephanie could retort, Sportacus jumped up, fist hitting his open palm like he had the greatest idea ever. 

“Why don’t we find something for you to do inside the building?” he smiled that big warm smile of his.

“Urgh…” Mr Rotten grunted, theatrically lunging from the seat that landed back on the wooden floor with a loud thud. ”You are too loud!” from nowhere, he conjured a sign saying ‘no loitering, no children, no activity between 7-19’. “Get lost already….”

“I live here!” Stephanie crossed her arms before her chest, imitating Sportacus.

“So do I, Pinky!” Mr Robbie leaned forward, challenging her. They held eye contact for a while before the third in the room spoke up.

“Why don’t you tell us where the children live, or their number?” Sportacus started, hand on his waist beaming friendliness.

Stephanie didn’t really get it, the whole thing of Sportacus pushing to be friends with Mr Rotten. The one-sided effort seemed demanding, and she couldn’t fathom how someone wanted to actually be friends with someone this negative. From Stephanie’s viewpoint, his skin was almost waxy, and he looked miserable. Like Night and day. 

But in hopes of some information, she turned eagerly towards the grump. 

Mr Rotten leaned against the counter, his smug smirk pulling comically. 

“No”, he clicked his tongue. “That would be so uttterlyyy uuunprofessional…” he lamented, crossing his ankles.

“I am sure Mr. Meanswell wouldn’t mind.”

Sportacus pressed, and Stephanie wanted it so badly now; having someone on her side was a blessing. What she didn’t fully understand was how the handyman could, well, handle Mr Rotten so well. Sometimes he even seemed to enjoy the lazy man’s antics. It was beyond Stephanie, such a mystery.

Gulping, she decided on flattery. “Pretty Please Mr. Rotten.” she wasn’t proud of it. But the end justifies the means, as they say.

The thin and high brows lifted in disgust. An eye roll of the century later, Mr Rotten slipped against the counter in line with his perched arm. At an odd angle, he rummaged behind the lifted wooden border. 

For a split second, she thought the literal grinch’s heart had melted. But no. Mr Rotten tossed a stack of letters of different sizes and weights into Sportacus’ face and pushed the rest to Stephanie’s chest. Paper sailed in the air noisyly, and they both scampered to catch it before falling on the dark, dirty carpet. All the while, the doorman watched with mild amusement.

“Make yourself useful, and” he checked his non-existent watch on his bare wrist “stay quiet and keep at the upper floors.” with that, he was about to leave.

“It’s only four though, you should-” Sportacus said while he followed Stephanie inside the old elevator.

“Whatever…” Mr Rotten cut him off.

Sportacus leafed through the letters in his hand, a larger sum than Stephanie’s. “Where should we start?”

Stephanie’s words were once again cut off by Mr Rotten. “Wait, let me…” the doorman shuffled over.

Both she and Sportacus looked rather surprised, shoulders rising on the verge of thanking him when the word stuck to their throat in unison. Mr Rotten leaned in the lift, the door closing slowly with a racket. He pulled his palm down all the buttons, slipping back out just in time for the door to close on the pair. 

They stood in dumbfounded silence. The elevator travelled for the first floor and for all the remaining ten ahead of them.

-

“Mr. Rotten is so mean.” Stephanie said, sitting on the floor and sectioning letters into stocks by floor and resident.

On the first floor, they only had one resident at home. An elderly woman with many cries of cats accompanied her as she opened the door. She wasn’t very enthusiastic about the ordeal, and Sportacus thought they were doing something out of the ordinary. Palm landed on his nape in embarrassment; he tried to explain why they were knocking on her door so ‘late’ in the afternoon.

“ Sweet Robbie ”, Stephanie parroted the woman, grimacing with the virtue only a ten-year-old could muster. “ He would never pester me like you ”, she nagged further, one letter falling into another pile on the floor “ he knows I treasure my quiet afternoons, ” she tossed her hands, still full of envelopes, into the air. “BAh!”

“It’s not nice to mock others.” Sportacus chided, smiling when the little girl forever bound in pink shook her head.

Embarrassed, she admitted, “Sorry….”

“Let’s check the second floor” he held his hand out to pull her up. 

They looked up at the old-timey floor sign on the top of the elevator. Which was only on the fourth floor by the time they finished on the first one. Robbie sure did a number on them. Just as he thought about it, the light with the number five flickered to life. They could even make out the screeching sounds. Good thing he checked the machinery, and it was in excellent condition. Only minor fixes were left, and it was at the end of his task list for now.

With letters in hand, he rolled his shoulders, falling into a low stretch as well. Following Stephanie’s curious gaze as he hopped a few times. “What do you say, stairs?”

She was exhilarated. She hummed all the way inside the stuffy staircase. Skipping steps as she bolted up, twirling and jumping around. Enjoying some well-earned exercise, it seemed.

“Mr Rotten never lets me use the staircase.” she puffed. “Too much hassle” her Robbie imitation was a lot tamer than the one before. Learning already, but she was not ready to miss out on the opportunity to share her experience with the grumpy man.

The staircase was as lacklustre as one might imagine, with wide steps and cold metal railing. Enveloped in the dim light from the emergency lights. This wasn’t to be used daily, and it showed. Dust collected on almost every surface, and as they ascended, it flew, the particles sailing in the air languidly. His mustache twitched from the sudden irritation, but he held back, as a sneeze with his lung capacity would surely shake the whole floor.

“You are very athletic!” he praised when Stephanie turned with an agile hop in the middle. 

“I love to dance!” she giggled, punctuating her statement by using the railing as a barre, lifting her leg into a book-perfect arabesque. Turning her body with a rhythm foreign to ballet and with a slight hop, she landed in a split. 

“At home, I took a lot of lessons.” she beamed, stretching in the half-dark. Her lips quivered for a slip second, so fast Sportacus wasn’t sure he saw it right.

“Why not join a club here too?” Sportacus asked, lending a hand to get the girl from the dirty floor.

“Oh, I can’t,” her shine dimmed a little. She patted the dirt from her off-white leggings, clicking her tongue when she found a fleck that would need a good scrubbing. 

Not looking to sour Stephanie’s smile, Sportacus decided not to push for further questions. He opened the door to the fourth floor. Light flooded their vision. This floor also had three apartments; out of the three, only one had holiday decorations, elaborate little candy canes and rapidly blinking fairy lights wrapped around the wreath. 

“This is the one,” Stephanie said, flapping the letter with excitement.

Sportacus shared the sudden surge of happiness and knocked with a bit of rhythm on the door. Following their shared laughter and some stomping from the other side of the door, it finally opened. A short woman with a bowl of some kind of dough stood before them. Hair and clothes a mess, wooden spoon resting in the bowl, she huffed so her bangs would lift from her sweaty forehead.

“Yes, darling?” she nicked her head to the side. “I am not really into charity at the moment.”

Sportacus pushed his accomplice a little forward with a soft touch.

“Ah, no!” Stephanie smiled, fidgeting with the envelope. “I am visiting, and this is your letter and yeah…” she was bashful.

Sportacus peered inside the flat, finding the cause of the jitter in the little girl. A boy, around eight, ran up to them, grabbing into his mother’s pants and apron. A vibrant lolly peaked between his lips, big blue eyes peering right back at Stephanie.

“And you, you are the handy man right?” the woman addressed Sportacus again. “I have called regarding my oven, yet Mr. Rotten had to repair it himself and look” she pushed the bowl of raw dough into Sportacus’ face. “All I can do now is box brownies, because the darn thing won’t work!”

He lifted his hands in surrender, pushing the bowl back down, a smile growing with a slightly angry tick because of the grump hiding in the lobby. How much more could he have hidden, lied and planned around just to not have 

Sportacus around? With a smile, more forced than his usual open ones, he offered to look at it right now. 

Creating an opportunity for Stephanie and the kid who just introduced himself as Ziggy at the decibel of a pterodactyl. 

After an hour or so, he rode the elevator down, a hefty stock of letters still in his grip. Smeared with some kind of dough, which he had to vehemently reject. Going into a long education session regarding his type 2 diabetes. Which fascinated Stephanie and went right over Ziggy’s head, offering another of his candy as a consolation for his sickness.

The lobby was silent except for the old PC whirring loudly on the reception desk. He looked around, expecting Robbie to already be back in his lair. But his flat’s door was ajar and slightly open, making the slight itch behind his ears stronger. 

Forefinger slipped under his beanie and moved some of the unruly tufts away. Stopping at the shell of his ear, the memory of long, boney fingers pinching it. A breathy laugh so against his character that it made Sportacus lose all reason. The memory warmed his soul and face, snapping his hand back to sheepishly go for his nape once again.

Blinking around, he found his toolbox he was sure he had left closed, open and scattered. Squinting, hand still on his neck, he moved forward to abruptly stop and stutter back a little. It wasn’t the fact the toolbox was spilled. He bet 

Robbie would have a good excuse for it. 

No.

Looking over the toolbox, through the glass panes of the great door to the outside world. There stood the grumpy man, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching his phone to his face. It wasn’t the cigarette either that took him by this uncomfortable surprise. 

No.

It was the serene smile of an unbothered and relaxed face held the smoke between his lips. Dimples that he never saw showing on the pale face kissed by the cold. The red on his cheeks was so vibrant it was sickeningly outlandish. That itch that came in rushes just strengthened, and Sportacus’ leg carried him without warning.

When he opened the door, Robbie flinched slightly, standing his ground. He glanced towards Sportacus. His smile fell, and a slight scowl turned his lips down. “Yeah, no, I have to go…” he said around the smoke.

He put the phone down, his laid-back form straightening again, any vulnerability gone. Robbie pulled from the smoke in long and deep, eyebrows arching slightly.

Spartacus needed a little time for what? He wasn’t exactly sure. To collect himself? The cold he felt was slipping under his otherwise warm skin. While the itch didn’t let up, or the small pang in his chest at the rapid fall of Robbie’s seemingly good mood.

“If you are angry because of your stuff,” he exhaled, the smoke rolling against his own face as he stepped away. 

“You left it in the middle,” his gaze flicked down to his shin. “If anything, I am the victim here….”

Did he look angry? Sportacus formed his expression into a default pleasant smile. Hoping that the sudden change didn’t cause too much notice on the doorman’s side. For now, it seemed to go unnoticed. He wasn’t angry; well, he didn’t feel like he was angry.

Contrary to what others believed, he did have over one expression and much more emotion than just happy-and-go-lucky. Goody, two shoes. Well, at least he thought so.

“Are you sure you didn’t kick it?” he pressed, his contracting muscles relaxing a notch. “On purpose?”

“I would never….” Robbie straightened more. Pulling the cig from his lips, he once again turned to exhale. 

Sportacus told him numerous times to stop smoking. With more or less success. He seemed to smoke less, at least. For the last week, he came every day and only saw him smoke once a day. Saying that he knew was an overestimate, though, what could Robbie have been up to within the six months he didn’t see him? He would never know.

So, rather than chastising him again, he just shrugged, hands landing awkwardly on his hips. Still trying to figure out what to do with them. One thing he knew was he didn’t want to go away yet. Hoping to start a conversation with Robbie, to somehow butter him up, to become the friends he knew they could be. 

Before he could start, however, he was cut off once again.

“How long will you….” he gestured with the cigarette between his fingers, drawing circles with the smoke. “... keep being loud and obnoxious around here anyway?” he dragged a breath from the nasty thing.

“Well, with the repairs accumulating in the last six months, it will take a while.” Sportacus felt a little mischievous. A surge of bravado filled him, and on a spur, he was all in Robbie’s personal space. His weight was all on his toes to reach eye level with the tall man. “We might see each other every day until Christmas.”

Robbie’s chin lifted a little like he tried to flee but was too prideful to show this weakness. Eyebrows rose on his forehead before his expression dulled down to a smirk, one that had no emotion behind it. Letting the smoke out right against Sportacus’ face. The handyman stepped back, waving the smoke away, nose hurting from the sharp stench.

As he sputtered coughing, he could hear a sinister little chuckle from the doorman. “Damn…”

-

Now there were two.

Pinky was making his simple, silent, lazy days bad enough by calling in the handyman. Not to mention her loud antics, her jittery body filled with energy, skipping around the lobby like she owned the place. It was the bane of Robbie’s existence. And now there were two.

The more petite boy who lived on the fourth floor followed Pinky around all day. Sticky and grabby hands smearing melted sugar every. Echoing almost anything, the newcomer said, only louder. The very one that once ate the over ten years old candy from the bowl left at his table.

On the one hand, he was happy that it was just the two. It could have been worse. If Stephanie had arrived earlier this year, she surely would have made acquaintances with all the annoying children of the complex. With the holidays on their heels, most of the families were out on vacation somewhere, so the remainder of the children, the few who lived here, were gone. For now.

On the other hand, it could have been better too. If Pinky never came, he could enjoy his days in leisure, only moving if the danger of calling Sportadork was too real. And now, without any hint, all the worst things that could accumulate happened in one week.

He had to meet Sportacus every day, true to his threat.

Robbie grimaced, fingers squeaking on the flimsy paper of the magazine he flipped through. He could keep him away for half a year and for it to all crumble because of a little girl. Mad wasn’t covering it entirely. Robbie had to put the effort in to keep the man away, gloating in the empty lobby each time he didn’t show. Plan working fine.

Ignoring the devious little traitorous feeling of disappointment. 

For that emotion to turn into immense irritation. Today, too, the man was tinkering away somewhere in the building. Going over his never-ending task list of his. Greeting him each morning, trying to get under his skin each day. 

Torture.

And now, added to the mix, these two children, who seemed to despise being at home. Pinky twirled in the middle of the lobby, jumping from one armchair to the other while the blond one scampered after her. Dust lingered between them as they laughed. Sound so irritating it was physically hurting him.

“Don’t you have something else to do?” he grumbled, tossing the magazine.

“It’s boring at home!” Stephanie stated, falling into the armchair, hands laid on the arms primly. Her legs dangled.

“ITS BORING!” Ziggy parrotted.

He stood up fast, like he had just spotted something. “Look! They are giving away candy out there!”

“CANDY!” Ziggy cried, going full speed for the door.

“Ziggy No!” Stephanie was on her feet fast and grabbed the little guy’s cape thing.

Robbie snickered at the loud thud as the kid’s bottom hit the floor. Scampering and whining that Pinky didn’t let him get candy. Which didn’t exist. He rounded the reception and fell into an armchair on the opposite side of the kids.

“Don’t you have phones? Go play on that at home.” he let his head fall into his propped-up hand. Really, his headache was killing him, and these brats were dancing on his literal nerves.

“I DON’T!” “I want to play.”

It was a very different reaction. Ziggy rolled on the floor, enveloping himself in his cape. Stephanie crouched next to him, face scrunched up and a little sad. 

Robbie sighed. Who cared. Whatever, they were annoying brats. He closed his eyes, only listening occasionally as the minutes went by. Cracking one eye open, he found the kids in the same place, much quieter. Fumbling with whatever. He thought about what the round politician wannabe told him. About the girl, it was something important for sure, but he couldn’t care less. 

‘She shouldn’t go out alone.’

“Didn’t your Uncle leave you something to play with?” he gave up, attention on the pair now.

“I got cards, I made a card castle,” she admitted.

“Great, go play solitaire. That’s quiet, and a game and you wouldn’t be here on my neck.”

“That’s so lonely!” “BOORING!”

“So what, loneliness can be good.” he offered, blanching at the dumbfounded expressions he got for his statement.

“For who?” they asked in unison.

“For me.” he deadpanned. Like, did these kids even know half of life’s greatest joys?

Stephanie seemed deep in thought for a moment. Looking at him, squinting her round little eyes. All the pink she was wearing didn’t take away from the seriousness of her gaze. And, for lack of a better term, doubt in her eyes. An emotion he saw little in kids. On adults with ridiculous pencil mustaches, on the other hand…

“I would kill for some alone time now, ” he shooed them, flapping his free hand. “Go eat sweets or something, just don’t be here.”

“We can be here too.” Stephanie argued, and Ziggy nodded with vigor.

Grunting, Robbie pushed himself off the armchair. “Whatever”, he swatted away nonexistent flies.

Walking back to his room. He ignored the little dejected sounds of the children. The handle gave under his hand with a cold hum, and he felt the sweet pull of his favorite chair.

It was the crown of the room, in the middle across from the old TV, books and magazines hoarded around it in heaps. Some empty takeaway boxes that he swore to get rid of at least five times this week. Dark and stuffy. Just as he liked. 

He didn’t especially like his job, but the one perk was that he had free residency in an uptown complex, which he could never afford. Even if the space was more of a janitor’s closet and a storage area than an actual apartment, it was perfect for him. It was perfect for someone like him, who appreciated solitude, silence and peace. 

The job was demanding, and he did his best to give the bare minimum of effort necessary, of course. Checking his phone, the time of pace and everyone’s routine in his head, he had a solid hour before anyone would pester him. 

That’s why Pinky’s hyperactivity hurt him so much. How was he supposed to take care of his erratic naps if there was always some noise or mischief going on? It was better when the kids didn’t meet or know about each other. He went to such great lengths to avoid them meeting.

He worked hard to achieve what he had, and now all of it has gone down the drain because of one miscalculation. 

Falling into the fluffy orange furniture, he nuzzled his face into the aged fabric. It was like balm to his mind, and he leaned to the side, letting his arm and legs straight out as he sunk into the chair. 

Teetering on the border of sleep, he heard some exchanged words outside. Was that Sportaflop? He scrunched his nose, and his mouth turned downwards again. Who cared if it was to hell with him. The image haunting his mind for days now blinked into his mind. 

The muscle brain leaning in close that knowing smile playing on his lips. That stupid over expressive face of his. 

The warmth of his body amid the winter cold. How he had no idea of personal space. Almost smug, knowing he would make his life a misery each and every day, not having any idea how he was doing it. And Robbie wasn’t about to confess that, not even himself. No.

It was just his irritating demeanor, how he was liked by everyone without as much as trying. How he achieved everything easily and could fix anything. Help, because that made him ‘happy’. Bah. Robbie could throw up.

It also wasn’t so helpful that everything the man did lingered with him. All his expressions, slight and stolen glances when he looked at him. Or how he pushed them to be friends. 

Who the heck needed friends? Robbie, for sure, didn’t. He needed silence, peace and his pillow he left outside. His body revolted against the idea of getting up, bones crying from fatigue as he pulled himself together. Sneaking to avoid the kids, he leaned out and grimaced again, finding Stephanie still in the lobby. Alone. Curiosity killed the cat, they say. He pulled the pillow from the rickety chair and called out to the girl. Already regretting it.

“Where is the sticky one?”

The girl didn’t look up. She was curled in the armchair from before, eyes trained on the outside world. Snow was falling in big lazy flakes, piling around the entrance. She longingly watched the sparse traffic outside. 

“His dad came, and they went to eat out.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her crossed arms over the elbow rest.

“What about Sportaflop?” he wasn’t interested, he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“He is on the roof, and it’s dangerous.” she huffed.

Well.

What else was there? He shrugged, pillow under his arm, and stalked back towards his room. Step stuttered when he heard her words under her breath.

“Not like you care….”

True, he didn’t. He tossed the pillow into his recliner and got ready to lie down once again. Popping one button on his suit vest and opening his collar for more comfort. Robbi plopped down, trying to find the same position he had relaxed in a few minutes ago. Turning and forcing his muscles to relax, to lull him to sleep.  

One leg off. Both over the armrest. Head hanging. Upside down? None of them worked. His eyes blinked open in pure anger. Darn it, darn that little. He easily turned over the armrest, stopping before the one and only shelf he had in his ‘apartment’. 

Looking it over, he took one of the shiny boxes off and turned on his heels. Justified anger as his companion, he rushed back out. Stephanie was still where he had left her. Sulking.

“Here!” he tossed the wooden crate to the small table between the armchairs. It clattered loudly, its content rattling against the assault. 

Pinky jumped in her seat, eyes wide. She looked at Robbie like he was a ghost.

He reciprocated with his lips, a thin line pulled back with anger, as his arms crossed over his chest like it would hinder him from exploding. 

She looked shocked and confused at him. Waiting for something else to be said or to happen. But Robbie just stood her gaze. Slowly, she looked down, eyebrows knotting.

“Chess?” she asked but turned towards the table and touched the chess board, which was still clasped in half. 

One hand freed but still held by the elbow, Robbie snapped, “You know how to play, right?”

She nodded, pulling the board towards herself, and she opened it. Gently, but still spilling the pieces all over the table and the floor. Flinching for the reprimand to come for causing such a ruckus, Robbie let her be. 

“Great, then, have fun, or whate-” he was about to go back.

She grabbed his dark sleeve. “Won’t you play with me?”

The nerve this kid had. He snapped his hand away like it was burned. “No, play against yourself….”

“Mr. Rotten, I bet I can beat you!” she smirked, her awkward loneliness disappearing.

And darn that stupidly clever kid.

-

“You are cheating!” “Prove it…”

Those were the voices he heard when he arrived at the lobby. Hand still smeared with motor oil and dirt, Sportacus was deep in cleaning his hands when he stepped out of the elevator. The space was bathed in intense light. He had to blink, not used to it being this inviting. In his peripheral vision, he saw that one bulb still flickering. Still, his attention was taken by the pair at the edge of the entrance. 

Next to the wide glass panes of the main door, in the corner by the dusty old armchairs, he never saw anyone touch, let alone sit in. Stephanie was leaning over from her chair, arms straight as she held herself up to examine whatever was between the pair. Her face was contorted in concentration.

The other party sat with his hack to Sportacus. Highlighter orange pillow under their arm, half hugging, half pressing their sharp chin into it. Eyes bored beyond measure, Robbie yawned. Body relaxed, he leaned to the table as well, but with far less excitement. 

Ziggy was nowhere to be seen, it was only the pair, and Sportacus felt something bubble up in his heart at the scene. Stephanie moved something, excited, eyes trained on Robbie with glee. Triumph and victory washed over her whole being, her body filled with excitement with every micro movement Robbie made.

Getting closer, Sportacus stuffed his handkerchief away into his back pocket. Glancing around the lean and slim back of the doorman, he saw a chessboard. Before he could ask, the man moved one piece with ease. The felt at the bottom of the piece thudded quietly against the shiny board.

Stephanie’s entire form crumpled in disdain. She pushed back, falling into the wide armchair. Her legs pulled up, and she mumbled cheater once again. But smiling. Sportacus saw. Turning slightly, he took in Robbie’s profile. 

Tired, but no other ill emotion on it. It was passive, maybe neutral at best. He marvelled at his jawline and the soft arch of his otherwise sharp nose. Drinking in the calm, feeling something twist inside him, he followed the long fingers, carefully pinching each piece.

“Sportacus, look at this!” Stephanie addressed him out of the blue.

She pointed at the board, where Robbie’s hand stopped hovering over a black square. The neutrality was stolen away by a frown at Sportacus’ arrival. 

“He always wins in less than six steps!” she said eagerly, looking over her knees. Eyes following the pieces put back by Robbie.

“So he is good at chess?” Sportacus offered, stepping closer to Robbie’s chair.

“Maybe,” Stephanie gave in, a smile still on her little face. Eyebrows pulled together, she leaned back in, feet landing on the ground. “But Mr. Rotten is a villain, so he could be cheating.” 

Robbie snickered at this. Hiding away an honest chuckle that Sportacus caught before he could shield it effectively. 

The doorman straightened and cracked his shoulders out of their hunched position. With a confident glee on his harsh features, he opened his palm, wrists together, a picture of innocence.

“Go ahead, try again.”

At Sportacus’ hanging question about what was going on, Stephanie finally elaborated, concentrating back in full swing. Pushing a pawn into the middle of the board. “I bet I can win,” she grimaced at Robbie’s move, “but we have a deal. I can start calling him by his name if it takes more than six moves to win against me.”

“Oh,” Sportacus leaned over the board, waiting for the third move, hanging on Stephanie.

“Can you help me? He can, right?” she changed looks between the men towering over her.

Robbie looked up from the board. Eyes taking him in. From his beanie to his feet, before his gaze landed back at his face, averting eye contact but looking at him. Sour expression lighting a bit, he showed his teeth in a sneaky grin.

“Go ahead, muscle brain will save you for sure.” he rolled his eyes, moving the horse towards the middle of the board in answer to Stephanie.

Now Stephanie stopped again, debating her next move. Laxly curled fingers against her lips, she worked her brain over the next move.

For Sportacus, he saw the most straightforward move, the best. Just pin the central pawn, direct and honest. But he waited for the girl to figure it out or ask first. 

Taking his eyes off the board, his gaze wandered over the doorman’s figure. He never saw Robbie do anything other than laze around and eat sweets. Preferably cake. Or to shy away from any interaction if it wasn’t necessary for some elaborate plan of his to, in the end, go back to his modus operandi and do close to nothing. 

So, seeing him leisurely play with children, even if he spoke from a high horse, in his ‘I am better than everyone' tone, he looked like he enjoyed himself. To some extent, maybe he was happy to share this time or hobby. At least, that’s what Sportacus wished to believe. 

Robbie’s fingers moved over the plush pillow still in his embrace, and they danced like he was way ahead in time in his head. If Sportacus remembered correctly, this time was his usual nap time. He hid away in his room and only came out when the first resident returned. A few things disturbed his routine life, including Sportacus. He burned himself quite often in the beginning, barging into the doorman’s life.

Stephanie made the move Sportacus thought about, and Robbie countered with an off-hand move. Taking out the queen to the very edge of the board. And isn’t that a risky position? He mused, gaze shifting up the arm to the man’s neck. The dark fabric of his shirt revealed some pale skin, easing Sportacus’ gaze down to the man’s collarbone. His mouth twitched a little at the sudden realization of how close he leaned in without either of them acknowledging it. 

“That was a dumb move!” Stephanie chuckled with vigor as another pawn moved out to attack Robbie’s queen. 

Swinging happily from one side to the other, she looked sure of her victory.

The doorman just hummed, moving a notch forward. “Oh, whatever should I do now?!” he pleaded dramatically.

Fingers ready to pinch stopped as the door to their right opened in a big swing. Snow flitted inside with the cold, embracing the new arrivals. Four people spilled in from the harsh winter, chatting and swiping away the snow that collected over their coats. 

“Ms Busybody, please after you,” Mr Meanswell offered, giving way to the woman.

She fussed about the cold and her hair getting wet from the snow, still in good humor. But there was a little bite in her tone as she pocketed her phone and huffed, letting the coat fall from her shoulders. “Thanks, Milford.”

Right into the politician’s eager hands, he folded the garment carefully over his arm, standing off to the side and letting their companions in as well. Ziggy and his father came in a bundle. The little guy stomped off excess snow from his red-blue boots. Flapping his arms in attempts to get rid of any other piled on him, biting his mittens so he could get them off. Leaving his outerwear in a heap at his father’s feet.

They exchange a short greeting before the small child nestled next to Stephanie. They started to discuss under their breath, conspiring against the doorman who had just moved the queen, taking the girl’s attacking pawn. Giving check with ease. 

Sportacus took his time to answer all and every question from the adults, who seemed blessedly blind against the fact that they were pushing him closer and closer to the armchair Robbie sat in. He was using an arm to balance by the backrest, keeping his stance as respectful as possible while almost sitting on the man’s armrest. 

“I was thinking about some film over the windows.” Ms Busybody added to the forever-growing list of things. “I don’t like people looking in, or the cold and the constant damp glass.” she sighed.

The men around her nodded to some degree as Ziggy’s father continued. “We already talked about some security systems with the association. Most of us are on the same page.” He also peeled his own outer layers.

“If you move here, he, he can’t take your spiky one, and the horsey can attack here.” Ziggi suddenly perked up, boots in hand. He jumped up and down the armchair next to Stephanie.

Ms Busybody came closer, fixing a wild strand of hair. Her pitch changed. “Oh, chess, how cute.” 

Robbie shook his head, rolling his eyes, as he watched his check countered. Hands linking before his lips, like he was ready for prayer, he watched eagerly as Stephanie waited for his next move.

Sportacus could now feel the warmth coming from the man, with all three adults nestling closer to the board between the kids and Robbie. His hand was so close to the man’s nape, the tag of his shirt out, he debated. If he did push it back, he could touch the soft skin there if he dared. Knowing well that the retribution for that would be abysmal, he tried to hold himself.

They watched as Robbie took another piece on the white side, gingerly putting the captured figure to the side. 

“I am happy she is not as lonely as I believed.” Mr Meanswell whispered to Sportacus when Stephanie gloated again after their shared move with Ziggy.

Sportacus’ heart swelled from the open affection of Milford towards his niece. An idea formed in his mind. “She told me she couldn’t go out alone?” after a confirming nod from the man, Sportacus continued, “I could take her to my runs, or to the gym or to the playground when you don’t have the time.”

The man’s stance changed slightly. It became protective and shielded for a split second before he looked at Sportacus once again. Emotion and intention were clear on his face. “Would that be okay? I don’t wish to burden you further, Sportacus,” he said. His eyes cast towards his niece, a sudden sadness flickering through his gaze. “My brother told me a lot about her, about her playing sports and her love of dancing, but I am afraid I can’t support her right now with that.”

Sportacus could tell the genuinity of his statement just by the short breath he took when the girl’s face lighted up in awe when they took the first piece of Robbie’s.

“Of course.” he said simply, turning his attention back to the board. Offhandedly, continuing the conversation. “So Stephanie, is your niece on your brother’s side?”

“Yeah,” Ms Busybody added, humming and pinching the girl’s cheek. “Precious little thing.”

The girl chuckled, feigning anger and annoyance. She turned back to the board, waiting for her opponent’s next move. 

And Robbie did move, and he took a piece, but it wasn’t the king, and the children broke up into loud cheers and almost kicked the table up. 

“I won! WE WON!” she grabbed Ziggy, and they spiralled between the adults. She stopped before Robbie, who looked ragged all of a sudden.

Sportacus debated if this was another one of his ‘disguises’. Robbie’s brows were low, like he was not having a good time like he didn’t smile for the split second that Sportacus caught. Their bodies clashed in a gasp when the duo jumped at the doorman. Ecstatic in their victory, clumsily including Sportacus too.

“YOU didn’t win!” the man protested, pushing against the girl who was tugging his arm to make him stand.

“It was more than six ROBBIE!” she cheered.

“ROBBIE!!” Ziggy mirrored.

Sportacus looked up, and their places suddenly changed, he was forced to sit on the armrest, and Robbie stood by his side. His collar and lapels were all over the place from the aforementioned tugging. He was bickering with the children, but Sportacus couldn’t care less. He felt a giddy warmth at the hidden and shielded elation that somehow still came from the doorman in waves. Washing over Sportacus, submerging him in a deceitful happiness that no one else seemed to realize. That was precisely why he believed they could be friends.

For all his cold and clumsy attempts to push people away, seemingly unbeknownst to them, they all gravitated towards the forever-tired, ‘sinister’ man.

His ruffled features were cute to Sportacus, and this wasn’t even the first time he caught himself thinking this way. 

Right before Robbie distanced himself six months ago, he felt they were close to becoming friends, but he was cut off without explanation.

Hands clasped between his knees, he leaned forward, letting the scene work itself out fully.

It was shorter than he thought it would be. The kids gloated, picking and nudging at Robbie, who either snickered or ignored the children and their guardians. Who was no help, enjoying the show.

Mr Meanswell even made a chess pun trying to woo Ms Busybody, but it went right over her head. Then, as fast as this started, they were gone. 

Leaving the two of them back. 

He was still watching Robbie from the armrest, eyes trained on his jawline and closed-off body language. Arms linked before his chest, shoulder slouched forward some. Even his usually put-together hairdo was falling off, his shirt all crooked from the attack.

“Why are you ogling me?” Robbie asked, nicking his head down. There was some other cleverly formulated insult there that went unsaid.

Sportacus flinched back to life from his reverie, a little embarrassed that he was, in fact, doing just that. Ogling the man. He sprung up, finding himself almost chest to chest with the man who didn’t move a breath after his question.

“I just spaced out…” he offered weakly, trying his best to not give any more ammunition to the doorman.

“What, is it after your bedtime or something?” Robbie asked without his usual bite, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

Shirt lopsided, his shoulder slumped, and even his eyes radiated tiredness. Honest fatigue showed its sign on his lips and the bags under his eyes. 

“When did you sleep last at all?” Sportacus asked rather than answering, standing his own ground. Peering up into Robbie’s eyes. 

A wobbly smirk grew on the grump’s face. “Since you and menace came not at all…” he sighed, his whole body shuddering. “... if you could just stop showing up, flipping the whole place around….” he cracked an eye open, eyebrows high. 

Sportacus found that funny, endearing even. On the other hand, he also found it alarming, even if only half of it was true. That meant the man’s nonexistent sleep schedule was disturbed so much that it looked worse for wear each day.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the crooked garment, how it showed off more of Robbie’s skin and how it made him off-putting in some way. The itch that never ceased when he was in LazyPlaza came in ten folds.

As he answered without his permission, his hands went for the lapels. Fingers pinching the fabric on both sides of Robbie’s neck. Sportacus’s thumbs met at the back of his nape and straightened the collar with a slow, deliberate movement, his knuckles pulling softly against the doorman’s skin. Warmth spread through his hands as he stopped by the buttons under the man’s chin.

“You should look into some remedy before you drive yourself thin. Insomnia is no jo-”

He stopped. Realizing his actions. How the backs of his hands rested on Robbie’s collarbones, still pinching the fabric. His eyes snapped up from the space to the doorman’s face. 

And the itch went into full bloom. A scratch against his heart. 

Seeing it took Robbie by surprise, too, that he didn’t even fuss at all. Standing stock still. 

That vulnerable expression showed again, and Sprotacus felt the same pull as six months ago. And this time as well, he didn’t act on it. Stopping short of that, something he wasn’t going to name. He was just taking care of Robbie like he was with his other friends. 

Sportacus’ traitorous hands let the collars go, slipping out on the board shoulders until he could grab into the soft of the man’s arms. Reassuringly. Squeezing for good measure before letting go. Ignoring the feeling of loss once they were not connected anymore.

“You could do some exercises, or I could get you something healthy next time. You should take care of yourself.” Sportacus felt awkward, his nape buzzing and his fingers twitching a little, trying to shy away again. Wishing to keep at least a little face, he smiled, dismissing the whole thing. This was nothing out of the ordinary, after all.

“Keep your fruit away from me, ” Robbie said, once again without a real bite.

There was something in his stance that Sportacus couldn’t pinpoint but made him more jittery. 

Stepping away, the doorman stifled a yawn, eyes watering. As he blinked them away, his usual cynicism came right back. “And your hands too, for that matter.”

Chapter Text

That night Robbie couldn’t sleep once again. Mind reeling with the happenings of the day. Sitting in his armchair should have been shooting, calming. It should lull him into a deep slumber. It would have been better if he had just turned back as he intended, if he had just pulled away and let Stephanie rot away behind the glass cage they forced her into. 

Searching for the slumber he wanted so much now after betraying it for a small light in his tiny world. It evaded and ridiculed him for that shy idea of someone to connect with.

The heels of his hand ate into his skin, pulling and pushing harshly. Like it could scrub away the things etched into his mind from a few hours ago. Now in the middle of the night, close to dawn, without as much as a nick of sleep, he was teetering on the edge of madness.

Opening his burning eyes, he watched as the TV’s dull light played on the shiny surfaces of the chessboards he had hoarded in his room. His fingers clawed and straightened again and again. Knuckles cracking in the dawn’s silence.

‘I miss dancing..’ he remembered Stephanie saying out of nowhere after her twelfth defeat. 

‘I could take her to my runs, or to the gym or to the playground when you don’t have the time.’ Sportacus offered.

How idiotic. In only one week, his feeble mind made it seem like this would last forever. How miserable. It only seemed like forever when he couldn’t keep up with them. When they annoyed him to no end. When they came and tried to take down his meticulous walls. 

He shook himself. Literally making his limbs spasm. Finding that sleep was evading him once again, he trotted over to his fridge, finding it close to empty. One flimsy plastic box held one half-eaten slice of cake. Grunting, he lowered into a crouch, ignoring the pain striking his knees as he pulled the box towards himself. 

The cold sneaked up on his arm. Goosebumps came alive under his silk robe, shuddering as he snapped one hand to his neck where the itch was the worst. The touch tore at the other memory he was desperately pushing down. 

Hand on the fridge door, he fell to the ground, his ass hitting the concrete floor, another pain joining the list of the night. He hung there oddly, deep in thought, his mind catching up with him. 

A grown-ass man, fumbling over a slight touch. He scoffed, letting his hand fall from his nape. Sportacus, he, was like a puppy.

Shit.

He let the fridge go too, knuckles now eating into the soft of his undereye. He looked like a kicked puppy when Robbie told him to scram. 

What else was there to do then? The handyman was pushing boundaries and trying to get into his grace. Because he was collecting friends like others collected stamps or awards even. Robbie knew that. Better than anyone. 

As much and as far as denying went, he could go on for a long time. He could even deceive himself. Talk himself off a cliff if push came to shove. But he couldn’t talk himself out of the disgusting attraction he felt for the man. Who could fault him? Sportadork was easy on the eyes. And when summer came around, and he started to show up in a simple T-shirts and tank tops, Robbie knew he had to do something. 

And even then, he had made the mistake of getting too close. To admire the man and his social skill. His absolutely pure and kind heart, naïve to the bone. The movements of his muscles, that ridiculous mustache. God. He sighed, snapping the fridge closed. He pulled one knee towards his chest, balled up, one hand rubbing away at his skin. 

How stupid had one to be?

Why did Sportaflop have to have to be so damned good at everything? Strong, reliable. Nifty fingers and his dirty blond hair that was so unruly and such a secret. Yet when Robbie saw it by chance and made fun of the man’s ears, there was that moment between them. Something that he believed to mean something. 

But, like today, Sportacus made it clear that it was just his openness. Nothing to do with attraction or the lack thereof. After all, Sportacus never showed up when he wasn’t called on.

So why was Robbie punished again? Wasn’t it enough that he felt disgusted and defeated when he used the handyman on more than one occasion as fuel for his nasty fantasies? Creating scenarios that would end in sweet, endearing nothings until his release came, and he was back in the cold dark he loved so much. Drenched in sweat and come. With a clear mind that mocked him for his actions. Reminding him that this was temporary. 

Just like everything else. 

He stood, pulling his aching body from the floor. Glance skimming over the row of trophies that were collecting dust and trash. He kicked some empty boxes out of sheer desperation for some outlet before he fell face-first back into his recliner. Hoping that fatigue will take him out for good.

It didn’t.

His routine of kicking the front door open was more sluggish than usual. He still had to force the snow to pile behind the door, clearing at least his own path. His energy was low. Lower than ever. But at least he could sit down. He opened the foldable chair, using his body weight as a block to keep the door open. The snow piled nicely during the night, and some people were shoveling quite eagerly around the street.

Not in his work description.

He yawned openly, jaw cracking from the force. If Milford would get away faster, he could already light a smoke. The need for some nicotine was the greatest after a sleepless night.  Fridays were the best, anyway. Because it meant the weekend was only half a day off. Robbie also debated if he should get some pastry from down the street before the others started to filter through.

To oppose him, he heard the elevator stop when he started to fidget in his seat, the cold eating into his cheekbones. He slipped lower inside his scarf, his breath wetting his face. Disgusting. Squinting, he watched Stephanie stumble out of the elevator with the blond child on her heels. Both were dressed in layers for the outside weather.

Tumbling outside, they took the way from the elevator to the main entrance running. Scarf sailed in the air as Milford bumbled after them, already out of breath. But who was Robbie to judge?

The best, he smirked, his tired mind trying to come up with some nicely presented jabs at the politician. 

Hands deep in his suit, he found his last smoke rolling in the bottom. He fished it out. Rolling it between his fingers, waiting for the residents to leave. Instead, the kids stopped before him. Faces bright like stars, they scampered in the snow. Starting an impromptu snow fight, with the snow Robbie would not shovel. 

Their laughter, blissful for others, was like knives against his tired mind. Sulking, he remained mostly hidden, answering only on off beats when the kids wouldn’t stop their pestering. 

All the while, Milford looked anxious, his usual car parked and ready, yet he kept looking around. Gaze snapping from one point to the other. His antics were pushing Robbie further into insanity.

“Whaaat, what, what is u - erm -going on?” he opted, his body slowly freezing over.

“Ah, yes, Robbie!”

Were all of them going to call him by his name now? He grimaced, his tongue clicking hidden behind the thick scarf.

“I need to go, but Sportacus hasn’t arrived yet to take the kids. Maybe I gave the wrong time…” he fidgeted, his leather briefcase following his jittery movements. 

Robbie, on the other hand, gloated. Finally, something that the handyman was messing up. His late-night snack and self-deprecation session came to his mind, and for a split second, he felt elated. That he was wrong. Sportacus wasn’t good at ‘everything’. As if summoned to deny Robbie, the handyman showed up.

And hell.

He was wearing some flattering garment. Running leggings, shorts, and a puffy vest over a deep blue long sleeve. 

Beanie to crown the get-up. All and every muscle was showcased, the muscular arms and legs that could carry who knows how many more than Robbie’s weight.

“Good Morning!” Sportacus hopped up and down, full of energy.

Someone didn’t have problems sleeping, it seemed. Robbie’s heart gave a little painful lurch at the idea, at the confirmation of his theory. Rather than jabbing right at the man, he decided to play along a little. At least until his boss went away. There was a short discussion on things and how to proceed that Robbie ignored, to be honest. 

Yawning once again when Milford finally fu- went away.

“Are we running?” Pinky asked excitedly, bumping up and down the same way, her hair flying everywhere.

“Yeah!!” Sportacus rumbled with a smile stretching.

Robbie nestled and sunk deeper into his clothes, cursing himself for leaving his coat inside. The last resident to leave was messy Bessie, and she always made a spectacle if he wasn’t at his post. Shivering, he shook himself. 

One leg over the other, he watched and waited with mild interest for the three to scram.

Ziggy imitated the pair, falling miserably into the wet snow. Hissing then laughing when the sporty pair jumped to his aid.

“It’s so cold, don’cha think?” he said while Stephanie swatted the wet stuff off the little guy’s coat.

“You’ll warm up in no time once you start to move around,” Sportacus countered, running in place.

If Robbie was more awake and had his full mental capacity, he might have realized that he wasn’t included in the conversation for a while now. Which, on a better day, would stand out like a sore thumb. But not today. He leaned back in his foldable chair, hoping the chatty woman would appear sooner than usual.

Slowly, the world started to blur a little. Like shapes were funny colors, he could still tell who was who. He felt his ears buzz at the tip of the cold or how his wet eyelashes started to stick together with each blink. Yawning wasn’t even an option anymore. The dull sounds of the trio going at it were soothing a little; against all odds, it was calming in the eerie silence of his world.

He flinched. His whole body convulsed, and he grappled with whatever was yanking him. 

“Careful!” Sportacus’ voice was filled with care and a twinge of fear. 

Maybe. Robbie wasn’t in the best mind space to really analyze the subtleties of one’s tone. Blinking rapidly, he realized that the yanking was from Sportacus grabbing his suit by the shoulder. Holding him half off the ground while Robbie kicked his chair from under him. It must have been on reflex because the grip was odd, which must have hurt a little for both of them.

The handyman recovered faster, pushing his other hand under Robbie’s arm and pulling him to his feet. Concern written all over his face sent another unwanted erratic stab at Robbie’s heart, so he swiped the arms off.

“I was,” he gulped around the solution that couldn’t come fast enough ”it was a test.” he said finally.

Gaze flickering towards the children, who also looked somewhat scared. Stephanie was almost as pale as snow. 

Her lips turned down while Ziggy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Ro-”

“Good reflexes!” he cut Sportacus off, his voice back finally, false cheer and snicker mixing, as he patted the broad chest of the handyman. “Good for you, you passed.”

“He was super fast!” Ziggy exclaimed, eating up Robbie’s lie like the candy he hoarded.

“Was he?!” he forced a smile, ignoring Sportacus by his side.

The sportsman’s arm was still hovering behind him, a few breaths away from the small of his back. Face void of the usual fond but unbelieving smile he had for Robbie’s antics. The smile was there, but it was as forced as his own. Maybe a little more cautious. 

Well, to hell with Bessie; he grabbed his folding chair, ready to leave. “Now run. Ah, also don’t jump around like some madman… if by chance you forget the way back, all the better.” the end of his sentence tapered off. 

Stephanie was looking at him, eyes full of something. Her hands were balled at her side, and she snapped her gaze between the two adults. Waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

Robbie sighed when Sportacus was once again spacing out. Leaning into his space, he whispered behind his palm. 

“You are scaring the children, muscle brain…” he shook his head, a little disappointed.

Hearing the man’s usual cheer a few beats later, he shooed them off and retreated into the lobby. Pulling the metal thing behind him, he ignored the cries of the wooden floor. Tossing the thing with little to no energy back at its supposed place. Following its descent into the floor. He couldn’t care less.

He rubbed his arms, realizing he was colder than he thought. Not sleeping and winter were a bad combo. Brilliant, he praised himself for something that would have been blatantly obvious was he in his right mind. Stalking into his room, he grabbed the closest blanket he had and pulled it over his shoulders before sinking into his armchair. 

Restarting his pity party on his own, he let today’s work and failures be the problem of his future self.

-

A few minutes from the LazyPlaza, the town had a modern playground. Freshly remodeled games and an outdoor gym with an oval track going around. In the summer, it was painted in deep greens and shades from the nearby trees. Right now, amid December, it was a little blander. 

Snow blanketed most of the park, branches of the trees heavy under the piles of white. The playground, however, was in peak condition. There were some runners already, and Sportacus knew some. His usual time was pushed a little later after Milford took him up on his offer last night.

However, his routine was also somewhat disturbed by his rampant mind, going off the rails last night. Usually, he would methodically take each and every step to prepare for a good sleep. This time, the idea of pushing just a little more, more cautiously, for Robbie to accept him and the complex and not try to get rid of him was keeping him up. 

He stretched, watching Ziggy run around and showing Stephanie everything one could enjoy on the playground. 

Hanging from the monkey bars, adorably kicking and flailing, while the girl laughed. 

Stephanie’s cheeks got some color back after they finally left the building behind. Now she was watching with her huff leaving in a white puff and showing some dance moves off for the kid. 

Sportacus leaned over the short fence around the playground, letting his leg muscles stretch as he slowly turned his ankles. Gripping the metal bar, he made his body a C to pop something in his shoulder. The slight ache brought the memory of Robbie crumpling like paper up.

At one moment, the man berated them over the rim of his thick scarf; at the other, he was plummeting toward the concrete. Sportacus’ fingers twitched, and he unrolled them one by one to grip the bar once again.

By instinct, he caught the man, literally by his clavicle. It must have hurt much more than his own pulled joint. He thought his heart would stop for a moment. The man looked like he had died, still and cold. Then, in a very Robbie-like fashion, he was back up, snapping at him and hiding the problem masterfully behind a lie. 

Sportacus looked at his fingers, the knuckles already coloring from the cold. Skin pulling dry, he felt his whole body tighten. Calling the children over, he urged himself to move, to sweat out anything that could pester his mind. If anything, working out was always good for his mental health, feeling refreshed after. He was sure that after a bit of running around, he would snap just right back.

“Should we compete?” Stephanie asked, eager and jumpy.

“What would the reward be?” Sportacus entertained her, smile widening when she fell into deep thought over the reward.

“CANDY!” Ziggy screamed. Bumbling by their side. “I want to have some good, sweet, candy or, or hot chocolate!”

“Ziggy…” Stephanie smiled, still thinking.

Knowing this would happen, he pulled his cross bag forward, fishing a freezer bag out. “Sportcandy,” he said, showing off the neatly cut apple slices and walnuts.

Stephanie snorted a little, a smile pulling to the side, trying her best to remain serious. 

The blond grimaced, his blue eyes shrinking as doubt surfaced in his features. “Those are apples….”

Sportacus laughed, opening the bag and plopping a slice in his mouth. It crunched under his teeth because of the cold, but still sweet, and in this way, it would be more reminiscent of candy. “Yeah, and it’s really good, sweet and gives you a bunch of energy for running.”

Ziggy was still doubtful. When Stephanie took one, he was eager to get one himself. The rest of their time together was more than pleasant. The children got a good sweat, and Stephanie looked livelier than ever. Her arrival two weeks ago was a real blessing. More ways than one. 

For one, Milford seemed more relaxed; he also showed up earlier if Robbie’s constant complaints regarding his schedule were anything to go by. Sportacus also had a new friend and someone to talk to while working. Really an oddity when it came to LazyPlaza. 

And that was another reason. He finally had a reason, a solid, undeniable reason, to show up at the building. For six months, whenever he reached out, he would run into walls or get dissed by Robbie. Even when he was at other locations or met with his work associates, they all told him to leave it be. That they heard that someone else was doing the minor repairs. 

That someone else, now, in hindsight, must have been Robbie. Again, if anything that he found patched up was something to go by. 

On the way back, the kids chattered and pulled him into at least three snowball fights. Now delightfully tired and ready for their leisure time. Spartacus learned Stephanie was taking some time off from school because of a family issue, the same one that made her visit his uncle. And while most children her age were out of the complex or were still going to school, she had just enough fun like this.

“The most I had lately, actually,” she confessed, kicking what was left of a snowball.

Spartacus hummed, happy that he could help in any way possible. Not to mention he could still move and exercise now with the company to boost. “So how long will you stay?” question was innocent enough, but it had a visible impact.

Her jaw clenched, and her arms swinging by her side were now stopping, flapping out and hitting her sides in contemplation. “For a while, until New Year, for sure.”

Before Sportacus even decided if he wanted to push the girl a little more, his mouth was shut by the next question.

“What’s wrong with Robbie?” Stephanie’s turned towards Sportacus, eyes on Ziggy, who was now busy creating a snowman from dirty and watery snow in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Nothing, he is just grumpy,” Sportacus tried to avert the line of questioning he could sniff out from a mile away.

Glancing at Stephanie’s profile, her strawberry blond hair shifted with the huff she freed. An authority only a girl could muster up, she over-articulated her following words. “Oh! He is so grumpy he falls out of his chair.” she puffed her cheeks up. “I see, I see.”

“Stephanie -”

“I thought you were close.” she admitted, some of her sarcasm disappearing.

“Does it seem so?” he was taken aback. More than he thought. Did it look like they were close? The warmth that lingered under his skin spread out his whole body.

Stephanie looked at him with a half-lidded gaze, eyebrows lifting, and without words, Sportacus could hear, ‘Really?’

Sportacus leveled her a look, hand sheepishly landing again at his nape. A habit he should work on getting rid of. “I- he doesn’t sleep too well, but to be honest we are not that close.” the admission hurt a little.

Stephanie looked at him for a while. Expression somber before she shrugged, running up to Ziggy and tackling the guy at the side. Landing in the slush, screaming and laughing hysterically.

By the time they arrived back, the road in front of the entrance was shoveled and clean. The dark pavement stood as a stark contrast to the pure snow. Oddly enough, the piles were kept nice and at ground level. Almost even on the top, some places, even had a print of the back of the shovel.

Chatting, he herded the kids inside. With varying enthusiasm, they spilled inside, Sportacus closing the door after them. Finding the lobby empty wasn’t a surprise. Finding it cold, on the other hand, made little to no sense. Sportacus’ eyebrows knotted. While he walked over to the thermostat to check and see it working just fine, the kids called for the elevator.

Gaze wandering over the space, he debated whether to call out for the doorman. Deciding against it, he waved the kids off, exhaling long. Comforted that his breath didn’t leave white puffs, but there was no denying it. The insulation must be faulty, and the cold was seeping in somewhere. He rubbed his hands together, stalking over to the receptionist’s table.

Smaller heaps of mail and magazines, an empty plate with hardened frosting and crumbs. He couldn’t push down the grin emerging when, amid all of that, he found the bell glued over. With duct tape, forever silenced with a post-it note reading ‘Go away.’ He would recognize that handwriting anywhere. He had seen many times; even the exact same words addressed to him.

Shaking his head, he huffed. After walking back slowly, he did some twists to warm his muscles up again. Stopping when he found Robbie’s ‘lair’ open again. The door was ajar, and the warning taped on was far less serious. 

Contemplating if he should, or if he wanted to, disturb the man when seemingly he was finally getting some rest. 

Sportacus mused, taking a step, to at least close the door, just to be sure.

Open hand stopping a breath away from the handle when he heard Robbie’s nagging tone and a breathy laugh. 

One he only caught once and was working toward seeing again. He knew that eavesdropping was the worst thing he could do, but calling out his presence might also end in disaster. Justifying it by any means later, he reasoned.

“ - ni, you know I am not like you….” Robbie said, tone and voice so far gone. Like he would fall asleep anytime now. 

The other party laughed maniacally, not the least offended. And Sportacus decided no means were justifiable enough if he could also hear the other side. Stepping back, hand still hovering in the air, he froze over as the door flung open. 

Robbie’s eyes widened comically, the corners almost disappearing, as he balanced a plate with cake and his phone, the other gripping the door in desperation. A second lasted forever for both, and Sportacus could tell that the worst was still coming when the man started to scamper and grab his phone.

Cake falling with the plate, Sportacus reached for that, heart kicking in as he grabbed the paper plate, food saved. 

His gaze snapped back up while Robbie tried to cut the call. Not soon enough-

“Okay, but listen to this, some good dicking down would absolutely help your nerves and end in a good night’s sleep.” the Cheshire voice on the other end laughed good-naturedly.

The noises that left Robbie were something he couldn’t compare to anything living. Really horrifying, and with no success in ending the call, the doorman chucked the phone toward the room. The snap of the device landing somewhere obviously not safe was only an afterthought.

Sportacus felt heat rush through him, embarrassed and ashamed that he was listening to a discussion so private. 

Hanging in an odd pose. The cake safe in his hands almost doubled over. He couldn’t see as the doorman was showing his back. Still, Robbie’s disappointed expression surfaced in his mind's eye, buzzing at the edges with an unknown irritation as the voice continued after the crash.

“What was that?!” the voice on the other side asked, screeching from somewhere deep in Robbie’s room.

Sportacus jumped back, cake safely traveling with him when Robbie snapped his door shut. The sound was loud and shrill in the lobby. The following silence only deepened, and Sportacus felt like time had stopped altogether. 

Robbie turned slightly, looking over his shoulder, even his forehead was red, and it only ignited Sportacus’ blush to a flame. Stuck in time and space, they were in a standoff.

“You-” “Robbie-”

Both snapped their mouths shut once again. 

Sportacus’ eyes snapped around, fingers clasping on the paper plate. To find something, anything to say. To pacify the situation, this was a private call and such a misfortune.

“You didn’t hear anything,” Robbie said, finally turning. 

His face was dark, but Sportacus couldn’t decide if it was from shame or anger. Both were viable options, and he would take either head-on if it would solve their current frozen situation.

“I me-” Sportacus flinched back, pulling the cake towards his chest protectively. If the cake or he was protected was still debatable.

Robbie was all in his personal space, snarling and punctuating every and each word. “You. Didn’t. Hear. Anything.”

Sportacus nodded, trying his best to form a reassuring smile. To remedy their predicament. 

“Argh…” Robbie sighed or growled. Somewhere in between. “I don’t even have the energy to scream at you….” Robbie muttered into his folded arms, hiding his face. 

Such a sorry sight; Sportacus felt responsible now. The mental torment of anybody else hearing that conversation would take a toll on anyone. And Robbie was already under the weather. So, contrary to his usual aversion to manhandling Robbie around, he pulled him by his biceps. 

Realizing the severity of his sleeplessness when there was no scampering or arguing, just a slight whine. Meandering him towards the sole couch inside the lobby, Robbie let himself be guided and fell into the furniture. 

Hands over his eyes, he grumbled more incoherently, and Sportacus tried his best not to chuckle.

“Can’t you like, I don’t know, go somewhere, doesn’t anyone like need your immediate help?” Robbie drew small circles in the air with his free hand, implying some jumping around.

“You seem to be in trouble right now,” Sportacus offered, sitting next to him, dipping the couch cushion towards himself.

“Oh,” Robbi laughed without humor. Tone small “thanks, you are done. I bet this will help me sleep just right. The shame!” she spread his fingers, still hiding behind his linked arms.

Of course, it was a mortifying situation, but the act was proven to help with sleep. Sportacus’ muscles coiled, embarrassment washing over him again. But what could one do? It happened already; they just had to get over it. 

Let’s ignore it. He thought, then walked right into his next sentence.

“I can help you fall asleep if you want.”

When Robbie looked at him for a second, finally peering over his shield built by his arms, Sportacus waited eagerly for the answer. Before the little itch behind his mind started up and noted that in the context, help might include some indecent implications. His face felt hot suddenly, mustache tickling his skin as he let a surprised huff out.

Robbie, on the other hand, looked calm suddenly. 

Like the implication didn’t even register by the doorman. A change so big it tossed Sportacus into a spiral. So much so that his palm started to sweat over the paper plate; he was still using it as an anchor to keep himself from any other blunder.

“Let me guess….” Robbie started, voice filled with mock cheer “hot milk,” he snorted.

Sportacus’ lips turned to a timid smile, not brave enough to smile fully yet. “That’s one thing….”

“Oh or, or!” Robbie leaned back, hands falling to his lap, eyes closed “ some excellent tea and a healthy dinner?” a full laugh.

Before Sportacus could match energies and say some of the excellent advice he had lined up since yesterday, Robbie went on.

“Better yet, you’ll make me exercise...” his body shook with each laugh he tried to stifle with no success. 

“Cake for sure won’t help” Sportacus tried to be cautious with the current calm, fearing that it was the for bringer of a storm brewing under those shaking shoulders of Robbie.

“Just stay quiet… more so go away…” he flicked at the Sportacus.

Sportacus hummed good-naturedly but didn’t move. Turning the paper plate around, examining the red velvet cake. 

Rich red and pure white. A bite was already missing, and he wondered where the fork could be. He glanced around, elbows balanced on his knees as he peered out to the street, imagining what they looked like from outside. 

Stephanie said they looked close, but Sportacus wasn’t sure. Initially, it took him a while to come to terms with the fact that Robbie hated his guts from the get-go. Without a reason or rhyme. It could have been the constant noise or tinkering. The man was very sensitive, after all. For months they were butting heads, which was more Robbie going out of his way to make Sportacus’ work miserable. Making sure he would feel out of place.

Some tricks were easy, others more complicated, and all were wrapped with Robbie’s name written all over them. 

Thinking, he couldn’t even recall when he started to see that the man was trying his best to socialize, even with his clumsy way and in his denial. Through petty acts of mischief and ridicule, he would try to distance Sportacus from the residents. Like him being here would make his existence less important.

And that might have been the thought that turned him over from his overly polite but ignorant self to someone who tried to invade those walls. Getting rejected right away. 

Sportacus let a brief snort leave his chest. He shook his head while listening to the silence that fell to the lobby in the early morning hours.

“You are like a frigging chimney….” 

Robbie’s low tone snapped Sportacus out of his reverie, the cake stopping as he turned towards the man. Robbie was relaxed against the backrest, leaning towards Sportacus, arms fallen into his lap, as his knees fell a little open, body entirely limp. His chest lifted and fell in a short and slow rhythm.

“...but it’s too cold, so” he yawned, “you can stay for now…” his head nodded forward.

Sportacus moved closer, taking care not to spook the man, shoulders almost touching. He leaned back, too. “Happy to help…” he said in a low tone, to not pull Robbie out of his rapidly approaching slumber.

Robbie’s head lolled to his own shoulder, balance lost a little, his body slumped towards Sportacus, and the handyman could feel how cold Robbie was.

“I don’t need your help…” each word was quieter than the one before until he became silent altogether.

Sportacus sighed, letting the man’s breath even out and listening to his tiny snore. Maybe he didn’t need them, but he had friends to help him nonetheless. Even bad ones like the one on the call.

The handyman’s thoughts stopped. 

Who was he to say that someone wasn’t a good friend? That man who suggested such a thing might have been Robbie’s best friend for all he knew.

Turning the conversation around in his head, his immense blush deepened. He felt a sweat burn down on his heated skin, where Robbie’s body joined his. Boiling inside him, shame made him want to escape the lobby as soon as possible. Heart going over a mile like he just ran a marathon, threatening his ribs to break if he didn’t get away. 

Under all that, however, was a tiny irritation, anger even. Simmering but never leaving. 

Even when Robbie slid down his side and Sportacus had to lay him down on the couch, Robbie didn’t stir, completely out of it. He didn’t notice as Sportacus pulled the blanket over his suit. Fortunately enough that Robbie couldn’t see his face because he wasn’t sure what kind of expression he was showing.

Chapter Text

As always, on the first day of December, Ms. Busybody showed up with the kitschiest, blinking, old wooden, chipped paint advent calendar she could find. 

Sometimes Robbie imagined how the lobby would be if it wasn’t for Bessie’s erratic design taste. If the ornate carpets over the wooden floor disappeared. Or if the old couch and armchair sets that didn’t go well together would be changed into a modern, dark, sleek design. If the walls were a darker shade, rather than this golden hue all year round, only looking decent for half a year. 

Maybe, instead of the few bookshelves and coffee tables, there could be no knick knacks at all. For Robbie, it wasn’t a surprise no one ever used the lobby other than him. And he liked it, so all the prior changes could rot in hell, in his humble opinion. The less community chatter, the better his life was. 

While she gingerly placed the overly ‘homey’ calendar in the wide window panes looking to the street, she lamented about the sudden heat inside. Chiding and bickering with Milford regarding the state of the complex and that they had neglected the repairs for long enough.

Robbie rolled his eyes, flipping a page in his current book. His thumb ran over the small black and white squares. 

Leg tapping crossed over the reception table, he couldn’t stop himself and peered over the pages to watch Sportacus standing on top of a ladder. And for once, he wasn’t checking him out; no, he was squinting toward the security camera he was tinkering with.

True to her word, Bessie pressed the residents until they all agreed to install it for safety. Not like anything happened in the last four to five years Robbie has been here.

He turned the page, not paying it any attention. His old, trusty, broken-down machine was exchanged with a more sleek and new PC. As much as the sounds of the old one annoyed him, he missed it more now. Without it, he had to listen to others. He couldn’t just zone on the whirring to free his mind.

“Robbie, do you want to bet?” 

The doorman looked up, his gaze meeting Stephanie’s as she peered over the receptionist’s desk. Holding his own chess board up high, swaying from side to side. Bumbling and humming.

“Be a good girl and just sit down and be quiet.” he counter-offered.

“Come on!”

“Go out and flip around with your friend.” Robbie pointed at the handyman who had just jumped down the ladder, twirling while doing so just to hammer Robbie’s point home. 

Stephanie lowered the board a little. “I looked it up and I think I can win today!” she challenged.

Robbie’s eyebrow raised. Smirking, he let his legs fall to the ground. “Great,” he grinned when her little face brightened. “Still no..”

“I will not come down tomorrow!” she wagered.

“No.” he linked his arms behind his back as he rounded the desk.

“I’ll bake you a cake!” her grip fastened over the board.

“I already have cake.” he leaned to the side, feigning ignorance.

She deflated a little. Seemingly those were her only ideas for a challenge. “Okay, what do you want if you win?”

“When I win,” he corrected, stalking over the chair set slowly.

“I’ll catch you cheating one day.” she mumbled before she tried her trump card. “I’ll do your job for an hour!” she seemed pretty proud of that one.

“Yeah, sure, let’s make your uncle realize I am useless,” he lied, watching the color drain from Pinky’s face a little. “make it a full morning.”

Jest back in her steps, she danced around the doorman, and Robbie had to actively evade her. The closed board rattled with the figures inside. “Deal!” she chirped and started towards their table.

Well, not theirs, his mind corrected. The one they usually used for chess. Yeah, that wasn’t much better. He blinked a few when Stephanie stopped abruptly, body weight going to her toes as she wobbled. 

“What if I win?”

“Relax, you won’t.” Robbie snickered.

“Ah, you are sooo Rotten!” she deadpanned, and if she was learning some of his schemes, he was the more proud.

“Guilty!” he dramatized. “Maybe I shouldn’t play with you after all,” he turned on his heel.

“If I win, I want to play every day until Christmas!” she grabbed after his hand, and Robbie snapped it away protectively.

“I don’t want to spend time with you, EVERY DAY.” he argued, hands landing on his waist. If this gremlin thought he would take away from his precious alone time, she had another coming. “Not spending any would be preferable.”

“Oh, another bet? “Sportacus joined the conversation uninvited. 

Standing next to them, in the middle, like a judge. Robbie stood his gaze for a little before he snapped his gaze up to the ceiling. It wasn’t bad enough that he almost collapsed and had to be grabbed. Then Sportacus even overheard his conversation with Glanni. On top of all, at the very peak, Robbie fell asleep on him. THEN, Sportacus tucked him in, to be found by the children a few hours later.

He would never live that down.

He didn’t show himself for three consecutive days. Feigning a cold. Then he avoided Sportacus for the remainder of the last week. He thought he had shaken the whole thing off, but with the handyman, this close again. Fond smile and naive gaze on him, he relived every tormented second of his shame.

“Yeah, if I win, we will play chess every day.” Stephanie shared, then trotted to the low table and set up the board.

“What do you get if you win?” Sportacus leaned in conspiringly.

Robbie flinched away, and if the handyman caught it, he didn’t show. “When I win...” he pulled on his suit vest, pinching the fabric harder than necessary. “... and none of your business.”

Sportacus hummed a disbelieving look, paired with the calm gesture. “I’ll set up the security system for the new PC,” he nodded, giving him space.

Confused, Robbie turned slightly after the man. Usually, this would end in him spectating and trying to distract both of them, mostly Robbie. Getting half of what he wished for was to Sportacus, paying less attention to him. To fall into Robbie’s little tricks and grumbles was his goal all along. Now that it seemed to pay out, it did sting a bit. 

He shrugged. Well, this was temporary, too, after all. 

He fell into the armchair, ready to destroy the little girl. Finding an odd opening move. Pawn to h4. He frowned. Kádas opening, and she was so confident too. Her great brown eyes glinted eagerly. 

Robbie moved his piece, taking control of the center. “Are you setting a trap? Nasty…” he cackled. 

“I am not,” she pouted, moving her ‘h’ rook out, already ruining her little plan. 

Robbie could appreciate some effort but wouldn’t excuse sloppiness, at least not in chess. Stephanie more than showed her interest. She also looked up fancy stuff, and Robbie was a little, just a tad bit interested if she could see it through.

So he entertained her, moving his pawn diligently to e5. If anything, Pinky knew how to pretend to be clueless when it counted. She hesitated, but her fingers were already twitching towards the rook again. After debating, she moved it slowly to threaten his pawn and his king behind it.

Knight moved out to c6, and now the pawn under attack was protected. Still no fear in Stephanie, she hummed, moving her pawn to d4; she defended the rook. 

Safe as Robbie’s pawn was still hiding his king, he could take with the knight to d4, but then she would whip out her queen. He could come out with the bishop if she takes, then they exchange queens, and five more moves down, Robbie could decide if he wanted to walk into the Beginner’s trap. Or they could go on and see if Stephanie has thirty-plus moves in her to stand a chance.

“Do you know which is the most important piece in chess?” he asked, taking the pawn with the knight. Rolling the piece between his fingers.

“It’s the king.” she said, moving the queen out to set the trap.

And just with that, Robbie decided against it. Against falling into the trap. Moving his king right away and making Stephanie flinch. 

-

“Good Morning!”

“Oh my! How cheerful!”

Ms. Busybody snapped her hand to her chest, flinching and laughing a little breathlessly at the sudden tone. 

Something that they were not used to in the morning. Maybe a short, grumbled word of approval or cringy, filled, silence.

Not today. Stephanie stood at the open door, hands clutched before her. Bundled to her chin to keep out the wind. 

The cold ate into her skin, and her nose had gone numb a few minutes ago, but a deal was a deal. And she lost. 

Pouting, she watched Ms. Busybody hop into her cab, chiding her for her loud greeting.

She was the last one, as Robbie promised. Just before Ms. Busybody, her uncle left. Patting her arms and squeezing her. Worry and care played on his face. With an apologetic smile, he promised once again to come back early. With just a little patience, everything will return to normal, and he will make more time for her.

Stephanie believed him. Uncle Milford was kind, short, and bubbly, but his kindness knew no bounds. She felt loved and taken care of every day since she arrived. The town was delightful, even if the only parts she saw were the station and playground and their immediate street front.

The residents also seemed kind, at least the few that were not on vacation or away on business trips.

She nudged a pebble off the cleaned entrance, her boots already tainted and cooling rapidly from standing around. 

How Robbie could sit here for two to three hours was a minor miracle. Minor because Robbie was the image of lazy and idle. Only doing something if absolutely necessary or unavoidable. 

Humming, she turned the thought in her head. That wasn’t true, well, to some extent, but for the most part, Robbie did quite a lot to keep Sportacus or them away. Or when she could rope him into a chess match, he would go out of his way to destroy her. Citing each and every wrong move she made. 

Stephanie clapped her hands together, snow falling from her arms and gloves, and she closed the door after her. Instead of keeping it open like Robbie, she kept opening and closing it. Even though Robbie told her not to mind the cold because the lobby wouldn’t cool in the few ‘active’ minutes that the door was open. He also told her he made a schedule according to the residents’ departure times and would only station himself out for that amount of time. 

Clever. Stephanie would never confess this to him, but Robbie was clever, smart even. Which was a stark contrast to his usual clumsy self. On top, not your regular type of clumsy of nicking and falling and making mistakes. No, he was socially inept. 

Stephanie stomped the snow off her boots, peeling her hat and coat. Dropping each article to the closest armchair. 

Just in time for the doorman to show up, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, still looking fine and fresh. Another anomaly, in Stephanie’s opinion. How someone who was not giving a damn about anything other than min-maxing his life would put such effort into himself. And Robbie was full of himself. Utterly full.

“Good morning.” she opted, ruffling her locks. Then rubbing her nose in hopes of warming it up.

The only answer she got was a low grunt. Joined with some jostling around the receptionist’s table as he emerged. 

Compared to a few days ago, when he all but collapsed from fatigue, he looked better. But never the best. Never looked well-rested. However, asking about that was a landmine, and she was banished from the lobby more than once for being ‘nosy.’

So, she decided to leave the man alone rather than walk into a disaster. Hopping down the armchair opposite the reception, she sunk into the soft plush of the furniture. Waiting for her bones and skin to warm again, she could warm with some exercise, but she would be banned from the lobby for that too.

She jerked back, head hitting the backrest when the lanky adult sat across from her. Hands cradling a big mug, she squinted, the map of texas plastered over the blue porcelain in red. Watched the grown man slurp something so scorching hot that he snapped his lips and tongue several times just to repeat it after a few seconds. Grimacing all the while.

“Why do you drink coffee if you hate it?” she frowned, leaning back forward.

Robbie lifted a brow, eyes peering over the rim of his mug, sleepy gaze falling on her. “Not that you need to know,” he slurped again, hissing at the heat, ”I like it.”

“You are making faces…” she pointed out. Challenging the man’s gaze while she put the first row of pieces on the table.

“And your nails are horrendous.” he retorted.

Stephanie snapped her hands back so fast that a few pawns flew off the table. She hid them quickly into her armpits, arms crossing to hide away. Gaze snapping down, her face heated, and an irritating tingling sent her into shameful silence. Not like it was such a big thing.

“Did you do it yourself…?” Robbie went on. When didn’t he get an answer. “don’t tell me it was your first try…” he snickered.

“So what?!” she snapped, head lifting, finding Robbie with a knowing grin, mug still between his hands. Stephanie saw that, as expected, his nails were immaculate, nicely shaped, and there were a few strange but natural dents or bumps on their tops. Gritting her teeth, she nicked her chin. “You don’t have to be mean about it….”

“No, it’s the manicure, that’s mean…” he drawled, taking another gulp of the coffee.

“Well…” she jumped up, hands still hidden, and she stalked towards the elevator, feeling like it couldn’t take her away fast enough. She forced down some angry tears. How stupid, getting this offended by the grump. Her shoulder lifted, and she tensed up.

“Don’t you want to bet?” he called out for her.

When the elevator chimed on arrival, she turned back. Robbie wasn’t looking at her. Leaning out of the chair with little grace, he gathered the fallen pawns. She even heard something pop when he reached for the one furthest.

“No…” she pouted, kicking the carpet’s corner back down, but couldn’t let her curiosity go “... hypothetically if I did, what would be in it for me?” her hands warmed fast. Her chest felt constricted, but she wasn’t ready to let herself go yet.

“Get that ugly nail polish and come back here if you want to know.”

The elevator door opened slowly, and Stephanie had to push it a little to fully open it. Sniffling a little, she hit her floor. Freeing her hands, she looked at her hot pink fingernails. Or fingers. She thought they were not wrong before and knew they weren’t nice, but Robbie didn’t have to call it out like that. Like the villain, he was.

Her floor was high, and the door was electric, a little different from all the others. Or the ones she visited with Sportacus on their mailing mission. With a happy chirp, the door opened, and she meticulously closed it after herself before she kicked her boots off.

Remembering that she left all her other clothes in the lobby, even if she didn’t want to meet Robbie again today, she would have to go get them.

Who mocked children like that? Shaking her hands, she trotted over to the brightly colored living room of her uncle. 

Lively and so him it was funny. Even the room prepared for her; it was a dark shade of pink with daisy motives. 

Remodeled just for her arrival, the plush carpet felt great under her soles, soft and warm. She walked over to her dresser; the nail polish she kept with her laid in the middle. 

It’s not ugly.

She pouted, saying it out loud in the silence of the flat. She picked it up and turned in the light while stalking over to the window. Heavy linen curtains dimmed the room a little, but she couldn’t muster up the nerve to open them, not after such a short time. Knowing she was safe here didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t be careless for now. 

It’s the sixth floor, you silly. Stephanie chided herself but couldn’t muster up the courage to open the curtains. Falling back into the wide bed, legs dangling, she hugged the polish to her chest. She missed dancing; she missed home; she missed everything. This place was lovely. It was great even. But she missed her old place and old life. 

Rubbing at her eyes, she denied her tears and rejected them harshly. Stephanie let a short little sight leave her. Her head felt heavy, and she turned it. Her frilly pillow was a little askew, and her old phone peeked out from under it. 

Turned off, as she was told, she turned her body too, her hands clasped the polish securely to her chest. 

Half an hour seemed enough to wallow in a little self-pity. No one was going to solve her problem, anyway. All the surrounding adults were working their butts off to better her situation, and she should feel fortunate. Feel happy that there was this nook in this town to accommodate her. That she found friends of all kinds. Even Robbie. She grimaced. Both of them would deny it, of course. If not friends, then maybe acquaintances.

When she returned to the lobby, with her not ugly nail polish clutched in her hands, she found the doorman in the middle. Robbie was talking with someone, a tall man. They were eye to eye, and Robbie looked relaxed. He smiled.

Stephanie felt her mouth open in surprise.

He smiled, just like that, without any malice. Then the stranger CARESSED his upper arm, and Robbie let him?! Her jaw clenched, and she felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks. 

She had seen people flirt before and found it kind of disturbing, more so when her parents did it in the past. 

Clearing her throat to call attention to herself, she marched out to the lobby. If her movements were a little stiff, well, she felt more embarrassed than when she forgot her routine on the stage. 

Robbie glanced at her and immediately swiped the hand off of him. Attempted to create distance, but the stranger leaned in, a whisper too loud for it to not be intentional; he left, laughing. He even ignored Robbie’s snapping and growling.

She debated if she should peek at the stranger but decided against it, and when the man left, Robbie turned towards her, smile gone, but not angry either. She felt like she was privy to a secret. A little breathless, like she held something small about Robbie that others might not have known about him. 

“So you decided to show up after all? Took long enough.” He picked on her, then fell sideways into the armchair. Long fingers pointing at the board that was set up.

Stephanie walked closer, feeling a little timid after her emotional rollercoaster of the last half an hour. Flinching away when Robbie took her polish without a word, turning it around with a wry smile. 

Giving up on getting her treasure back, she took her usual place opposite the doorman. The board was set funnily like they were in the middle, and it was left there abruptly. She measured the pieces up. Both sides had suffered some damage already. But it looked like black was winning, the king pinned from two directions, the dark square bishop gone, and only one knight and the rooks holding out for the white side.

“If you can check the black king in one move, the best move, I shall rid you of that joke of a nail job.” he shook the polish, tone uninterested and a little bored as well.

Stephanie’s fingers curled the moment he made the comment. Fighting the urge to retort, she found like five more chocolate wraps around the table. The coffee mug was full again. Losing the battle against her tongue, she let her mind slip. “Coffee and sugar are bad for you. Your stomach will ache.”

Robbie shrugged, ignored her comment, and propped his elbow on the armrest. Pointing with her captured nail polish. “Get to it.”

“What if I make the wrong move…?” she gave in, uncurling her fingers, moving them around, getting rid of the numbness.

“You’ll take my morning shift tomorrow, again.” he grinned, all teeth and as insincere as they came. 

That wasn’t too bad. But she had a playground ‘date’ with Ziggy and Sportacus tomorrow morning, so it wasn’t too good either. Her white king was pinned by a bishop and a rook, both blocked by pawns for now, but those were also under attack. While the black king had no hardship standing tall on the other side of the board.

“Can I get a hint?” she wagered.

“No.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“You already did, and no.”

“Was that a friend?” she picked her white knight, hanging in the air. Then she put it back down, thinking for one more moment, then she moved it out of the way of a forgotten, light square bishop.

Robbie leaned forward, showing a knowing and impressed smile. Snapping the nail polish a few more times before he spoke up, the tone light and close to kind. “You could say that, I guess….”

And that was the most Robbie answer she had ever heard.

Chapter Text

The town was rushing by him as he pedaled towards the LazyPlaza. Buildings only a haze of colors and lines, bending and snapping whenever he turned or stopped in traffic. Sportacus had a minor plumbing job at his other contract location. Nothing major, but one had to act fast with repairs like this in the winter. But now he was late to his rendezvous with the children.

Thankfully, the roads were clean, and he kept to the bike lane, so he was getting good on time, with just a little more. He felt his body become lighter with each speed adjustment, his legs easy on the pedals. His grip fastened on the handlebar, gloves crying under his force. Soaring, he took the next turn. Heart skipping a beat, his eyes widened, and then there was no stopping.

Now he was properly late. His bike limped next to him. The first wheel bent into figure eight. The shiny blue paint chipped off, and the scratch marks took away from its usual beauty. Sportacus shook his arm before he decided just to lift the bike. Slower than he liked, he turned the last corner towards the complex. Mind reeling over how to handle the situation once he arrived, how to manage the children. 

Stephanie had gone pale from Robbie slipping off a chair. Her little heart might stop this time if she saw him like this. 

Or would it be better to show vulnerability? Children were so attuned to pain, though. It could be a learning experience too, but he stopped. The cold was pulling his feverishly hot cheeks. He didn’t want them to see. 

Contemplating his next move, on who to call, where to go. Which was the best scenario? Immersed in the wet pavement, he nudged the bike on his intact shoulder. With a twinge of embarrassment, he felt someone’s eyes on him. A talent he cultivated since his childhood, knowing his place relative to everything. Feeling out who was about to approach him and who needed help in a room full of people. Attuned to his surroundings as he was, he still didn’t catch when Robbie appeared before him.

“You look worse than me…” his tone was a little cautious, but his usual mocking timber shone through.

And wasn’t that just the best thing? Sportacus felt awesome, muscles untangled in his back, relaxing a breath. He lifted his gaze, and Robbie was still a few steps away, keeping his distance, hands deep in the pockets of his peacoat. Dark gray or black, or in between. Sportacus wasn’t sure, but he liked the tone.

“Would that be a bad thing, when you usually look very put together?” he tried with a light smile, cheeks pulling with pain.

The doorman huffed an annoyed breath, shaking his head slightly. “I sent the brats back to the sweet tooth’s mother.” he took a few steps back towards the complex.

Sportacus felt a little lightheaded at the information. Shaking his head, he followed Robbie. “Why?”

Robbie stopped, face contorted in confusion, his brows pinched. “You look like shit.” he reinforced.

“You could tell from that far?” he fell in step with Robbie, the bike’s metal eating into his shoulder on his nondominant side. 

“Your posture was strange, funny.” he snickered lightly, “Like a kicked puppy.”

“Robbie,” but Sportacus couldn’t help the silly smile as he peered up at the tall man. Who would say funny and kicked puppy in the same breath? Shaking his head slowly because he felt like his brain would not take any sudden movements kindly. “It’s not that bad.”

“I am sure it’s not,” he noted and peered inside the complex. Finding the lobby empty, he opened the door. Sneaking a glance towards the elevator.

Sportacus followed his gaze, leaning over the man, the bike hitting the pavement with a soft sound. His plan was now obsolete. Initially, he planned to meet the kids, then decided against it, then wanted to get away. Going home and getting a good look at his scratches. Yet, the moment when Robbie spoke to him, he became an obedient follower. Without the doorman even needing to voice his directions.

Robbie glanced up at him, gaze meeting, and Sportacus tried for a smile. Earning an exasperated sigh. 

Robbie straightened, creating a little space between them, then gestured for Sportacus to go in. The bike made an odd sound while it limped inside under Sportacus’ guidance. He followed Robbie inside, a little disoriented, legs wobbly as he pushed on, mind screaming at him from a distance. Heart not quite there yet, he stopped. 

Contemplating what to do now. Maybe he should go see someone. No, just going home should be enough. 

“What, did you hit your head?” Robbie glanced at him, shuffling out of his thick coat. 

His usual attire rumpled a little but was as fresh as ever. Sportacus did like it. Looking at Robbie in his self-enforced uniform, with the deep purple shiny shirt and the pinstriped suit pieces. He remembered thinking how nice, until the man scoffed at him on their first-ever meeting. All but snarling at Sportacus for showing up.

Now, he felt a little dazed by the thought. Not that he forgot this. Maybe it wasn’t a novelty anymore. Sportacus berated himself for depriving himself of taking notice of the man’s attire and focusing on his ‘rotten’ personality instead.

“You did, didn’t you?” Robbie went on, standing before Sportacus out of nowhere.

“I - no, I don’t…think so.” Sportacus stood his ground, but his pain started to come in waves under the warmth and Robbie’s intense gaze. “I am fine.”

“I have no doubt.” Robbie deadpanned and took Sportacus’ unscathed arm, pulling gently but not relenting.

Sportacus let himself be led away, more for curiosity than anything. They moved towards Robbie’s forbidden flat, and Sportacus’ chest started to tingle with the same intensity his right shoulder did. Afraid he might have hit something, he mused about how to proceed. By the time he came back from his reverie, he was inside the small apartment.

Blinking a few times, he found it dim and stuffy. Full of stuff and piles of trash bags that were prepared to be taken out but left there indefinitely. As well as bookshelves filled to the brim with wooden things and books, one chair in the middle of the room was the only place to sit. And it was fuzzy. Sportacus smiled. A giddy smile; it was orange and fuzzy. Just thinking about the lanky man idling in it made him giddy.

“Come on…”  Robbie kept pulling, and Sportacus felt robbed of the most extravagant view he had ever enjoyed.

There was nothing to complain about; the bedroom looked blander, almost empty. Nothing to note there; he frowned with the stray idea that he should deduce something from the stark contrast of the rooms. But decided against it, following obediently until they ended up in a small bathroom. 

The space was packed with just the two, a slim bathtub from wall to wall, a sink; that was it. But it wasn’t interesting in itself. What was very amusing was the amount of stuff. And how pristine it looked. His reverie was disturbed when he was gently pushed down to the bathtub’s edge; the pain couldn’t really drag him out of it, even as the cold material ate into his hurting thigh.  

Robbie stood over him, and he pulled his beanie off. Sportacus watched its descent into the tub behind him; the dark blue of it was even darker, and the noise it made as it hit the glazed surface sounded wet. He had little time to idle on it; his attention pulled back with a nervous flinch.

The long fingers sunk into his hair and tugged on the tresses softly. Sportacus’ traitorous mind grabbed the memory of six months ago, sending a rush to his hurting cheeks. Each prodding finger against his scalp sent a ticklish jolt down his neck, collecting and coiling around his heart. Cautious touches as Robbie was searching for a bump or a wound. Maybe some wet spot, Sportacus knew this; somewhere deep behind the fog that came over him in the last ten minutes, he knew what was happening. Still, at the moment, his mind was revolting and enjoying the care all the same.

“I can’t feel any bumps.” Robbie’s thumb pushed gently against his nape, fingers pulling away. “Still, you should go to the hospital.”

No. Sportacus didn’t like hospitals, that is why he never during this whole ordeal has he thought about going in. He was fine. A little shaken, maybe, but there was nothing wrong with him. And hospitals freaked him out, and he loathed the very idea of the disinfectant scent lingering in his clothes. 

“Pff, you are a wimp,” Robbie laughed, reading his mind. “No, you are talking actually… but you might be right, it might just be the shock of it.”

Leaning in, he pulled Sportacus’ eyelids a little and examined, or at least looked into, his eyes. “I am fine,” 

Sportacus protested, hands lifting to push Robbie back a little.

“You clearly didn’t see yourself yet.” Robbie laughed good-naturedly.

Sportacus enjoyed the sound and tried not to vocalize it. His plan seemed to work because Robbie stepped away, arms stretched toward the wall opposite them. In the full-body mirror, Sportacus saw his blue blotchy self. Clear as day, so his eyes were okay after all. But he looked ruffled. Hair sticking and standing in all directions, tussled by the doorman and he ventured to other parts of his body before that silly dizziness started up again.

His left cheek was painted in angry red, and some swelling showed, but only a blotch. His long sleeve, however, was ruined. Torn at his shoulder, he guessed towards his shoulder blade, down to his elbow. And his left wrist started pounding in pain the moment his gaze fell on it.

Each article of himself he found sent pain to his mind the moment he registered their existence. His torso and legs weren’t as bad, his hip hurt a little with a dull ache, and maybe the bike cut into his leggings because there was a hole, but there weren’t any wounds or bruises on his skin.

“It hurts right?” Robbie asked with thinly veiled humor. 

And maybe Sportacus should feel angry or dejected, but he felt more at ease that Robbie wasn’t panicking or fussing over him. If he had to confess, and only under torture, he might admit that he missed the prodding fingers on his scalp, in his hair. But he wasn’t tortured, so he remained silent. Thinking about what to do now.

“Take off your top,” Robbie addressed him again, and Sportacus saw from the mirror that he had gathered some stuff.

Debating whether or not to do it, Sportacus let his hands fall into his lap. Finding his shoes very interesting at the moment. 

“Come on,” Robbie pulled on his underlayer, pinching the textile over his abdomen. “Don’t tell me you are shy?” he mocked.

Cackling when Sportacus felt his face color. Betrayed, he let Robbie take off his shirt, unfaltering when Sportacus hissed as he lifted his arm over his head. The whole ordeal was a silent or mocking mess. Whenever he tried to communicate, Robbie dismissed him, ignoring anything coming from him. But working on his scratches and bruises in silence.

First, there was a warm damp towel cleaning his shoulder and arm. Soft and easy just to betray him and lift his arm with definite strength. Sportacus could, on a typical day, out power, but today he let himself be manhandled. 

Maneuvered as Robbie saw fit. It felt a little vulnerable, but it evaporated slowly with each movement.

“Nothing seems broken, be happy, all your muscle and healthy virtue seems to have cushioned you.” he slapped the heated skin playfully.

“You are enjoying this….” Sportacus said. Feeling like a revelation had just dawned on him.

Watching in the mirror, Robbie stood in the tub, hands working something into his bruised skin. Meticulously, his long fingers now probing against his shoulder and neck. His hands felt cold against his swollen skin and Sportacus leaned back without a thought. Searching for more of that tender care that came from the man.

Wait.

“You care!” he turned, regretting it as soon as his torso cried out in pain. 

“Look forward” Robbie turned Sportacus’s head and upper body back. Huffing, he folded his long legs to get out of the tub.

Sportacus watched him wipe his hands and stop before him once again. Grabbing his chin, Robbie nicked his head to the side, examining his cheek.

“Even your mustache looks sloppy.” he laughed. Really laughed.

But Sportacus didn’t have the mind and time to enjoy such frivolities as a thumb grazed over his bruising skin. 

Hissing and trying to move away, only found him in a firmer grip. Sportacus’ chest filled in irritation. 

“Oh, don’t sulk,” Robbie shook the man’s head a little by the chin. “You are in a little shock. Guess the fall wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

“It wasn’t bad, I just-”

“Let me guess-” Robbie stepped back, one finger on his lip.

Sportacus watched with awe; the dark color he just realized painted the round nail of the man. It was nice; it looked good. Suited his profile somehow. Sportacus hoped that none of this was verbalized as he followed the finger around. He didn’t recall any time he had seen Robbie with nail polish, but it was intriguing, to say the least. Not as clear cut as Sportacus would imagine. There were strokes, and his skin was tainted as well, but it suited him nonetheless.

“-you helped someone, and the only way was to jump between danger and them?” he finished his question.

Sportacus’ vision blurred a little as he squinted. “How could you know that?”

“I am right!” Robbie snapped his fingers, pulling out gauze from a drawer.

And wow, he had a lot of first aid stuff. Sportacus noted. “A kid was running after a ball, into traffic.”

“I told you playing was dangerous.” he simply said and pulled lines of the white fabric out. 

Sportacus thought about this. How the man hated noise. Crowds, or children, for that matter. How he hated Sportacus, trying his best to get him away from his complex. Yet here he sat in his bathroom, getting patched up. 

With a little more clarity, Sportacus came back to the conversation. The coils around his heart tightened as gentle hands laid the gauze over his sensitive, salve-coated skin.

“You know me…” he felt his cheek hurt from the smile that pulled his lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Robbie answered, leaning over his shoulder. 

Sportacus was close to the slowly lifting and slumping chest before him while the doorman worked on the wound dressing. “You do, and you care too….”

“Say whatever you want. I still want you out as soon as possible.” Robbie retorted, stepping back, adoring his handy work if the sly smile was anything to go by. 

A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and a sweet pain sunk into Sportacus’ skin. The evil grin on the man before him was more made than honest. It left him with a little hope. 

“Why can’t we be friends?” it tumbled out. Later, Sportacus would blame his shaken soul for saying it. “I care about you and you care about me, and-” he blabbed now.

“I don’t need friends,” Robbie said with the conviction of a thousand suns. Whatever that was, Sportacus mused, he could only compare it to that. All heat and nothing tangible. “... with this we are even.” he gestured between them.

Then pulled him up, hand going for Sportacus’ shorts over the running leggings, and the handyman’s brain almost short-circuited. Grabbing the fingers, he sobered instantly. Grip a little stiff, Robbie looked at him, confused. His high brows arching in a question.

“I feel better, thanks; I’ll take care of that.” Sportacus felt his face warm. Letting go of the painted fingers, he felt self-conscious all of a sudden. Now back to most of his brain capacity. His arms crossed against his bare chest; he didn’t even think about until now how he was half naked inside Robbie’s bathroom. A sorry sight with the forming blue bruises.

Robbie held his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. More like snickering at Sportacus’ misery. Tall and lanky, he doubled over, the next second maniacally laughing. Wheezing like a madman. “You are so dumb” wiggling his fingers, he went on, “I - my hands were all over you for the last half an hour, and now you became bashful?”

Half an hour? Sportacus’ mind screamed, now back in full swing.

Scampering for anything to do, he grabbed his wet clothes and beanie, slush dripping from the knitted material. 

Gaze on Robbie for a moment as the doorman’s Cheshire smile stretched more, motioning to the living area and his door.

This time he didn’t look around, eyes on the goal. He still had his clothes close to his chest. He would destroy the carefully placed gauze lines if he tried to put them back on. His problem got solved as a deep blue puffy coat was shoved to his chest. 

“Take it and with that, you owe me…” he offered.

Spartacus watched the garment, knowing it won’t fit him; his more sturdy body would rip the seams of the cloth. But he tried it on, nonetheless. It was a little big on him, and the thought of this not belonging to Robbie hit him. The itch over his sensitive skin topped all his other confusing feelings.

“You didn’t owe me, to begin with,’’ he tried, clumsily fidgeting the beanie and pushing it on his head in an odd pose.

“No, the thing with sleeping on you, and the, well, the call-” Robbie clarified. Arms crossed before his chest, he leaned against the door frame. 

“That was no-”

“We were even, for me, treating you. Now you owe me for the jacket,” he poked him over the puffy material.

Sportacus could tell when he faced a lost battle, so rather than pushing, he turned and tried the handle. As he opened the door, the first step was a little hard, and his mind returned to Robbie, tinkering with the elastic of his pants. Heat bloomed behind his ears, and he felt suffocated for a moment. 

Robbie huffed, annoyed at his antics, and pushed past him. Chatting up the postman, who was looking at them with a shaken expression. Before he turned over the letters and smiled amiably. Getting away fast, tiptoeing around the destroyed bike.

Then it hit him. Sportacus stopped a few steps away from the ‘lair.’ Watched Robbie file through the envelopes and magazines that were delivered. Eyes downcast and deep in thought.

“What did you tell the kids?”

It was, after all, strange that they would listen to Robbie just like that. Going back only because Robbie said so.

“Oh,” 

Sportacus felt his muscles coil at the pure evil smile of the man.

“I told them you had explosive diarrhea.” He laughed in a tone that told everyone around him what twisted humor he had. “They didn’t have any questions after that.”

Chapter Text

“So they told you’ll remain just as muscle-brained and one track minded as before?” 

Robbie leaned towards the ladder Sportacus was standing on. Satisfied with his little quip, his best wolfish grin accompanying it, he waited. 

But the handyman only smiled, one of his broad fond smiles, and Robbie’s stomach flipped a little. Sportacus draped over the top step, balancing on his elbows, everything rounding just in the perfect way. “Yes, no need to worry.”

Robbie felt a twitch at the corner of his left eye. Losing a little of his standing, he pushed away from the wall. He crossed his arms just in case. “I was not worried.” he took a few steps away, eyeing the man’s left shoulder like he could see under the blue hoodie. “If anything, I am worried they will leave all your work to me.”

“But,” Sportacus had a hint of humor in his tone. “You did do my work for six months, voluntary, I might add.”

Robbie spluttered. Against his will, too. Maybe for the first time in his life, fumbling to find a retort to something. A quick, easy, and sweet repost. Preferably something to hurt the man’s pride or occupation, maybe his looks. It was petty, Robbie knew, but he was still breaking his mind over what to come up with. 

Instead, his mouth opened, then closed pitifully, and he swatted the whole interaction away. ”Whatever.”

“Argh!” one of the useless children grunted, saving him from further failures. “No taffy today eitheeeeeer….”

Robbie heard the distress in the blonde’s tone. Finding it a great escape from Sportacus’ growing implications and approaching victory of their discussion. He took a few steps toward the pair huddled before the advent calendar. 

Ziggy had the eighth drawer in his hands, filled with small ornaments. Nothing edible, to the young boy’s dismay. 

Stephanie was fast to comfort him, to invite him to play. Hopefully, somewhere else. It was bad enough that Ms. Busybody decided to decorate the lobby. 

Her hair was up, a loud silk kerchief braided into her locks, and the most pretentious overall of all gave her a chic DIY feel. Ordering around the tenants and Sportacus, bossing and posing with a hammer, which she only used to point out things she wanted to be done. She tried to make Robbie contribute with little to no success. 

Now, Milford, on the other hand. She had him twirled around her little finger. Today more so than other days. He was sporting some leisure clothing and roped Stephanie into helping to put up things.

So Sportacus and five other adults, Robbie didn’t care to remember their names, were hard at work putting up lights and faux green ‘pine’ boas. Filling the lobby to the brim and worsening the already chaotic and eccentric space. 

Bustling and noisy, but Robbie had nowhere to escape. He already used all the excuses, took the trash out, checked the mail, and at one point hid away behind the reception, pretending to search for something.

Bessie’s attention when she had a goal and had the muscle for it was sharp. The smallest gap in her plan and she went off, mainly on Milford. Who, to be honest, seemed to enjoy the attention, even when it paired with a shrill and accusatory tone. 

Pinky tried to break away once, too. Chatting up Sportacus, they talked. She may have asked something inappropriate because the handyman almost backed into the piled furniture. Now she took one of the small ornaments from the tiny drawer.

A pair of snowflakes. She held it up high, and against the dim light, it still sparkled. 

“That’s right!!” Ms. Busybody clapped, then snapped the drawer with the number nine shut before Ziggy could spoil the next day’s gift. “The TREE,” she over articulated, only her glare stopping the kids from trying to open the coming days on the calendar.

“I ordered it yesterday, Ms. Busybody” Milford, to the rescue, took a wreath from Ziggy’s father. His fingers already covered in bandaids, he motioned the kids to get away while he kept the woman busy. “It will arrive shortly.”

“Let me,” Robbie offered right away, coat already in hand, ready to escape. Before they could say anything else, he went for the door. Closing it with finality, he stalked off to the street. 

The outside world wasn’t much better, but at least no one was on his case for now. Plus, he could take a few fresh breaths before he suffocated around all the bumbling idiots. Adults and children as well. Or, his traitorous mind added, or he just tried to run away from the close proximity of Sportacus.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he checked once more. The man was still leaning over the ladder. His arms, those thick, beautiful arms. His hoodie was pushed up on his forearms, showcasing the muscle moving in tantalizing ease. 

While working on messy Bessie’s current assignment, Sportacus concentrated on the task at hand. 

He snapped his gaze back out to the vast landscape of the town. Robbie made sure to not make any unnecessary contact with Sportacus. That one quip was a false and failed attempt at making the man a little fazed. Shaken up, or at least get a little flustered. It was turned back at him right away. 

Like he would ever be worried. 

Coat high up, shielding the cold from his cheeks and lips, he turned back to the original topic of their brisk conversation. Showing up all tattered and shaken. What did the man even think? Good thing Robbie knew exactly what to do. He praised himself. Cleverly excusing his own biting overprotectiveness that took him over once he caught the man’s form approaching. He was almost sure that he had suffered no head trauma, but with cases like this, one could not tell.

On the other hand, what he could tell was what it did to him. How it made him all anxious and filled with panic, seeing the forever healthy, always in motion, and strong man limp towards the complex. Not realizing his predicament at first. It didn’t help Robbie’s case when the injured man followed him obediently, taking every word of his to heart and giving up any resistance the moment Robbie asked for something. While a powerful feeling, it was also frightening. Even more when it was happening.

Thankfully, it was nothing major. From the injuries and bruising, he could put together that the man fell, most likely letting his bike be driven over. All the trauma was on his left side, so he fell and slipped against the street’s coarse material. His own safety was secondary. That did leave a nasty taste in Robbie’s mouth, but he knew Sportacus was the type. That’s why when Robbie lamented and told his theory, it was clear as day that he was right.

Now chasing the feeling of superiority he felt when the man finally came to his right mind. Seemingly snapping at the idea of Robbie touching or seeing something private. Too intimate to their non-friend/friend territory. And darn him, now he had the mental image of Sportacus’ bare chest. As evil as he was, he did not actively seek the image of the bruised and wounded back. Or the feel of the heated skin. Because that was too vulnerable.

His flushed cheeks, however. Now those were part of his constant fantasies, and he hated every minute of them. 

Before, he could always play with the idea of a fast, sweet, heat fuelled affair between them. That was why he distanced himself or tried to put distance between them. But after witnessing such things, how was he supposed to not follow Sportacus’ movements?

Cruel. 

He debated what to do now that he was outside; letting his mind run wild with the images he desperately tried to urge away was one way. But he would rather not find himself in a situation he couldn’t escape. Heaving a long breath, not holding back anything, he watched his breath evaporate in the cold. Patting his pockets, he found them empty. Right, he had smoked his last cigarette a while ago. He didn’t even miss it.

“Hey you!”

Robbie turned towards the familiar voice, a forced smile surfacing. He tried to look nonchalant. His shoulders relaxed and sank lower; he left his hands inside his pockets. The man approached from the other side of the road. 

Snapping his head to evade traffic. He was tall and bulky. Most likely left the gym a few buildings down the opposite side of the street.

“Hi.” Robbie offered.

The man stopped right before him, heaving a little, and while Robbie had a type. Heavy built, tan, preferably sporting a ridiculous pencil mustache, and this guy was close to it; he couldn’t help but compare him to Sportacus. Losing in every aspect.

“Lately you don’t call.”

Ah, no tact; he thought that might also be Robbie’s type. The last time this guy shoved up, he had to turn him down, and now he was pestering him in the middle of the road.

“Don’t you think there might be a cause for that” he shrugged rather than starting off a tirade. Painfully aware that the residents would be able to hear it all. 

The guy shrugged as well, one of his large hands landing on Robbie’s shoulder, something he usually enjoyed, now sent an angry itch down Robbie’s arm. Their meetings and affairs were a no strings attached type of deal.

Starting from an ill-advised drinking spree, ending in a satisfying sexercise at the moment. But afterward, it was always filled with regret and self-degradation. A fleeting excitement, and a healthy amount of pounding later, Robbie always swore never to call him again. Then he did.

“At least give my coat back” his hand moved from his shoulder up to his neck, then to his arm, petting Robbie in broad daylight. 

Robbie stepped away, leaving the man hovering in the space between them. A wolfish grin plastered on his lips, his handsome face breaking into a grin a few breaths later. Again he shrugged like he knew something Robbie didn’t. 

Like eventually, no matter what, he thought they would engage in a hot and heavy session again.

The coat too. Robbie knew he did not leave it by accident. The man was trying to cement his place somewhere Robbie didn’t want him to invade. “You don’t look like you need it.” Robbie answered with a smile of his own.

“Don’t be grumpy,” his occasional partner chided, leaning forward, his hot breath rolling over Robbie’s face as he continued. “I can see you with the little girl all day, believe it or not. I am happy you found something to entertain you.” Robbie could almost feel the mocking grin on the man’s lips. “Other than me, of course.“

“Don’t be gross.” Robbie warned, snarling, his patience veining. 

The guy just lifted his hands in surrender and stepped away. “Just saying, you can still call me, and you do owe me my jacket, too.”

“Fuc-” “Good day.”

Robbie was cut off just in time. Both of them turned towards the timid tone. The mailman looked fidgety, and Robbie had to gulp down his curse. The target of his ire left promptly, once more pointing out for Robbie to call him before he jogged away. Robbie turned back to the mailman. His cross bag was askew on his body, and his uniform was all over the place.

“Yeah, take them in, most of them are already in the lobby anyway.” he swatted away the disheveled man dismissively. Irritated, his already lousy day was ruined by his on-off fuck buddy.

Rather than passing him, as Robbie expected, the mailman thrusted the stack of envelopes onto his chest. And he had to take a step back from the force of it. “Hey!”

“Just take it; I am not good with crowds.” he uttered, eyes snapping up, and then he adjusted to the side, so Robbie would shield him.

Robbie turned. Face heating for a brief moment, as his mind slipped, getting caught red-handed, Sportacus and Stephanie were looking at them, sporting a similar disbelieving expression. The little girl’s breath left a foggy spot on the pristine window.

Well, that was just great. By the time he checked back with the mailman, he was gone. Leaving him alone once again. Now with a stack of correspondence and spam.

-

Sportacus was pushing a fluffy green frosted boa into the tiny gap between the ceiling and the molding using a stapler. Giving the lobby a festive decoration, he moved the ladder, using it like stilts. Faux icicles between his lips, he leaned to the left, hand stretching, and with it, his bruised skin cried in a dulled pain.

Sighing, he took a few steps back. Trying not to agitate the bruises, he slowly rolled his shoulder and rested his arms against his thigh as he sat down the ladder. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything too serious, just a few surface-level injuries, bruises, and muscle pain. Many wouldn’t say it’s nothing, but Sportacus could tell it was healing nicely. 

Mostly because Robbie took care of it right away.

Even his thigh was alright; his shoulder blade and underarm took the blunt of the fall. All cleaned, dressed, and taken care of Robbie. Sportacus’s training partner made a comment about how lucky he was. He was lucky; he felt even luckier knowing he had someone so close by to help him. 

Then the image of Robbie kneeling before him and pulling on his pants flooded his mind, and he decided it was high time to come off the ladder. 

The children were tasked with decorating and choosing ornaments, sweeping, and whatever Ms. Busybody felt needed the care of smaller hands. They seemed to enjoy it, at least. Their play time was cut off for this, and Sportacus was told off a little by the woman. Enforcing her code and rule on them when she arrived in the lobby.

Sportacus closed the ladder, hauling it over his intact shoulder, and was about to pack his things up to clean the space a little. The furniture was still all over the lobby, and the cramped space felt suffocating. He couldn’t fault  Robbie, who had such a sensitive aura that he escaped the first possible time.

Speaking of.

Sportacus looked out, hands stopping over the small table he was about to get back to its original place. He felt his smile melt a little, finding the man in deep conversation with someone. Nicking his head to the side, Sportacus idled by the window, the cold seeping from the glass panes to his skin. His mind was so occupied with the scene unfolding before him he didn’t hear Stephanie the first time.

“So you want some sportscandy?” she asked, holding up a peeled tangerine. 

The citrusy smell lingered between them, and Sportacus only left the pair outside for a second. Yet when he looked back out, the stranger talking to Robbie was all over the man. Petting the doorman’s arm and touching his neck in an overly familiar stance. Leaning in. 

“Who could that be?” the question escaped him, fingers pinching the soft clove of the offered fruit. Destroying his bit when Stephanie answered him.

“That’s Robbie’s friend.” she plopped a clove of her own into her mouth. Chewing and leaning closer, turning a little towards Sportacus.

“He doesn’t have friends.” Sportacus earned a rather scrutinizing look from the little girl.

The glint in her eye, like she was a keeper of a secret that she was debating if she should let Spartacus in on, made him restless. Stephanie wouldn’t lie, and she wouldn’t assume things, either. In the last month she had been here, she had been nothing but honest and eager.

But if she did tell the truth.

All the instances when Robbie told him he didn’t need and didn’t have friends. Stopping Sportacus from getting closer, and now he had to learn that that was a lie. Not that it was a surprise. Robbie also had that man on the phone.

‘but listen to this, some good dicking down would absolutely help your nerves’

He stopped again, wiping his hands in his handkerchief, a mental image devastating and all too intrusive flashed behind his eyes. His grip on the textile was much too firm. Stephanie lifted her gaze from the window, eyes searching and a little nervous. 

“I am not lying. He told me himself…” the caution in her tone made Sportacus deflated a little.

How arrogant and silly to think that someone like Robbie didn’t have even one friend. Not to mention he was making Stephanie nervous, flinching back a little as she offered another bite of her fruit.

She leaned forward, breath fogging the glass pane. She gasped.

And Sportacus’ neck didn’t hurt until now, but the sudden snap back to Robbie made it twinge with pain. That pain sunk from his neck right to his chest. The stranger was hovering over the doorman. They could see how the warm breath cascaded down Robbie’s face from the close proximity.

It was an interesting revelation. To say the least. Sportacus stood, rooted to the odd, stained carpet. The same flashing itch and thinly veiled irritation surged in him. And it pained him that now he could put a name to it. 

Envy.

He huffed a surprised breath, eyes back at Robbie, who was now looking at them. Head on; his eyes widened at the realization that he was being watched until now. 

Stephanie at his side shrieked a little, caught red-handed. She blushed hard and fell to the ground with little grace.

Sportacus stood his ground, with a name on the emotion now feeling slightly lighter. Envy was an interesting emotion; he had felt it sometimes, but not with this intensity. Still, he was trying to demolish the walls around Robbie, so seeing that someone else was already way ahead made him queasy. Taking a few more seconds, he waved at Robbie, who reciprocated the gesture much slower, and with much less enthusiasm. 

That was good. If someone could do it, so could Sportacus. Why he didn’t feel the triumph or rush of giddy-ness that he felt when he figured out something bothered him a little. But he concentrated on the shy smile on Robbie’s face and the embarrassed shrieks of Stephanie, and he squashed any and all doubt.

Chapter Text

“Why do I keep losing?!” Stephanie wailed, forehead on the table, as her king capitulated once again to Robbie’s light square bishop this time.

The grump shrugged, drinking something awfully sweet smelling.

Their battle today started an hour ago when uncle Milford went to his last meeting this year. At least that’s what they told him, and her uncle did everything in his power to keep the upcoming two weeks open for Stephanie. Promising a myriad of options for fun and activities during his vacation. Stephanie was looking forward to them all; if only one of those was to happen by chance, she would still count herself lucky.

“You have no idea why?” Robbie asked, putting his odd mug to the side. 

Their table was enveloped in Christmas lights and faux pine, and ornaments sparkled in the low light. Which Robbie turned off the moment Ms. Busybody left. Blaming it on his migraine and offering bait for Stephanie if she kept this secret.  

Stephanie liked it; it looked pretty. The tree they dragged in the other day stood proudly, undecorated for now. Ms. Busybody strictly ordered everyone to keep off of it. Let it ‘air’ out before they ceremoniously decorate it together. 

Which sounded fun, and Stephanie shared her glee about having something to do together. 

The face Robbie made, not too different from his usual mood, somehow put her off. Later, during dinner, she learned that Ms. Busybody held a speech each Christmas, longer and longer each year. And while her uncle seemed enamored by this, she had a bad feeling about this. The following day she interrogated both Robbie and Sportacus. While they gave very different answers, the gist was the same.

It will be miserable.

Back to their topic and her losing over and over. “Give me a hint?” she asked cutely. It never worked on Robbie. If anything, it made things more complicated, so why she did it was beyond her.

“You are always only defending. You don’t do anything until I don’t attack.” her opponent offered, turning the table, so the board was facing the wall.

He pulled a pawn and answered with another. He made six moves before he let the pieces go. “It’s infuriating. I feel like playing against myself…” opening his palm towards her, he offered the next move to her.

She squinted, forcing her mind to get what was where and what to move next. Both sides were under attack. The black queen was already moving, but she was in a pinch. So she moved the piece away.

“See…” Robbie took a bishop with ease and gave a check. “...you could have prevented that….”

“You are awfully helpful today,” she said, a little hurt that her move was reduced to nothing. Pouting, she put the pieces back before her last move. 

“If you want to be a brat….” Robbie stood from his chair.

“No, No!” Stephanie surged forward. 

As mean as Robbie was. As hard as it was to get under his skin and make him play. She took her time, some childish curiosity taking her over. She couldn’t leave the man alone. Actively seeking to play together. It might have been thanks to her uncle’s busy schedule or her fear of being alone.

Whichever it was, she thought she kept it hidden away, and all the while, she wormed her way into, at least tried to, the man’s better side. After a month of pestering, bickering and all the awfully blase stuff she had to suffer from Robbie, she still wanted to play chess with him. She still wanted to beat him in his own game. By now, she realized he wasn’t cheating, but knowing that Robbie was that much better than her wasn’t consoling either.

Robbie smiled his sardonic smile and moved the cornered queen to attack. “You are not as bad as a month ago….”

She leaned over the board, examining which piece he wanted to trade for the queen. “You called me trash the other day.” 

That earned her snorting laughter, and she joined him, chuckling on her own. It wasn’t every day she could faze the man. 

“I didn’t-” he gulped and gasped around the laughter he could keep down. “I said Tarrasch.”

“Doesn’t sound much better,” she deadpanned, stretching. She left the board alone for now.

“That’s an opening.”

“Oh! I know those!” and she once again came back to life, jumping from her chair. She felt excited. 

To share what she learned. Uncle Milford was mildly impressed with her newfound interest in chess. His support never ended whenever she asked for something, as long as it aligned with their deal, with what they had to do while 

Stephanie stayed here. So she could join an online chess site under her uncle’s name and PC.

Shockingly, she was moderately successful in the first few hours. One achievement after the other until she found a few people who would challenge her again and again. Under his uncle’s watchful gaze, she was allowed to contact some of them. They actually helped her to pick at Robbie a few times.

“Great, fantastic, never heard before!” Robbie mocked.

Stephanie’s hands fell to her waist in mimed anger; their little power play, where they would argue for a while before Robbie scurried away, finally finding an out from her clutches, seemed to start earlier today. Their little exchange always fell a few minutes before Sportacus would arrive and tinker inside the building or take her for a run. 

She grinned knowingly, body turning conspiratorially toward the doorman. “Sportacus won’t come today.”

“Why would I care?!”

The screech was sweet to Stephanie’s ears. A triumph earned easily over the resident grinch. She tried to push and pester, nudge, maybe she was too nosy, but it was kinda fun watching two adults stumble whenever she brought the topic up. On Robbie’s side, it was easy. He was antsy and easy to read, walking on eggshells, feigning ignorance around the handyman. On the other side, Sportacus’ side was a little harder. And she found less amusement, bouncing back a few times, even though the handyman was the more open towards her. 

But she relented for today. “I just wanted to share.” Turning, she admired the lazy snowfall, the heavy flakes falling in a tantalizing rhythm. “You’ll have to shovel the snow again tomorrow….”

“No.” he said simply, turning and walking away.

Today was the last day she was alone with Robbie in the lobby for the better part of the day. She had mentioned her hobby several times to Robbie, hoping he would ask about it. Sportacus knew most of it by now and clapped whenever she showed her prowess. Her uncle was beyond the moon when she held a small recital inside the living room. But her heart always stuttered a little, wanting to show off to the clever man.

The man who never let her win. Who had no mercy on anyone. She wanted desperately to show how good she was at something that Robbie would never be good at. Like she was in chess. That notion might be evil in the root, which was in the beginning, but now she just wanted to share it. In the same way, Robbie shared his love of chess slowly and carefully. Hidden behind bets, not keeping tabs anymore.

“I want to show you something!” she said finally. Confidence surging, she waited, breath bated. Mind going over a mile on how to rope the lazy man into her little performance.

Robbie turned back to her, face contorted in suspicion. Lips pulled to one side like he was sniffing out some trap. “I don’t want to do anything today….”

“You never want to do anything anyway,” she deadpanned, her shoulders falling; she rolled her eyes, catching her sass just in time. “I mean- that’s fine; you just need to stay here.”

They stood in silence for a while, her body buzzing with anticipation. Excited by the mere idea of the man saying yes. Her heart went by a mile, breathless and eager, wanting to show off. To win. “Wait here!”

Sluggish as always, the elevator took away some of the edges of her order, so she had to turn at least three times to make the man stay. Bobbing up and down, she was waiting. Her legs tingled with the idea of her performance. 

She felt the phantom pain in her toes, the bane of the ribbons on her calves. If she could, she would have made the ride faster, the door open sooner. Her sneakers would fall off her feet with less racket. She would be the very image of the elegance she was about to portray.

Fussing around, she pulled the large box from under her bed. Light blue lid tossed carelessly to the duvet, she pulled the silk bag from the middle. Leaving her robe and tulle behind, all she needed were her dance slippers, battered and tearing a little from use. Her fingers ran over the ribbon her mother sawed into the sole for her. The memory of begging for it made her smile. The silk of the shoes slipped through her grip, sending a familiar sensation right through her heart.

Shuffling out of her pants took her a while with the leggings under, but she managed. Pulling her overlapping skirt and fastening it under her jumper, she leaned forward. Fingers numb, she made fast work of fastening the ribbons. 

Hopping off the bed, she tried her stance, lifting to her toes in a smooth motion. She twirled once. Jumping stomach first to her bed, she bounced back, laughing while she grabbed her stranded phone.

The way back was a rush, with colors and excitement. Not that she didn’t dance for anyone. She did a little for 

Sportacus and a whole lot for her uncle. But Robbie never held back. He had no attachment and fondness for her, so he would be honest. That alone made her happy and jittery. 

When the door opened, she pushed through the gap, not waiting for the elevator to open. All but exploding into the lobby. A little let down when she didn’t find Robbie where she had left him. 

“Hey!” her irritated tone was wrapped in fear. “Robbie, you promised!”

“I am here…” came the underwhelming answer from behind the reception desk. 

She trotted over, finding the man idling with a stack of letters. A few boxes he shook with little to no remorse. 

Peering over the wooden blockade, she urged the man. “Come oooon…”

“It’s NOT my fault the post just came… settle down, brat….”

Hearing her huffing and puffing, he finally looked up. Rolling his eyes, he pulled from the table, leaving the one task he seemed to do all day long and listened to her plea.

Excitement through the roof, she grabbed his hand. That wouldn’t go in any other scenario, but for some reason, today, he let Stephanie do whatever. Maybe an early Christmas gift. 

“Sit!” she ordered, pushing him into the chair in the middle. 

Some of the space was gone with the tree, but she still had enough. Fishing around her jumper’s pocket, she pulled out her phone, tapping rapidly on the screen. Searching for the music, she knew by heart, but Robbie would need to appreciate her greatness. There!

She put the phone next to Robbie on the table, the music app open. She was just about to instruct him to start when she said. When he spoke up.

“I thought you couldn’t use this?”

“Yeah, just for music, hit p-”

“Meanswell said this should be turned off… you are a naughty girl, you’ll get coal.” he smiled, cackling when Stephanie kicked towards him.

“Whatever” she used his words against him and stuck her tongue out. “Maestro music!”

Robbie shook his head, leaning back into the chair. “I suppose that’s me.”

Violin came to life in the lobby’s silence, the original song played by her company’s conductor. The grandfather’s dance. Her body moved on its own. Standing tall on her toes, her body felt feather light with the first kick, lifting to an arabesque to turn slowly and sweetly into a flat feet position. She smiled, eyes closed as she recited the piece in her head. The crowd’s shush came to her ears, the stage’s smell filling her lungs. Wax and silk, the sensation of tulle on her skin.

Her imaginary nutcracker held between her hands felt heavy. She could imagine the wood smell, the lacquer so shiny and slippery in her fingers, and his teeth chattering. He was cute like that, she smiled. Momentum helping her sail across the lobby.

Her solo. She was supposed to dance this year, but with everything, she was happy enough to show it to people close to her. And the confession came as she jumped, legs strong, stopping high before she bowed, turning again. 

Her gaze fell on Robbie, who was watching her in, what she hoped, breathless awe. 

An expression she never saw but could call her own now. Smiling, she was working up a sweat under her sweater but wanted to show off. The song was slowly coming to an end; a few more steps, a jump and the imaginary nutcracker would fly in the air. Tossing it, she twirled under, eyes on the ceiling where she would catch the wooden doll falling into an elegant heap. 

The song ended the moment her knees hit the soft carpet, hugging the nonexistent nutcracker. She waited with bated breath, head still lowered, she heaved, and her soul soared. Her solo, she couldn’t and might never dance again, now was shared with Robbie. The feeling of superiority was addicting, and she snapped her head up.

“Take th-”

He stood after a second of hesitation, clapping loudly with his whole body. Without a word, eyes full of wonder, a little glittery. And she would not believe it, but those might have been tears? The man, so full of words, mostly vile, just stood and clapped vigorously, giving everything. Robbie’s clap was like a hammer hitting iron, unrelenting, like he was searching for words but couldn’t quite get there.

Stephanie stopped. Her snarky comment died at the ovation one man produced. Her throat tightened, and her eyes felt burning. The crowd from a few months ago veined in every aspect of the always grumpy doorman’s applause. 

Contrast, so stark Stephanie felt it burn in her veins. 

Tears she was holding back for months. Her brave and nonchalant image broke from a single clap. 

A sob broke through.

She wanted to dance. She wanted to go back home. She hated this whole ordeal. Her solo was taken, and she had to hide away here. Where no one knew her, and she knew no one in return. To a town so uninteresting, they would never find her.

“Now!” Robbie snapped. “That was awesome, truly, beautiful.”

Stephanie looked up, finding her cheeks wet. How unprofessional. Robbie was standing between motions. Maybe he wanted to console her; perhaps he wanted to berate her. Whatever he wanted, he gulped it down.

“You should dance, rather than try to learn chess…” he said clumsily, hands all over the place.

Stephanie laughed wetly. All the grime bubbled up from her soul with it. “You think?”

“Yeah, for sure, but -” he came closer, offering a hand. “- don’t let it get to your head. It is too big as is.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” she sniffed, the heels of her hands smearing her tears across her heated face. Another laugh came out without her approval, lungs struggling to keep up with her. “At least I can do both,” she boasted but took the offered hand.

Because they usually sit together. Or Robbie lounged somewhere, and well, because he was childish too, she never realized how tall he really was. This clumsy man was an adult, after all.

“Who said I can’t dance?” he challenged.

“You have two left feet…” she chuckled, sniffling without much grace.

“That I do,” he humored but twirled her by the hand he helped her up with. “This one time, I should show you the waltz.”

“No!” she gaped, grabbing Robbie’s other hand. Fighting off an amused smile with all her might.

They did the waltz. Without music and with Robbie counting out loudly. With no rhythm at all. Stephanie laughed, her heart a little lighter. After the first few times he almost stomped on her, she took over to lead him, humming a Christmas song that had the same tempo as a waltz. And Robbie obediently turned whenever she indicated. This was nice, she thought, swaying and listening to Robbie’s count under her humming. Maybe he was a grinch, and his heart already grew a f-

Stephanie flinched back as a loud snap rang through the lobby. Windowpane rattled from the force of it as the remnants of a snowball slowly slipped down the glass. Her heart almost stopped, and her fingernails bit into Robbie’s skin from her grasp. The memory of myriad glass pieces on her floor barrelled at her, and she ducked behind Robbie. Shying away a little from the windows. 

A few beats after she laughed lightly, forcefully, she let the doorman go. 

With the moment gone, they bickered for a moment more. Robbie was mocking her for being a scaredy cat and blaming the brats down the street.

Chapter Text

On the fourteenth day of December, the whole complex was silent. Peaceful. Close to empty. Just how Robbie liked it. Having the entire building to himself meant a free day, idling and lying around. No need to mime any task. His lazy day could consist of laying in his plush recliner, forking down cake for breakfast to wash away it all with preferably coffee. From pulling an all-nighter to snoring away, he could do anything. Or. Nothing which was even better.

Magazine under his arm, he shuffled out to the lobby. It was empty. For once, devoid of any sound. Even his old machine’s whirring would sound loud. Dark and a little cold, with the light turned off, all the decoration was depressing. But none of that mattered because, finally, he was alone.

Trotting out to show himself before falling back into his flat. All his bones cried from the sudden exertion after Stephanie’s little dancing stunt. He might even have pulled a muscle. But he had to hand it to her. She was fabulous. A real ballerina. Not that Robbie had seen much of those, but he had no doubt that the girl was talented beyond measure, so much so that her performance left him breathless. 

Now that Milford had all the time Stephanie deserved, they went out every day, first to eat out. Then to a theater or some museum. Milford’s anxiety from the beginning of her stay eased up. One could tell by his gaze calming, tone and rhythm slowing and softening. He would take more time every morning, checking in with adults around the building that day if they could entertain her. Now he took his time to spend with Stephanie.

And she was a bundle of joy, going out and wandering their tiny town. Soaking in everything, then returning and bouncing around to share her findings. Disgusting. Unnecessary so very boring it made Robbie’s skin crawl. At least for the first two days, after that, she changed a little. Her often cheerful smile turned a little smarter. Knowing, like a tale she wasn’t supposed to tell. On those days Milford would softly urge her to get some rest. Stepahnie looked at the receptionist once, ready to say something but the tale never came, and Robbie didn’t care.

He fell into the chair behind the reception desk, legs crossing over the table. Magazine propped on his knees, he turned the page, finding, once again, no merit in solving old puzzles for himself. Yet it was such a habit now, even more so since the kids started to play with him. He snorted, scratch that, ever since he started to school and defeated them at every opportunity he got.

Chess hasn’t been fun for a while now. 

Something that was the joy of his life, that made his heart jump around his ribcage. Never once was it a burden. Before, that is. Chess, like anything else, was competitive. Robbie loved it first when he was the youngest and made grown adults falter and rage one after another. Rotten to the core, he enjoyed every minute of playing and baiting someone thrice his age into a gambit or a trap that was a basic first page in every chess tactics book. 

Glanni snickered at his side every time he conquered a region or took an evaluation. Pocketing the money and praising his name, betting on or against him.

Robbie moved his finger against the squares printed on the paper. Knight takes bishop on e4, and he tapped his finger over the white printed bishop. His mood soured. He was about to tell someone why and how this would make the position so much easier to spot.

But the lobby was empty. Because, just like everything else. This was temporary.

He knew from the start that Stephanie would go back home one day, and Ziggy’s friends would return from their holiday trips. And Sportacus, the things needing repair will thin and then disappear. 

Strengthening one’s resolve and becoming headstrong in the wake of realizing that nothing lasted forever was a virtue. The knowledge that, sooner or later, this would be his every day was a little lethargic. Shaking the odd feeling off, he thought, good, he wanted it back, anyway. 

Gaze snapping up, he watched as the young mailman shuffled inside. 

Cautiously closed the door, looking around. He didn’t seem to see Robbie yet. The mailman stalked inside, a little ruffled, just like the last time. Robbie guessed he was a newbie. The first time he saw the man was a few weeks ago. Robbie found his big round eyes and pale face handsome and a little alarming. Like the kid was always walking on eggshells. Watching him slowly shuffle through the lobby made Robbie uneasy. He couldn’t pinpoint why. 

He just didn’t like it. 

“Hey!” he offered, and sure enough, the mailman shuddered, flinching backwards like he wanted to run for it.

“Oh! Hey!” the brat sputtered, hugging a stack of mail to his chest. “I didn’t know if anyone was here or not,” he laughed awkwardly, now with some confidence behind his steps.

“Well, I am here,“ Robbie deadpanned, peering up at him.

Mid-twenties, maybe… tops. He guessed, squinting to find any redeeming qualities on the youthful face. He didn’t find any. It wasn’t really mailbrat’s fault; Robbie had a type. And slim, tall tweens, weren’t it. Oddly enough, the smile that was plastered over the guy’s face looked honest and awkward enough for Robbie to relent.

'`Guess you got mail for me?” he prompted, hoping his lonely time would resume.

Floundering, the younger man handed over the stock of spam and bills. A bigger box for the crazy cat lady on the second floor. Robbie filtered them through fast. His eyes moved back to the guy, who was now clutching the strap of his crossbody bag.

“It’s quite empty today, huh?” the mailbrat tried to start a conversation.

Robbie ignored him for the time being, papers shuffling between his fingers. He glanced up, finding the young man craning his neck around. Robbie watched him for a few breaths, then shook off his irritation.

“Scram.”

The kid flinched, his arms came up in surrender, and as he bid farewell he waved a little. 

Robbie watched his back, waiting for him to disappear, he dropped all the correspondence to the table. Letting the envelopes splay on the wooden surface. No care for it he yawned once again. Rubbing against his temple, hand then stopping to fan over his eyes. 

Magazine still open on the puzzle page, Robbie’s gaze fell on the theory cited next to it. He would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy playing again, even if it was not much of a challenge, more like none at all. How the kids tried to win over him, coming up with new and crazy techniques to tarnish his boards. Making moves that they never knew the name of but played it without a care. How his love for it was to be rekindled if he let it.

A chill ran down his spine when his phone went off deep in his flat. Sighing he flipped the magazine shut and stalked over, with growing irritation as whoever it was didn’t seem to give up. Returning to his flat, he moved some of the piles away, and while hoping to escape Bessy before he also got rid of most of it. Yet he still had to keep watching his step.

He patted down the recliner, and soon enough he found his phone deep under the cushion, going at it with full blast.Only one person was this persistent that would call him. The name blinking on the screen cemented it as he fell into the orange plush of the furniture.

“Glanni…” Robbie sighed into the phone, eyes closing and a headache knocking right at his temple.

“Oh you finally decided to take the call, huh, how gracious of you little R-”

Exasperated sigh left Robbie as he cut in “What do you want?”

“That’s very uncute of you…” the tonal voice informed from the otherside of the line.

To Robbie’s grunt Glanni went on “...about the holidays”

“No”

“I haven’t asked anything yet” Glanni fumed, something toppling over her side.

“I don’t want to travel to you, I don’t want you here either.” Robbie turned to his side, looking out from his apartment, he pulled his legs up into the recliner. “If your next words aren't presents, cake, money, or goodbye I don’t want to hear it.”

A brief silence fell between them, and Robbie half hoped his last remaining relative had hung up on him. He wasn’t so fortunate.

“I’ve something to take care there, I’ll see atNew Years.” Glanni pushed on, speaking over Robbie’s tired argument, then hung up on him.

Chapter Text

The town was enveloped in darkness. Too early for the winter sun to rise, too late for the moon to shine its pale light over the buildings. Biting cold ate into the air, swirling with the fat snowflakes descending from the sky, as the dark gray blanket of clouds moved sluggishly against the black sea of dawn. 

Sportacus watched all this from the wide window panes of his top-floor apartment. A freshly made bowl of oatmeal between his hands warmed his numb fingers. His mind sharpened with each breath taken; becoming a morning person was a choice and a task, one he took on gladly. Today, however, he felt like the clouds, sluggish. For the past few days, he couldn’t sleep as soundly as he usually did. 

He wasn’t tired per se, but he wasn’t anywhere near the levels of alert he was used to. Another breath, another prickling sensation of his awakening. He tapped his spoon against the ceramic bowl, and the soft clicking pulled his senses toward his breakfast. Cinnamon and apples, he took a bite, enjoying the warmth running through him. 

Chancing the cold wall, he leaned against the wooden frames and took another bite. His smart appliance noted the time and his scheduled morning exercise. He was back on time, his running shoes waiting by the door. Slowly he sauntered over to the kitchen, putting his empty bowl down. The alarm blared away happily. His hands splayed against the countertop, the heels of his palms hurting slightly from the weight he put there. One finger tapped away in an erratic rhythm. 

Deep breath in.

Slowly out, Sportacus pushed away from the counter. Shaking off the nervous tick that sunk under his skin. Or at least tried to. One voice command and the alarm stopped. His tone was foreign to his own ears, so he walked past the thing that filled him with an uncomfortable itch.

Pushing his feet into the running shoes, he felt some of the ire leave his body. Stance a tad taller, chest widening, Sportacus felt his mind clear. He closed the door, ignoring that cursed article of clothing with all his might. With every fiber of his being, he rejected the deep blue jacket hanging on the coat rack. 

Air below freezing filled his heated chest, and the sting of it took his mind as a captive. Sportacus warmed up his muscles by sprinting down the staircase of his complex. His calves twitched and buzzed with energy as he kicked off for his morning run. His usual route was clean, calm and empty. Routine ebbed into his brain so deep he was on autopilot. 

He hadn’t seen Robbie for four days. Something that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. One time he didn’t see the grumpy man for over half a year. So how come? How come he was getting more and more jittery each day. Trying to find any kind of leverage, a task that he needed to tend to as soon as possible at the LazyPlaza. 

Even when he managed to go, the doorman would disappear once again. Restarting his game from six months ago. 

Something that didn’t interest Sportacus before now weighed heavily on his mind. 

Rounding the first corner, he let his hands sink into his hoodie’s pocket as a last chance to warm. The back streets he used to train his freerun were empty. Void of the usual faces, it might have been the early hour or the thin ice frozen over the edges of the structures he used as jumping pads. Upping his pace, he used the first stone block to push his slumbering body to action. 

Palms stinging with the cold, wet from the freshly fallen snow against the concrete structure. He let his body sail down one story under, pivoting and rolling over his still sensitive shoulder; he ran forward. Arms now moving in tandem with his body, the iron railing at the end of the underground parking lot was covered in ice too. Without hesitation, he grabbed it, using his momentum. Grip twisting, he pushed up, one leg against the wall across from the opening, he pushed upwards. 

Sweat rolled down against his spine, and he felt his skin heat. His breath deepened as he grabbed after the slanted roof of the odd parking space. Back on the street, he let his body and leg take action. Mind flying freely, he was once again back in the small and packed bathroom. The heat crept under his beanie, ears warming, the mental image of the doorman trying to quip at him in the crowded lobby. Just to then cutely shy away.

Sportacus stopped. Feet skidding to a halt, his entire body buzzing with energy, he let his lungs and heart work out their rhythm without him. Flapping his hands, he tried his best to push away the memories of a stranger, built like him but taller, broader. Someone who might have missed a dark blue puffy coat which was currently cursed in Sportacus’ apartment.

He let his hands land on his waist. Once again, finding himself before this dilemma. Inexplicable anger formed behind his closed eyes. Why did Robbie allow everyone close, but him? Darn it. He heaved. Jumping a few times on the spot before he ran for it once more.

Two hours later, he was by the LazyPlaza, waiting for Stephanie and Ziggy. With one more week until Christmas, they agreed to meet every other day for a few hours. To run and play, for Stephanie to practice a little, and for Ziggy to get some activity into his candy-packed daily routine.

This morning too, the doorman evaded him. By coincidence, Stephanie told him when he asked about Robbie.

“He just got a call,” she said around her muffler from the other side of the fence running around the playground. “Do you think he will go home for the holidays?”

The question caught Sportacus a little off guard. He couldn’t recall any of the previous Christmases. Usually, Sportacus was out of town, flying back to his hometown or spending it with friends. He had known Robbie for nearly four years now, and he couldn’t answer such a simple question. In his head, Robbie was always a lone wolf, someone who was pushing everyone away. 

Now that he was back, the last one and half months showed how false that notion was. Robbie did have people close to him, but a few and far between, and it killed Sportacus that he wasn’t in that circle. He stopped mid-stretch. Did it really bother him that much? If so, when did it start? 

His morning thoughts flooded his mind once again. How did he feel about the six-month gap? If he didn’t care, why was he now so lost when he finally realized that Robbie wasn’t as sheltered as he believed? Out of envy? 

Sportacus grimaced. “I don’t know, but I hope he will spend it with his loved ones.”

“Hm,” Stephanie let the sentence sink in. “He doesn’t look like he misses home.”

Sportacus smiled, shoulders lowering. “Well, the LazyPlaza is his home too.” 

They watched Ziggy hang from the monkey bars, imitating Sportacus’ pull-up while mouthing off both. Showing off his strength. Stephanie cheered him on, jumping around like a cheerleader. Making sure the little guy knew she was supporting her fully. 

“Do you miss your homeland?” she asked suddenly, slipping, hanging from the fence awkwardly. A laugh left her in a short chuckle.

“Sometimes.” he offered, helping her back to her feet. “It is quite far, and I haven’t been home since summer,” he added, hopping over the fence with ease. “Do you?”

“A lot!” she said, hands locking behind her back. 

A nervous tick of hers, Sportacus learned, was when she grabbed her hands, stilling them and twisting her ankles. Calming her whole body but still letting some anxiety leave in the form of a hidden stretch.

“I bet you miss your parents.” Sportacus tried. The topic they rarely breached even after a month of knowing each other. “Will you spend Christmas with them?”

Stephanie stilled fully. Not a muscle moving, she smiled, a smart smile, one that Sportacus would see mostly on adults. “There are some familial issues going on right now, so it’s best I stay with uncle Milford.”

A sentence learned, repeated, or instilled in her. Void of her usual cheer and more mature than her age would require. Sportacus let a low breath out, not trying to pry anymore. “You like Milford, right? He is a kind man.”

“He is awesome,” Stephanie agreed, a bit brighter. Then she cleared her throat. “Mom says he is a great brother, too.” she pushed off the fence, running to Ziggy.

Sportacus felt his face contort in confusion. A tick in the back of his mind blared with this information. Something that wouldn’t usually garner such a reaction. A gut feeling deep down that something was not adding up. He followed the pair, tussling and creating a new game. 

Mind slowly replaced his current mystery of Robbie with the misinformation around Stephanie. For someone so open and headstrong, she was rather expertly hiding away parts of her life. Pulling to the shade whenever too much was asked. Sportacus wasn’t one to pry but noted to keep an eye on the little ballerina.

“I’ll be as great as you one day!” Ziggy announced out of the blue on their way back.  His jacket was all askew on him, his hat was off and his blond head shone brightly under the overcast sky. He even jumped up and imitated one of Sportacus’ flips, landing with a slight wobble but proud nonetheless. “See?”

“You could!” Stephanie urged him on, jumping in rhythm with the younger boy. “You just have to eat a lot of sportcandy.”

“Stephanie is right, you can, just make sure you work extra hard for it!” Sportacus joined in, following a few steps behind.

“Robbie!!” Ziggy screamed, running towards the doorman.

Robbie stood by the complex, walking toward the street, hands deep in his peacoat’s pockets, tired gaze lifting towards the trio walking towards him. His eye roll could be seen from miles away as he forced a snarky smile for them.

Sportacus waited for a grimace or a reprimand. Half hoping it would quench the sudden leap of his heart.

Instead, his muscles and entire body jumped into action. But only following Robbie’s own.

While demonstrating his newly learned stunt and the idea of how the superhero handyman would do to flip, Ziggy jumped mid-running. Feet slipping on the thin ice in landing. Hands in the air, his tiny body fell with an agonizing speed. Head unprotected, towards the concrete. 

Stephanie screamed something. Foreign to Sportacus’ ears, breath hitching when rather than the kid’s skull, it was Robbie’s hand that was crushed against the wet street. How the man with a chronic distaste for physical activity could just jump face first towards impending danger. To hiss and argue once he gathered himself and the shocked kid on the asphalt was beyond Sportacus.

It was only a few seconds but by the time he arrived next to them, he was too late. Crouching, he helped the crying kid up while the doorman was still in the middle of his triad about stupid, careless jumparaounds. 

“Robbie!” Sportacus warned, wiping tears from the round face.

Stephanie fussed around the adults, one hand grabbing Ziggy’s coat hood to anchor herself. While she sniffed and rubbed away scared tears from her pale face.

“Oh, come on!” the doorman grumbled, crossing his long legs with ease. “Stop bawling!” he snarked. “What is there to cry for?!”

“Robbie!” the warning now was harsher, and Sportacus saw how the man’s eyes widened a little.

Then Robbie squinted, eyes becoming a line before he lifted his left hand “I should be the one crying!”

All three looked at the uninjured hand. Their eyes followed the wiggling fingers. 

“Are you okay, Robbie?” Stephanie asked, her voice tiny. Her fingers still clawed into the soft of Ziggy’s coat.

“As Sportadork would say, PEACHY!” he announced, folded his legs in, and stood up, pushing against the ice with his left hand.

The three followed, and slowly Ziggy’s crying petered out. With each insult that Sportacus tried to shoot down before it left Robbie’s lips. Oddly Stephanie was silent through the whole ordeal, eyes peering at the doorman, and her hand that left Ziggy went straight to Sportacus’ hoodie.

Sportacus exchanged a knowing look with the little girl, and he felt a proud buzz. Appreciating the girl’s genuine care and worry, even in the face of the sea of curses and belittling they were receiving from the doorman. 

Handling the brunt, Ziggy apologized, then got angry at the man when he didn’t take it. Ending with them arguing vehemently in the middle of the street.

“You shouldn’t have saved me then!” the kid argued.

“You are SOOO right.” Robbie countered, shuffling towards the lobby. His hands were now in his pockets once again, slouching and grumbling all the way inside.

Sportacus stopped the doorman in the middle of the lobby. While the kids were discussing, their shock melted away slowly. Only sniffling now and then, to look towards Sportacus, standing stock still. Well, Sportacus was stock still. Iron grip holding the jittery man’s left arm, keeping him by his side. He smiled towards the children waving and making sure Stephanie took the small child to his parents. The moment the elevator door closed the disaster hit.

“Let. argh. Go.” Robbie struggled against him. 

As Sportacus thought, not pushing away, only trying to free his arm and scrambling for some leverage. His heels skidding on the dirty carpet. Robbie hissed again, some flowery curse leaving his lips with a warning. His mouth snapped shut when Sportacus turned towards him, pushing him backward. Each step more awkward than the one before, Robbie stumbled back.

“Sit there,” Sportacus ordered; using the sudden confusion of Robbie losing his balance, Sportacus pushed the man down to the couch.

Overtowering the usually taller man, Sportacus let his hands fall to his waist. Eyes followed the man struggling to gather himself on the old furniture. He was fine, Ziggy too. All that panic he felt was for nothing. An unbelieving smile pulled his lips, and he had to let out a breath of frustration when Robbie tried to escape him. Not able to get off the couch because Sportacus pushed him back by his shoulders once again.

“Show me.” he ordered, pushing his lips together into a smile again. A determined one.

Robbie stilled, eyes narrowing he looked up, body turning slightly to the right. “I am not showing you anything.”

“Robbie,” another amused warning slipped into Sportacus’ tone.

“There is nothing to show,” he lied blatantly “if there was anything, it would be your lack of responsibility showing” he looked proud of that. “Hah!”

He was proud.

Sportacus would enjoy this exchange on any other day, not today. It might have looked like nothing, it happened fast after all, but it was a disaster nonetheless. While Sportacus was worried about Ziggy falling, possibly cracking his skull open, that didn’t happen. But the force and speed of the fall and the only thing between the two hard matters was Robbie’s hand.

No matter how proud, conceived, or whatever the grumpy one wanted to call it, Robbie was. He was hurt and was hiding it. Not doing a great job either. Stephanie pointed it out immediately, Ziggy missed it only because he was shocked and angry. 

Sportacus knew from the moment the left hand lifted that the vile doorman was tricking them. His usual gesture halved, false irritation overriding the thin film of tears in his own eyes as he barked at the small children around them. Robbie could trick the kids, could talk his way out of any task Ms. Busybody conjured up, he could even deceive some fool wandering into the complex.

He could never make Sportacus believe his lies.

“Show me, or I’ll dig it out of the pocket myself.” he offered. His tone might have ebbed on angry because Robbie’s eyes widened a little more. Gaze suddenly snapping to the left, towards his flat.

“There is no-”

“Robbie.” that was his last warning, and Sportacus surged forward, carefully grabbing the right arm into his hand. At the same time, Robbie tried to push him away with his left.

“I’ll do it! I'll do it, ju-just stop touching me.” he scrambled, melting into the couch under them.

Sportacus relented, leaning back but hovering above the pale man. Robbie straightened a bit, pulling himself up, he slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket. The hand hung limply from the wrist down, and the hiss of the doorman sent worry through Sportacus. 

Ignoring the man’s wails, he held the bruised wrist in his hand. Sportacus splayed the fingers on his own hand, watching the blood vessels broken under the skin slowly coloring the now angry red scratches. 

“It’s broken,” he panicked again, heart picking up. Sportacus felt like he led a fragile flower in his palm. His breath caught, and he felt his lungs shrink, worry and pain swirled inside his ribcage as he recalled the event. Mind snapping to the hospital and the stench Robbie will wear for the upcoming weeks.

“Calm down, dork,” Robbie hissed, moving all his fingers one by one, pain lacing his words. “It’s not broken, just bruised,” to demonstrate he tried to lift his hand, but Sportacus followed his movement earning a snickering laugh. “Come on, hero, let me go.”

“I am sorry,” Sportacus meant it, skin heated where their hands met. He felt tiny shivers run down his nerves whenever Robbie moved the slightest.

“You should be, if you didn’t flip around so much the ki-” Robbie stopped. 

They remained silent for a few moments, where Sportacus couldn’t take his eyes from the bruised wrist, or the bloody knuckles. Wanting to pet the heels of the palm with his thumb, too afraid it would hurt. Guilt was eating at him, Robbie was right he should have b-

“I am obviously kidding”  His tone was soothing, joined by a soft sigh like Sportacus was the one needing comfort. Robbie stopped his inner thoughts, lifting his hand.

Sportacus reached forward to follow it, scared it would hurt more, flinching when the doorman twisted the rapidly discoloring wrist. 

Only hissing, under his breath, “If anything - ugh-” he grunted, letting his battered hand land in his lap, “the one who didn’t salt the street is at fault….”

Sportacus followed the man’s profile; the soft red dusted over his cheeks sent a small thrill down the strings of his heart. The man’s lips were pursed in a mocking pout. And Sportacus found it oddly cute and endearing. 

“Robbie, let me dress this; you have some badges,” to the surprised glance he got, he pushed on, taking the injured hand between his own. “I remember seeing it in your bathroom.”

The soft red became dark velvet on the man’s face, and it did things to Sportacus that he would need time to decrypt later. Sudden bravery overcame him, and he couldn’t choke back the relieved laugh that was trying to escape him.

“You just want to get inside my flat!” Robbie croaked out, immensely offended.

“Is that so?” Sportacus humered, easily pulling the man from the furniture with one hand. Laughing heartily when Robbie gasped in his awkward embrace. One hand still cradled the bruised wrist, the other on the small of Robbie’s back; they stood chest to chest.

Robbie barked, looking embarrassed. “Don’t touch me so much!”

“You would escape otherwise,” Sportacus argued, hiding the little truth that he did, in fact, enjoy touching the man. Enjoyed the effect it had on him and on Robbie. Showered in the awkward embarrassment and odd tone it evoked in the doorman. Mind deceiving him of a feeling that he was ignoring.

Chapter Text

It was the worst. Robbie should have let the kid fall and hit his stupid little head. Listening to the wails of children and watching Sportacus fumble and fuss about them would have happened that way too. Now he had the added humiliation of nearly breaking his wrist. Struggling with children, arguing with Sportacus, and hurting so fucking much. And he couldn’t even voice it because the damned kids were listening to every word.

Being swept up and manhandled again shouldn’t make him feel his heartbeat in his ears, but it did anyway. The pain shied away against the sudden, charged air between him and Sportacus. Something he would deny till his deathbed. Because secrets like these, nasty fantasies and false hopes were only meant to be shared on one’s last breath. 

So, why? Why was his mind pushing the idea forward with the grace of an oncoming train? He had to bite his tongue whenever he was about to flirt - FLIRT- with Sportacus again. Ashamed of his weakness, he tried to hide it away. That crush that was nurtured for months now. Sprouting fast and strong since the handyman returned to the LazyPlaza to finish his never-ending task list. 

When he implied that his injury was in any way caused by Sportacus, the man went rigid. Like his whole being just stopped, the forever moving man, who could never stop jittering one way or another, stopped altogether. His warm hands cradling Robbie’s slowly pulsating and hurting wrist felt like a soft cushion. Robbie leaned forward, finding a distant panic in Sportacus’ gaze. Whatever his mind conjured up about this whole situation was anxiety-inducing for him and a blatant overreaction.

“I am obviously kidding,” Robbie spoke up, hoping to take that kicked-puppy look away.

Robbie pulled his hand from the cradle, and Sportacus reached forward to follow him, hesitant and so not Sportacus-like. A slight glee ran down Robbie’s spine when the handyman flinched as he twisted his hurting joint. 

“If anything - ugh-” he grunted, holding in the scream that was trying to escape him. He let his battered hand land in his lap “the one who didn’t salt the street is at fault…” he meant it too. Who shovels to then leave the ice under?

While musing, he hoped that Sportacus would let go of the whole thing or that he would miraculously forget the fiasco and just. Robbie didn’t know. Disappear. But no. 

Whatever, he had to work out, his current panicked and overprotective reaction. Because he was getting on Robbie’s nerves fast. Robbie was the one hurting; there was no need for the sports dork to mull over things not concerning him. In true Sportacus fashion, he subverted his expectations and pulled him up. Asked if he could help with the bandages. Demanded was a better term because the handyman didn’t take no for an answer.

Robbie barked, feeling his cheeks heat even more. Ears burning in shame and embarrassment. With each care-filled touch, his traitorous heart leaped to false hope. Throat tight, he had to force out his plea to be let go.

 “Don’t touch me so much!”

“You would escape otherwise,” Sportacus argued, smiling fondly. 

Robbie felt his heart pick up the pace, which couldn’t be true. He was already so oversensitive; anyone as close as Sportacus would hear his heartbeat, and he felt like he could drop dead any moment now. This is why he didn’t want to see the man. It was better to ignore this than to hope and fall headfirst into despair when his inevitable rejection came. 

That, too, would be delivered with a sad smile, friendship offered in exchange. That would break Robbie; he couldn’t think about the man like that. Maybe before. A few years back, when they bickered, honestly. When Sportacus didn’t see through all his lies and disguises. His easy tricks or slight manipulations. Now that he knew Robbie and Robbie knew him in return, there was no way he could be happy with that. 

Occasional partners tamed the burning desire he felt, quenching the pent-up frustration but nothing more. He sometimes lied to himself about his love being the misguided feeling of belonging to someone as pure and kind as Sportacus. Well, not anymore. He could tell, without doubt, he was utterly and hopelessly infatuated with the handyman. 

Not just his body. No, his kind personality and his hero complex. His idiotic fear of showing that mane of golden blond hair or the misshaped ears he hid so carefully. 

Their roles were reversed as Sportacus knelt before him; now Robbie was perched on his bathtub. Sportacus softly cleaned the shallow scars on his knuckles with a concerned pinch of his brows. His mustache twitched when Robbie hissed as Sportacus worked the disinfectant into his skin.

“Does this mean I am again indebted to you?” Robbie asked, clearing his throat. Trying his best to sound nonchalant. Not to let the feelings spill over and show but break the silence between them.

Robbie followed the slant of Sportacus’ shoulders as they shook with a laugh. “Don’t mention it; friends do this without asking for anything in return.” the handyman’s fingers moved the gauze expertly over the irritated skin. 

Movements so familiar yet so foreign when someone else did it. “We are not friends though….”

Sportacus huffed, suddenly looking up.

Robbie stiffened from the icy blue eyes leaving him pinning him in place. Honest, eager, and if Robbie didn’t know better, maybe a little angry, they narrowed. The gauze was tightened in the next layer to secure the dressing. Sportacus let his hand go and stood up; taller than Robbie, he looked intimidating.

As much as a golden retriever could intimidate anyone. “Why are you so against having friends?” Sportacus asked. Something else lurking there, but not let free yet.

Robbie would lie if he said it was out of nowhere. This must have been scraping against the handyman’s nonexistent ego for a while now. If the twitch of mustache was anything to go by, or the half smile while he was still eyeing Robbie’s freshly bandaged wrist.

“Why are you so bent on collecting friends?” he asked in return.

Robbie’s question hung between them. Implying this was the standard way to live. To have human contact, to share social boundaries, and to be a part of a community. To have fun, he could almost hear it in the silence.

Shrugging, Robbie gave up and admitted, “I like to be alone more. You know…” he moved to the side, left hand pushing his hurting right softly. “...in silence and leisure.”

“You like to be lazy,” Sportacus summarized. “For someone who says he loves to be alone so much, you spend a lot of time with people.” the handyman huffed. Gaze moved towards Robbie’s bedroom.

If there was any implication in that Robbie couldn’t find it for the life of his, so he forced the steadily growing irritation down instead. Still fidgeting with his wrist. The damned man. Robbie contemplated how to proceed, what to say, to make the man go away. 

Pity tricks didn’t work. Nor did his usual tricks. Even if he barked at the man, he felt that Sportacus would still be here no matter what. If chasing him out didn’t work, and keeping him away couldn’t be done either, the best route to things was something Robbie detested more than healthy food choices in fast food restaurants.

And this time he couldn’t run away; he couldn’t hide. So. If you can’t beat them, join them. Robbie linked his fingers, thumb still pushing into his pain softly. Anchoring his mind. If he went this route, he would regret it and hate himself even more. He would have to come out whenever to show his face. His stomach twisted, and he gripped his hands firmer. As sad and depressing the thought of pretending to be friends was, and as harsh as he heard his mind scream at him for it, he could no longer hide it.

“I only spend time with people I don’t hate,” he uttered, hating his tone shift. How small his voice became. Gaze trained on the mosaic flooring of his bathroom.

Blinking up when Sportacus didn’t react at all, he found himself speechless. The handyman stood where he left him mid their conversation. He hung between movements, hands rolling the remaining gauze back up. Robbie nicked his head to the side, finding the steely blue eyes fogged a little.

“Is your head trauma acting up again?” Robbie asked a little lost on how to proceed. Afraid his tiny confession was now the end of everything. That his whole remaining life would be a heap of rejections.

To his surprise, Sportacus moved fast and fluidly, landing next to him on the bathtub’s edge. Muscular arms enveloped him in a warm half hug. The exchange heating Robie’s cheeks, he tried to skid away but was chained to the handyman. 

“I like you too Robbie” Sportacus hummed.

His tone and closeness were physically sickening. Robbie felt his skin too tight, and his right hand fisted, sending a sobering pain to his brain.

“I never said such a thing!” he screeched, pushing with his uninjured hand.

-

“I don’t like this color.”

“I think it suits you though.”

Robbie took his hand away, examining the hot pink nail polish on his fingers. Stephanie became a little better at handling the brush, but her strokes were still clumsy, and he would need to clean his cuticles after. He turned his hand again, lifting it from the little girl’s grip; it wasn’t bad. 

Black would be better, or deep purple, but the girl wanted to use her own to practice. She said when she all but forced Robbie into ‘playing’ nail salon in the middle of the lobby. At least this ‘game’ was silent and idle. 

He lifted his gaze to the right. Clicking his tongue at the blond kid making a ruckus around them. When did the lobby become a freaking daycare? Leaving him with kids all day, his nerves were worn thin, and he wished he could curse the day he brought his chess set out for Pinky. 

Ziggy was prancing around, playing hero. Pretending to be Sportacus, he jumped up and down, intended for a cartwheel, ending in a heap on the floor. Then, with strengthened effort, he rolled forward and sprung up into a pose so much like Sportacus it hurt.

Robbie rolled his eyes.

If anyone, then HE, Robbie Rotten, was the hero. He deserved the praise and the amazed glances. But no.

Melting into the chair, Robbie glanced at his hurt hand. The swelling and most of the bruising were getting better. After two days and many frozen bags of vegetables, he only kept it for this exact purpose; it was bearable. It wasn’t so good yet that he couldn’t extort the kids.

“Ah, it hurts so much!” he mock-cried into the nook of his elbow. Theatrically holding his limp right hand on the armrest. “I can’t even lift it.”

Stephanie winced, promptly smearing the hot pink over the wooden table between them. 

Ziggy stopped his acrobatics and stilled to silence. 

Robbie opened one eye, peering at the duo simmering with guilt. Good, as they should. Push it just another notch. “I can’t even eat like this.” he lamented, head falling back in utter despair. 

By the time the handyman arrived, Robbie was serviced like a king. Stephanie delicately held his bruised hand in her palm while carefully working the paint over his nails. On his left side, Ziggy perched on the armrest, devotedly portioning and feeding him freshly bought cake. 

Sportacus stopped; their eyes met, and Robbie challenged him.

Two days ago, when Robbie gave in and started to pretend to be the handyman’s friend, they talked a little each day. It wasn’t too different from when Robbie realized his feelings a few months ago. With the added difficulty of trying to hide his obvious attraction to the man. 

It’s okay, Robbie thought at first. This is nothing more than his usual lies and disguises. He just had to pretend to be an absolutely ordinary, nothing to write home about, friend for the man. 

The kids seemed to catch on fast because first, they questioned Sportacus about his mental wellness, then they asked if there was some blackmail included. Stephanie even asked if Sportacus lost a bet. She smiled brightly, though, so it seemed to be all in good old-fashioned teasing. 

Now seeing the handyman closing the door with an oddly knowing smile felt like a personal attack against his tattered heart. So instead of looking at his ideal man peeling his clothes, Robbie turned and bit down the offered fork hard. Making sure he would be unable to join the conversation.

“Robbie’s hand hurt a lot”, Ziggy announced at the handyman’s questioning smirk. 

“Really?” Sportacus’ tone was playful and a little disbelieving.

“Really.” Robbie answered, smirking around the latest bite of chocolate cake. 

“Hm…”

“What?” Robbie leaned forward, almost pushing Ziggy off the armrest.

Sportacus shook his head, first patting Stephanie’s head, then Robbie’s affectionately. “Nothing”

Robbie, too flabbergasted to say anything, just kept watching the exchange between the kids and Sportacus. He pulled back, hiding away in the old cushions of the lobby’s furniture. Mood souring fast, he wanted to disappear. Why this was his first instinct whenever he seemed to breach a new boundary in his social life was a mystery to him. His mind mocked him for even believing in this little companionship he created around himself. Spiraling towards a real foul behavior, he pulled back more.

Eyes widened in slight pain. Robbie snapped his gaze toward Stephanie, who, with pursed lips, was working on his ring finger at the moment. Tiny hand holding him in place, anchoring into the moment he desperately tried to escape.

“That hurts.” Robbie voiced, trying to pull away again.

Stephanie shrugged, not spearing a glance towards him. “I am not finished yet,” she stated, as a matter of fact, with the audacity that only a kid her age could muster up.

“Looks nice.” Sportacus leaned against the back of Robbie’s chair.

And Robbie wasn’t a little girl, nor the heroine of a love novel, yet he could feel his heart pick up. Just from the scent lingering around the man reaching over him. Close to his back, Sportacus leaned over the chair and picked the translucent coat polish up.

“I can do yours too!” Stephanie perked up, promptly smearing the pink into Robbie’s skin.

“It would chip away as soon as I touch my tools, though….” Sportacus said, with a tint of sadness in his tone. He put the bottle back. “But it looks good on you.”

Robbie knew he meant either Stephanie or both of them, but it still made him all squirmish. “This buffoon couldn’t pull this off even if he wanted, look at him,” Robbie said, looking up. Trapping himself under Sportacus’ curious, maybe amused smile. Debating on his next quip and willing his growing anxiety away.

“Sportacus!” Ziggy saved Robbie from digging his own grave deeper. “Can I help you today?!” cheerful and full of energy, he struck a pose that Sportacus used to do to entertain them.

“Of course, Ziggy!” the handyman reciprocated the enthusiasm. “Stephanie?”

“I want to finish this!” she piped up, working the acetone into Robbie’s sensitive skin. Cleaning up her former mistake.

“Okay” “You don’t have to,” Robbie growled over Sportacus, trying to get his hurting hand back.

“I want to.” Stephanie forced the hand closer, pulling with all her might, eyes burning; she almost snarled for only Robbie to hear. 

Something Robbie never saw or expected her to do. So they stayed. Already accustomed to the Christmas lights and the brightness, he only grumbled for a little. 

“So what’s the real reason, missy?” he opened, awkwardly trying to fork the remainder of his cake with his non-dominant hand. 

Stephanie looked up, her gaze toned down, close to innocent. That she became so used to the adults around her, how she simply integrated into the community here was a miracle to Robbie. Annoying, loud, prissy and always too nosy, Pinky made her name known fast. Wrapping most of the adults around her finger with pure kindness and politeness. 

Which she only lacked when talking with Robbie; just to demonstrate, she shrugged, blowing air to Robbie’s freshly painted nails. “I wanted to finish your nails.”

He took his hand. Turning, it hurt more than he was ready to confess, but he was overplaying his pain to a little brat. She did a better job than last time, and she even worked at cleaning off her mess. Robbie never wanted this to become something they shared or he participated in. He never wanted to get close to any of the children, Sportacus or anyone. 

Why was this girl the catalyst of all of that? He was fine. He was content with his life before. Lurking and mocking others while he hid in the shade and waited for an opportunity to cause a minor inconvenience. Living life to its full lazy potential.

“We are done.” Robbie winced as he moved to stand.

“Wait!” Stephanie jumped up, grabbing his sleeve.

“I knew you wanted something else”, Robbie squinted, smirking “you little liar.”

She blushed hard, Eyes wide as she barked back, “Well, you owe me for painting your nails!” she tried.

“It was in exchange for my bruised hand” Robbie waved towards his chest in feigned hurt, snapping Stephanie’s hand off.

She grabbed again, more determined. Puffing her cheeks, she rounded the table, and with all her 1,3 m height, she cornered the grown man. Smile widening dangerously, she pressed on. “You did that because you CARE.”

“LalalalalaLALALA”, Robbie snarked back, holding eye contact as they bickered.

“Argh! Just-” Stephanie stomped her feet, arms crossing before her off-pink sweater “-help me out this once!”

“This once?” Robbie asked, shaking his head “it would be what the seventieth time,” he grinned; fed up, he stomped over the armchair, one leg over the backrest he stopped, remembering his fresh cake.

“Please, listen, why are you always so MEAN??!” her lips snapped shut.

Robbie leaned back, arms high, as he balanced his weight. Clearly going for the remnants of his cake, but he froze mid-movement. His heart stopped when Stephanie’s eyes widened; she ducked away, arms coming up. Defending from a hit Robbie never intended.

Slowly he went for the cake, resuming his movement. He ignored the sudden flustering on the girl’s part, the glistening in her eyes. The rambling that she never showed. How her cheeks became red, yet somehow she looked paler than ever. Gaze snapping around, she feigned openness. Her arms hit her sides repeatedly, but Robbie saw the slight tremble in her lower lip.

“I am sorry,” she said at last. Words petering out, sharp to soft, to almost inaudible. 

“What do you need help with?” he asked in return. Cake secure in his hands, he hopped off the armchair. His knees freaked out from the exercise, but he had no mind to think about that.

“What?” Stephanie rubbed her sweater’s hem, calming herself. Cheer was nowhere near her usual jest, “Oh, I need help with presents.”

“Okay.” Robbie answered simply.

Chapter Text

Lately, even with their truce called, Robbie seemed to grow distant again. Sportacus tightened a screw, tool light between his fingers, and he ensured the fourth floor’s ventilation unit was steadfast. He stretched, mind wandering. It wasn’t the usual distance either. He just seemed to be preoccupied, not his usual scheming or planning. Robbie looked honest to God busy.

The whole thing was too alien of a concept for Sportacus.

After the accident, Robbie became more open. Or just didn’t actively show his disgust towards Sportacus. Whatever it was, Sportacus liked and encouraged it. For it to disappear only three days after, he felt pretty betrayed. Musing Sportacus packed his toolbox, spinning the screwdriver just once.

Idling over the fact that he was again thinking about the doorman and his antics mid-work. It happened an awful lot recently. And while he was happy that things seemed to calm down and take a direction he had hoped for, what was there to desire. Yet he felt something was missing.

Ziggy’s floor was silent like always; empty flats, void of life, made the whole building feel out of place. He started here on a summer day a few years ago, and it was buzzing, bustling with life. Maybe some tenants left, but it was still odd how hollow it felt so close to the Holidays. 

He went over his remaining task list, and each day it became shorter and shorter. What one would hope. Yet Sportacus felt like his initial promise, taken as a threat by Robbie, was coming true. If he went and worked on what was left earnestly, he would finish on Christmas day. Coining in his vow of coming every day.

The elevator door opened easily on the fourth floor; riding it down, he moved the elevator door repairs to the last place. Making sure to take a whole day, preferably in Robbi’s close company. Sportacus chuckled at the idea; a sweet warmth took root behind his heart, a space filled with numerous imagined things. Some days he still felt the scratch of envy there, but since they worked out their ‘friendship’, he didn’t find the emotion as often. The coat, still in his apartment, became less of a menace too.

Sportacus felt a smile pulling his lips a little wider than usual, just for it to disappear as soon as he arrived down the lobby.

With the children gone, he wasn’t hoping to meet Robbie at all; okay, maybe he was looking forward to a simple ‘hi, bye’ but nothing more. What he wasn’t looking forward to was seeing the tall stranger Robbie had had so many intimate meetings with within the last weeks. 

The stranger had takeout in a flimsy plastic bag held out for the doorman, who was standing his ground. With the usual scowl on his face, he leaned back, arms crossed under the coat he had draped over his shoulders. 

Closing the distance, the pair didn’t seem to realize he was there yet; deep in their conversation, they were so close they almost held the same breath. Sportacus saw Robbie bark and scream at people; he also had witnessed his silent and venomous spats with whoever dared to challenge him. Ending on the receiving end of that more than one time. 

This was different. There was a familiarity between them; a barrier that held firm against Sportacus was gone. His next few steps let him in on the conversation itself. 

“ - I can see it in your rigid stance,” the stranger smirked like a wolf ready to devour its prey. “Let me help you relax” his free hand landed on Robbie’s shoulder.

Robbie scoffed, shrugging the hand off, his tone cold but somehow ebbing on Sportacus’ mind. “You can lend a hand with free food.”

The stranger laughed and had an annoying deep tone, close to raspy. “I can lend a hand with much more” he leaned in, free hand moving the draped coat to the side to show the still bandaged hand.

With a wide grin, Robbie lifted his arm. “I can flip you just fine.” 

Sportacus knew this was a lousy trap that the doorman just waltzed into. With haste, he was by his side, but not before the stranger could counter the statement.

“Yeah, I could jerk you off”, leaning in once again with a breathy laugh.

“Fuc-” “Well hi there Robbie!” Sportacus boomed over the exact words he wanted to spill.

Despite his distaste for foul words or Robbie using them, it seemed appropriate, if not necessary, at that exact moment. The pair turned to him. And Sportacus wasn’t short on any day; he was average size. But these two were tall, Robbie was a good head taller than him, and the takeout guy was slightly taller than Robbie.

“Oh, hi there,” the stranger said, not stepping back as Sportacus hoped. 

On the other hand, Robbie leaned towards Sportacus, closing the gap between them. Face impassive. “What do you want?”

It wasn’t irritated per se, but it wasn’t the reaction that Sportacus thought, either. He thought he would be thanked later for pulling Robbie from a situation Sportacus believed he did not want to be any part of. Instead, he got a narrowed glance before he turned back to the stranger.

“You too, what do you want, give me my food and get lost.” he offered his uninjured hand. 

The man just huffed, a good-natured smile plastered over his features. Any other day Sportacus would find him, well, not ugly; today, right now, he found him disgusting. 

“Allllright,” he stepped away finally, creating a little distance, he rolled his eyes “call me.” it wasn’t a plea; it was an order, and the stranger had the gall to laugh when Robbie flipped him off again.

“Whatever…”

Robbie took the bag and was about to leave when Sportacus returned to his senses. Falling in step with the doorman, he wanted to start a discussion but was promptly shut up.

“You just scammed me out of a free meal….” Robbie grumbled.

A little taken aback, Sportacus felt irritation surge in him. He didn’t cheat Robbie out of anything. If anything, he helped rid a pest that didn’t take no for an answer. Robbie needed help, and Sportacus did just that; if he saw someone in trouble, he could always step in. Chest puffing, he felt injustice flair in him.

“If free food is what you want, I could have bought some for you”, he offered, knowing exactly how childish he sounded.

Robbie stopped abruptly, turning towards Sportacus with a frown. At the same time, he sighed. “For one, I want trash food”, he shook the plastic bag with whatever greasy stuff he got “two, it’s not worth it if they don’t hit on me,” he added, rolling his eyes like this was basic knowledge.

Sportacus had an immediate answer on his lips, something his mind stopped just in time. Feeling his face heat, the tips of his ears felt hot under the beanie. Rather than saying his initial answer, he opted for a better one; if Robbie caught on his awkward pause, he didn’t show any reaction.

“You can eat fast food with moderation, I am not forcing you to eat sportcandy o-”

“That’s fruit. Call it fruit.” Robbie deadpanned. 

“The kids like it better if I call it sportcandy.” Sportacus felt the heavy dread lift a little; he straightened, hand falling to his waist with confidence again.

Robbie looked around with his usual dramatics. “I don’t see any kid unless”, he squinted at Sportacus “, are you insulting me?”

“No. No. No.” Sportacus said with varying tones, following the doorman’s expressions. The last one ended with a half smile.

Imagining this discussion a few weeks ago would leave Sportacus alone in the lobby with the lingering smell of the nearby burger place. Maybe with some real insults on Robbie’s part, or he wouldn’t even have been acknowledged in the first place. Look at them communicating and all.

“Fuck it, ” Robbie said into the silence of the lobby out of nowhere. And Sportacus was about to reprimand him for it when he pushed on. “Come in!” he urged, elbow clumsily jostling the handle of his door. 

Sportacus followed, not able to let the curse slide. He noted that Robbie should not get in the habit of swearing. Huffing in defiance when Robbi simply told him to mind his own business while ‘inviting’ him into his flat. The room was the same as Sportacus remembered, the one funny recliner in the middle, the rest stuffed with clutter. He bet if he took the trash out, dusted, and organized some things, he would find a barren room with a TV and two pieces of furniture. 

Out of courtesy, Robbie flipped the light on, blinking a few times as he fell into the orange chair. He started to tinker with the plastic bag in his lap. The smell of the unhealthy food brought back the last sentence of the stranger, as well as Robbie’s counter.

“Yeah, I could jerk you off”, “You just scammed me out of a free meal…” “two, it’s not worth it if they don’t hit on me.”

Why did Sportacus always have to walk on conversations like these? Why did it bother him so much? As off-putting as it sounded as he was happy, he should have been that his friend got appreciated, no matter how crude the way of appreciation was. Robbie should be appreciated, too, he might not have been conventionally handsome, but he was in Sportacus’ eyes. Even with the constant snacking and sweets, he had a rather appealing form. Whenever he let himself go and not be the intolerable, insufferable grinch he was, Robbie was soft. 

He always had a clever comeback. Against all his effort, people liked him, to some and varying degrees, of course. Still, even with his bad attitude, Sportacus couldn’t name one person who outright hated the doorman. Sportacus’ gaze wandered to his hands as he struggled to hold the enormous burger with his tattered hand.

It made Sportacus remember yesterday when he walked in on the kids pampering Robbie. Hopefully, out of their own volition and because of some kind of blackmail. Hot pink nails looked good on the pale man even if he hated them, which he voiced many times, yet let Stephanie paint them her color.

Turning back to their current situation, Sportacus realized he didn’t know why Robbie wanted him here. Why he was ordered inside the room, but if the clumsy half bite that made most of the toppings spill out of the burger was anything to go by, maybe he needed help with something. 

“Do you need help with that?” he asked, walking closer, sidestepping a tower of Chinese takeout bowls.

Robbie looked from the burger. He let the food down, licked his lips, not getting some of the sauce still smeared on the corner, but Sportacus wasn’t about to point it out. Not after the glare he got.

“Not that good a friend for you to feed me….” Robbie said, wiping his hands and finally getting rid of the remnants of food on his face. It was getting distracting. “But …?”

It looked physically painful for Robbie to spit out what he wanted. “ I want your help…ugh…with something else…” Each word came out more forced and even more deliberate. Sportacus felt a contentment fill him, one he missed the first time he became friends with Robbie. Finally, he was relying on him.

So Sportacus tried to hide his glee, finding a place to sit, then opted for the coffee table. “Anything.”

Unbridled, it came out a little more breathy and honest than Sportacus intended. That would be fine, but Robbie’s face darkened for a moment, eyes slipping down then back up fast, and Sportacus watched his Adam’s apple bob slightly. Sportacus felt a slight buzzing under his skin, shaking off whatever was about to overcome him. He waited for Robbie to elaborate.

“Isn’t Pinky strange?” Robbie finally asked after a few filled moments. 

Another one of the things that Robbie did was to keep his distance. To his credit, if Sportacus didn’t come each day, he wouldn’t know that the man hadn’t called the little girl that for a while. But the question did leave a little confusion in him. 

Sportacus leaned back, one hand fisting on his thigh. “Why, is there something wrong?” he asked rather than sharing the only oddity he caught.

“You do know something,” Robbie grimaced, eyes snapping to the side as he calculated his following words.

“Did you do something? Is there a problem?” Sportacus tried again, heart picking up. 

Hoping that whatever scheme he had for the little girl it wouldn’t go further than making her leave his lobby. Not that Robbie ever showed any honest malice towards the children, but Sportacus had a bad feeling about this.

“Argh, Sportadork, just answer my question!” the doorman hissed, face void of any emotion Sportacus could use as a giveaway.

“Back to name-calling?” Sportacus chided but didn’t really mind.

“Stop stalling for time.”

And he was. Because if he was honest, he felt that something was there. That something wasn’t quite right with her story, with Milford’s retelling of the whole ordeal. But Robbie couldn’t have picked up on that. As good terms as they were on with Stephanie, Robbie never showed interest in anything or anyone. Not even the stranger offering, well, his help.

That alone made his stomach sink deeper, because if Robbie found something, then there must have been something. And that was hoping that it wasn’t Robbie doing something. “Nothing important, really.”

“You are a lousy liar.” Robbie cackled, falling back into the plush of his eccentric chair.

Crowned by orange, he looked smaller and pale again. Sportacus had a growing suspicion that insomnia was once again on the man’s heels. Even though the last few days he looked better. Now again, he was under the weather, to say the least. Before Sportacus could reject the mare notion of him lying, Robbie went on.

“I just want to know if she did something that felt strange to you.” he clarified, pulling his burger plate closer to himself.

Sportacus also leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. He linked his hands, deep in thought. The only thing she said that made him a little concerned.

“She doesn’t seem eager to go back home, even for Christmas.” he offered, watching Robbie pick a pickle from the burger, snapping it on the napkin at the side. 

The doorman picked some more vegetables from his burger, piling them precisely on top of each other. Sportacus had some nagging on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back when Robbie spoke up.

“She is the daughter of Milford’s sister, right?”

Sportacus grimaced, slipping up in confusion. And Robbie pounced on it like the vulture he was.

“You heard it too,” he pointed at Sportacus with his injured hand, shaking it in triumph just to hiss in pain a second later. “We both know Meanswell only has brothers.” he surged forward, still nursing his hand; food was once again forgotten on his lap.

Sportacus looked down, then back at Robbie’s hand. “Stephanie might have misunderstood something.”

“No! You are not listening!” Robbie snapped, pain laced into his tone when Sportacus took his injured wrist into his own hand. “What now?” Robbie tried to pry his hand from the grip.

“Does it still hurt?” Sportacus started to peel the wrapping away. Even with the swelling going down, it was still the same colorful and painful bruising as four days ago.

Once again, he tried to take his hand away. “It’s fine!” Robbie snapped but couldn’t escape Sportacus’ clutches. “What about the schtick that she can’t do anything, not even dancing?” he pushed “There is something going on!!”

Sportacus held on, thumb running over the heated skin; a pang in him soured his mood fast. “Milford is just too cautious; she is new in town. ” he shook his head in disbelief before Robbie could counter Sportacus pushed on. “Why is this not healing?”

“It’s normal, it takes at least two weeks.” Robbie pulled again, now hissing in pain.

Sportacus leaned forward more, now defending against the man’s other hand that came to peel his fingers from the injured wrist. “Mine healed after a few days, this should look better wh-”

“You are NOT normal!” Robbie argued, hissing against his clenched jaw. “Let go you-”

He tugged on Sportacus’s hand, the momentum carrying them backwards, causing the recliner to snap back. In an awkward move to avoid giving Robbie a black eye, Sportacus shifted to the side, legs scrambling for resistance, and fell on top of Robbie.

Sportacus’ elbow ended deep in the orange fluff beside Robbie’s shocked face. The doorman’s uninjured hand gripped his side, holding on for dear life when the whole chair toppled back. Somehow still holding the injured hand extended to the side. With one knee between Robbie’s legs, Sportacus was almost nose to nose with Robbie.

They gazed at each other in stunned silence.

Sportacus could smell the sweet scent of the man under him, the odd smokey tint of the fast food he gobbled down, only an undertone of the scent that Sportacus linked to Robbie. The man’s face was still shocked, eyes wide, lips apart, his last sentence cut in half.

That’s right. “You should eat better. Are you not sleeping again? This might be why it’s still not healing.” Sportacus chattered out, his heart joining in his haste; he snapped his lips shut, waiting for something, anything.

Robbie slowly let go of his hoodie, features calming down to his usual stoic expression. “Oh, for fuck’s sake it’s fine.” Robbie surged forward, straightening; his tone was definite.

Sportacus could feel his breath on his skin, and he gave in, folding under the doorman’s sudden eagerness. Slipping back, their places swapped as he scampered once again, letting Robbie lead until he fell back down to the table. Now towering over him, Sportacus felt like he missed something in the stolen seconds when he had the upper hand. 

“Listen to me,” he repeated, free hand now pinching Sportacus’ cheek. Intent to hurt him was evident in the gesture. “Keep an eye on the girl, and on Milford-”

“Phad hurz”

“-something is strange, other than your superhuman strength.” he finished, letting go of his cheek.

Sportacus’s free hand went to his cheek, which stung like hell. “Above average…” he mumbled, “Nothing,” he said when Robbie questioned him. “I don’t know what you are planning, but don’t let your curiosity lead you to hurting someone.” Sportacus heaved at last. “Or yourself” Only realizing his tone too late, he lifted his gaze, and found Robbie calm.

Sportacus flinched when the fingers that tortured his cheek until now fell to his shoulder. Leaning over him, Robbie looked downright devilish with his wicked grin. Claws sinking into his muscle, rather than hurting, sent an odd sensation down his core, and he had to concentrate on the next few words. Confusion washed over him.

“Urgh-Forget it then.”

Chapter Text

Stephanie pulled the third to last little drawer on the advent calendar. Up till now, it was always filled with ornaments. Mostly for the tree standing by the window. Bright and heavy with all the knick knacks the residents hung on the pine tree. Yesterday it was a paper with the instructions on how to put on another light string. So understandably, she had little hope it would be any fun.

Ziggy left too, leaving her to it. Deciding on the tenth day that if there was no chocolate or sweets, he was not interested. Sometimes Robbie joined her, if for nothing else to mock whatever she pulled out. Bitter like the coffee he drank, before leaving her behind, too.

A heavy sigh later, she peered into the drawer labeled 21. Excitement peaking, she pulled the small trinket out. She snapped around, bouncing in her step to share it with someone. Ms. Busybody was already out, so Robbie should have been in the lobby, or around. Yet when Stephanie ran around, she couldn’t catch a glimpse of him.

Cradling the tiny thing to her chest, she peered outside, through the wide window panes. She couldn’t see anyone familiar. Her eyes followed the sluggish traffic going on, how people lined inside the pastry just across from the LazyPlaza. Never a crowd like in her home, but enough to make the resident grump grumble about.

Letting her forehead hit the cold glass, she opened her palms. The tiny paper with two candy cane earrings had her name written on it. Red and white glittering in the light of the Christmas decoration. Curling her fingers over it, she looked up, following someone who took a shovel of snow from their entrance then hurried off. 

“What are you doing?” 

Stephanie jumped away from the glass, hitting her nose in her haste. Her heart danced away in her chest as she made space between herself and whoever spoke to her. The paper of the small jewelry eating into her palm, she felt her back snap against the glass.

“Woah there!” Sportacus grabbed after her.

His face contorted in confusion, his usual smile scattered a little.

Stephanie felt a weight roll off her shoulders, and a breath left her in a hurry as she doubled over. “Sportacus, you scared me!!”

And for his defense, he looked really sorry, with his palm open before his chest showing surrender. His mustache dropped a notch and his whole body was leaning back a little. 

A warmth rushed over her, one she could only find in herself when she calmed down, and was hidden away. Safe. Under blankets behind closed doors and heavy linen curtains, with her uncle in the other room. Her smile grew, and she surged forward, hands leaving her chest.

“What are you clowning around so early?”

Out of nowhere, Robbie emerged from the shadow of Sportacus. And Stephanie once again fell against the glass, the sound of her body hitting the window rumbling through the frames. Heart once again in her throat, she hissed under her breath.

“Robbie Rotten!” she shrieked, limping to the side and leaning against the closest piece of furniture. 

“What?” he asked, hands cradling his odd mug. He frowned, smacking his lips as he stepped to the side. Sipping whatever he had in his blue abomination.

“It’s two pm.” Sportacus added, once Stephanie got her footing back, he turned to her. “Why are you so jumpy?”

She shook her head. She should make sure that her antics don’t show. Just a few days ago, she flinched from Robbie, who was obviously not out to hit her. It was just a reflex, something she tried hard to overpower, but sometimes it happened, nonetheless. With the two adults waiting for her, she collected herself.

Robbie, who was only grunting and sighing until now in answer, narrowed his eyes towards her and their secret flashed through Stephanie’s mind. Winking towards the doorman, clumsily, she tried to make it go unnoticed. And Sportacus was either gracious to not comment, or really didn’t catch it. 

Robbie’s answer was a simple shrug. “If you don’t sleep, two pm is early.” slurping he finished what was presumably coffee.

“Are you not sleeping again?” “You shouldn’t be up for too late!”

Came their shared and immediate answer. Stephanie felt pride swell in her. She and Sportacus were on the same page. Frowning when all their reply was another shrug and some berating words under the doorman’s breath.

“What’s that?” Robbie asked after evading Sportacus’ prying fingers and pushy questions.

“Oh! Look!” she opened her palms and the pair of candy cane earrings enclosed in shiny foil and paper sparkled in her hands. “It was in today’s advent drawer,” she beamed, wrinkling the foil as she pinched the small package.

“Pretty” said Sportacus.

“Hideous,” added Robbie, making the pair turn to him. “It is not my style…” he tried to soften the blow.

“I love it!” Stephanie defended, hugging the small package.

“I bet Meanswell looked for it for ages,” Robbie sipped on his coffee again, a smirk growing only shone light on the dark circles under his eyes. “Imagine him stumbling around some little trinket shop,” he laughed mostly by himself.

Stephanie decided to ignore him, huffing and showing her tongue in defiance. Then with a smile turned back to Sportacus. He was easier to talk to, anyway. She stopped. Blinking a few times, her hands came lower, a little astonished. 

The handyman was standing with his arms crossed before his chest, slowly shaking his head. With such endearment, Stephanie’s breath hitched. And all that was pointed toward Robbie? They became closer, Sportacus shared them finally becoming friends, and it showed. 

Robbie, too, only closed his eyes and sauntered away, falling behind his high desk, rather than his usual brutal quips. 

It was a silly feeling. She knew. She thought little about either of them. That sounded bad. She regarded Sportacus highly, thought to aspire to be someone like him. A sportsman, kind and straightforward. Making everyone around him feel at ease.

About Robbie, she liked him. Kinda. He was clever. He helped if she could rope him into it. But made it always feel like a chore. He was also strangely confident, while belittling himself, or hiding from anything that would challenge him in any way.

She pushed her weight from leg to the other, at odds on how to proceed. 

“Stephanie!” Sportacus opened. “Do you have something planned for today with Milford?” he leaned over, all smiles as always, back to their conversation.

Sportacus was honest and easy to understand. He was always ready to help. Stephanie would even swear that he had a sixth sense for people in trouble. Starting from their first day, she felt like should confide in the man, but the better part of her, the one that was more cautious, warned her against it.

“Yes, we are going to bake some gingerbread cookies this afternoon.” she answered. A little delayed, her eyes falling to the floor for a moment, examining the fallen pine leaves scattered on the carpet. “What are you up to?” she countered.

“The foils,” Sportacus pointed at the great window panes behind Stephanie. “They should arrive today. I could install them today if everything works out.” he smiled.

“What are they for?” she asked.

The handy man straightened up, pointing out to the street. He stepped next to Stephanie and looked out as the wind picked up again. “Ms Busybody hates that people can see inside”

Stephanie remembered that. She could recall all the instances that the woman came over to nag about the state of the complex to uncle Milford. How she had her uncle twirled around her little finger was a mystery to Stephanie, even more so when she realized they had nothing going on. She never came over just for dinner, or to watch a movie.

She also heard it when Ms. Busybody kept rejecting and declining any advance of her uncle. Blatantly ignoring the older man and chattering away on her phone. Somehow, despite all this, Stephanie had a soft spot for the woman, held her distance just in case, but she still found her interesting. In a different way than Robbie, or Sportacus.

Ms. Busybody seemed like someone with a steady and high-paying job, put together and stylish. People like her were always in the audience when she danced. With warm pelt coats and twinkling jewelry. Even her mannerisms were close to the haughty ladies she met before in the circle of the play director. Yet when she didn’t have to show off, or when uncle Milford wasn’t around, she was just kinda sweet. 

Always ready to share a secret, or a candy. Singing praise to the smallest thing Stephanie managed to achieve in the last one month. Which wasn’t much.

But hindering the view from the lobby felt mean. “But I like the scenery…” she confessed, cutting in Sportacus’ monologue about the installation of the thick film over the glass panes.

“It’s one way,” he beamed. “She just hates that strangers can see in, but she also likes to street front,” he slapped with confidence, snapping whatever dust there was.

“Oh! Like police mirrors?” she asked, fogging the glass up. She drew a heart, fingers sliding on the damp glass. She admired her craft, doing another one.

“Yeah, like those.” 

She turned, finger still on the window, and Sportacus’ tone shifted a little. His gaze fell on her, and she could feel a question coming. A little shock run through her, but she had an appropriate answer to that question too. If it ever came to, she could j-

“I am not going to clean your puny little handprints,” Robbie stated, leaning out of his hideout. Frowning, he added, “a heart… how on brand.”

“I know…” she shook her head, finding her escape.

Sportacus chided the receptionist as well but remained before the window, and Stephanie could feel his eyes on her back as she danced toward the resident grump. Offering a challenge instead of chancing another blunder.

Chapter Text

It stopped snowing two days before Christmas, bringing a bone-chilling cold with a cutting wind accompanying it. Sportacus looked up; the sky was clear and had the cool tint of blue that only painted the horizon in the middle of winter. No clouds, just the vast blue and the pinching cold.

Stretched once again, his eyes kept up, and his shoulders moved with oiled ease. Muscles moved as always, not even a reminder of his little accident from a few weeks ago. He exhaled, his hands landing on his hips as he twirled his ankles.

He had no jobs for the day, unless his phone blowing up with messages from his family could be called hard work. One part was close to begging for him to come home, the other part offered to travel to him. And usually, Sportacus was the one to hop on a plane and go right away to her family’s first call.

Not on one occasion did Sportacus even suffer the scrutiny of his older brother, who was also living far from their home country. Scoffing at him for quite literally kidnapping him too each Christmas. However, Íþró, for the first time in forever, wasn’t able to give up his work for the holidays.

Rounding the corner Sportacus slowed his stride. With his mind still occupied with his brother and his latest polite but definite declination, he found himself on the street leading to his complex. Well, to be honest, Robbie’s complex.

 The street was cluttered with people rushing to finish their shopping and find some peace. A long line stood before the pastry that the grumpy doorman loved. If he took his time, he could surprise the man and kids, if they showed up, with some sweets. He smiled to himself, stopping at the end of the line, listening in to the chatter around him, and enjoyed the warmth seeping from the bakery’s open door.

Sportacus took his phone out, sliding to the end of the messages going on and on between the family, who were all pretty demanding regarding Íþró’s refusal. He even laughed loudly, forgetting the people around, when his brother left a voice message trying to, for the last time, explain how his job worked. And how he was devastated, but he couldn't afford to fly home.

Sportacus didn't help matters by literally tailgating his older brother; he promised New Year's, but he wasn't eager to leave now.He slipped his phone into his vest’s pocket, letting his hands burrow deep in it too. At least in his case, Íþró could say it was because of work; Sportacus, on the other hand, just wanted to spend time with the LazyPlaza folk. Surprisingly, their mother was understanding, offering some help against their relatives’ never-ending pestering.

 "Sportacus, my boy!"

 The deep baritone danced down the street, bouncing back from the tall buildings. The old man donning his deep blue uniform waved from the other side of the road. His distinctive beard and ushanka framed his wrinkled face, yet his eyes sparkled like he was still in his mid-twenties. Their local postman, or "postgramps," as Robbie called him on many occasions, closed the distance. Causing a little disturbance, he arrived next to Sportacus.

 He leaned forward, then back, his hand landing on his chest in jest, heaving slightly. The old man coughed a little from the exercise, rejecting any offered help promptly.

"Don’t mind that!" he hit Sportacus’ shoulder heartily, the slap loud in the suddenly silent line. "How are you faring, son?"

"Doing good, thanks Pete," he said, shaking the man’s offered hand. "How are you?" he asked, glancing towards the full bag at his side, bustling with letters. "How is your back treating you?"

"Dandy!" Pete cheered, quiet the imitation of Santa in postal blue. If the little kids' awe was anything to go by, "Last day before vacation, actually.And you? Looking for some sweets?"

Sportacus smiled at the antics, his fingers twitching at his side at any opportunity to help with the large pack under the man’s other arm. They moved with the line "No, I wanted to buy something for the kids at the LazyPlaza." he checked his watch. "If you want, I can take some mail off of you."

 "That’s a federal crime, son," Pete deadpanned.

 Sportacus spluttered, and the crowd turned to him, eyes narrowing. Sportacus felt his face heat, and he fumbled his words. But the old man stopped him, boisterous laughter escaping him in the process as the old man doubled over, choking on his own mean joke.

"Don’t fret!" he chuckled once again, coughing at the end, a little breathless. "I jest, also, the new lad took them in already."

Sportacus felt his shoulders drop slightly, relaxed, and giddy. "New lad? Stephanie?" he doubted that Stephanie would take kindly to the new nickname.

 "Nah." the man harrumphed "whatever his name is, the new doorman."

"What? It's still Robbie Rotten."

 "Nah, that lanky grump left for vacation." Pete added hastily as his phone rang, answering the call with the same zeal with which he waved. "Yes, honey, I am going. I am, no."

With that, he was gone, as was the line that had picked up pace while they were talking. On autopilot, Sportacus bought what he usually saw the man eat or Ziggy sing praise about. He stood in the middle of the pastry with two warm paper bags of freshly baked goods, his mind turning over the feeling of sudden betrayal.

Couldn’t Robbie just share that he was leaving for the holidays? Not that they had anything planned. It never crossed Sportacus’ mind, but it still felt like a stab. Meaner than anything in the last month. An irritation surged up like a hot spring as he left the bakery, striding his way towards the LazyPlaza.

He hopped over the neatly piled snow, now frozen solid, with a paper bag crinkling under his arms, and headed inside. Step faltering when he recognized Robbie on top of his ladder. Deep in thought and work, he was doing something with his silk sleeves rolled up.

His face was contorted in concentration; his jaw flexed as he hissed, and Sportacus could almost hear his tone as he cursed. And Sportacus couldn't hide the glee under his mustache or the curve of his uninvited smile. How foolish. With a newfound lightness, Sportacus stepped in.

"Good morning, Robbie!" he chimed, following the man’s lines, his long neck, and hunched back.

The grunt he got as an answer was more than enough for Sportacus, so he turned to put the bags on the table. Confused when he found not one but three different-sized chessboards, all frozen on different moves. A couple of books on the armchair and a wobbly pudding in the other.

"Shoot" Robbie hissed, shaking his still bandaged hand laxly then licking his thumb to blow some air on it.

By the time Sportacus realized he was hyperfocused on the finger meeting the plush of Robbie’s lips, he earned a rather condescending look.

"What?" he asked, oh so eloquently.

Robbie gave him another look, his eyes and mouth all turning down slightly. His scornful gaze was only amplified from the top of the ladder, where he sat. "Sportadroll, I asked if you could pass the rag."

"Oh," Sportacus moved fast, stumbling towards the black textile on the floor, "Yeah, right."

"Welcome, by the way," Robbie offered, turning back to his task.

Sportacus offered the cloth, holding the ladder out of habit. "What are you doing?"

" ‘hAt aRE YoU DoiN?" Robbie imitated him, shaking his head from side to side, his tone shifting towards his hysterics. "This fucking thing-" he snapped toward Sportacus "-don’t you dare defend it! This thing, the camera, got sprayed with the snow spray, and now I have to clean it."

Robbie lamented, rubbing against the round surveillance camera with vigor. Before Sportacus could ask when that happened, the doorman went on. "This morning, Bessie screamed that she checked the live and couldn't see shit."

Sportacus’ minor note about language went unnoticed or ignored as Robbie followed his story up. "This is why," he snapped the rag to the side, now scratching the white off the glass globe with his nails. "I said this was creepy!" hissing again he now snapped his uninjured hand away, picking at his nail. "Who the f-heck wants to look at others all day long?"

"It's just a precaution; if something were to happen, we'd have evidence," he said, now holding the ladder with both hands, as the doorman wiggled some more, scrubbing against the squeaky glass.

"Why did they need faux snow? Just look out!" Robbie lamented further, tussling his normally styled hair.

Sportacus laughed at that. Heartily. Because how cute was it for a grown man to bicker with an inanimate object? Childishly lament the fact that he had to do his job, to fake something when the real thing was right there. Sportacus tried to hide and muffle his unbridled laughter into the nook of his elbow, with little success.

"Are you finding my torment funny?" Robbie asked, hunching more, both hands flapping against his chest, a shaky frown on his lips. "How low of you."

"Come-ha- come down, I’ll look into it." he tried and failed to halt his laughter again.

"Yeah, so on the recording your idiotic face would show up first...." Robbie retorted, straightening and grunting. "You and all of them, making not working seem like a crime... " he rubbed again, sighing.

"Hm?" the handyman held into the rickety ladder wobbling under Robbie.

"Stephanie too, wanted to work my shift, or when you delivered the mails…there is no rush…" he grunted putting his elbow into it. "why should I do something right away…?"

Robbie wiped his forehead, and Sportacus didn’t want to be mean, but one shouldn’t be this worked up by simply rubbing some appliances. But the mention of mail just reminded him of his ire on his way here.

"Why wait? You are going on vacation, aren’t you? Procrastination is n-"

"Vacation? Who? Me?" he stopped again, leaning off the ladder. "Where did you get that?"

"Careful!" Sportacus warned, sensing the ladder's balance shifting dangerously due to the slight movement. When he was sure Robbie was safely perched on top, and after some more condescending kackling from him, Sportacus went on.  "Pete told me."

Robbie frowned, crossing his arms "Old fart postgramps Pete?" after Sportacus nodded Robbie nicked his head to the side, smacking his lips. "Where did he get that?"

"He met a new doorman, your substitute," Sportacus offered.

"Substitute? Our postman changed a few weeks ago; Pete retired, and "Robbie snapped his fingers. "I bet his senile ass was fired, but mailbrat was too nice to say anything." he wiggled his finger

Now that Robbie has mentioned it, Sportacus remembered seeing a much younger guy delivering the mail nowadays. Maybe Pete had something mixed up; there were other high-end complexes around the district. And even if Robbie was crass about it, he was right. Pete did serve the post office far longer than anyone Sportacus knew. Still, it was curious.

"There!" Robbie snapped back to life, with vigor too.

Sportacus was thankful for his reflexes, for all the time he had the mental capacity to see if something was too dangerous. To feel when someone needed help because the moment Robbie’s triumph washed over him, his balance was lost. Toppling backward, his arms flailed uselessly, and with a gasp instead of one of his usual shrieks, he descended from the ladder.

Right into Sportacus’ arms. In a few seconds—or heartbeats, whichever was faster—he had the doorman between his arms. His side pressed against Sportacus's chest, his eyes screwed shut, his face crunched up, and Sportacus was lucky enough to witness it all.

Until the ladder toppled over with a loud snap against the wall then he floor.

"Urgh" was Robbie’s first initial response.

"It’s okay," Sportacus reassured, his arms tightening protectively to follow up with his statement. When Robbie cracked just one eye open, hands still cradled to his chest fully at Sportacus’ mercy, Sportacus’ mouth betrayed him. "You are cute."

Sportacus wouldn’t say they froze. He sure did. The emotion and the truth of the sentence hit him square in the chest. The break of the fall he couldn’t even feel was nothing compared to the gut-wrenching realization of the strength of said truth. Or how his heart picked up pace for an entirely different reason than the fall and the scare of another injury.

His fingers ate into the soft flesh of Robbie’s thigh, his other hand caught him under his rib cage, which Sportacus could feel out with ease. Robbie wasn’t heavy, but he wasn’t light either; he was somewhere in between, with his lank body folded and at Sportacus’ mercy.

It’s frightening.

The velocity and the strength of all the things—feelings, emotions, senses—that waged war on Sportacus’ mind at that moment Because he is frozen in time, with a realization heavy on his heart, Robbie simply looks up at him. Unimpressed.

Normal. Unbothered. All the emotions that Sportacus didn’t want to see. This too. Why? He knew Robbie was like this. He never entertained the idea of anything else. Anything other than a lukewarm standstill. A friendship Sportacus had fought hard for had now returned to slap him in the face.

He didn’t really know how much time passed, maybe only a breath because Robbie’s impassive face turned to a questioning half smirk. "First you laugh at me, and now you want to ridicule me too?" he said, still in Sportacus’ arm, not even trying to free himself from the cradle that was Sportacus’ muscled arms. "That’s not very ‘I want to be friends to help you’ of you…" he said, narrowing his eyes.

"I di- I don’t - I mean" Sportacus had his moments. This wasn’t it.

"Put me down already." Robbie demanded in a firm tone.

With his plea heard, Sportacus rushed to make the man stand, one hand swiping some dust from the man's shirt. The memory of the night when he rested his hands on the collarbones came back with vengeance, in a rush of new emotions and realizations spooling and swirling inside his head.

"Is this for me?" Robbie asked, already too far from Sprotacus. 

The doorman took a croissant, one filled with jam, and tore the corner gingerly. Sportacus couldn't tell what expression he made because his eyes were glued to the pastry, but he had a feeling it was annoyance, or worse, disgust.

Sportacus nodded, then realized Robbie wasn’t looking, so he voiced his answer too. At odds with his own body, something he knew best, he just stood there. Feet firmly planted on the filthy carpet, fingers curling in and out in an erratic rhythm. Feeling he could and should do anything, something, everything all at once. All the while he just couldn’t move a muscle.

"I am fine" Robbie offered around a bite. "thanks, I guess…"

Sportacus lifted his gaze and met Robbie’s calm eyes. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it still annoyed Sportacus a little. He decided to keep his usual pace, shaking off the whole ordeal with a few steps, stopping beside Robbie. 

"You are welcome!" he over articulated, hands landing on his hips with gusto. After a few beats of silence and forcing himself to calm down, Sportacus let his shoulders fall a little. "So what will you do on Christmas eve?"

The question seemed to fluster Robbie a little, like it was the most unpredictable thing to ask. Stuffing the remnants of his croissant down, he took a minute to answer as he sunk into the free armchair next to him.

"I have a night packed with programs with the most important person in my life." he offered, snickering delightedly as he plucked a cinnamon roll from the paper bag tossed on the table.

 "Oh" was everything that came out of Sportacus’ suddenly struggling lungs.

"With myself" Robbie elaborated between bites.

"Oh!" came the relief, surging to the surface without any difficulty.

Chapter Text

"Mr. Rotten!" Bessie screamed, her phone pinching between her chin and shoulders as she twirled around the lobby. "No. "Just hold on, honey," she quickly changed her tune.

Robbie was hiding under his table; if someone asked, he was working on a dirty spot on the wood; if no one asked, he wasn’t even present. To his misfortune, the woman had a sixth sense for sniffing him out when he was busy trying to avoid work.

 "What are you doing there?" she demanded, tapping her cobalt blue high heels.

 "There was this fl-"

 "Take care of it later, sweety, we have a problem."

And that meant that she had a problem, making it everyone's. "What might I help with" Robbie countered, too fast in his ascent he knocked his head into the thick wooden table. Hissing and gulping his most flowery curse down, he scrambled out of his ineffective hiding place.

The woman held onto her bag with one arm, still holding the phone, pointed towards the corner closest to the main door. "Something is wrong, please check if there is something smeared on the camera; it looks like fake snow."

So, in a sense, this was all Bessie’s fault.

Robbie knew the moment Sportacus walked in that something was off. The handyman spaced out; his intense stare was making Robbie itch. He laughed where he would normally chastise him for being crass. Robbie had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind urging him to get behind whatever was going on with Sportacus.

The whole Pete story was off too; next time he will interrogate mailbrat. Just in case. Robbie’s thumb pressed against the thick glass globe over the security camera. The darn white stuff was sticking like glue. Squinting, he worked harder at it until finally, the last fleck disappeared as well.

"There!" Robbie shouted, elated.

Task done, he felt the rickety ladder move and wobble under him, his mind scampering to catch up with reality. He lost balance, toppling backward, reaching for the faux pine in hope of slowing his descent. One breath, and time was consumed by his empty hands. He screwed his eyes shut.

Then, instead of the hard floor and pain, he felt the arms he had only fantasized about around him. He was plucked from the air without even a grunt, saving him from a hit that would have hurt like a bitch at best and shattered something at worst.

"Urgh" was his first sound leaving his chest. He was debating whether he should open his eyes or just remain motionless, hoping he had hit the floor and was now delirious.

"It’s okay," Sportacus reassured, and Robbie couldn’t deny the fact that he was at the mercy of the handyman. Hanging in his arms, that tightened a notch following his testament, tone filled with amusement. 

Easy, like it was nothing. Robbie was close to breaking his wrist from a small child falling when Sportacus swooped in with such ease and grace that Robbie once again debated if this was real. Cracking one eye open to see if this wasn’t the result of a concussion, his hands stayed close to his chest, and he found Sportacus staring at him.

With his broad smile and a hum in his chest, he caught Robbie's fall like it was nothing. A trinket that had fallen from a tree was caught and was now hanging from Sportacus’ impressive arms. Slowly, Robbie opened his other eye, fascinated and a tad angry at how he weighed nothing to the handyman.

"You are cute." Sportacus stated this with his chest.

Robbie watched the realization of the sentence sunk in Sportacus’ eye. His clear blue eye became distant for a second, and his chest stilled next to Robbie’s ribcage. It was shocking.

While it didn’t have the same effect on Robbie, he was still taken aback. He heard Sportacus call the kids cute, things pretty, and other things adorable. Never once had he used that word to describe Robbie. Now that the word was out, easy on his lips, Sportacus seemed stuck.

Now on the same level as the kids, being called cute did nothing for Robbie. He lied to himself. It was the same as the head pats he now got from the handyman. The same the children earned from him. A little anger built in his chest, but he willed it away. Whatever flustered Sportacus  was nothing but the headstrong and one track mind of a loyal to-a-fault man.

Robbie’s heart was picking up, and with a forced laugh, around the tight knot over his throat, he breathed out.

"First you laugh at me, and now you want to ridicule me too?" keeping stock still and willing his heart to be quiet. "That’s not very ‘I want to be friends to help you’ of you…" he said, narrowing his eyes. 

Sportacus spluttered something, moving with him, his hands tightening, and a jolt wandered down Robbie’s spine from the touch. As flat a tone as he could muster, he ordered the handyman to put him down.

"Is this for me?" Robbie asked, creating as much distance as he could. 

Robbie listened to the slight noises the man made. Putting the darn ladder away, getting the rag and balling it in his hands. Robbie watched every movement as he wolfed down the free croissant, and he willed his expression to remain as impassive as possible.

Hoping, he could calm his nerves, and his senses that were still ablaze from the man’s touch and how ridiculous was that. He had to make some distance; this was too much for his already tired mind, teetering on arguing at the man, to react like he usually did. But Sportacus wasn’t reacting like usual either; he was still and silent, occupied with anything but Robbie.

Sportacus was like a puppy. Knowing it and seeing it were two different things, though. Glancing up, he found the bumbling idiot, who usually couldn’t calm down, rooted to the floor. Face a myriad emotion in a breath, his smile wider and more forced than usual. Robbie's gaze fell to his hands, his fingers curling in. 

Kicked puppy, Robbie sighed, "I am fine" he offered around a bite. He forced calm over his features and made eye contact as Sportacus walked over to him. Playing along like a good friend would. "thanks I guess…" he replied, hoping their conversation would go back to normal now. 

"You are welcome!" came the very Sportacus-like answer.

Robbie glanced up to his side, the last piece of pastry go down. With everything going down, he couldn’t enjoy the taste while calculating what to say next. How to calm himself?

"So what will you do on Christmas eve?"

The question was so out of the blue. Who had last asked that? Gobbling up the croissant, he sunk to the empty chair, hoping for some distraction. He wasn’t planning anything; no one ever wanted to spend that time with him, and in return, he didn’t want to share that time either. For him, it was the same as all the other days of the year. Maybe a little less hectic with everyone else preoccupied.

If he said he was free, Sportacus might include him in something, and that was frightening.

"I have a night packed with programs with the most important person in my life." he lied, snickering delightedly at how easy it was. Miming calm and pretending to be uninterested while under all he was shaken, wanted to flee. Hide away; keep a secret that no one knows about.

Forcefully pulling his body up, he plucked a cinnamon roll from the paper bag tossed on the table.

"Oh" 

Robbie looked up, confused. Did that sound sad just now? Which part? Maybe Sportacus was onto him. "With myself," he added, hoping for a laugh.

Instead, it was relief as clear as day.

After that, they went back to their usual routine. Robbie destroyed the children in chess, who wailed and screamed at him. Until it became a genuine debate, at which point Robbie walked away, his back turned to Ziggy's mockery and Sportacus' reprimand.

Now, on the day before Christmas, the whole building was simmering with excitement. Crowding the lobby multiple times a day, making such a ruckus, made his tired brain itch. They had nothing for Sportcaus to do today; the foils he wanted to apply hadn't arrived yet, and everything else was taken care of, so he didn't need to show up. The film and the elevator door remained on that seemingly never-ending, but already handled, task list.

Keeping the promise he made on his first day back. Wasn’t he just perfect?

Robbie let his head fall into his popped-up hand. Fatigue was catching up with him again, and no amount of lazing around seemed to remedy it either. At one point he even cut back on his late night caffeine, he drank water for goddess sake.

His little finger slipped to the inner corner of his eye, pushing the skin and soft tissue of his undereye toward his nose. The dull pain anchored his mind as another resident joined the cavalcade of people. Getting ready to leave either the town or for some last, last minute shopping. Whichever it was, Robbie desperately wished they would all just disappear.

On the other hand, whenever he was left alone with his own thoughts, they were screaming and shouting at him. Like nails on a board, lamenting and belittling him for bending under the will of one man. One smiley man. Cursing his weakness, for letting him get closer.

Robbie saw how radiant, helpful, and kind he was from afar. He really didn't need it to be ingrained in his mind forever, given the close proximity they now shared. The handyman was bad with boundaries before, or he was deliberately knocking his walls down. No matter which, it was tiring Robbie out. Keeping up with this—half- half baked friends, whatever nonsense—made his mind and heart stumble. Stutter and come to a halt.

Worst of all, he dared to enjoy it. Shame only came to him in the moments of unfulfilled tension in his body. He denied it out of sheer willpower. Glanni’s words rang in his mind every time he felt the need surge in his muscles, remembering the touches, the smiles, and the tone of endearment Sportacus talked with. Everything was crumbling, and he was doing it to himself.

"Robbie?"

"Hm?" he asked, eyes still closed. his little finger rubbed under his eyes as he peeled his eyes open.

The blond kid hid behind Robbie’s table. Head lowered, he peered up at the receptionist. Oddly enough, he didn’t have any candy with him, a theme that became a pattern after Sportacus arrived, and took them under his ‘training regime’. Robbie followed the abstract moves the little guy made to get to his other side, which was more hidden from the lobby. Lowering on one knee, he swiped his makeshift cape away from his shoulder.

"I need h-"

"No," Robbie said as he shifted in his chair, his back to the child.

"Why?" the guy pestered, poking at his propped up arm aggressively. 

"I don’t want to, you are unbearable, I am too lazy, I don’t care" he counted "choose one…" he yawned.

The kid, Ziggy, stood abruptly, giving up the whole hiding business. He stomped around Robbie once again, hands balled at his sides, cheeks puffing. Full picture of a pissed-off kid.

"You help Stephanie all the time!" he accused.

"I do not." Robbie closed his eyes, the headache he'd been nursing for hours now sharpening with each word from the kid.

"You do. You do. YOU DO!"

"Shut it!" Robbie hissed, moving fast to tower over the little boy. Teeth grinding, he exhaled at the wide eyes staring at him.

Maybe this could have solved his problem before. Before he showed his weakness. Before they started to demolish his walls and worm their freaking noisy and unbearable way into his heart. And the kid knew, they smelled weakness.

So Ziggy narrowed his eyes, lifting his eyebrows to hide behind his ridiculous bangs. With his hands on his hips and his half smile, he was a small copy of Sportacus. "I have something you want to have."

Robbie hesitated, his temples pounding with pain as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, his breath leaving him in a hurry.Darn, freaking children. "I doubt that," he mocked, urging his muscles to move.

"I do; I know you want this a lot!" he said it again, more deliberately than before.

Robbie sighed "What is it?" he asked, defeatedly leaning back against the table.

"Will you help me?"

"Tell me what it is"

"No, you’ll just take it then," Ziggy said smartly, bouncing on his heels.

Shielding his eyes from the lights, Robbiee pushed down the pain behind his eyelids. He was a hundred percent sure whatever Ziggy had had no value to him. No importance for Robbie. But on the off chance that it was something he wanted, he mused, trickery didn’t work; now maybe being overly kind will.

Leaning to the side, like he wanted to have a little secretive chat, he waved Ziggy over. "Look, kid, I like you; you look smart." he gulped down the distaste following his words. "I reeeeealy want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what it is." see, a solid argument.

Ziggy squinted at him. His tiny round face was pinching with disbelief, as if he'd sprouted wings or something."Don’t do that…"

"Urgh…" he shook his head, angrily tussling his hair, which helped his nerves but worsened his headache. Wide forced smile he leaned back to the kid’s eye level "what. do. you. want?"

"What did, what did Stephanie pre-prepare as a gift?" Ziggy even blushed.

"I don’t know," he deadpanned.

Ziggy's eyes rounded, widening as he nearly screamed, "NO, YOU DO."

"I don't," he said emphatically, if a little sarcastic he couldn't fault himself. "she didn't show or tell me; all she wanted was for me to keep them."

He became paler "You liar…"

"True, true. But I am telling the truth now." Robbie patted the small boy's shoulders, destroying all his hopes. "So the thing I...," tears welled up in her eyes. Ziggy was close to wailing and Robbie wasn’t ready for a kid’s hysterics right now. "Why do you need to know?"

Sniffling Ziggy rubbed his eye "her present must be good, I d-dont have anything."

Kids and their stupid problems. "Make her cookies or something…"

"Nooooo…" the child’s lower lip trembled.

"Look, I can’t help; I have nothing else…"

Ziggy was crestfallen, his shoulders rounding in on himself and shaking from the suppressed tears. Robbie had no idea what to do or say. He wasn’t great at comforting; he wasn’t great at basic human interactions. This was on advanced level. But he knew someone who was. He rummaged around in his pocket, his fingers utterly uncoordinated.

After some fumbling, he fished his phone from his pocket, hastily unlocking it and calling ‘blue buffon’.

The line clicked unbelievably fast, "Robbie!" Sportacus sounded happy.

"Yeah, no." and he pushed the phone to Ziggy. "Ask him." with that, he felt done.

Leaning over the table, he rested his head on his crossed arms. His forehead rubbing against the soft material of his shirt, he wished he had gone back to his room when he had the chance. Now he had to suffer watching a kid get gradually happier with each exchange of words from the one person Robbie could constantly rely on. A notion that hurt him more than gave him comfort. Under all the ruckus going on, he heard the soft and deep tone of Sportacus, and like balm on his mind, he fought with all his might to push away any idea in the wake of the voice.

Or the memory of his last time passing out. In a blink, in the company of the man. He had no doubt that he could also ask for help; he could reach out. Sportacus would share anything he found helpful, move a mountain. With his physique, he could do it too. Robbie choked the bubling chuckle down following the mental image. Sighing into the crook of his elbow, when he said he didn't want Sportacus' help, he was honest. But realizing that he might need it was worse than a gut punch.

He could ask him to get a good night's sleep, warm and bright as the sun. To hold him, to talk him into a dream that would last longer than any of his nightmares. Pathetic. He mocked himself, quickly clearing his mind of his fantasies and urging away the phantom sensation on his skin from the day before. One or two more days , maybe until the end of the year, and they won't meet as frequently, and he can go back to his old 'normal' self. He just had to wait this out.

A few minutes pass and Robbie had already given up on any feasible thing he might have wanted from Ziggy when the kid finally ended the call.

"Here!" he chirped his jest back.

Robbie took his phone, tapping away on the screen, and made sure the call ended. Letting the device hit the table, he peered over his arm at the kid. "Fess up, what is that I want?"

"Oh! " Ziggy jumped. "Your food is here!" he pointed towards the door.

And sure enough, his smirking sexercise partner stood there with a plastic bag, shaking it slightly towards him. "That is it?"

"You wanted it a lot, right?"

Robbie had a hunch that the naive question hid a sinister little prank, but he was over it. He stood up and simply left the kid behind, storming over to the door. He almost tore it off its hinges.

"Hi!"

"Don’t!" Robbie pulled on the plastic bag with his free hand, stopping when his phone went off. 

The screen flashed with the words ‘annoying prick’. "That’s how you saved my number?!" the culprit standing right before him laughed so hard that he almost pulled the bags back.

"What are you going on about?" Robbie snapped the bag, hoping none of his food spilled.

"Tested to see if it works." the 'prick' said lightheartedly, leaning in as he tapped on the screen. "Tomorrow I am free."

Robbie grimaced, but a traitorous thing lurking behind his punding pain seized the opportunity. He smirked back, smothering it. "Good for you."

Chapter Text

Robbie’s mind spiraled all night. From one pestering idea to another anxiety fuelled nightmare. For every moment he could call sleep, he had two moments of agony from being awake.Going as far as actually lying down in his bed, pulling the cover over himself. It took him around three minutes before the slight irritation from the sheet touching his skin bloomed into a scratch against his nerves.

Cold or warm, with or without pants. Pillow over his head in desperation, nothing helped. He was aggressively battling his own thoughts. Intrusive or not, they swirled, manifested, then ridiculed him. From the littlest thing of being stupid for not being able to sleep to the guilt he felt over fantasizing about sex with someone. It's not bad in and of itself; it's fine and normal, the most normal thing about him if he had to choose.

The abnormality and the repressed emotions came when the person working over and into him slowly morphed into someone with dirty blond locks, a piercing blue pair of eyes, and a ridiculous mustache. When that built body moved over him with unreasonable stamina and determination, he imagined those callous and warm fingers eating into his skin and bones.

Whenever he recognized Sportacus in the midst of his self-serving imaginations, his throat clenched, and the blood that rushed down turned to ice in his body. Leaving him with his chest heaving, drenched, and disgusting, while his mind mocked him relentlessly for amplifying his little crush into a full-blown affection.

"Fuck..." he uttered into the darkness of the dawn.

He was lying on his side, his arms dangling over the edge of the bed. The low static of the TV in the living room accompanied his suffering with its white noise, buzzing at the edges of his consciousness. With his gaze on his fingers, he watched them twitch from the odd position he forced his hands into. The off-white gauze, which had become more of a decoration and reminder than anything else, only reinforced his belief in his utter defeat.

Keeping the thing on just for the memory of a touch. Lower than scum. How far had he fallen? His eyes watered, his vision swam slightly, and he tried to focus on his phone left on the floor. Robbie's cheekbones pressed into his mattress, adding to the many sensations tingling his nerves.

He knew what the phone was—an out. An easy and fast remedy, something he could use whenever, but he willed it away. Ignoring his growing frustration, finding no outlet for it, and guilting himself only made things worse. He could. No one could put it against him later. He had no one. No one to look after or wait for.

Robbie grasped for the phone with his left hand, effectively rolling off the bed and hitting his knees with a hiss. Cursing, he rubbed against his face again. Cold and silent, the phone waited to be used. Crudely ridiculing the man, but ready to serve. At least that’s how Robbie’s insomnia-ridden mind interpreted the black screen.

He grabbed it, leaning over the dusty mattress. The light of the screen coming alive hurt his eyes. Blinking a few times, the time read a little after three; it never stopped either of them until now. Flipping through his call history, he stopped. He felt his heart pick up at the names, the last person on the list being the prick, but right under: "Blue buffoon."

Time crawled in the silence, the light of the screen dimming after a few elongated minutes. But still crystal clear there stood the proof that Robbie reached out to Sportacus, and he eagerly answered. To find a babbling child on the other end. Robbie tapped the phone’s edge against the mattress.

He played with the idea of calling the handyman instead; he could be a chimney next to his slowly breaking body.

  "You are cute."  

Bullshit.

"Bullshit," he panted into his freezing fingers.

The snow relented, but the weather turned colder with each passing day. The wind was more merciless, rushing between the houses, forcing the populous to either stay at home or bundle in ridiculous amounts of clothes. Or, it might have been his fatigue catching up to him.

Letting a breath out, he marched in place, debating his next move. Originally, he came out to get some fresh, chilly air, hoping to collect himself after a sleepless night. He felt tight inside and out, his mind coiling with thoughts that were out for his life. Body giving in to the lethargy, sluggish, almost drunk from the lack of sleep.

Slouching forward, he willed the headache away, with little success, trying his best to ignore the seasonal joy and the flashing lights all around the road. Christmas, the season of love—yeah, wasn’t that the headline for every holiday? A big cash grab, that was it.

Stephanie once said that he was the Grinch. That was the greatest compliment ever. Robbie snickered when she shared, her little face reddening from shame. When her scheme to poke fun at him failed, she used her other, now beloved, tactic: smartly bringing Sportacus up in any conversation.

"Bullshit," he repeated, shaking the cold off. He took one step before stopping.

With his vision swimming, he still caught the new mailbrat walking on the other side with ease. Dressed down, perhaps on an off day, the thick denim jacket he wore looked odd on him. Robbie thought he looked younger. Speaking of odd, he took a step to corner the guy, a sprout of glee in his chest as he imagined the pitiful guy trying to get out of Robbie’s trap.

"What is bullshit?"

Robbie’s heart almost stopped, leaping to his throat. Slipping on the icy road, he scrambled to stand straight again. Small hands trying to help his balance, Stephanie looked shaken and amused at the same time.

"Don’t sneak around me!" he barked, slapping some non-existent dirt from his coat to anchor himself.

"I called out to you three times," she said, rolling on her feet back and forth. "So what is it?"

Robbie blinked a few times, his mind coming back to life. He looked back to the other side, his target already gone, and he shrugged. "Whatever, go inside; it's cold," he said, exhaling rather than fully forming the words.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked instead. Her eyes narrowed, her brows knotted, and she moved in closer. Sniffing, she asked, "Are you smoking?"

"I sure as hell want to when you are around," he retorted, stepping back, "getting on my nerves and all." he pushed her back toward the Plaza, her sweater already too cold for a child.

"That’s bad for you." she repeated herself from their first meeting: "Smoking makes your life shorter."

"Good, that’s the idea," he said, laughing humorlessly, bouncing back as Stephanie dug in her heels.

She nicked her head back, looking at him.A stern look on her face, a serious tone she only kept for smart conversation with Bessie "Don’t joke about that."

And now he can’t. Not after her eyes seemed watery and she was forcefully keeping him from getting inside until he said sorry for joking about it. Hands fisted, she almost hit him, stopping and pouting some when Robbie finally agreed to never tell a joke like that again.

Even in the lobby, the air between them is filled with something Robbie fears. A shiver ran down his spine, leaving him colder than when he was outside. Being scolded by a child was not the first time, nor will it be the last, but there was genuine pain and anger in those stern eyes staring at him.They sat in silence; she did nothing to fill this time but sit in the chair next to her heaps of clothing.

Sighing, Robbie rolled his thumb into the soft part of his temple, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. "Why are you here?" he said, glancing up and finding the girl fidgeting with something. "Don’t you have some Christmas shi-stuff to do?"

She pouted even more, knees drawn to her chest in the wide armchair, and hummed, "We're going out to meet some relatives... she lowered her legs, eyes on the carpet.

"Visiting your parents?" he asked, keeping his distance. Robbie leaned against his table.

Stephanie shrugged, turning her head in defiance. "No, some important people," she explained, shaking her head. Standing, she rummaged around her pile of clothes. "Here"

She trodded over to Robbie, holding up a slim package with the most vomit-inducing wrapping paper. She pinched it at the corner and flapped it. "Merry Christmas." her enthusiasm, which Robbie was used to, dimmed a little from their discussion.

Robbie took the gift, as a gut wrenching guilt ate away his soul, her bright smile stolen by an ill joke made by him. Contrary to popular belief, he did not despise children; in fact, he couldn't care less. He was fine with them if they were silent and left him alone. But this pink little bug, he huffed, managed to worm its way into his heart with pestering and childish wonder, and he hated himself for it.

"I can’t t-" "Just say sorry and thank you like normal people," she ordered. Stance tall, her hands on her waist she demanded.

Patting the shiny wrapping with his fingers, Robbie rolled his eyes at the girl but granted her wish. Normalcy flowed back into their conversation after that. Even under the calm, Robbie felt anxious, the present mocking him in its sparkling wrapping, a reminder that today was a day to spend with people you could at least tolerate. Being alone was fine with him; he preferred it that way. With every repeated mantra of these being temporary, he lied a little, hiding the fact that he was letting people get closer. Much closer than tolerating.

"Take the other gifts you store here," he offered, leaving his present on the table.

Stephanie brightened, "Can I come in?"

His little lair must have piqued her interest, with curiosity taking away any other emotion. She kept to Robbie’s side and waited eagerly at the door.

"It’s nothing amazing; also, don't just go in strangers' houses," Robbie warned. Opening the door and leaving it so, she stepped in, and her glee didn’t die down.

Oddly enough, she seemed amused. "It’s so like you" she moved over to the shelves full with boards. 

Trying not to take her observation as an attack, he pulled her gift bags from the depths of his closet. "Don’t wander; just take your stuff."

"You won trophies!" she exclaimed as she pulled one from the shelf, coughing as the dust she had disturbed fell on her face.

"I did, now leave."

"You are a... international master?!" she squealed, holding the small golden trophy up. "That's good, right?"

Robbie took the thing and tossed it to the side, letting it roll and clank on the floor, ushering the girl towards his door in the same motion. "Nothing big. Go away already. 

"Ah, but!" she fought a little, giggling, when Robbie picked her up and put her outside his door.

"You keep Milford waiting," he pointed out, finding the politician in the lobby.

He was aimlessly turning around, looking a little anxious, and dressed sharply. His usual suit was left behind for the dark, tailored three-piece.

Robbie looked at him suspiciously. He'd never seen him dress like this before; it had to be important wherever they were going.

"Stephanie!" rather than being elated to see his niece, his voice was wavering.

"Sorry!" she said in the same beat, running towards her relative.

"I told you to wait here, right?" his tone shifted to a calmer one, but it was still too strained for Robbie’s ears.

"I just, Robbie gave me my gifts back." She showed the gift bags with a hopeful chime in her voice.Puffing her cheeks when Milford ruffled her hair "Hey!"

"That’s great." Milford smiled finally, turning to Robbie again. "Thank you for taking care of her" his usual bumbling tone back he touched his earlobes, smiling the strain still there softened a little.

With a question on his lips, he huffed as the pair fumbled around with their stuff, bundled in hundreds of layers against the cold. "It’s whatever"

-

Late in the afternoon, when spending a major holiday alone, Sportacus would fill his time with his routine things. He was pushing against the hardwood floor, his fingers fanning out as he finished his last push-up rep. A good exercise would always calm his mind, and right now he desperately needed it.

Sweat collected at the back of his neck and dropped to the floor, the sound loud in his empty apartment. The appliance counting back from his next interval time is the only other noise. Working out was good for almost everything—health, happiness, and distraction. But right now, even when he pushed against the floor once again with gusto, it didn’t help.

Since yesterday, he couldn’t take his mind off the feeling that surged to the surface without a warning, hitting him like a ton of bricks. Making his night unbearable and leaving him disoriented in the morning. He held his plank, taking a deep breath to calm himself, and debated if it was really so out of the blue. 

Every morsel of his body and soul was screaming the answer at him. Sportacus didn't want to deny it, but he also didn't want to acknowledge it. What would he do if it were true, if he liked Robbie?

His knees hit the floor. Still leaning on his hands, he blinked a few times. He did like Robbie, didn’t he?

With all the mockery, tricks, and nasty language. His laugh, the way he talked with people, how he had a mask for everyone The one in store for Stephanie slipping up more than once, his personality shining through. His sensitive soul.

Sportacus sat on his ankles, an arm wiping sweat from his face as laughter left his chest without his approval. Equipment beeping away to continue his workout was but a whisper behind the revelation. When did he start to have these feelings? Harboring them for this long to now betray Robbie’s hard-earned friendship.

Again, he laughed to himself. Wandering around his flat, his gaze was drawn to the dark blue coat hanging at his door.

"That’s Robbie’s friend."

How shocking was it when Stephanie nonchalantly told him that a man who was all over Robbie was his friend? That friend who came back and touched the man all over He was never chastised for it, unlike Sportacus, who was repeatedly told not to touch or follow. That guy was never rejected outright, was he?

"I can lend a hand with much more; I could jerk you off."

He wasn’t bad-looking; he was tall and had hungry smiles. Sportacus felt a heat build behind his ears, an itch that made him restless. The same feeling he felt whenever Robbie showed his tender side to anyone. Anyone but him. That’s not true, his mind added, recalling a hazy memory of the doorman petting his head and talking down to him like Sportacus was a child. A show of care, a man who always wanted to be even, left with nothing to owe.

Scoffing at himself, he made a mental note that Robbie might like him, in his clumsy and abstruse way. Finding his heart fluttering at the idea, he pulled his hand over his face, warm from more than the workout. Chiding himself for being so slow to catch on, and realize his own feelings.

Even when the first call came, when he saw him again, wasn’t Robbie the one who started his heart anew? Wasn’t he the one who made him excited just by calling, evoking elation in his chest when the phone showed his name? Feeling a fond smile widening when the phone was handed off to a child in need of help.

He looked down at his open palm, and leaning to his side, he let out a sigh.

"Don’t touch me so much!"

Sportacus replied that he would escape otherwise, and he was correct. Other than the injury, he was afraid Robbie would disappear if he let go. He would make them never meet again, hide away, and find a way to avoid Sportacus forever. The clever little thing.

Standing slowly, he made the workout app stop, irritation bubbling up again over the sweet feelings he cradled close to his heart. The ‘friend’ told Robbie this while caressing the man—a familiarity between them that rubbed Sportacus the wrong way.

"Let me help you relax."

"..but it’s too cold, so you can stay for now."

If anything, he was the one, Sportacus, who could make Robbie fall asleep just by being by his side. He was the one who made the grumpy and socially inept man guardless. Not someone who showed up once in a while to take a bite.

The mental image awoken by the analogy was filthy and hit him out of nowhere. Never had he imagined Robbie with anyone in those scenarios; now it was a clear vision in his head, tearing at his resolve. His hands balled over the counter, anger and strain all directed at the coat. It fit. Until yesterday, when he felt Robbie under his fingers and realized who the coat might belong to, he was fine.

Now envy suffocated him. Someone having Robbie’s trust, him being close in a way Sportacus could only imagine was waging a war against his heart. As time slipped by, he wanted to see the doorman. If he left things as they were, he wouldn’t meet him until next year. Maybe between the holidays, but that wasn’t enough. For confirmation, he lied to himself, his one-track mind set on a plan.

One day without the conniving smile, Sportacus felt lost. Stupid. 

His phone blinked to life next to him, a notification from his mother flashing. Wishing him a nice Christmas Eve from Iceland. Fingers tapping away on the screen, he halted shortly.

"with the most important person in my life."

Was it worth suffering the man’s wrath to see him at least once more? Robbie clearly didn’t want anyone there with him. Isolating himself out of whatever conviction The mere idea made Sportacus happy—a silly happiness of the type where you couldn’t pinpoint the cause or the outcome. Energized, he looked for an excuse, something that would be a good thing to fall back on. And the thing that was causing so much trouble until now was just the thing.

With a bounce in his step, he pulled the dark blue coat from the rack, shaking it slightly. Triumph over someone whose name he didn’t know rushed over him. Against his better judgment, he made a plan.

Four hours later, he was ready. Freshly showered, shaven, and wearing some nicer clothes, he felt like he was about to go on a date. It's a shame the other party didn’t know about it yet or didn’t want it. Rather than discouraging himself, he cheered himself on. If he didn’t act, he would never know, and he had to desperately know.

Lacing his boots, he checked his phone again. Other than family greetings and some mandatory company mail, no one reached out. He had some things planned for the LazyPlaza, if the film for the windows ever arrived. He debated whether he should contact Robbie but decided against it. Knowing the man, he would escape if Sportacus said he wanted to spend Christmas together.

Just like he did the other day, inventing a useless program. Hopefully. Even a grump as big as Robbie had to have some family or friends to spend the night with. The notion made him get ready faster. He wanted to be his friend.

Dragging the coat after him, he folded it over his arm. Running down the stairs, once again checking the time. It's neither too late nor too early. If he was sent away, he could still salvage the situation. Sportacus gulped down the excitement, and after taking a few steps in the dark street, he saw no one. All the windows twinkled with warmth, and so did his heart.

Strides long and fast he took to the streets in hurry. Eager to see what Robbie would say to seeing him this evening. Already chuckling about the clever curses the man would conjure. Giddy and stupidly vain in his feelings, Sportacus made the fifteen-minute bike ride in twenty minutes by foot.

The Plaza stood as high as always, the outer decorations a little cold against the colorful interior. The majority of the windows here, like the others, were painted in warm yellows or twinkled with Christmas lights. Sportacus smiled, slowing his steps. He took a calming breath, and with a hop in his stride, he walked up to the main door. Even from the street front, he could take out almost everything inside, and now Bessie’s concern made more sense.

Sportacus closed the main door behind him, letting the lobby’s warmth wash over him. Fidgety, he made a mental note to call the foil company. Shaking his hands, he let the dark coat fall onto the nearest piece of furniture. Like he had some kind of boundary before him, he stood at the edge of the carpet, slapping his hands together softly.

But Sportacus wasn’t afraid of anything; he even told the kids multiple times. again, berating himself softly for his arrogance. Drawing strength from his cockiness, he pinched himself and stopped before Robbie’s door. His hand faltered momentarily, then he knocked hard and loud.

Excitement mixed with a tint of fear. Sportacus listened to the shuffling inside. He kept his ears open for any words, but all he heard was a slight grunt before the cylinder turned and the door opened.

A spell befell Sportacus as he stood at the edge of the apartment with soles rooted into the floor. Describing the emotion was hard; he didn’t try as his jaw slacked and he felt his lips part like a fish out of water. Eyes raking over the expanse of pale skin before him.

"I told you the door was o-" Robbie wasn't much better, his mouth agape, his tired eyes wide, and his words cut by shock.

Topless, he was leaning against the doorframe, the expanse of his abdomen calling Sportacus’ attention, and he couldn’t stop his wandering eyes. Undefined but sleek lines guided his stare downwards, where the silky material of the pajamas hung low.

Sportacus gulped, his fingers still tightening, hanging in the air. He gulped, the knot in his throat sharpening with the hurried inhale because, in the shallow light, the shiny material outlined a prominent erection. His mouth went dry. His heart picking up in shame, he blinked a few times before lifting his gaze to the ceiling.

"WHAT the HELL are you doing here?" Robbie screamed, understandably. Closing the door just a crack and hiding

Not soon enough, for Sportacus noticed the full-body flush that dusted the pale man’s shoulders or the high cheekbones darkening, and if he had to bet, he wasn’t much better. His clothes suddenly became too tight, his beanie too hot, and his neck itched, but he kept looking at the ceiling.

"I-well- it's-I mean" he coughed, sweating like he just ran a marathon, his mind reciting every little blemish it could catch in the split minute of ogling Robbie.

Collecting himself Sportacus cleared his throat again, finding Robbie gone from the crack. Leaving him in an existential crisis. He did not have to realize that on top of liking the man, he was very, horribly attracted to his body. That was a tidbit he could have waited to realize, maybe a month into trying to convince the man to imitate dating with him. As much as he hated coercion, he would go there headfirst to make Robbie see him as a potential partner.

Now. Well, now this has become a more delicate topic. Boiling hot, his blood surged to his face, and his fingertips felt scorching hot, so he shook them. Hoping the sensation would cease. But it worsened tenfold.

Robbie emerged once again, now donning a striped nightrobe, held together by his crossed arms. He slouched forward, his eyes darting all over the place.

Sportacus missed some of the color from the face, a pang deep in his chest lamenting and urging him to make it a shade darker once again.

"Did something happen?" his voice was strained, and he looked shorter than usual. Curled in on himself, Robbie was a ball of anxiety and fear.

"N-" Robbie snapped before he could finish his denial.

"Then WHY are YOU HERE?" he whisper-shouted, a hiss at the end of his sentences.

Time in the lobby was like molasses in Sportacus’ mind, slowly dripping and melting as he cleared his throat for the tenth time. His own excitement and anxiety fed off of Robbie's, who was still looking at him questioningly. The doorman’s face was progressively getting more impatient with every silent breath shared between them. Perhaps Sportacus was surprised, he thought, laughing at himself, that despite everything,

Despite the biting tone of Robbie the clear dismissal and anger in his tone. Sportacus, by some wondrous magic, still found him cute. And some other assortment of adjectives he rather not share on the spot. He sorted his thoughts quickly, forcing calm over himself.

He had come at the wrong moment if the man was, well, intimate with himself and got caught off guard by Sportacus. His irritation was understandable, but it was normal; it was a fine thing. He urged his mind to purge the images it conjured up about Robbie on the spot. Working hard at how to proceed instead.

"I wanted to -" he gulped, eyes wandering from Robbie’s face towards his waist and back up involuntary "wish you a Merry Christmas"

"That’s it?" Robbie asked incredulously, almost in hysterics. "Great! Good! You, too!" he exclaimed as he took a step closer.

Sportacus took a step back instinctively. Flinching when the doorman started to bodily push him toward the main door. Confused, he looked down at the man, who was trying to push him away with his full body weight. Achieving nothing as Sportacus stood in place stubbornly.

His mind finally clearing a little, his analytical side clicked with a surge of painful stabs against his heart: "Were you waiting for someone?"

Robbie stopped, straightening; he avoided Sportacus’ eyes. Hands falling inside his robe’s pockets. "None of your business."

He was right. It wasn’t Sportacus’ business, but he wanted to make it his. He realized with a tiny exhale, his hand moving toward the open robe, hinting at a nipple hidden beneath, that he had no time to check out with the attention Sportacus believed it deserved.

With the winter wind in his wake, another man joined them in the lobby. Talking to himself, he mumbled about something, good humor coloring his tone. He closed the door behind him, familiar food bags hanging from his hands. For now, he didn’t acknowledge their presence. His coat’s hood was over his head, and he shook himself a little.

When he finally looked up, his eyes went comically wide too. "Oh," he laughed in the stand still of the lobby. "You shouldn’t have come out; I know the way," he told Robbie directly, before turning to Sportacus. "Hi there," he said amiably, "again," with a little more emotion behind it.

Sportacus watched the man. The assurance in his step as he closed the gap, his smile widening when he noticed the dark blue coat laying on the chair to his right, made Robbie seem lost for words and just stand by his side. Sportacus could almost hear the gears frantically turning in his head. When he finally spoke up, it was like ice water over Sportacus’ head.

"He is leaving; just go ahead." He nicked his thumb toward his apartment. Voice cracking up here and there, and it sent Sportacus’ mind into a panic reaction.

"I ha-" "Why don’t you introduce us?" the stranger asked.

Knowing an emotion by name and by feel, Sportacus found out it was nothing compared to the surge in him when he realized the real one. Hiding its ugly face under the false pretense of naiveté. Parading as an innocent and soft comparison of longing for something someone else had. Boiling with rage over something he believed he possessed.

Sportacus felt a protective rush take him when the cocky stranger sunk his hand under the robe enveloping Robbie’s form. Claiming the doorman with a cheshire smile. Mirth was clear on his features when the doorman tore his hand away from his skin.

"It’s not important," Robbie hissed, "go to the flat."

"My name is Sportacus Álfur," Sportacus said, holding his hand between the two men and forcing a smile.

"He is not i-" Robbie cut again. "Yeah, I am the ‘ Annoying Prick’ right?" the hungry smile turned more wolfish, leaving Sportacus hanging. The prick turned to Robbie, ignoring Sportacus again.

"Great!" Robbie flailed, "Aquenticed and everything, Sportacus is going so"

"Actually, there is this thing that Bessie called in." Sportacus lied. Clumsily too.

Robbie looked at him, confusion on his tired face, his dark circles showing more prominently now that the color had left his cheeks. Holding up his arm, his elbow kept the man away at his side.

Heat built behind Sportacus’ eyelids from an irrational anger when the self-proclaimed prick broke the barrier without hesitation and leaned into Robbie’s personal space again. Mouth close to the doorman’s ears, he whispered something.

Earning a punch to the gut from Robbie. Sportacus stepped back a few paces, shocked at the suddenly angry display. It didn’t seem to have any effect; if anything, it amused the man who grabbed the wrist. The one battered a few weeks ago, without care.

Robbie’s hiss of pain made him move. Without much resistance from his mind, he tore the man away a few paces from Robbie. Grabbing him by his lapel, even with his taller structure, Sportacus had no problem making space between the men.

"Sorry, I need Robbie for this, so if you could," he smiled, pissed off beyond measure when he didn’t get any validation for his anger from the prick.

"Christmas Eve?" the stranger looked over at him, swiping Sportacus’s hand from his collar. "Really?"

Sportacus stood the amused look, hoping his own giving little of his anger away. Not showcasing his deep jealousy, unwarranted as he had no claim over anything of Robbie’s. A protective flame still raged in his chest from the careless touch on the pale skin and the way this prick slipped under Robbie’s walls and Sportacus’ skin in the same smooth motion.

Robbie, who was a bystander to this whole charade until now, finally joined the off discussion. Fumbling with his words at first, then he found his usual tone. Fatigue rolled off his shoulders in waves, and Sportacus could tell he was over his limit.

"You," he said, motioning to the newcomer, "take your coat and leave." He heaved a sigh. "I bet you have some backup on that busy line of yours!"

The jerk had fully turned, his hand lifting to swipe the doorman's jawline, but he missed when Robbie stepped away. "You're no fun," he laughed, "but have your way; no one can say I'm not a gentleman." He shrugged and grabbed Robbie's neck. Pulling him in, he kissed him on the cheek, missing his lips.

"Hey!" Sportacus wanted to push the man off, but Robbie did it before him.

Harrumphing when Robbie hit him again and Sportacus’ rumble of warning "I’ll take that as my Christmas gift."

"Fuck off!" were Robbie’s final words to the man. He turned toward Sportacus, who tried his hardest to ignore the glare burning his skin. "You shut up!"

Flinching Sportacus did, standing still and glaring daggers at the prick who pulled his coat from the armchair. Adding fuel to Sportacus’ already raging fire He ground his teeth and felt his jaw flex when the pair exchanged some parting words, still too close for his comfort. Not that Robbie should have cared about his comfort; he had nothing of the man’s.

The main door closed with a dim thud, and Sportacus heard the key turn and jingle as Robbie walked back toward him. With each step, he felt shame triumph over his jealous anger. Each breath until the doorman’s under dressed form would come in view he would have to lie again. Or confess everything and bury himself under his rapidly growing embarrassment. Childish greed over something that didn’t belong to him

"So?" Robbie asked, stopping before him.

Sportacus could only see his dark slippers peeking under the silk material of his pants. It was high time to say something. Anything. At this point, Sportacus debated whether simply thinking of a malfunction in the basement would save him from the embarrassment.

Coughing again, he cleared his throat, lifting his gaze to meet Robbie’s. Irritation clear on his tired features, Robbie waited patiently. Arms crossed before his chest, this time no care about he was still showing off. Robe's eyes were open, and a flash of what Sportacus had seen before played on his mind. Willing his thoughts away, he grasped for a solution.

"There is a draft in the basement, Bessie w-"

"I told you you are a lousy liar." Robbie’s sentence petered out; a warning in his tone. He pushed his weight from one leg to the other.

Sportacus flinched a little, his hand landing on his nape, and he looked up at the ceiling. Eyes following the light twinkling inside the lobby over the faux boa he put up. Stalling for time, originally he came to spend a little time, to map out his options, to see if his feelings were true. Dig to see how Robbie would react.

"I brought the coat back," he ended, telling the truth, his gaze moving back to Robbie’s unimpressed face, "and to say Merry Christmas."

Robbie’s brows knotted in confusion, and leaning forward, he frowned, "So why the f- heck did you lie?" he sighed, his irritation clear in his words. "Why show up and ruin my night?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Out of pity?"

"No, no Robbie, I wanted to" he bit the end of the sentence "whatever I am happy I came this guy clearly wanted to use you, as a friend I" Sportacus' heartbeat quickened, a righteous rage returning. Why didn’t Robbie see that he wanted to protect him—didn't the guy hurt him? Pester him all the time. His unwanted advances -

"Because we are friends?" Robbie laughed humorlessly, pulling his mouth into a lopsided grin. A miniscule shake of his chin translated the utter confusion in the man. One hand came off the tight lock to swat away the blatant idiocy that Sportacus presented in his opinion. "He is my friend too."

Sportacus’ fist balled, his nails biting into the plush of his palm, holding back from touching Robbie, who looked like he would keel over any minute now. Crumple like the day he fell on the street. Pale and angry and upset. With a retort on his lips, Sportacus said what he regretted right after saying, "he is no friend of yours if the only thing he wants is to get into your pants."

It came out in a rushed dance of thoughts. Too late cures correct; it was out. Sportacus knew how it sounded and that he had no say in this. How selfish and hurtful those words were. Still, he couldn’t take it back, and he found—to his own shock—that he didn’t want to. He meant it. The sober thought of where this put Sportacus, what he was to Robbie. If this man, who seemed to know him intimately, was not his friend.

Someone Robbie was clearly waiting for. Door open. Ready. 

Sportacus raked his hand over his hair out of habit, tearing his beanie off. He watched the garment in his hands. He gripped it tightly, hoping it would rip and release some of his tension.

"Well," Robbie said, slapping his arms against his side.Opening his robe up again, his chest was a shade darker from embarrassment, and Sportacus didn’t find any enjoyment in that. " that’s the type of friends I have," he rambled.

Sportacus didn’t want to hear it. "Robbie-"

"The ones with benefits," he said, stepping to the side and gesticulating aimlessly in the lobby."The ones you call sex friends," he said, his tone now tinged with justice with no malice but unbridled disappointment. "And that’s my business," he whispered, strained, his hand tapping against his chest. "None of yours." he straightened, standing tall again.

He was right, of course; somewhere deep in the rational part of his brain, the one that always had the best advice, Sportacus knew. But the one on top, the one that only saw that Robbie was again working against himself. Isolating himself from those who loved him, taking the wrong path

"I care for you, Robbie; you don’t have to do this."

"But I want to," Robbie said, stepping closer, his robe moving behind him. "I want to," he reiterated, nodding along with the sentiment. "I want to be held by someone who doesn’t care, who will just give and take." he wasn’t holding anything back now. "So we are even, clear, and simple."

He towered over Sportacus, and his irritated tone gradually changed with each word uttered to one that was softer and more deliberate."I don't need, nor do I want you to play the hero," he gulped, his words cutting like blades against Sportacus. "Where there is no victim to save," he now hit Sportacus across the chest with his fist.

Even if Sportacus wanted to, he couldn’t stop Robbie now that he was letting everything out, things that seemed to have been bothering him for months, if not years. Weighting against his chest now all thrown at Sportacus. 

So Sportacus didn’t say anything and didn’t cut in. Feeling the distress build in Robbie, he let him let everything out.

"Are you happy now?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "You have made me miss out on good, oh, fantastic sex for what?" He lamented, pacing up and down with a stutter in his step.

Listening to it did hurt Sportacus, a traitorous part of him rejoicing about the part where he hindered it, another screaming in agony knowing that it had happened. And he had no right. He had no right, but he still willed the tinier, sober voice to hush.

"For what?" He shook his head again. "To tell me Merry Christmas? To greet me?" Now his bare chest was in the open, with all the erratic gesticulation that lifted and fell, with anger building again.

"Yes," Sportacus said with conviction, causing Robbie to back away a few steps like he had hit him. "I- look I am sorry" he wasn’t, not for what Robbie wanted him to apologize for. And the doorman knew him too well.

Robbie’s face contorted in a disbelieving smile, a little rush of air leaving his heaving chest. "Yeah," he nodded a few times, smile widening, he smacked his lips "great" he said, his eyes widening, slightly rolling. " now I am exhausted, frustrated, angry, AND lonely," he scoffed. "Congratulations, and Merry Christmas to you as well," he shrugged again as he walked towards his apartment.

When he was about to pass Sportacus, he stopped Robbie. Placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and holding him in place "You don’t have to be; I can st-"

Robbie slapped his hand away, not too different from how he acted with the prick. He scoffed; any trust he had ever had in Sportacus was gone. "And what?" he challenged, "will you hold me instead?" He laughed clearly this time.

Sportacus took his forearm in his hand, stopping him once again. Wounded by the tone. As if the concept was so ridiculous that it never even occurred to Robbie. It was such a futile thing to get angry over—to feel pain from a nonexistent knife stabbed in the chest. With every morsel of his being, Sportacus screamed at himself to remain silent. To let the man go.

Robbie was hurt enough. His pride, something the sensitive and grumpy man held so close to himself. If there was one thing he valued, it was his pride. When he was too vain to show up if his hair wasn’t right, if his shirts were dirty, or when he had no more quips to win an argument.

Knowing all this, why did he have to do this to him?

"Yes, I will."

There was a beat of silence. Then two. Sportacus watched Robbie’s expression blank out, eyes wide and shaken. All the resistance left his body, lax under his grip that was still holding him, tying Sportacus to Robbie, hoping for something he had already broken. Deliberately. With his own hands.

"If you want me t-" "FUCK YOU!" Robbie shouted, trying to snap his arm away.

"Robbie…" Sportacus tried gritting out, holding the taller man still. Not moving a muscle when Robbie’s breathing became erratic again.

"NO!" he yelled as he tried to pry Sportacus' hand away from him. "LET ME GO" he warned.

"Robbie, listen, you are exhausted. I’ll-"

"SHUT UP!" he heaved, like had run a marathon, bitterly stopping, any remaining fight leaving him.  

When he wanted desperately to say something again. His own heart was hammering away inside his chest, guilty, but somehow, a dark part of his soul demanded everything to push him further. Make Robbie ask for any help; rely on him. To call him, and not someone he didn’t know. Sportacus felt a tremble run down his skin as fear hit him. A scorched, cold fear gnawed against his soul.

That cold nested in Robbie’s eyes when he finally looked at Sportacus again. Leaning in close, Sportacus could feel his warm breath against his cheeks. "Alright, go in," he said, flapping his free hand toward the flat.

A few minutes ago, Sportacus would have been elated to enter the flat. To make a joke about the orange monstrosity in the middle of the living room. Or to hint at the trophies lining the tops of the shelves. Note the lack of Christmas decoration, offer some takeout, or make something. In leisure, enjoy and share some time with Robbie.

Now, making sure none of those could happen, he walked in after Robbie. Closing the door behind them, he let go of Robbie, who slowly marched to his bedroom. Sportacus knew the layout already; each trip here made him learn something new about the man. Each time he felt like he was privy to a secret only he knew about Robbie.

This dread was his only companion as he followed the doorman. When Robbie let the robe fall from his shoulders to the floor, pooling at his ankles, his heart stuttering, the pale skin bared before him appeared cold.

Sportacus felt the dread nest over his heart and a cold sweat gather at his nape, yet under his skin he felt electric. He fought for breath, for air, as if he were drowning beneath a frozen lake. Someone to save before the cold takes him away. He was scared.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice easy and soft.

"Fuck me, like Adrin would have," Robbie said, looking over his shoulder and turning towards him with the bed behind him.

Sportacus felt an awkward flash of humor surge in him. He cocked his head to the side and knew immediately who the name belonged to.A shallow laugh left him.

"What you can’t?" he asked, a challenge and thinly veiled hatred enveloping his usually enchanting voice.

Sportacus felt shame wash over him again. This is what you wanted. He heard the words tossed at him without Robbie forming them. You are the one who cornered him; well, now you had him there. What were you thinking? He asked himself, clearing his mind a little from the argument he felt happened a lifetime ago.

Glancing toward the bathroom, he looked back down at his hands. "I’ll wash my hands," he stalled.

Robbie laughed, with humor this time. Sportacus was a little taken aback. With hope blooming in his chest, he allowed a slight smile. 

He found Robbie mocking him, his smirk a little broken, and he said, "Don’t bother taking off your clothes," and he turned away once again. 

Sportacus was left alone, with Robbie in the room still feeling lonely, and the fear festering over him only grew with each passing second. He took off for the bathroom, which he knew by heart now. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he wasn’t sure who was looking back at him. A hardened face and lightless eyes mocked him for his complete defeat over himself. 

There was no going back now. He made Robbie do this. He was the one who offered, and was no backing out now. It simply wasn’t an option. He took his coat off, his back wet from the sweat he built up in the heat of their argument. He turned on the water, the sound of running water clearing his mind a little, and reached for the soap, his hand faltering in mid-motion. At the edge of the bathtub, where he sat and got cared for by Robbie, where Robbie let him become his de facto friend, was an empty enema and an opened bottle of lube.

"you have made me miss out on good, oh no, fantastic sex for what?"

He pushed against the basin, his jaw clenching again. Pulling strength from the justified anger he wanted to rekindle, he walked back into the bedroom. Robbie stood still where he left him. Arms crossed, his gaze was on the bed, the slope of his neck beautiful in the dim light coming from the bathroom, his skin radiant in the night. A word, an out on his lip got eaten up by Robbie’s order.

"Sit on the bed, knees wide apart," he said, coldly and distantly, pointing at the mattress. When Sportacus didn’t move, he urged him to "come on, do it."

With a stutter in his step, he did, and excitement built in him like a spring tightening. His gaze was on the space left open between his legs. With palms splayed against his thighs, he lifted his eyes. Feeling a hunger overtake him that he didn’t know about. The dryness of his mouth no longer a surprise, he looked over at Robbie, who stepped closer. Standing between his knees.

The fall of his silk pants, the shine of the fabric playing against the lines of Robbie’s body made Sportacus’s fingers twitch eagerly as his gaze wandered up to the meaty part of Robbie’s waist, the dip of his bones. His navel was slanted, fever inducing as Sportacus lifted his gaze, just like the other day each rib was easy to make out. The nipples he had no chance to admire until now were in plain sight, looking hard and cold. He exhaled deeply. 

Tension rose in him as the spring tightened another notch around his soul. Drenching Sportacus in denial as he found the face hovering over him. Just those eyes made interest surge in his abdomen, a deep tremble raking through his veins. His mind was bewitched by the lips he wanted to taste. A desperation he never knew he was capable of took root in his heart, and he lifted his hand to touch the offered skin. 

"No," Robbie said simply. "Make more space."

Sportacus did, moving back until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. His senses sharpened when Robbie sat before him, between his legs. His hands pulled against Sportacus’ pants, igniting a desire as he leaned back.

His back against Sportacus’ clothes chest. Sportacus felt his heart stammer when he first touched the man’s rib cage. Palms splaying against the bones, the soft skin, damp and warm under his touches. Sportacus leaned forward, moving Robbie with him, pushing against the back; he wanted to feel the skin against his own. Sitting, the wide slopes of Robbie’s shoulder were right at his lips. Sole reason to live was to taste the man, so he moved to leave a kiss on the nape.

Robbie’s hand moved there, still looking forward, and his voice, a little breathless but still distant, tightened the spring in Sportacus. "No," so he stopped, but his hands wandered on "make me come." Robbie sighed when Sportacus’ hand moved to his nipples. "I don’t want to know, ha, that it’s you…"

Sportacus’s fingers halted for a moment. He gulped around the knot of disdain he felt for himself, ice cold running through him. His right hand sank lower, his palms mapping the body that had been offered to him. Even with the pain of his namelessness and his denial, he wished to, desperately wanted to make Robbie’s wish come true.

Peering over Robbie’s shoulders, he saw the chest lift, meeting his left hand playing with the man’s nipple. Saw how Robbie’s Adam's apple moved with each suffocating gasp he denied Sportacus’ ear. Sportacus’s right hand lowered more, still taking as much skin as he was allowed, his middle finger feeling the silky material bunched at his waist.

His left hand pinched the tight nub, while his right drew the skin, fingers dipping into the soft of the man's stomach beneath him. Robbie obediently lifted with the pull, and the full body tremble against Sportacus’ chest sent him high as he pushed his right hand harder against Robbie’s chest.

Forcing him lower, Sportacus moved both of them with ease until he had one leg folded under Robbie’s back, the other still on the floor, grasped desperately by the man. Robbie’s head now against Sportacus’s chest he relished in the feel as Robbie flinched back, back arching off under his fingers. 

Sportacus followed the lines of Robbie’s hip bones; now his right hand was giving some attention to the neglected nipple. He watched, mesmerized, as his tanner hand created lines and shapes on the lighter skin under his ministrations. Thumb pulling the skin eagerly, he discovers another small mark, savoring the secret of the small constellation peppering Robbie's skin that he will never reveal. Pinkyfinger moved against the silk band, which fell lower during his advances.

Sportacus buried his nose in the messy locks before him, eating up all the little noises Robbie made, hoping for more, working hard to elicit a gasp. He let his mind fill with the heady scent of Robbie, and the erection hidden under purple silk made his mouth water.

His left hand finally breaching the waistband, he felt the silk push against his knuckles and his fingertips sink into the soft meat, edging closer and closer to his goal. Mind reeling with the possibility, how he wanted to pepper Robbie with loving caresses and kisses, to breathe him in, take a piece, and never let go of the heat seeping into his chest from the slowly moving man under him.

With every grip against his thigh, Sportacus’ own arousal came to life, harder and easier than he thought when this began. The feverish heat that pushed him on, made his sole goal to make Robbie feel better, make him come. Everything else could come after that; after all, he must feel it. In each touch, Sportacus begged to convey the longing he just found in himself. Going on about it all wrong but not being able to stop.

His right hand left the nipple, already reddish and sweetly swollen; he nicked Robbie’s head back, and he leaned in. Seams of his soul tore from the devastating hunger he wanted to devour Robbie with.

"Stop that."

Sportacus froze, hands stalling. His fingers trembled beneath the clenched jaws when he finally found Robbie's sweaty face. He got a steely, cold stare. The lips Sportacus wanted to taste opened softly, arousal clear in the eyes, but nothing else. If anything, disappointment and hatred radiated from the man Sportacus fiercely fought to convey his feelings to.

He gasped against the coincidental touch of his cock. "I don’t want this," he said, lowering his face and urging Sportacus to continue moving. "I don't want this sweet," he said as he bucked up to Sportacus' sloppy hand. The silk strained against his cock. "Soft love making" he exhaled sharply when the heel of Sportacus’s palm dragged against his cock.

Robbie's hard, pulsating cock felt great under his hand, and he let his right join, pulling the pajamas off. Eyes taking in the proof of Robbie’s arousal. His right hand returned to the hipbone, holding Robbie down and stalling his bucking against his hand. Patience veining in Sportacus, he felt the spring tighten again, impossibly suffocating him. 

With soft touches and kind words, he wanted to blanket Robbie in what he deserved, but it wasn’t what he wanted, and he wasn’t.

"Harder." Robbie gritted out. 

Like electricity, the word jolted through him, moving them again. He pulled Robbie against himself more. Relishing in the sound when his own hard-on pushed into Robbie’s back. The surprised gasp it elicited in Robbie went straight to his groin. Like molten iron, it urged him on. Finally, he took Robbie’s cock in his hand, moving his thumb over the glistening head experimentally.

"Ha- harder." Robbie ordered again. Voice cracking with the first moan, a sound sweet to Sportacus’s mind.

He buried his nose into Robbie’s crown again, inhaling the sweet aroma of the man as his hand tightened around his cock, building up a tempo. He willed his own body to still, only grunting low when Robbie moved against his neglected erection as he moved up to meet every move of his hand.

His right hand tightened over the hipbone, and Sportacus enjoyed the feel of Robbie holding onto his wrist there. His fingers twitched against Sportacus’ heated skin.

"S-S" Robbie gulped down what he was about to say, and Sportacus was highly strung now, wanting to hear his name from the man. To feel and savor, he pushed his forehead against Robbie’s skull, his mind reeling at the first wet drags of skin between his fingers. "Stop-ah- s-stop that, make it hurt…" Robbie panted.

Sportacus came to a halt for a beat, his eyes opening and his heart stuttered. Right hand easing on the skin under him, the left slowing. The next words made the heat leave his body, and he froze, ice exchanging the molten passion and heat as the spring in him broke. Never releasing its tension, it simply ceased to exist.

"Make it so," Robbie babbled, still moving under him "make it like" he gasped, back arching "Sportacus never would be-" he pushed his right wrist, nails sinking into Sportacus’s suddenly cold skin "because you are not him…"

Sportacus stopped. Listening to the breathing under him, he stilled fully. Letting go of the hardness, his hands splayed against Robbie’s abdomen. Bracing against the doorman’s movements, he remained still. His heart restlessly breaking to pieces with everything inside him. Sportacus felt his chest stutter, a wet breath leaving him.

Mind bending under the revelation and the truth of the affair. Robbie did not want him; he did not want this to happen between them. Sportacus was the one imposing this idea on him, but for what? What did he think would happen? Magically solving all his problems by jumping on the opportunity. He knew the man. Perhaps better than he was willing to admit. His skittishness, his sensible and clumsy soul and he trampled over it because he wanted to help.

Robbie sighed, his cock flagging a little, and he pulled the pants over himself again. "What now?" even with the breathlessness, Sportacus could feel the cold lashes against his skin with each word. "Don't you want to help me anymore?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Sportacus nodded against his head, feeling the overstyled hair prickle his cheeks.

"Than fuck me like you don’t know me." He said each word more aggravated than the last: "make a mess of me so I won’t be able to stay awake." Robbie moved Sportacus' hand toward his now soft cock, hissing with a humorless laugh. "Leave me sore and br-"

Sportacus took his hand. With his arms embracing Robbie, he pulled the doorman against him. Burying his face into the junction between Robbie’s neck and shoulders "Stop it," he begged.

"What?" Robbie mocked, sounding downright evil. He moved a little, pulling away, but Sportacus didn’t let him. Robbie Sighed and Sportacus felt it against his linked arms. "Are we not friends anymore?"

Sportacus shuddered, and a sob he didn’t know was hiding under everything broke through the thick ice of his soul. He felt the liquid warmth against Robbie’s quickly cooling skin. His lungs struggled to keep his breathing even, and he was lost. Knowing he made this happen, the fear now had a name. Sportacus broke the thinly spun glass that was their odd friendship for a selfish act of lust and pride.

"Why are you the one crying?" Robbie asked, another sigh leaving him, his voice unchanged. But he no longer forced Sportacus to move; his arms fell to his own lap. Laughing again, the sound was so dry and devoid of emotion that it sent another tremor down Sportacus. "I should be the one crying, but now I have no one to fuck me into oblivion."

Sportacus tightened his embrace. A new string of tears wet the hardly set shoulders as he drew Robbie closer.

"Coward" was all Robbie said.

Chapter Text

He caved.

There was no shame in it. Robbie rationalized. Why would he reject a good experience, nice sex, and an easy out of his frustration? A half-remedy for his real problem, namely his attraction to Sportacus, which was fuelled by his pent-up frustration. If he got rid of this tension, he would be fine again. Clear logic. Absolutely objective. 

Yet when it came to it, he was looking at his phone for long minutes. Tapping against the black screen. He only wanted to feel someone’s warmth tonight—a quick and satisfying affair. Forgettable. Give and take.

The same words spilled from his lips hours later, when out of nowhere, Sportacus showed up. All smiles and retriever energy, sending Robbie’s mind into a panic. His shame was pulled to the surface with such ease, wrapped in good intentions. As if the handyman had any say or knowledge of his situation.

Tossing it in his face, seeing as the anger slowly ate away Sportacus’ normally timid and kind expression was perverse and filthy. Something he wanted to see years ago, now directed at him, felt like torture. By the time he got to where all his misery sprouted, he was long gone.

His mind was foggy, his body was held up by sheer willpower, and his mental capacity diminished. Anger was bubbling up in his chest. " now I am exhausted, frustrated, angry, AND lonely," he scoffed, catching up with what he was saying. "Congratulations, and Merry Christmas to you as well," he shrugged, wanting nothing more than to leave. To forget this whole fiasco.

Hide away. Bury under blankets until the new year comes and no one talks to him anymore. Until Stephanie disappears and Sportacus forgets.Whatever this was. Air came to him hard now. Fighting for each breath, he knew he was acting insane, but he couldn’t care less.

When he was about to pass Sportacus, he was stopped by a warm hand pressing firmly against his shoulder. "You don’t have to be; I can st-"

Robbie slapped the hand away. Scoffing, he found the whole situation too much. Sportacus never acted like this; his patient and kind attitude was gone, and this haughty, 'know it all' tone ebbed on Robbie’s nerves. "And what? Will you hold me instead?" He laughed at how ridiculous the notion was. It was terrifying, even to say it as a joke.

"Yes, I will."

The blood in him froze. He ceased to exist. Robbie was sure that he had already been tossed into vertigo or that he was spiraling toward hell. Finding himself half suffocated under a pillow, he himself forced over his head to get some sleep already. He had to give it to his mind; it was coming up with newer and more detailed dreams about how he would be taken by Sportacus. But out of all, this was the most heart wrenching.

Where the handyman looked desperate. Irritated beyond measure, and so done with Robbie and his dumb actions. How noble of him to look after him and be concerned about him. Such a great friend. In his shock, it took him a few beats before his mind caught up to what Sportacus was saying.

"If you want me t-" "FUCK YOU!" Robbie shouted immediately, without a block. It came from the depths of his lungs, and he never meant it more than in that exact moment.

"Robbie…" Sportacus tried gritting out, his tone the same as always. Eager to help, to save the maiden in distress.

Robbie could feel something shatter in himself. Anger was building in earnest now, nothing compared to what he had unleashed on the man up to this point. How could he—how could Sportacus do this?

"NO! LET ME GO" he warned, his voice rising as he tried his best to peel the strong fingers from his arm. He was desperately clawing at Sportacus' hands; his throat was clenched, and he could feel the sound of his voice cracking in devastation.

"Robbie, listen, you are exhausted. I’ll-"

"SHUT UP!" he heaved, catching his breath. Feeling like the lobby was moving in on them. Pushing into him, suffocating him.

Robbie wanted to hide away and never see anyone again. Never hear those words of pity from Sportacus. Never see the expression on his face that he showed at this moment. This unwanted comfort he was now handing out to him Stilling, he willed his lungs to work, tired beyond measure, he gave up.

He came to a halt and gave up resisting. It didn’t matter anymore; if Sportacus set his mind to something, he would do it. And Sportacus liked him. Robbie could tell from the stolen glances and the soft touches. But he also liked Milford, Bessie, and who knows who else in this way. This, charity, this painful condescension, about which the handyman had no idea, was nothing short of killing Robbie’s heart.

In the end, wasn’t it his fault? Wasn’t Robbie the one who foolishly believed he could have Sportacus one day? Daring to dream about it, here, he had it. Now he could try it. "Alright, go in," he said, flapping his free hand toward the flat in defeat.

He gritted his teeth, unprepared for Sportacus' soft smile, which finally broke through his hardened expression. He was not ready to see how this would unfold. But he was exasperated and furious, and he decided he would not let this go the way the handyman wanted. Robbie was sure he would pamper him, make him break, and help him put himself back together.

For what? To pity-fuck him again later? Whenever he felt like it? He could have gotten that from anyone; he didn’t need it from Sportacus. So wouldn’t.

"What do you want me to do?" Sportacus asked, and Robbie was sure he was ready to take back everything. His softer tone belied his tense stance. How his chest expanded with each deep breath.

"Fuck me, like Adrin would," he exclaimed, his excitement mixing with anxiety, and he despised himself even more. Gripping his bare arms, he stepped over the robe he let fall from his shoulders. The tiny strained laugh of the handyman made him also force a grin "What you can’t?"

Pinching his forearm, Robbie focused on his bed, the sheets fresh and clean. He remembered preparing for the night, for Christmas Eve, a quickie with someone he trusted but didn't like enough to keep them. Now instead of a prick, Sportacus stood in his tiny bedroom. Robbie gave him three outs already; he took none; this was the last time.

Peering over his shoulders, he watched to see if his challenge scared Sportacus.

"I’ll wash my hands," the handyman said in the tense silence.

Robbie blinked a few times before an honest laugh took him by surprise. That was such a Sportadork thing to do. To wash his hands like he was about to devour a meal or handle something delicate. But Robbie couldn’t relent, couldn’t give in now, not after he started this ball.

One biting comment later, he fell deeply into thought. Contemplating his next moves, a ragged sigh tore from his chest. On the verge of something, he willed it away. Tightening his grip against himself, he felt a little vertigo sway his vision. Guilt and bale fought with the righteous anger he felt for the whole situation.

A tiny part of him was elated, rejoicing that Sportacus would touch him. Soured little with the situation, but the traitorous part of him wanted to take it all. Believe it all, and drown in the embrace of the pure handyman. Hearing the water rush, he allowed another smile, melting it away as soon as it came.

Robbie let his hands fall from his grip, leaving them hanging at his side. The images of Sportacus moving over him came to him vividly, and he knew if he had it once, he wouldn’t be able to let go. Screwing his eyes shut, he desperately wanted to wield his already half-hard cock’s pull. He felt the heat creep up from his abdomen as his body gave in with ease.

Glancing at the man once the water stopped, he was thankful he told him not to undress. Even with the dark halo, Robbie’s muddled vision and disdain fuelled heart he looked - divine -  for a lack better term. Robbie ground his teeth; no more back paddling for him. This was happening one way or another.

"Sit on the bed, knees wide apart," he said, and when Sportacus didn’t move, he felt another layer of anger pile on top of his heart. "come on, do it." he ordered, his tone not having any authority.

Like the puppy Sportacus was, he walked over to his bed obediently. Confidently without a word, no chiding, no silly jokes, just the silence. Robbie followed the man's every movement, debating whether he should stop now. Make a joke and tell the handyman he hates him and to never see him again.

He had a sneaking suspicion that it would be futile. Sportacus never left, and the six months Robbie could cheat in were a miracle. Sooner or later, just like now, he will be back. Jittery and full of naive good intentions. Even now, when he was clearly shaken and had made the wrong choice, he was going forward with it. Headstrong and cruelly helpless against other people’s misery.

The flat was extremely small in these moments, the same as the lobby, and Robbie felt like the walls were folding on him. Pushing him into a corner, the need to run was strong, and he gulped down his wish to touch the man sitting before him. Sportacus’ gaze was on the floor; his beanie was gone, and Robbie wanted to sink his fingers into the soft locks.

Sportacus’ gaze climbed up his body, and Robbie felt the scrutiny and worship clash against his senses. The usually clear blue eyes were eaten away by the wide, dark pupil. Robbie felt the hunger and relished in the miniscule movements of the lips as their eyes finally met.

Huffing a sad laugh, he ordered more Sportacus while keeping his hands from touching. In a wave of bravery and cowardice, he made Sportacus move farther away so he could sit in the gap. A new rush of excitement traveled through him, numbing his mind and burning deep in his abdomen as he pushed against the handyman’s sturdy body.

Immediately, the warmth and careful hands going for his chest made him melt. As the first tremor rushed down his torso, he let his anger go for a split second. His hands fisted in the soft material of Sportacus’ pants. Fingers scraping against the hard thighs under him heated his ears. Boiling heat gnawed at his neck and ears.

Robbie still kept his distance bodily, trying to distance the hands and body from Sportacus. Drinking in the rushed breath hitting his damp skin, a sweet chill caressed his back. With no resistance, Sportacus leaned forward, plastering his chest against Robbie. His mind was both praising and cursing him for making him wear his clothes. The hot breath that rolled down his spine as he felt Sportacus move closer, Robbie could tell what he was about to do.

He knew he would never forget the kiss, the plush of lips on his skin, or the tingling feeling of the idiotic pencil mustache that had tickled his skin a few times during their adjustment.

"No," he panted, hoping to sound tough, and Sportacus, of course, headed his order. Robbie’s chest lifted with a stuttering breath. He bit back a little moan when a thumb rolled against his left nipple. Arousal rushed to his groin, and he squirmed slightly. "make me come." he pleaded, his body urging him towards satisfaction. His heart, which had hammered away until now, slowed with determination. "I don’t want to know, ha, that it’s you…"

He knew he would hurt Sportacus with this, but he wanted to. His conscience was screaming at him, but he tuned it out. Focusing on the touches, the simple and soft ministrations of the handyman. The calluses on his fingertips. Robbie wanted to laugh, to scream, and to shout. He wanted to disappear so he would never think about this again. But all above he wanted to - his mind stuttered when he was handled with ease, body pulled against Sportacus, laying him in his lap. 

A flash of panic surged through him when he felt Sportacus' cheekbone push against his head. Robbie felt the heat in his ears as the man's breath rolled down his neck, sweet and soft. Like his whole body was on fire, a simple instrument under the handyman’s knowing fingers. Involuntarily, he arched off when Sportacus pinched his right nipple, a surprised gasp leaving him. Giving up everything for what was rushing toward the depths of his abdomen.

Robbie’s head hit against Sportacus’s hard chest as his first finger breached his undergarments. With molten heat pooling in his groin, he felt his cock harden with interest. Close to begging to be touched. Teeth gritted, he wanted to touch, and he also wanted to feel to know who he was with. Because each touch and soft attack against him was wearing him down.

He pulled strength from his grip over Sportacus’ pants, stopping the man when he wanted to kiss. Sportacus’ fingers trembled under his jaw, and Robbie felt excited; he wanted it and he could get it. But he despised the whole pity fuck from the man. He despised how easily he was molded into the handyman's palm.

Sportacus’ face was as tender as always, his pupil blown wide, and Robbie saw the hurt he inflicted when he told him he wanted him to stop stalling. To stop being himself and not pamper him. To stop him from making Robbie shiver with every caring touch, like he loved him. Like his feelings were to envelope him, before he gave into his more robust, filthy side.

Robbie was pricked with tears, but he lied to himself, making it to be the satisfaction of finally being touched where he wanted. He lied to himself about how he felt when each and every drag of his skin made him get higher and higher, his heart unable to keep up with his building excitement. Ecstasy was building with hot white flashes, and he was so close and so gone.

He bucked up and against all his pleas, against all his begging. He still knew who was unwinding him with the warmest care he had ever received. He knew that Sportacus was showering him with attention and care. His attraction was clear when the hardness of his dick pushed into his back. A surprised gasp left him, and he bit the inside of his mouth to stop another, real moan from fleeing him. Strained under Sportacus’s rule, he almost shattered as Sportacus finally, finally took him in hand.

The drag of his hand felt sharp and sweet all the same, and the thumb over the head of his cock made his eyes snap open. Feeling and seeing him breaking under the mercy of Sportacus was different. His imagination was nothing against reality. The right hand holding his hips was holding him in place; muscles contorted, and Robbie grasped for it. Drunk from the deep inhale he invoked from Sportacus as his fingers circled the thick wrist. His own ragged breathing joined in as the fingers ate more into his bone.

This was Sportacus. Kind and adorable. Headstrong and now utterly not himself. Robbie grunted in agony; if he just let him do whatever, he would never come back from it. How pathetic, to save himself, he challenged the man again. Telling the only thing he knew Sportacus would never do. Not in the way Robbie intended.

"Stop-ah- s-stop that," he heard his own voice from afar, like someone else was talking around his tight throat. Sportacus' low grunt caused his breath to stutter. Knowing he was messing the handyman up, he pushed through his own panic and fear. "make it hurt…"

Sportacus stopped. And Robbie could cry, wet, and ugly. He felt the tremble in his chin and the surge of pain in his throat tightening around every word he fought out. Moving in hopes to achieve his end. But the man behind him was rigid.

"Make it so,make it like" he gasped, and he knew he was not making any sense, his brain scattered still moving against the handyman’s lax fingers, his back arched as he dragged his sweet spot against the callus fingers. "Sportacus never would be-because you are not him…" he said, anchoring himself to the right hand that was still holding him. Chasing his release.

He wanted to whine when the man stopped fully. The hand that held his shaft splayed against his damp skin. Sending small electric jolts through his abdomen, but he didn’t do anything anymore.

Robbie knew he had won. That he triumphed over the pity and condescending. That he shattered whatever this could have been. Yet he felt no better. Slowing his heart a little, he felt himself calm, his cock twitch with some remnants of painful excitement. Eager to finish, he had to put the last nails in the coffin.

"What now? Don't you want to help me anymore?" he asked, his tone sharp. When he felt the short nod from the man, moving him again, his blood boiled with anger now. Forcefully moved the hand cradling his hip.

"Than fuck me like you don’t know me. Make a mess of me so I won’t be able to stay awake." After all, this was all about his fucking insomnia, that fucking pill that didn’t work, and his anxiety-filled body. He took everything that was dear, like he did, and soured it. Make it rot and break under his soles. Chasing after something to take the guilt away, he went on. "Leave me sore and br-" and he wanted him to break him.

"Stop it,"

Robbie never heard him beg, never felt someone’s hug this desperate. Never allowed himself the benefit of the doubt when someone tried to brake his walls down. Never allowed them in. Yet he knew then, could tell with clarity that Sportacus felt deeply for him. Cared for him in a way no one ever had. But it still wasn’t enough.

Masking his pain, he laughed a little, trying to get away. "What? Are we not friends anymore?"

He felt the whole body shudder behind him; it raked through him too. The face that fell to his shoulder shook against his skin, and he felt the hot tear rolling down his skin. Gulping down what he wanted to say desperately, he blinked away his own prickling pain from his eyes. What he called crying was a few tears escaping the kind man still holding onto him.

He buried his face in his hands, the excitement and arousal of a few moments ago gone like a bad memory. Last remnants of the fight left him, "Why are you the one crying?" he knew, Robbie made it so, pushing one last time "I should be the one crying, but now I have no one to fuck me into oblivion." laughing at their situation.

His words were followed by a tighter embrace, one that knocked the air out of him. Robbie felt his mouth pull into a smirk. As another harsh tear rolled down his back, he laughed, his throat hurting. Not knowing who he was addressing or who he wanted to hurt between the two of them. Sportacus or himself.

"Coward"

The embrace was as clumsy and uncomfortable as it felt heavenly, like a salve against Robbi’s finally calming nerves. His mind wandered, moving away from the emotional rollercoaster that they put themselves through. Still. He felt a little compassion bloom inside him; he wished he could console Sportacus, who had calmed himself after the first two sobs.

The only indication of his sadness and utter brokenness were the occasional ragged breaths he took. His feverish forehead was still buried in the junction of his neck and shoulder. Robbie eyed the blond locks. Battling himself both mentally and physically to not touch. Each blink became longer and longer, his body giving two shits about his heart still going a mile. Or his troubled soul drained of any emotion.

He looked over at his phone; its dull light came to life with a notification. It was still a little while before the new day broke. With sloppy blinks and swimming vision, he yawned. He tapped the arm that was holding him in a lock, his clever little mind coming up with a solution.

"Hey…Sportaflop," he smirked at the slight movement by his shoulder. Felt goosebumps rise over his skin from the locks tickling his sensitive skin. " today is almost over" he yawned, finding it hard with the iron lock around his torso. "Tomorrow... let’s get back to how we were..." Robbie felt his voice waver more than he heard it. Sour and bitter from his own betrayal when he finally won. He turned in the embrace, forcing Sportacus to lift his head.

His eyes were still wet from tears, their rims red, and this time he really did look like a little, lost, lonely puppy. Confused, his brows lifted before coming down with suspicion. "How we were?"

Nodding, Robbie peeled the arms away from him and moved from the embrace of Sportacus. His tone and words belied the turmoil raging inside him. Pulling the sheet from behind the handyman, he put it around himself. He toppled to the side, falling into the bed.

Sportacus followed his movements unmoving; he watched Robbie push the heels of his hands into his eyes. "You’ll be the put-together handyman, perfect in every rage inducing way," he laughed, overpowering whatever Sportacus answered to that. "And I’ll be myself as well, and we won't pretend to be friends nor to like each other…" Robbie rubbed his eyes, pain sparking behind them, and he denied any tears.

Sportacus was sensitive enough for both of them.

Surprisingly, there was little added to that from the handyman’s side. The mattress dipped beside him, and his single bed was too small for them both, but somehow Sportacus looked like he belonged there. Blinking some of the fatigue away, Robbie peered at him; his blue eyes were on Robbie, and he sported a sorrowful expression too.

"You want that?" he asked, his voice harsh in the silence, a little rough but kind nonetheless.

Robbie allowed a smile because the usual Sportacus was back. Whatever had clouded his mind for the last hours seemed to finally lift. Which spell could it have been, what made the retriever go feral, and match Robbie’s unbridled rage and defiance. Well, no matter; the cause of that was already eating into Robbie's consciousness. He'd never forget those feelings, their utter futility.

"Maybe, I cou-" "You couldn’t," Robbie warned, his eyes falling closed.

The warmth and the body pressed next to him, a breath away so they didn’t connect, were somehow better than any lullaby. Sportacus huffed, the bed moving with it, his tone softer than before. He spoke with his head popped up on his elbow.

"Until tomorrow then," he agreed, his tone fading in and out of Robbie's awareness.

The sleep that evaded him until now finally fell over him. The voices that were loud and screaming until now ceased and turned to a whisper under Sportacus’ guidance. Robbie had no energy left to ridicule himself or to talk down the handyman, let alone kick him out like he wanted to. He was too far gone.

-

There were only a few minutes left of the day. In a few breaths, Christmas Eve will pass, and whatever this was will end with it. In the silence of the room, Sportacus mused, his mind breaking over the happenings of the day. He sniffled a little, lightly clearing his throat. Following every rise and fall of the doorman’s chest, he leaned closer, moving slowly to not disturb the man’s dream.

Now with a clearer head, he went over their argument, which escalated here. Where he took part voluntarily, excitedly, and with silly glee until it crashed. With deliberate motions, he moved forward, his hand resting against Robbie’s lazily thumping heart. Each beat sent a little jolt to his fingertips, relishing in the life under them.

Sportacus followed the sharp lines of Robbie’s jawline and his lax, parted lips. His long nose, the deep, dark circles under his eyes. He left the warmth of the slowly rising chest to swipe a few locks away from the man’s forehead. Still damp from their earlier entanglement.

Today was almost over.

Sportacus gulped, resting against Robbie's warm form over the thin layer the man had bound himself in. He willed his racing heart to stop. He had no right. No right to preach about what Robbie was allowed to do or whom to trust and call a friend. No right to demand an explanation or to offer something he - in the end - couldn’t follow through with. 

Robbie was unnecessarily cruel, making sure his message was conveyed. That all this charade was ending today. What Sportacus believed to be a friendship, which he himself went and broke at his first convenience, was rejected again. Whatever weak resolve Robbie had the day he relented and gave in to Sportacus was now gone. The doorman, in his truly evil way, showed what it meant to be friends with him. What he repeated again and again for Sportacus.

He didn’t have any friends. He didn’t need them either.

A twisted idea of a relationship, and Sportacus did royally fuck it up. If he wanted to be a simple friend of Robbie all along, he wouldn’t have pushed his ideals on the man. Nor would he have pestered him.

Sportacus lied to himself and deceived his own heart. For six months, he had waited for a call. On his birthday, when the phone rang and a tiny voice gave him this address, his heart did leap with joy. He did enjoy the challenge, and he found himself eagerly waiting for another day, with another treat from the doorman’s unpredictable attitude.

And he missed Robbie each day he couldn’t see him on his post; he did feel cheated whenever someone showed up who could be potentially closer to the loner than Sportacus.

He chuckled in the darkness, his eyes moving to the clock on the nightstand. Envy. For someone who thought of himself as smart, why did he think this was envy? That emotion was easy to understand: longing for something that someone else had, only realizing the jealousy of a man who believed he had something in his grasp.

But Robbie was nowhere near belonging to him. Finding out how possessive one can be this late in his life, Sportacus couldn’t help but laugh at his misery.

Agony surged in him as the old digital clock changed its numbers. How shameful, he thought, for letting those few burning tears fall and never being able to follow through with what Robbie seemingly wanted.

The bed moved a little as Sportacus leaned over, turning the clock face down. He listened to the soft click of the plastic over the nightstand with his arm hovering over Robbie. He smiled when a miniscule nose twitch was all the reaction he got from Robbie.

He let his body fully lower to the mattress, defying his cowardice. With his right hand a little numb from the bent position, he moved so his chest was close to Robbie’s side. He let the other hand rest on the man’s chest, knuckles soft against the jawline of the deeply slumbering man.

Today was almost over.

When tomorrow comes, he will respect Robbie’s wish. Even if it was a little painful, he knew he could somehow improve the situation, but he decided against it. After all, wasn’t his misguided help what led them here? So when tomorrow comes, he will be what Robbie saw him as. He will be put together, cheerful, and carefree again. He will tell jokes and roll his eyes at Robbie’s antics. Sportacus will deny his rapidly growing feelings for the man. He won’t touch and hold him, nor will he keep tabs on others around the man.

He will make sure to keep his nose out of Robbie’s business and, with due diligence, keep his promise.

When today ends, Robbie will be the same, loathing and annoying man he has always been. He will surely keep his pride and make passing comments about others. Snicker and crackle at people’s misfortune. Ignore anything that has nothing to do with him. Most importantly, he will look through Sportacus, confidently avoid him, or hinder him in his work.

And they will play along. Each their own part.

But for today, Sportacus still had time. Mostly to suffocate in his own misery. Soft skin under his fingers made the memory of the body shaking under him all the more vivid. The pain that came with it was all the more cutting. It was terrifying to become aware of his feelings and their velocity, and to realize that his liking was the kind where he wanted to satisfy Robbie's every whim. Nothing compared to when he only scratched the surface of these feelings' depth.

And now he's nipped them in the bud. With a lethargic laugh, he pushed his forehead against the shoulder next to him. Breathing in the doorman’s scent The silence of the flat was deafening; the only noise was the shallow breathing of Robbie under his arm. Sportacus wished he could have come up with a better solution and that he had stopped before they got here. But he didn't, and it was already tomorrow.

Under the darkness of the winter morning, Sportacus pulled from the bed. Sitting on the edge for a moment, he rubbed his face, letting his head fall into his palms. Sighing, he stood up; he felt like he had run a marathon, and his muscles were all taut under his skin. He collected his coat and beanie from the bathroom.

Slowly, with deliberate movements, he walked past the bed. Robbie did stir when he peeled his arm from him, but thankfully didn’t wake. With a last glance, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

It was brighter in the tiny living room, where the street lamp’s warm light filtered through the high window and thin curtains. Bathing the room in a deep yellowish color. With his hand on the handle Sportacus idled in by the door. Still debating if he should just take this as it was. Unbearable itch back again, now that he was away from the grumpy man.

Gaze fell to the floor, where a sole trophy lay on its side next to a pile of leftover takeout boxes. Sighing, he smiled a little and, pulling away from the door, went for the object. He picked it up, patting the dirt away and running his thumb over the name engraved in the plaque. The title read International master.

"See, I knew you were very good at chess," he whispered to the inanimate object.

He looked around, finding its place evemtually, in a mid shelf, before a tower of various boards and pieces. Scattered all around, magazines between the wooden layers, and pages with scribbles peeking out from the other prizes. He stopped by the rack; the empty space where the goblet belonged had a creased photo. Stained by some liquid, it had yellowed a little.

Sportacus put the trophy back to its place gingerly, keeping the dust lines as he took the photo. Turning it in his hands, he swiped some grime from it. The back had writing in elongated calligraphy.

‘Iceland 2006’ ‘Robbie (14)’ ‘Glanni (22)’

It never came up in discussion, and Sportacus never asked, but he knew that Robbie was younger than him. He felt a fond longing bubble up in him, huffing a tiny chuckle at the destiny of it all. His home country, and Robbie won there. He turned the photo around. A pang of adornment left his lungs hurting.

Robbie looked at the camera, eyes wide, grin wider, and he held the trophy that Sportacus had just put back high. Another young man pulled him in for a bear hug. Their faces were similar, and Glanni was grinning as well, hands locked over Robbie’s small shoulders. The board before them scattered with pieces and a small crowd in the backdrop.

Robbie looked happy. Cute.

Sportacus flapped the photo a few times, then pushed the golden globe a smudge back. Letting the picture lean against the prize. With a sigh, he wanted to take his leave; he was already overstaying his welcome.

Perhaps he was stalling—funny, he did that a lot recently, even funnier when he was famous for always being on the move. A little confused, he took in the sparkly, torn wrapping paper laying all over the living room. A gleaming red ribbon was draped across the armrest of the eccentric plush recliner.

In the middle of the mess that was Robbie’s living room, on the coffee table stood a pristine picture frame. White and new, the crown piece of the room. In the frame was a simple pencil drawing of a black knight chess piece. Smudged lines, some places more wobbly than others, but it was easy to recognize. So was the signature at the corner. 

No more idling. Sportacus left, closing the door behind him softly. The click of the lock reassured him that no one would wake the doorman before he decided to crawl out of bed.

"Sportacus!" he felt something crash into his side. "Merry Christmas!" Stephanie hugged him, her voice filled with cheer.

"Merry Christmas, Stephanie!" he reciprocated, falling to one knee and hugging the little girl back.

She was wearing her PJs and a dark red robe over them; she spun around, showing the garment off. She struck a pose at the end, her slippers making a dull noise against the hardwood. Sportacus ushered her away from Robbie’s lair, twirling her when she asked for it.

"You are up very early," he pointed out, hoping he sounded like himself. If he didn't, Stephanie didn’t mention it.

"Yes! We will exchange presents with Ziggy here!" she pointed at the tree and at the armchairs and the table piled with sweets and snacks. Two empty mugs and a gift wrapped in the same sparkling paper, just like the one he found in Robbie’s room.

"Is Robbie up too?" she asked, leaning to the side, peering at the closed door.

"No, he is very tired, so he is still asleep." Sportacus said.

Stephanie nodded smartly, her hands deep in her robe’s pockets. "Did you help him sleep?" her question was pure enough, but still, Sportacus’ heart fastened a notch.

"Yes, I guess." when Stephanie seemed to not like his answer, he tried to steer the conversation. "I have seen your gift; it’s pretty."

Her round little face brightened, her eyes sparkled, and she pushed her hair behind her ears, showcasing her candy cane earrings. "Is it a good gift in return for these?"

Sportacus was confused. He remembered Robbie ridiculing the jewelry; he called it horrible. Dismissing it fully when Stephanie speculated who it was from. "You think Robbie gave those to you?"

She jumped a little in joy. "Yep!" nudging Sportacus towards the table, she offered a tangerine from the small pile of nuts and fruits. "Uncle Milford said, it wasn’t him, and that he found out it was Robbie the other day" her focus was on peeling the round fruit. The citrusy scent was filling the lobby fast.

"He did?" Sportacus humored her, his gaze falling to the great windows behind the girl.

It hadn't snowed for a while—days, in fact. So the freshly showered road didn’t look right, nor the slushy salt, he remembered losing his balance coming yesterday.

Stephanie nodded "You know how he is, with his trickery and all," she said, plopping a clove into her mouth, the sour taste pulling her lips into a frown.

Sportacus was still gazing at the outside world, slumbering and calm, but somehow he had the feeling that something was missing. Not able to pinpoint he let it go, he blamed it on the allnighter he pulled. He shook his head a little, smiling at Stephanie’s questioning gaze.

"Oh!" she held her hands up. "I made something for you too!" she chimed, her smile unwavering. She hopped over to the Christmas tree, and after some rummaging, she pulled something off a branch.

"You shouldn't have," he said, crouching and ready for the gift.

She opened her palms, and Sportacus spluttered a laugh.

"You don’t like it?" Stephanie gasped, pulling the ornaments to her chest protectively.

"I love it," he reassured, opening his own palm, ready to take the silly things.

With a little pull back and suspicion in her eyes, Stephanie gave in and offered the little presents. It was a pair of small bumper plates, one pine green and one Santa red. Both had indents in the usual font of the weights he used at the gym. One read ‘Happy Liftmas’ and the other ‘Swole Santa’.

"It’s perfect," he grinned. "Thank you," he said, getting another hug, and he ruffled the little girl’s hair. "What would you like? Sadly I didn’t prepare anything."

"Let’s go to the park tomorrow!" she beamed, waving as the elevator arrived with four people spilling out.

"That’s it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Really?"

"Yep!" she jumped around, happily greeting the newcomers, "Ziggy!!"

The kids danced around, chattering about what they were getting under the tree up in their homes. Ziggy had a big plush animal under his arms and was laughing and dancing around in excitement.

"Good morning, Sportacus," Milford said, smiling and wishing him a happy holiday.

"Can we go to make a snowman!?" Stephanie asked, hands balling in excitement.

"It seems cold" Milford offered, but bent under the shiny little eyes that were peering at him. He had no chance against two little kids, it seemed. "Alright, but only for a few minutes, and by the door."

Sportacus moved towards the reception, about to say he would get the keys, but the door opened with ease when Ziggy pulled. The kids ran outside, shrinking and laughing in the cold, their voices high as they gathered some snow. Sportacus watched them, confused, his gaze falling to the open door. Maybe he was wrong.

Chapter Text

Christmas came and went swiftly. Calm days piling up like the tasks he was postponing with each day spent in bed or in his recliner. Dust was collecting, and he couldn’t blame it on not having time anymore. Same for the trash that accumulated over the holidays; he started to feel uneasy with all the clutter around him.

Robbie curled up in the recliner, wrapped in thick clothes and thicker socks. An advertisement for some overly sweet family propaganda was on, in between the bite-sized pieces of the movie he wanted to at least listen to. Picking at his nails, Robbie mused about how to proceed with his life.

Should he change locations, maybe look for a new place? Get a new name. The fatigue-induced bravery, or insanity, passed, and he felt like he could scream and shake his past self. ‘…let’s get back to how we were...." The heck, what a sappy thing to say.

He chucked the book he had in his lap against the wall. Since that night, his neck has been hurting from the constant strain winding up inside him. Talking to himself like a fucking insane person. Debating why and how the heck they got there in the first place

But mainly.

What was Sportacus thinking? He was the better person. How could he be strung along that easily?

All the while, he had to praise himself for deftly responding to Sportadork, who was still completely shaken at the time.

Sighing, he nuzzled his pillow more, embrace too hard, strained, and his fingers ached from the power behind the act. For days, he didn’t hear from anyone. The only contact he had was a few messages from Glanni and a rather obscene question from Adrin. Both soured his already dark mood. He hadn’t seen the sun in days, nor had he gotten any fresh air. But his sleeping schedule was the greatest in the last few months.

First, thanks to the handyman, he slept for a whole day, fortunately escaping the whole Christmas madness. Sometimes, during his slumber, he could hear knocks on his door from far away, but they ceased quickly each time, and he could turn back and fall deeper into the dream of the day.

On the other hand, today, when the first confident knock came, Robbie flinched, eyeing the door warily. Debating if he should just fake not being home. The television was too loud. He could also feign sleep.

"Robbie?" Pinky called his name, and if the slight thud was anything to go by, she was plastered against the door. Listening in. "Are you in?" she asked again, this time louder. "ROBBIE!!"

"Okay!" he shouted back indignantly, pushing off the recliner. Stretching and hearing a crack around his waist.

He turned his wrist and swiped some crumbs from his chest. Changing up his usual attire to sweats, he was really not in his element. But he feared Stephanie would keep badgering his door at this rate. Each bang against the wood was a nail in his coffin. By the time he was ready to open up, the girl had started to thump a rhythm all by herself against the wooden door.

"What?" he asked, opening the door just a crack to peer out. When the bane of his existence wasn’t around, he opened it fully.

The little girl looked taken aback. Her smile widening, she hid her mouth as a loud laugh fell from her lips. Doubling over, she couldn’t stop laughing, and, holding against her knees, she kept on heaving for a breath. The laughter never stopped.

Robbie decided to wait it out. Humoring the girl literally, he leaned against the doorframe. Eyes hurting from the sudden light flooding his vision. The harsh laughter of the girl was like blades cutting into his ears, but he couldn’t deny that his own mouth was morphing into a shallow smile.

When she was getting better, he asked her, stepping out to the lobby, "All done?"

"Ah, ha-ha, no," she fluttered, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"What?" he rolled his eyes, looking around a beat later.

The lobby looked the same as a few days ago. Wrapped in Bessie’s Christmas magic, blinking lights, and as cozy as ever. Innocent, like nothing atrocious, ever went down here. Sighing he moved from his door, closing it, he crossed his arms as he trotted out to the light. Blinking a few times, trying his best to tune out the hysterical child.

"You want me to go back?" he looked over his shoulder. "I will, I can't suffer listening to you actually…" He turned, smirking when Stephanie jumped between him and the door. Arms stretched to their full capacity.

"No! You finally showed your face!" she yelled, bodily hindering Robbie from escaping back. "It’s not my fault you look funny," she giggled.

He looked down at his heart-patterned sweatpants and loose jumpers smeared with whatever he had for dinner. Vainly, he touched his fingertips to his chest, swiping some remnants off as he narrowed his eyes at her. "You wound me," he said, backing away as he showed off different hand gestures like a model would. "This is peak faisho-"

His words were cut off as he walked into something. Someone. Without turning, he knew who it would be. He knew this would happen; he felt it right in his bones when he opened the door. He feared it a little, grumbling, and turned to find Sportacus standing behind him. With a palm against Robbie’s back, he smiled one of his signature smiles.

"Careful there," he said, pushing the man back to his feet.

The contact warmed his back, and the memory of the body holding him up came to him in a rush of mixed emotions. His lips pushed together, and he felt his eyes widen. Saying anything would worsen the situation, well, if he went and said what he wanted at least. Averting his eyes, his gaze moved to the ceiling as he shifted away.

Sportacus took a few steps, rounding their pair; he had a heavy-looking roll under his arm. "Hi Robbie," he offered, smiling.

Robbie eyed him suspiciously, deciding against greeting the man and instead turned back to Stephanie, who was watching them with scrutiny. "You should be careful..." he grumbled, moving out of the way.

"Robbie!" Stephanie hopped after him, hands linked behind her back. "Did you like my present?"

He fell to their usual spot, pulling his legs up, and he chose to ignore the girl for a while. Until he could gather his thoughts, Choosing to examine the outside world, which he hadn’t seen in days. He also blatantly ignored his heart beating hard, so much so that he was afraid either of them might hear it. Pulling away more, he trained his eyes on the street.

If the little snow mountains with a glassy glaze on top of them were anything to go by, then there was no snow the last few days. The slow traffic he was used to was busy compared to the one car he saw driving down the road and the couple who dawdled across the street.

"Hey, did you?" she leaned in his line of view. Those horrible earrings, a constant now, hung from her ears, and her tone was accompanied by the expression of a heartbroken child.

"It wasn’t bad," he offered. It wasn’t; it was his favorite piece, and she worked hard on it; even he couldn’t say anything bad about that. Not after she went to such lengths to make it for him. "Yeah, I guess... I liked it…" he confessed.

Regretting right away, when Stephanie jumped at him, arms circling his neck and she laughed heartily, hugging him tightly. Robbie pushed the chuckling child away; she fell to the table, sitting, her leg tapping against the carpet, and she hummed. Chattering away about her last two days, about her presents, and about her little trip with Sportacus to the park.

He paid little attention to the girl as the man in question was tinkering next to the main door, his back to the pair. As always, he was fully dedicated to his task and had already installed one side of the privacy window film. The next roll of thick foil was laid on the carpet, next to him. Tools neatly arranged and in perfect order, ready for the upcoming task.

It angered him just as much as it comforted him when Sportadork kept his promise. This was the first time they met after their little altercation, and it wasn’t like Robbie wanted anything out of it. That would be vile. After what he made the man go through. Even if it was justifiable at the moment.

He had no right, but still, he looked forward to a disheartened Sportacus obediently running after him at his heels to please him. But he did not seek Robbie out, nor did he try to contact him. Taking care to maintain the status quo, he reverted to his usual self. With a bounce in his step, Robbie could even make out a low, tonal melody spilling from the man’s lips under Stephanie’s never-ending stories.

"Then we went to the playground!" she went on, "Uncle came too this time, and, well, he wasn’t moving a lot, but we had a lot of fun!" she beamed, leaning forward, her hands grasping the edge of the table. "We had roasted chestnuts; do you like them?"

He shrugged, still watching Sportacus work. The movements of his muscles under his thin shirt. That guy really didn’t care for the cold, did he? Always hot like a chimney. If he wasn’t so emotionally drained, Robbie could enjoy it. That night came in vivid snapshots to his mind, and he moved to curl more in on himself, his mood darkening. Even Stephanie’s usual babbling irritated him.

Why shouldn’t it? He realized. In her methodical boundary-breaking, she was very similar to Sportacus. Maybe a little more conscious than the always jittering man. Which was telling enough.

Robbie sank deeper into the old furniture, thinking about a good scheme to get rid of the girl without angering Meanswell for giving up the free daycare he was never offering anyway.

"Won't you come next time?" she hopped from the low table, more as a stunt than a need "out, to walk or something?" she shrugged, feigning nonchalance, which didn’t suit her.

"You are right; I won't."

"Come on, it's fun!" she danced around, twirling a little. "What do you like, Robbie?" she stopped flexing her legs in a perfect arabesque, the little show-off. When he didn't answer, she changed targets. "Sportacus, what do you like?"

Robbie looked up from picking his cuticles. Feigning disinterest, he watched the handyman muse. In the midst of it, their eyes met, and Robbie felt his heart rate peaking. But this time it was Sportacus who broke the contact, turning to his work while addressing Stephanie, who was still waiting eagerly.

Shrugging, he said "A lot of things," he said with a broad smile and one of his trademark grins. "My friends, working out, my job, and my family, I can keep going."

"Okay, okay, so what do you think Robbie likes?" she pointed at the grump curled up in the chair.

"Hm?" the handyman stopped, hands linking over his knees as he crouched. "Chess?" he beamed, no hint of sadness, just fine old Sportacus.

"If you need to know," Robbie shimmied in the chair, turning to the pair. "I looooove quiet, doing nothing, and wait" he tapped against his lips like he was thinking. "Yeah, no, there is nothing else."

"You don’t like chess?" Stephanie frowned, her hands falling from the elegant overhead position of her pirouette. "But you are so good at it."

"You don’t have to like something to be good at it." Robbie retorted a little hurt by the frown still playing on the little girl’s face.

Sportacus looked at him, and Robbie decidedly ignored the blue gaze resting on his face. Finding a point in the corner where he could still keep his peripheral vision on the handyman but was safe from suspicion

Finding that he did listen, and did what they agreed about ebbed on Robbie's mind. He hurt himself; he did it to himself, getting angry over someone keeping a promise he made. No. No. He was in the right; he was the one that Sportacus hurt first, yes. He was the one who pitied him, and could even sink so low as to sympathy fuck him because Robbie picked a fight with him.

By the time he came back from his musing, the man who caused his misery, besides himself, was already outside. Working on cleaning the glass and preparing it for the film. Shamelessly, Robbie followed the thick arms as he dragged the tool against the window pane. After this, the last thing was the elevator, and then he would be gone.

"Robbie," Stephanie whispered, sitting across from him and deliberately hiding from the window. "Are, uhm, are you okay?" she asked conspiringly.

Huffing Robbie turned all his attention to the girl, already tired from the conversation. "I was until someone banged on my door," he grumbled.

She blushed a little, shaking her head and her body with it. "Well, Sportacus said you had insomnia, and w-I haven’t seen you in days."

"What?" his leg slipped and dangled over the armrest.

Stephanie looked awkwardly between the table and Robbie like she wasn’t sure what to say next. "Well you were tired right, and he came out of your room on Christmas morning…" she gulped, chewing her lips "and he said you were sick, and then you didn’t show up"

"Right and?" he glared at Sportacus, who had begun to install the film on top of the glass, oblivious to their conversation or Robbie's burning gaze. Imagining what else the man let the little girl know, did he hint at something that would also make her pity him? Feeding her some clever tidbits to leave him alone, just to sow the seeds of sympathy.

"I looked it up, and that’s a bad thing…" she fought with her words: "And it makes you grumpy, and you can faint, and it means your body is weak." she glanced at his now-healed hand.

Robbie laughed, an honest glee bubbling up in his chest. "You think I am weak?" He was burning to ask where she looked it up. "Or that I would be a better person if I wasn’t tired all the time?" not able to bite back his own bile.

"You are a loner; you don’t have friends," she huffed, pouting a little. "So yes."

Defeat washed over Robbie as he tried to collect himself. "Such a vile girl." Closing his eyes, he shielded his face from the bright lights; their constantly changing color hurt his suddenly sensitive soul. When he opened one eye, he found the little girl fuming, her eyes stern, and her teeth grinding.

"You are not even friends with Sportacus anymore!" she lamented, hitting the table with her palms.

"We never were." Robbie snapped back a little sharper than he intended. His hurt pride was shining through, but Stephanie couldn’t care less, it seemed.

"You were, and now you are not, and I can tell, and I am a child." she pushed, "What happened?"

"You are smart," Robbie tried to steer the conversation with flattery.

Stephanie’s eyes widened. "You just want me to shut up."

"Since the day you moved in," Robbie yielded.

"Don’t evade the questions Mr. Rotten" her pitch got higher in her mock condescending tone.

"Don’t use such adult words, Ms. Meanswell." Robbie fired back.

"That’s Ms. Splitz to you!" she jumped up. Her mouth ran, she didn’t pick up on Robbie’s surprise. "Even Sportacus den-"

Both of them flinched when the glass pane moved with Sportacus’s hand; the noise was freaky as his hand smoothed the film over the cold glass. Stephanie actually stuttered back, hitting her back against the furniture. She hissed, mumbling something about stupid things around the stupid lobby; if only she said it louder, Robbie could be proud.

"So," Robbie started, course-correcting when the angry eyes fell on him, "you say I am weak and need friends. I have some, though." she didn’t need to know the type. "You know, for a little girl as annoying as you are, you're reeeeealy hell-bent on putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, don’t you?"

Stephanie looked at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Robbie to joke away his serious tone, as always with her. But Robbie didn’t give in to her. Eagerly waiting for an answer, he stood too, patting some dirt away from his pants.

Fidgeting with her hands, Robbie could see how Stephanie forced herself to say something by the way she formed the words with careful attention: "I, just, I sound so stupid," she sighed, with a little anger and hurt behind it.

"Nothing new there then," Robbie whistled, awkward in the suddenly serious conversation with a ten-year-old.

"See, you are so mean," she grumbled, stomping her leg. "Sportacus is a little strange too, and then you finally show your mug, and suddenly you don’t like chess anymore," she fumbled, choking back some emotion as she wobbled from one side to the other. "You didn’t say hi to him either." gulping down whatever was about to break through, she cleared her throat, her eyes peering up at Robbie once again. "Does that mean you won't play chess with me anymore?" she asked finally. She linked her fingers before her chest, twisting her hands in strange shapes.

Robbie’s confusion only deepened. "Where did that come from?" and to lighten the mood he added "I find it funny when you lose though" cackling 

"I can tell something is wrong..." she mumbled, her eyes on the carpet. She shuffled a little closer.

Robbie kept an eye on her nervous movements, occasionally glancing at the handyman at work. Drained, he rolled his eyes, his eyebrows lifted, and he tried his best to show an open and somewhat happy face. "There is nothing wrong."

"You swear?" Stephanie pushed, twisting her ankles. Pouting but had no real bad feeling behind it, She was annoyingly cute, and she must have known it. Tapping her feet, her ultimatum came with practiced ease. "I can tell when you lie."

Robbie shifted his weight to one leg, his arms crossed across his chest."Oh, you do."

"It’s quite easy to tell, too," she flaunted, mirroring his pose. "Wanna bet?" she smirked tone hopeful

With Sportacus still at work outside, as much as he enjoyed the tiny pink ball's battering, he wanted to get out of there. Hideaway and keep watching that god-awful movie. He had shown himself to people; now they didn’t have to kick in his door to check. Robbie wasn’t in the mood for any more bickering, and he had the nagging feeling of forgetting something.

"No," he said plain and simple.

Stephanie’s confident pose changed, unwinding as she took a step forward. "Really?" she nodded to herself, slapping her hands together slowly, her rhythm erratic. Visibly disheartened.

"Where is your friend?" Robbie yielded.

She looked up, her nose scrunching up. "Ziggy and his family left for a resort" she shared, "Sportacus is busy, and he will leave soon too, and uncle Milford is at his workplace today…" she rushed it out. "So it’s either you or alone in my room…" she said, biting her lip at the end of her sentence to stop herself but it was too late.

Robbie ignored most of what she said, feeling betrayed; he rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, then the second, sorry, fourth choice is walking away, wave bye," and he did too, turning and wanting to leave as soon as possible.

Wobbling, he had to grab at the wall, tearing some of the decors, and lose his balance. Stephanie was clawing into his sweatshirt. Her heels dug into the carpet, and she held on for dear life, head lowered. The string in Robbie tightened a notch, strained from the overstimulation after his solitude.

"Let go!" He stepped forward, forcing the girl along with him.

"Sorry, that came out wrong!" she pleaded, pulling on the dirty top, stretching the cloth as she pulled with all her might. "You are strange" she was working herself up now, breath shortening in her straining. Robbie had to give it to her, she was strong but her words were sharper than the tug on his shirt "stop lying and-"

Robbie snapped his sweats back, making Stephanie stumble back. Stopping a few steps away as her words were cut short. He knew he was crossing a line, but he vented at the girl peering up at him nonetheless.

"Here is a game," he said, voice booming in the empty lobby, the words made Stephanie's small round face brighten a little. "Because you know, oh, oh, so much," he offered, arms open. "Two truths, one lie, because you know when I lie."

Stephanie still didn’t know what she was walking into with a small, shy smile on her lips. Robbie could see her thought process and how she must have believed that he would, once again, let her have her way. But the man was too high-strung, too sensitive, and too lethargic to entertain the child any longer.

"One," he said, lifting his index finger. "Sportacus got you those godawful trinkets," he said, pointing to the earrings. "Two, I know your real name is not Meanswell."

Stephanie’s eyes widened. A fear so feral Robbie had never seen came to life in her brown eyes, and her face was paling as she pulled her arms closer to her body. Stock still. As shocked as she was by the little nudge, his never-ending suspicion regarding her background and her past finally gave him a grasp on something.

There, eat your little heart out; making sure to never see the snotty-nosed little pest again would have been easy. If Robbie wanted that. Shockingly. In a truly mind-twisting way, he didn’t want that. But he had to get away and make space for himself, this way he was too close to losing his shit on a ten-year-old, and that wouldn’t do. Even for him.

So here comes the lie. 

"Three," he smirked, using his darkest tone, "I hate you; don’t ever talk to me again."

Robbie was ready for the girl to scream at him. He was waiting for her to call him out on the lie, make a little tantrum like usual, and then let him go.

But she didn’t. She stood shell-shocked, her body unmoving. Her eyes were still on his face. Her face was like paper, and out of nowhere, she started to cry. Silently, without so much as sniffling. Her tears kept falling as she looked straight at him. Shoulders shaking.

"What’s going on?" Sportacus cut in Robbie’s own shock.

The handyman closed the door, stopping a few steps away from them. Confused, he looked between Robbie and Stephanie. Finally realizing the little girl’s misery, he was beside the child in a heartbeat. "What happened?"

Stephanie didn’t say anything, but a cry tore from her chest and she buried her face into Sportacus’ torso; hands grasping the material of his shirt, she bawled into the cloth.

Robbie took a step forward, stopping when Sportacus’ hand went to Stephanie’s back protectively. Robbie followed the hand, his gaze lifting, and he found the handyman’s disappointed eyes on him. His heart squeezed in pain at the implication behind that gaze. The doorman watched flabbergasted as Sportacus tried to console the little girl, who didn’t so much as look up from the embrace.

Before anyone could tell him off, he was gone. After all, just like everything else, this was also temporary.

Chapter Text

Stephanie laid in his bed, eyes puffy and scratchy. Face nuzzled into the soft bedding she now called her own. The frills framing the pillow looked like small flower petals, and she twisted their edges between her fingers. She gulped down her pain, sniffling slightly.

She knew Robbie was mean; she only hoped that they were on good terms and that he at least tolerated her. Lips trembling, she pushed them together defiantly. Why bother getting her a gift if he later tells her he despises her? She'd heard it many times, and the man had repeatedly told her how annoying she was. But now it was clear, hitting her with a finality she couldn’t deny.

Stephanie rubbed her face into the damp pillowcase. In the silence of her room, she held another pity party, just for herself, with herself as the only guest. Muffling her irritated and desperate grunts, she let everything flow out.

No matter how many times Sportacus told her that she was wrong and that Robbie must have joked, he himself was strange too. As of late, since Christmas morning he was odd too. His happy and usually stable optimism was somehow false, hiding something. As comforting as his words were, Stephanie couldn’t shake the feeling that Robbie had told the truth.

Robbie was strange too.

Why were adults so hard to understand? Why couldn’t they just be honest? They all should have been like uncle Milford, she deduced. She lifted her head and rested her chin on the plushness of the pillow.

She blinked away the remnants of unshed tears, her hands searching for her forbidden treasure. Fingers pushed around, fanning out to catch the cold of her smartphone, finally finding it nudged between the bedframe and the mattress. Turning to her back, she unlocked the device.

For betraying uncle Milford’s trust, her heart beat a little faster, but she was cautious, and she did all the stuff they wanted her to do. Even the phone, she let the blue light wash over her as she opened the one app she had on it. She did a factory reset; she didn’t have the sim; she made sure that she wasn’t telling her name. Logging in to the chess app with uncle Milford’s credentials, she smiled as a message popped up.

Diligently answering the small talk from her current rival and online friend, she decided to share a little of herself. Imagining her words coming from uncle Milford’s lips, she always had so much fun pretending. While doing her daily routine on the app, another challenger showed up, and she moved to answer the usual opening move with her own.

Stephanie held the phone high above her face and mused about how she should broach the subject with her uncle. That she messed up. She messed up, and now Robbie, who was already sneaking glances at her when she did something she was told strictly not to do, knew something. Because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Worked up she blabbled her name and now Robbie knew her real identity. Turning her phone off, she hugged it to her chest, feeling defeated; if he went and told uncle Milford that she messed up, she would be scolded, or in the worst case, told to move away.

Another string of tears burned down her cheeks, and she brushed them away. Chiding herself and curling up under her heavy blanket. She swore to herself that she would get up tomorrow morning with a clear head. Heart trembling, she watched the heavy curtains until sleep took her.

Time rushed by her, and before she could caught up Stephanie found herself by their kitchen table, her legs dangling from the high chair. The meaty soup before her was still steaming, and she could tell her uncle Milford had put a lot of effort into it. He put a lot of effort into this whole ordeal for her sake. He jumped over one obstacle after another to help her.

And she messed up.

She broke one of the rules. Well two. But only one was severe because now Robbie knew her real name.

Stephanie’s spoon hit the ceramic with a slight ping. She watched the ripples dance in the hot liquid. The taste was sour on her tongue, even though deep in her mind she knew that the soup was fine. It was tasty too; uncle Milford made it for her. She got a spoonful and fought it down; the meaty bits were a little chewy, but there was nothing to be unhappy about.

"Uncle Milford," she started, putting her spoon back on the table again as Stephanie examined the plate set’s floral motives. "Is there any news about the-"

"Now, Stephanie," uncle Milford put his own utensil down, his open, kind face beamed at her. "You don’t need to worry about that," he added.

"But-"

"Did something happen?" he asked, his bushy brows furrowing.

Stephanie could tell by the single glance toward his phone that uncle Milford was worried. Would she say yes, Stephanie was sure her stay would end right away. She gulped down her anxiety and slowly shook her head.

"No, I just want to help…maybe…" she added in a hopeful tone.

Her eyes followed her uncle as he took the empty dish off the table. Dressed down now, with his well-earned vacation still ongoing, he was wearing clothes that suited his personality more. Some university sweats with slacks paired with fuzzy socks. A much softer attire than what he wore at their first meeting.

The sharp edges of his yellow, high-end fashion suit were intimidating at first. Even if he was not as tall as Sportacus and nowhere near as tall as Robbie, he was someone who oozed competence. In a strict and secluded space, that is. The moment uncle Milford found her in the wide room, his whole outer impression shattered with his first words.

"Oh, my, Miss Stephanie, right?" he asked, a white handkerchief materializing from nowhere to dab against his sweating temple. "My, my, did they leave you alone? " he murmured, and he tossed his briefcase on the table. Clumsily spilling everything in one motion.

Her then guardians arrived and talked out her current situation. But all she remembered was the kind man's manners changing like the weather in spring.

He was the same now. Catering to her every whim, under the one condition that she followed all security measures. And while she thought that Robbie wouldn’t pick up anything, somehow she still messed up.

"Are you not hungry?" he asked, concern painted all over his face. The wrinkles on his forehead slipped into a sad line.

"I had some candy," she tried, willing her lie to be hidden. "Robbie gave them to me. I am sorry, it is very yummy, uncle Milford." she meant it too.

"Oh, Robbie did" his shoulders lowered, patting her head he took her plate as well "didn’t you argue yesterday?"

Stephanie's face warmed, and she nodded, her stomach churning with guilt. "We made it up; is it bad that I accepted it?" She felt even more guilty for lying so easily to her uncle. Ridden with doubt she looked up, finding uncle Milford smiling down at him.

"It’s okay, but next time leave some space for lunch, okay?" he smiled.

"Sure uncle." she tried her best to convey her appreciation. "Can we go somewhere today? 

"Of course, dear." his reply was immediate, and he was so eager that it broke Stephanie’s heart a little. "Do you have anything in mind?" He sat back down to talk on her level.

She loved uncle Milford. He took really good care of her, and she felt like they were a real family. Something she had lost and thought she would never have again. Fearing this would disappear as soon as she confessed her slip, her mouth just wouldn’t open. She wanted to stay. To make up with Robbie and train with Sportacus. Go on playdates with Ziggy and meet the other mysterious children who are currently absent.

Giving all that up, she would rather lie a little. Hide her blunders behind half-truths. Pulling her shoulders closer, she gathered some courage and smiled a little. "Let’s go see a movie!"

-

There were only four more days of the year, and people went back to their daily routines. Many were still on vacation, taking their well-earned rest during the chilling last week of the year. The streets had more traffic, and there were people tending to the roads, keeping the flow constant and easy.

Sportacus was still in holiday spirits himself, not able to let Christmas go just yet, and he marveled at the grand tree standing proudly in the middle of the park.

Workers were preparing for some event for the weekend, building and securing the stage they used for Bethlehem a few days ago.

His lungs filled with the cold air, his chest widening with the deep intake. Shaking his hands, he let his fingers lose some of their numbness. Drenched, he pushed against the gravel path. He listened to the sounds of the world around him, the small stones crying and breaking under his soles. Pushing on to another round.

Muscles aching, he wrestled with himself, knowing he was overworking himself, but giving himself more than a minute without some strenuous activity would cause his mind to leap into thoughts he desperately tried to bury. Calves flexed as he hauled himself over the bench. His flight lasted a few beats down the slopes of the park.

When his ankle felt the drain of his elongated workout, he stopped. Reluctantly. Feeling his energy spike, he wanted to push himself more. To run to the end of the world, to leap off a high place and spin into a low roll. Until he was too exhausted to think or move.

Never had he imagined the drain of pretending. He had to praise Robbie for his endurance; being able to feign any kind of emotion was beyond Sportacus. So when he had to force a smile and pretend not to care, or notice things, he felt worse than after any defeat he had suffered in his life.

Panting, he turned on his heels. Walking off the remnants of his spiking adrenaline. He had three days to collect his thoughts before meeting the doorman again. When he tumbled out of his lair, he didn’t immediately see Sportacus; his attention had been stolen by Stephanie.

Sportacus stood in the shadow of the reception area, pulling the roll of film; seeing the doorman doing well made his heart sing. But seeing him this vulnerable with his guards down and anger so easily on his lips made his fingers jittery. Their interaction was fleeting, and Sportacus tried to make it as innocent as possible.

No matter the work, or the attention he should have awarded to the installation of the foil, he found his gaze slip towards the man. Deep in conversation with Stephanie. At odds with the child, Sportacus could tell that he was trying to escape.

Other runners passed him, waving and encouraging him, and Sportacus reciprocated. The park was filled with life now, with people spilling out and finding the new spectacle for themselves as Sportacus navigated out of their way. His workout ended a good hour ago, but he pushed on to tire himself out, finding that he still had some left in him.

Today there was no reason to show up at the LazyPlaza. He had other pressing matters to attend to too. Mainly getting his stuff ready for his trip in two days. Yet he found himself walking down toward the complex out of habit or sheer masochism.

Legs taking him without much of his input, he felt the excitement grow in his body with each step. As the distance diminished, so did his reservations about keeping up the facade of everything being fine. As much as he respected Robbie’s approach and wish. He himself had other, better methods to salvage the situation they found themselves in.

It took him days, but he figured it out. Liking Robbie was a hurdle high, maybe too high for even Sportacus. But he wasn’t someone to back down that easily. If the only option he had to keep in touch with the man was a work relationship, then he would push that to the limit. If Robbie didn’t need friends and wouldn’t want Sportacus to be the type of friend he already had, then Sportacus just had to find another role he could fall into.

A wry smile pulled at his lips. Easier said than done.

The dull mirroring effect of the new privacy windows was a little disorienting. Not being able to look in and see if the interior was as charming as the doorfront was off-putting. On the other hand, if he thought about everyone seeing in, and catching arguments like theirs, then he understood Bessie’s decision.

Still bargaining if he would find Robbie in the lobby or not weighed heavy against his mind as he opened the door. A timidity he never felt washed over him as he stepped inside, not knowing what was waiting for him there. Well, there was no need to fret.

The doorman was idling in his usual place. Legs propped up on the table, he donned his self-inflicted uniform, looking like his usual self. There was nothing like the dressed-down man from Christmas who squirmed under Sportacus’s hand, nor the soft but rumpled man from a few days prior.

All sharp edges and unbreakable boundaries.

"Hi, Robbie," he opted, finding it hard to open a conversation.

Robbie looked up, his bored gaze snapping to his face then back to whatever he was busying himself with. And that was all the recognition that Sportacus got.

Apart from the need to see the man at least once more before flying back home, he needed to clear some things up. Including, but not limited to, their Christmas affair. He sat in Stephanie’s usual place, an honest glee blooming in his chest when he found the chess board set up, even in the girl's absence.

"We need to talk," he summoned his courage and tried to ignore the sweat dripping from his template and disappearing into the high neck of his workout shirt.Feeling his skin heat and the clothes sticking to him, he ebbed against his mind.

"What could there be to talk about?" Robbie argued, flipping a page in his paper, then relaxed into the armchair. "We agreed that-"

"I know, but you asked me to keep an eye on Stephanie." Sportacus did feel guilty for using the little girl to catch Robbie’s attention, but there was no other way.

The doorman didn’t take the bait but lowered his legs to the ground. The idea of his escaping sent a twinge of fear through Sportacus’s chest, but he kept to the ‘put-together’ persona that Robbie wanted him to be. Sportacus was nowhere near to the level of things that Robbie seemed to be able to pull but he linked his hands, elbow on his knees, and he begged for his scheme to work.

"She seemed just fine yesterday."

Even with his best effort, Robbie had the habit of showing his emotions more openly than he would confess. Sportacus learned his tick fast in the last few years, and could rest back a little knowing the seeds of intrigue were scattered for the man.

Guarded, but jumping right into it, he had to clear up why the doorman, who was as annoyed as bewitched by the little girl  made Stephanie cry. "What happened yesterday?"

"Nothing," Robbie huffed, but his eyebrows twitched as he flipped the magazine. "She just realized we were not friends, that's all."

Sportacus found it amusing and a little frightening that Robbie never looked up at him. Not even once since he arrived. Even yesterday, when their eyes met, Sportacus had the reassuring feeling that Robbie didn’t cut him off completely.

But Robbie was giving away more of his own pain as he kept talking, even when his usual curt answers would have sufficed. "Which is disgusting and inappropriate in itself," he added, snapping the booklet in his lap. "She wanted to play a game, so we did."

"Two truths, one lie," Sportacus offered, a small hope growing over his anxiety-filled lungs. "You really hurt her, whatever it was" moving closer to the edge of the seat, to Robbie and he lowered his voice. "She was very worried about you after Christmas."

Finally. Finally, Robbie looked up. His confused gaze fell on Sportacus, and he showered in the attention he forced out of the man. Sportacus could feel the heat in his ears from the realization that he had missed the man’s expressions. His gestures, his voice. He was worried too, but if he was to confess, he would be met with apathy once again.

"There was nothing to worry about, unless you t-" Robbie’s tone shifted towards a dangerous accusation.

"I didn't tell her anything," Sportacus scoffed, coiling back, his own pain bubbling up."That," he laughed a little miserably, "is not a topic for a child. Even I can’t understand it fully, how would I-"

"Stop!" Robbie moved closer now; the table was the only obstacle remaining between them. "You did tell her I am insomniac"

"She asked, and I only confirmed her worries." Sportacus said defensively.

"Why?" Robbie jumped from his seat, and this was turning fast into something that Sportacus wanted to avoid at all costs.

"What should I have told her? She saw you very tired, and you look miserable most of the time." not choosing his words carefully seemed to pay off better this time. Or Robbie was simply over this. Sportacus followed him, standing before Robbie. Mind screaming at him to not repeat that night.

Robbie dragged his hands over his angry face and said, "Lie, just lie," before taking a few steps away. "Even with your clumsy way, she wouldn't see through it."

"She would." he slowed his words, hoping that Robbie would follow. "Stephanie is smart; you told her so yourself." It helped a little because the doorman stopped, arms crossed over his chest. Hunched over, he looked smaller, but Sportacus still had to look up to find his fiery gaze. "Wasn’t that the whole idea behind the game?"

Instead of a barrage of curse words or Robbie storming away, as he usually would, he stood there a little disheartened. Shoulders rounding, clearly bothered by the whole thing. And Sportacus being the one to bring it up. After all, Sportacus was the one who tried to get the truth out of him yesterday. The one who pushed his buttons so much after Stephanie started bawling that Robbie escaped back to his flat. 

"Urgh, alright, you win, as always," Robbie blabbed. "what? What is going on with her?"

Sportacus couldn’t help the smile that fought its way to his lips. Nor could he deny how his heart started to beat a little faster after Robbie’s face colored with blotches of red. And his usual tone and mannerism flowed back into his being. Gone was the cold, uninterested, and distant man.

Robbie with his always irritated, and on the edge mean self, being the fiend he was, was back.

Of course, it still took much effort before Sportacus could overwrite whatever went down between them. But for now, he had to manage with this. His hands fell to his waist, certain that he needed to first comprehend what had occurred the day before.

"Come on, tell me—what did you tell her?" he prompted.

"Two truths and a lie," Robbie deadpanned. "she should have been able to tell it easily; I made it so clear, but she started to bawl the moment you showed up." he shrugged, clearly hurt.

"What did you say, exactly?" Sportacus pried, closing the gap between them, happy that Robbie didn’t instinctively step away. "She said that the only truth you told was that you hated her."

Robbie straightened a little, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Sportacus. "Just one? That little…" when Sportacus pulled his attention back from wherever he went in his annoyed state he followed up with the things. "That you got her the ear thingies, that her name wasn’t Meanswell, and that I hated her..."

"You are mean," Sportacus said, confused. It was true that something had been off with Stephanie for weeks now. And even when Sportacus wanted to ignore Robbie’s curious plea to keep an eye on her, he found some interesting tidbits. "That’s two lies, one truth."

"No," Robbie drawled, rounding the reception, annoyed. He tapped the table as the PC came to life under his fingers. "The hate, that was the lie."

"I know you like her." Sportacus laughed, swatting away Robbie, finding the accusation ridiculous. "What about the earrings?"

"Obviously," Robbie said arrogantly as he slumped in his rickety chair, "if it wasn't Milford, it had to be you; you called it pretty, too," he grimaced.

"Wasn't it from you?" said Sportacus, standing to the side, hand falling to his nape in thought.

Now Robbie was the one amused; a deep, rumbling laugh left him, and Sportacus made it his quest to keep sound close to his heart.

"That ugly thing, no" he shook his head, stopping, Sportacus watched the man still. Fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Wait..." he squinted, "could it have been the candy monster?"

"Ziggy?" Sportacus asked, coming closer as he watched the cursor blink on and off in the search bar. "No, he got her a hairband... so who?" he felt his stomach drop a notch. "We should tell Milford." he pushed away from the table.

When Robbie held his wrist, he was taken aback. Fingers sinking into his skin, and the image of the man’s heated body moving with his rhythm spread under his skin. A feverish need arose, and Sportacus sated it with all of his remaining sanity.

"Wait," Robbie said, dragging him back. "What about her name?"

"If she is the daughter of the sister of Milford, then, of course, her name isn’t Meanswell." Sportacus offered the logical answer, knowing well that Robbie would call out his reasoning as false.

After all, the politician didn’t have a sister. At least they didn’t know about it; they never saw her at all. The brothers came once in a while, both larger than life and full of competence. A striking difference between them. But neither of them was as kind as Milford, and for Sportacus, that meant more.

"Oh fo f-" he dragged Sportacus by his wrist closer to the screen "The little idiot slipped her real name" keeping Sportacus in his bane he typed in the search bar with his free hand.

Sportacus huffed a laugh; even under the sudden worry, he couldn’t distance himself from the fluttery sensation of the hand on his skin. The sound made Robbie look up for a second, realize what he was doing, and snap his hands away. Even his ears reddining from the hiccup.

Hitting enter, a lot of articles popped up. Many with pictures of old ladies, and some with different car rentals under the same name. While Robbie clicked around, annoyed as he was, the sound of his low grumble snapped Sportacus from his concentration.

"You are leaving?"

As nonchalant as Robbie wanted it to sound, Sportacus could still detect the slight curiosity, even when the tone was there to hurt him a little, like Robbie was happy for him to be gone, he could still hear the tiny interest under all of it.

"Yeah, my family is holding a New Year’s Eve party, and I haven’t seen them in a while." stepping closer, he followed the rapidly moving links as Robbie dragged down the list.

"What about the elevator door?"

Sportacus laughed, surprised by the sudden question. He couldn’t have guessed it even if he tried. "I'll get to it next year."

Robbie only grumbled something unintelligible under his nose, something Sportacus couldn’t make out but felt like something sad. And as close to an ‘I will miss you’ as he will ever get. He was about to say that he would miss the doorman too when Robbie stopped on the fifth page. Pointing at the screen.

‘Child Prodigy gone missing’

Sportacus moved closer, his arms framing Robbie as he leaned closer to read with the doorman. Robbie clicked the link, and sure enough, the picture of a younger, longer-aired Stephanie beamed at them. Her arms were full of a large bouquet, and she was wearing a sparkling costume. If the caption was correct, the photo was taken about a year ago.

Right under another photo of a destroyed car from even earlier, Sportacus has kept the article off the page until now. Fearing what he would read by the pictures alone, he rather looked around the blog-like site. It wasn’t a news outlet he heard of; it wasn't a local paper’s digital alternative either. It looked like a niche thing. At long last, he turned his gaze to the short article when Robbie took a shuddering, long breath under him.

‘The disappearance of the child prodigy who rejected numerous ballet academies is a curious case of mistreatment and grand gestures.’ the writer started, sentences unnecessarily full and pretentious. 

‘The now nine-year-old ballerina, who had the whole dance world twirling on her palm, had gone missing after an alleged altercation took place at her dance company. Misfortune seems to haunt the young girl’s life as after losing her parents a few years prior in a traffic accident, her promising dance career also got cut short by her benefactors.’

Sportacus came to a halt, his gaze drawn to the images of the car crash. The horrific picture was taken from a higher angle and showed the driver's and passenger's seats, respectively, crushed to nothing. Broken glass and bent metal framed the remnants of police ribbons and what was left of personal belongings. His throat tightened, anger flaring in him as he read the rest of the post.

‘Not every generation has the privilege to cultivate a dancer as highly skilled and talented as the ballerina in our article. At the age of eight, she had already mastered Grade 8 according to the Royal Academy of Dance scale. For our readers without knowledge of ballet jargon, Grade 8 oftentimes, if not always, is achieved by the age of fifteen.’

‘How can a talent of this magnitude be lost to anonymity? Inner feuds and favoritism. According to sources, the girl was released from her contractual obligations last spring following an alleged attack on her. At this point in time, it is still under investigation to see if the accusations hold water. The victim of the case is still being debated, and as such, we are not able to report on the exact happenings.’

‘Theories floating around the case of last year were purged, hinting at a deeper and more sinister motivation in the background. We eagerly wait to see if the once-in-a-lifetime miracle dancer will stand on stage again or will forever be forgotten as one of the old system's victims. Will she go down in history as the youngest ballerina with an unfortunate past following her, or will her misdeeds and clear nepotism come to light?

"What a fucking trash," Robbie exclaimed, finishing the article and hurling the mouse in rage, fists clenched.

Sportacus couldn't fault him; this was the definition of dark journalism: writing around a topic, hinting at a sinister secret. Benefitting from the discourse born around the deliberate misinformation and gaps in the story. The article didn’t name Stephanie, but anyone looking deep enough could tell who this was, hidden on the fifth page of the search engine.

"We should absolutely tell Milford about th-" Sportacus snubbed himself. When Robbie looked up, he realized how close he was to the man, framing him, and that only a breath separated them.

"Someone made sure that nothing shows up about her with the name Splitz." Robbie ignored their closeness, deep in thought. "Even if I try to search by either picture, nothing but this blog shows up," he said, demonstrating. Turning back, he clicked on the author: "nothing here either; there are many posts from this writer, but all of them are clickbaits of some sort...

"The more reason to tell him about it." Sportacus urged, backing up a little. Stomach churning, he wanted to deny the bad feeling he had about all this. Without knowing the crime, the severity was still clear as day to him. Why Robbie was reluctant to go to Milford right away was beyond him.

"What if it’s just a misunderstanding?" Robbie's voice became a little quieter. "Someone painstakingly erased any details about her; if we tell Meanswell that we know who she is, what do you think will happen?"

If Sportacus didn’t know better, he would say Robbie sounded desperate. Gone was his dismissive tone, or feigning ignorance. He seemed honestly disturbed by what he read. Like he knew what was going on better than he let on. "Robbie…"

Before Sportacus could push further, the elevator arrived with a chime. Struggled to open its door and cried under the force as someone tried to nudge through the gap. Talk about the devil. Stephanie craned her neck out, eyes a little red still, bundled in pink she jumped out to the lobby. Close behind her, Milford, dressed sharply, followed her.

Sportacus was about to greet the pair when Robbie jumped up. Head colliding with Sportacus’ chin with a loud noise followed by whining from both parties. Robbie held his head between his hands, while Sportacus nursed his reddining and aching chin.

Milford, bless his heart, was by their side, making sure both of them were fine. While Sportacus tried his best to calm the man, Robbie snapped the laptop shut.

All three turned with very different emotions playing on their faces when the little girl broke into hysterical laughter. Loud and clear, and full of joy. Sportacus hasn't heard this tone in days. She was giggling and chuckling between her laughing fits, shaking like a leaf in the wind with each. Struggling for air, she pointed at them, not able to say anything.

"Stephanie" Milford chided, tone amused too now that he seemed sure of their health. "That’s not nice."

Stephanie relented, and only the muffled sounds of apologies and little chuckles filtered through her thick coat, where she buried her face.

"It’s fine," Robbie said, humoring the politician as he rubbed his head. "She is a vile little thing anyway."

"You are so mean!" she accused, pointing at the doorman, eyes wide and mouth pulling into a shaky smile.

"Guilty!" Robbie played up, and Sportacus couldn’t decide which one of them was cuter in his eyes.

His gaze moved towards the closed laptop under Robbie’s palm. Following the lines of the shiny silk material up to the man’s sharp jawline. With mixed feelings, he let Robbie play this for now until they were alone again. Giving him a little time but not giving in.

Milford had to hear about this; if the reality was only half as serious as what his mind conjured up, then it was something he had to learn about as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

The day started just how he liked it: uneventful, peaceful, and quiet. The lobby was empty and devoid of life, just as it was supposed to be. Lights turned off, dull and dark, Robbie dragged his feet while emerging from his flat. Bags full of trash behind him rolled and stretched against the carpet with a low noise.

As the cold hit his face, he trodded out into the chill of the winter. Feet secure on the cleaned path to the bins hidden behind decorative fences, he enjoyed the cold pricking his skin as he chucked one bag after another into the smelly bins. Caring little about recycling, but kept the flammables separate. With the last bag hanging from his fingers, he halted, his eyes losing focus, and thought about how he had hurt Stephanie so much that she had bawled her eyes out.

Or how Sportacus looked at him, clueless about what just went down. Robbie recalled the pain born in the pit of his stomach from the gaze. To be honest, it was unjust and hurtful. Forcing his limbs to work, he tossed the last bag over the edge of the green bin and let the top snap down.

Snapping his hands together, he reveled in the cold stabbing against his skin under his thin layers. Waking him up and taking some of the bad feelings away, he hoped that his day would go off without a hitch. With the year slowly ending, he was sure that most of the things that kept him up at night would disappear as soon as the clock hit twelve on New Year’s Eve.

Stephanie will go back home. Sportacus will finish his tasks.

Robbie stopped before the main door, watching his smeared reflection in the privacy window. The dark purple blob that he was stood like a dirt fleck against the clean and pure white of winter. Putting off the inevitable didn’t make it any less painful when he finally accepted it as the truth. It also didn't stop his inner thoughts from mocking him.

Being alone is fine; he liked it. He lived for it.

"So what, loneliness can be good." he said a month ago, trying his best to alienate the children.

"For who?" to their incredulous question he answered with ease. Maybe thinking of it as truth back then.

Now. Now it made him scoff at himself and belittle his clinginess. How his proudly built walls were demolished with ease. His reflection looked back at him hauntingly, ridiculing him for even thinking this was going to stick. To last. Who was there to blame?

He hurt Sportacus. No matter why, he was the one who made the man break. Even if Sportacus had pity as his motive, Robbie could have speared him, couldn’t he? He could have told him to leave. But his perverse mind and his devastatingly ugly heart just had to pressure the handyman into becoming the filth Robbie was.

He hurt Stephanie too. He could see the little pleasures eroding each time he said something harsh. She dulled every time he didn't show interest. Until he trampled over her little heart out of his own misery. 

You reap what you sow. He told his mirror image under his breath, forcing himself to get inside. Body screaming at being on the verge of hypothermia. Disgustingly overreacting and clinging to this void life. 

Peeling his soles from the wet pavement, he opened the door, hesitating for a moment, not knowing why. He idled at the door, feeling the rush of air against his face. Oddly, the draft sent a new chill down his back as he closed the door behind him. Sniffing a little, a wet smell hit him, yet when he looked around, he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Shaking off his tension he fell to his usual seat.

The day that started with a mild headache spiraled into a full-blown catastrophe. First, Sportacus came back with all his worked-up glory. with the simplest sentence sending his mind into panic, making his breath hitch the slightest. To turn the conversation and remain in the lead, Robbie pulls on Sportacus’ good nature, figuratively tugging his mustache. But it didn’t work; Sportacus sidestepped his crudely set trap, winning once again. As always.

Baiting him with the only topic that could make him act without much thought. The notion was strange and frightening; Robbie never in his life thought he would be so easily pulled along just by uttering one name. Giving into the handyman’s honest pestering, he revealed his newly found anomaly regarding the girl. Regretting it once their digging dragged results from a depth Robbie didn’t want to see.

While he read the obviously half-assed article, his whole body went rigid and cold. With each word describing what was undoubtedly Stephanie, his anger grew. His mind formed images and a story that he could only hope was just his imagination.

But his memory was as foul as Robbie was, showing the girl shy away, hands raised to shield a hit that would never come from Robbie. Or her rapidly changing skittishness, transforming into false security. How her face paled whenever someone around her seemed sick, how she pleaded with him to spend time with her. Or her pearl-like tears falling from the devastating notion that Robbie hates her.

Child prodigy his ass. Adults and media loved to toss the words around, to kids without a fully formed brain to bask in them. Enveloping them in a false security that only made their walls and guard break down. After losing her parents and then her passion, how was she still so lively?

"What a fucking trash," his sentence broke, and he had much more to fill the void that the post created inside him. His flaring rage made him toss the mouse, which was not enough to satiate his hunger for revenge.

Sportacus was right. In the silence of the lobby, with Sportacus hovering over him, shaken just like Robbie himself, he had the solution right there. And Robbie knew he had no choice but to follow through; whoever gave Stephanie the earrings knew where she lived and had the gift addressed to her. They could come inside the complex.

Unease draped over Robbie’s shoulders as he tried to get his point across to Sportacus. Selfishly clinging to the last remaining days, Stephanie would still spend here. Stopping, the realization that going back was not an option anymore hit him. There was no one. No parents, they were constantly asking her about. No family to fall back to.

Even if Milford had some relation to the girl, it was more likely that she was under the bumbling man’s care. Both of them stuck to their story each time someone asked about the deceased parents of the little girl. Suddenly, the order for her not to leave the complex alone, to stay inside and not  use her phone made sense. 

Those could all be just parts of a proceeding that neither of them has shared yet. Knowing full well how he sounded, he wagered the possibility that his imagination and deduction skills were shit. That he was just making things up and that there was nothing really going on. After all, even the article couldn't say for certain that anything happened.

"What if it’s just a misunderstanding? Someone painstakingly erased any details about her; if we tell Meanswell that we know who she is, what do you think will happen?" He was aware that his tone had become low and trembling. He knew that Sportacus could make it out with ease.

When Sportacus addressed him after a moment, his tone, which was both comforting and frightening, sent Robbie's mind into a deeper panic. Before he could retort and reassure Sportacus, to lie and trick, and conduct his own desperate investigation, the pair just popped up.

Stephanie tumbled out of the old elevator, as if summoned. She showed clear signs of crying, but she was wearing an honest and open expression. She didn’t back down from the interaction with either adult.

So when Robbie sprung up, forgetting that the blue buffoon was standing behind him, his pain was real. He could only imagine the chin pain that Sportacus suffered from their collision. Robbie’s eyes watered, and tears pricked his corners as he tried to overpower the pain in his skull.

And she laughed.

Harder than ever. Her chiming laugh filled the depressing lobby with life. She couldn't stop gloating in their misery, even when Milford told her how inappropriate that was. Nor did she stop when Robbie, out of sheer happiness, accused her of being a vile little girl. If anything it sent her ever harder. 

He felt Sportacus by his side; he knew he could rely on him, but he kept to himself. Fingers shook over the closed laptop. Whenever it seemed like Sportacus would open his big dumb mouth, Robbie talked over him. Pinching the man’s arm, he held out until the pair slowly, and with a little hop in their steps, left.

"We have to tell Milford" Sportacus repeated himself, turning towards Robbie he pushed the words, each ringing clear.

The doorman could tell just by his stance that he was as highly strung as him. That he was too afraid to keep this a secret, and Robbie understood. But he needed more time. "I know," he scoffed, feigning confidence he didn’t have.

He marched around the table toward his apartment. Stopping when Sportacus wasn’t following like usual. Robbie grinned to himself. Of course not; you told him to stay away.

Turning, he urged the man on. "Come on" deliberately leaving his door open. 

Their issue had been pushed to the back burner. Robbie sunk into the plush of his recliner. Shielded his eyes with his palm. Emotions swirled in an agonizing but eager mix as he pulled his phone from the side table, tapping it in an erratic rhythm as the handyman reluctantly followed him.

Sportacus idled by the door, at the edge, only stepping forward once Robbie mocked him.

"Afraid?" Robbie nagged, swiping the stack of books off the low table with his leg. Pointing at the now-empty space. "Sit"

The obedient puppy Sportacus was, he followed the order, smiling to himself mostly, once they were eye to eye, the handyman fell back to his worried tone. "When they get back, I’ll talk to Milford, and you have to keep Stephanie busy."

"What after that then?" Robbie let the phone rotate between his fingers, snapping it from side to side. His mind was running wild, a dark little corner of his heart eating away at his reason. "She’ll be taken away to a new place."

"That's it," Sportacus said, arms open, and he argued, his legs never stopping bobbing and tapping against the bare flooring. " whoever it is, they are too close."

"What if it’s a misunderstanding? What if the earrings were from—I don’t know—Bessie?" Robbie countered.

Sportacus shook his head, his lips pressing together. His eyes were moving from one spot to the next, anxious. "Bessie would have boasted about it; she would have corrected everyone," the handyman listed. "We both know no one else inside, in the house, would have gifted her."

"We don’t know that." Robbie tried to get away from the very logical reasoning "look," and he wagered, "nothing else happened, right?"

Sportacus’ eyebrows were pulled together under his ridiculous beanie. "You yourself said something was strange." With confusion clear on his face, he leaned forward, getting closer and closer.

So much so that Robbie could feel the heat of him seep under his skin. Robbie pulled away, dragging a pillow to his lap as a barrier; the phone stopped in his hands. "Well, I was right, of course, but that only means she has a past," he rambled, drawing confidence from his own deductions. " nothing else; she might not be related to Milford, but what else is there?"

"I don’t think you believe that," Sportacus said, thumbs tapping against each other over his linked hands. "We have to tell them that we know about it and the trinket too."

"Stephanie said, she will only stay until New Year’s anyway, right?" Robbie pushed up, straightening, and tapped the device against the armrest.

Defiant and pushing back against Srpotacus’ very sound and, as always, perfect explanation why his idea of covering this up was a bad one. Robbie knew that this was a serious issue. But, he just kept denying it, passing it up with mimed confidence and ease.

"She had been here for almost two months now, and nothing" when Sportacus tried to cut in he kept going "NOTHING has happened."

The handyman let an annoyed huff out, and it made Robbie feel alive. Banthering and having the man in his home filled him with energy, something he wanted to hide away, just as he wished he could hide Stephanie away. Their shared unpleasant moment was overshadowed by their common love of the pink-bound idiot. And Sportacus couldn’t question that.

"So what is your idea?"

See, again, abso-fucking-lutely he was on the right page. Not giving an inch, it appeared that all of his patience for Robbie had already been drained. And the doorman couldn’t even fault him for it. Robbie was, after all, working tirelessly towards annoying the man and making him disappear as soon as possible. However, with things turning in this dire direction, he had no choice but to join forces.

To be honest, his only idea, or plan—more like a last crumb of sense—was to call the only person he knew would be able to drag the truth to the surface.

"Robbie?" Sportacus urged him, his voice strained.

"Okay?!" Robbie grimaced "I don’t know, but, just, give me a fuc- a minute okay?" He said this while stalling but unlocking the phone; on fast dial, he dialed Glanni's name, anxiety rising in his stomach, when his call was cut off. For the next three times as well. "Wha-?" He held the phone between them, listening to the machine tell him that Glanni was unavailable.

"Is he your brother?" Sportacus asked out of the blue.

Robbie nicked his head to the side in surprise—a tick he never really left—and asked, "How do you know we are related?"

"The picture" Sportacus said, slowly, a little ashamed as he pointed to the image leaning against Robbie’s trophy. "Last time whe-"

"Yeah, he, Glanni, is a relative," Robbie reluctantly shared, tossing the phone to the side after sending a few words, hoping the eccentric man would be useful to him at least once.

"Why don’t we wait a little?" he bargained, hoping that Sportacus would humor him.

"Being straightforward is the best route," the handyman countered, no leniency in him, "just tell him what we found and see what Milford decides to do."

The tiny living room fell into silence after that. Sportacus was set on a goal, and once he saw the solution—the best nonetheless—there was nothing that would stop him from just doing the thing that would get them there. Now too, he was moving, twitching with energy, even with his hands linked over his knees and his shoulders square, and there was no place for any question or doubt.

So Robbie didn’t say anything; whatever the handyman wanted, he would do it anyway, even without his approval. Sportacus couldn’t be forced to do anything he didn’t want or found wrong. Why would he back down now?

"When they come back, I’ll talk to Milford, and you should take Stephanie to the side," he repeated himself.

Robbie grunted, disgusted with the plan, the truth eluding him."What if she has to leave?"

"That’s the right thing to do," Sportacus offered, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

Robbie wanted to explode; he wanted his blood to boil. But he was simply let down. "Like YOU know what the right thing is…" he said, rolling his eyes and standing with another grunt from the recliner. Ready to end the conversation.

Being on the receiving end of being held back. Feeling the handyman’s fingers circle his wrist sent an electric jolt down his body. Confused, he turned, pulling against Sportacus’ hold. When he was let go, he was a little disappointed.

"No I don't," Sportacus laughed humorlessly, right hand still hovering between them. Then with a resolve, he snapped both back, resting them on his knees. "Robbie, I want to talk about Christmas."

Another jolt, now with cutting ice, ran down his veins. Robbie knew that sooner or later this would come up. In his more lethargic moments, Sportacus’ image would berate and ridicule him. In his more sober but oddly sadder moments, he knew that the handyman would talk with a subdued, kind tone, explaining away why this was a mistake.

"Nothing happened on Christmas," Robbie tried, rooted to the floor, his heart picking up pace.

"A lot happened actually" Sportacus laughed with humor this time, making a little strain loosen in Robbie "it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but would you hear me out?"

He really didn't want to. Actually, he would rather walk into a lava-filled room with never-ending sirens blaring. Even that looked more manageable than this. "We agreed to go back , ugh, h-how we were…" he still hated that he said that with his whole heart. Sappy shit like that, but it was still an honest plea of his at the time. Now even more so.

Sportacus sighed, his shoulders moving with the depth of it. "I know, I respect that; that is what you want, but"

"Bullshit! There wouldn’t be a ‘but’ if that was true.” Robbie accused, rounding the recliner and creating a physical barrier between the two of them, which put him at ease.

"You might be right." Sportacus laughed, not moving to close the gap; he looked up from his sitting position. Feet still tapping: "I still want to apologize."

Robbie’s fingers sank into the plush of the orange recliner, and, fearing the worst, he held on for dear life. Felt his legs go weak and his throat dry as a cold draped over his chest. Slowly spreading through his veins and ending in his fingertips, the fabric was hard and sharp. He gulped, feigning ignorance. "For what?"

"For acting the way I did," he offered. "I am sorry. I shouldn’t have acted when I was clearly not in the right mindspace."

"You are saying you regret it," Robbie clarified, scoffing, and he hoped he masked his disappointment with irritation. "that we did that?"

"No."

All the retorts, all the words that were ready to hurt, froze on Robbie’s lips. The one word pointed at his heart was so steadfast and so out of left field that the doorman felt his world tilt a little. Blinking, he found himself dumbfounded, his body taut; he couldn’t even utter one word.

Sportacus didn’t spare a moment. "I am sorry that I made a rash decision in the heat of the moment. It hurt both of us." Sportacus said, with the conviction Robbie couldn’t and didn’t even try to challenge. "Out of possessiveness and jealousy," he added after a beat. " forced you into a corner, then couldn’t follow through."

The handyman’s blue eyes were veiled, but his voice was steadfast. Sportacus did something for him only after four days of keeping his promise—something that other people in his life never even intended. And he did it so easily, like it was nothing. Like admitting being in the wrong wasn't frightening at all.

No. Sportacus sat there, honest and straightforward. Obviously not perfect, flawed in his own clumsy and cute way, but honest to a fault. He wasn’t waiting for an answer, and Robbie still wanted to give one. It was also on his lips, but his mind and heart found common ground in the split second of silence following the handyman’s apology.

Because he pushed it away as much as he could. As much as he ran from it and battled it every day. This wasn’t simply attraction, nor was it a small crush. No, this was a full-fledged, tooth-rottingly sweet, agonizingly pure feeling that lingered in his chest. There was no denying it anymore—he was in love. Robbie loved Sportacus, and his mind didn’t even have the time to process this because Robbie started talking.

"You did it out of protectiveness," he said, his ears ringing over whatever he was talking about. "you looked out for a friend, and, well," he laughed, his chest hurting with it. "We both went too far; all the stuff you just apologized for, I could do the same," but both of them knew that this was as close as he would ever get to it.

"Also, don’t cry again," Robbie added when the smile on Sportacus’ face widened and the corners of his eyes glistened in the low light seeping in from the lobby. " who would have thought that the great Sportaflop was a crybaby?"

"There is no shame in it," Sportacus offered, rubbing his eyes and smiling. "I am sorry, Robbie."

"Whatever," he mustered up, keeping behind the armchair. "Your idea of a friend is obviously not the same as mine," he added, a stubborn pain ebbing against his chest.

Sportacus looked at him for a few beats, and even in the dull light, Robbie could make out the soft red on his cheeks, so once again, before Sportacus could say anything, he cut in.

"But we're both adults, so we just work it out," he joked, laughing at the wordplay he could make right there.

"Are you okay now?"

Both men jumped. Sportacus literally leapt through half the living room when the little girl chirped hanging from Robbie’s door frame.

Stephanie’s timid smile was dulled by the lack of light inside the flat, but she was bright enough as she was. In her thick white coat and loud pink mittens. She asked louder this time, "Are you friends again?"

"Something like that..." "What are you doing back here?" they said in unison.

She grinned, using the door frame to swing around with ease. "Uncle Milford forgot his wallet."

"Great, I need to talk with him before I leave." Sportacus smiled back, walking past the girl and flicking her hair joyfully.

"Ah, you bought the tickets?" she turned, still hanging, and ignored Robbie.

"Are you leaving so soon?" Robbie asked, clearing his throat as he pushed the girl off his door frame. Making Stephanie hop around the lobby with a scowl, Robbie closed the door.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Sportacus clarified, pulling his thick vest from the chair where he left it. "Stephanie, could you help Robbie with something?"

"Uh..." the little girl answered, pulling away a little. She turned, pouting, her gaze fixed on the floor. "What d-do you need help with?"

What a great question, Robbie thought, glaring at Sportacus, who was urging him on. Robbie wasn’t ready to do this so soon. Opening his mouth like a fish, then closing it without a sound, he swatted at nothing in particular around the lobby.

The moment he did, the main door opened, and Bessie waltzed in, hands full of bags, brand names, and shiny material hanging from her faux fur coat. Her voice as shrill as always, she demanded attention right away. "Oh! How fortunate, come fast," she mimed, crumbling under the nonexistent weight of her shopping spree.

Of course, Sportacus was the first to deliver, taking everything from her right arm, while Stephanie pulled on the left. Leaving one bag for Robbie, he had no idea why she had so much stuff all the time. He once bet with Pete that she was secretly a hoarder.

"Thanks, darling," she petted Stephanie’s head adoringly, "such a sweet girl. Thanks Sportacus" she smiled her famous smile, then turned to Robbie "Mr. Rotten."

Robbie nodded, glancing up the moment the woman turned away. A mix of heavy perfumes followed her, making the guessing game of what she bought that much easier.

"What are you doing here, standing around?" she asked finally, fanning her suddenly warmed face.

"Uncle Milford and I are going to see a movie!" Stephanie announced, the bags singing at her side as she rolled on her soles in excitement.

As if summoned, Meanswell arrived in the lobby, waiting for the rickety door to open patiently. He came out with a heavy laugh and an apology fast on his lips. Only to stop the moment his eyes landed on Bessie. Robbie knew the routine, and so did his counterparts; it wasn't any less fun.

"Ms. Busybody! Welcome back, allow me to h-" Meanswell fell over himself to please the haughty woman.

"Never mind that; I hear you're going to see a movie, Milford," she said instead of greeting him.

"Why, yes," and Milford started into a small tirade, regaling their day with Stephanie and how she was the one to choose the movie.

Robbie could throw up. Milford was infamous for having the greatest crush on Busybody. And she was known to let it go over her head and pretend to not know about the man’s advances. Yet never letting a day pass without some charming flattery, just to a few beats later reject the man. All in a very exquisite and elongated 60’ type of way.

As a result, when the scenario unfolded in front of the three idling by the failing courtship, Robbie had only paid attention to half of it.

"Sounds delightful," Bessie offered, flicking her finger for the three of them to move her bags.

"Would you allow me to invite you next time?" Milford asked all pleasant, and already crestfallen.

"Yes, why not?" Bessie smiled.

A beat of silence passed; the only sound was the bags on Stephanie’s arm as she grabbed at the men on her sides. In excitement, her lips curled and her grip tightened. Sportacus’s eyes widened a notch, the shock so obvious on his face that Robbie almost laughed out loud.

"Really?" Milford and Robbie asked in very, very different tones.

"I, yes, maybe next week—" Milford started.

"Tomorrow afternoon, we can have dinner as well," Bessie dictated. "Be a treasure and take my bags?"

In a flurry of events, bags exchanged owners, and after some hasty discussion about a later viewing, Milford was gone. With Bessie by his side.

Leaving the three of them alone in the lobby.

It was so surreal that Robbie almost forgot about everything that happened that day. Which was a lie; it was more like he tried to push it down deliberately.

Stephanie was so excited and high-strung that she seemed to forget about their hating scandal from the day before. She went on and on about how sweet and romantic this was. And how she was sooo happy for her uncle. Literally dancing around.

Robbie shuffled next to Sportacus, who was stock still and deep in thought. His smile wavered as he mirrored the little girl’s amusement.

"So what now?" Robbie leaned to the side, arms crossed, hoping to get on eye level with the handyman.

"I cannot bring it up now..?" Sportacus was seemingly debating this truth.

"Obviously…" Robbie countered. When Sportacus stilled even more, frighteningly, Robbie couldn’t take it anymore. "Tell him tomorrow after the date."

"I’ll be gone by then."

"What do you want to tell uncle?" Stepaheni joined in, her eyes suspiciously moving between them.

Because Sportacus was incapable of lying, as pastl data supported, Robbie took it upon himself. With the excitement and anxiety mixing, he wrapped an arm around the handyman. And squeezed as he pressed out what he hoped was a natural observation.

"Sportaloser wanted to say goodbye before he went home."

"Oh..." was all Stephanie had, her eyes moving from Robbie to Sportacus and back, stopping on their odd connection.

"Yeah," Robbie added, smacking his lips, reveling in the heat rolling off of the handyman. 

Stephanie kept her gaze on them; a tiny smile wavered at her lips’ corners. She shook off one of her mittens and rummaged in her pocket, her cheeks puffing. She finally spat out what she had been holding back.

"I thought you were going to tell him about, you know," she nudged her boots against the carpet, "knowing my real name and such."

Robbie felt Sportacus move by his side, unwinding from under his arms not missing a beat. He stepped closer to the girl, who was still valiantly standing her ground. Sportacus lowered to a low crouch to be on Stephanie’s eye level.

Not for the first time, Robbie saw how much softer Pinky became when she talked with the handyman. How her shoulders would lower each time Sportacus addressed her, easing her little heart. While she was comfortable with Robbie, she loved Sportacus and Milford. She would follow along with ease, happy in her step as she walked by their side.

Betrayed, but knowing well that it was Robbie’s own doing, he smiled as the scene unfolded. The soft and warm coaxing of an adult and the strong defiance of a child.

"You can’t! Not today!" she demanded, pouting, her eyes wet from unshed tears. "I’ll tell him myself, I swear!" she offered, grabbing at Sportacus’ arms.

"Stephanie" Sportacus started, easily balancing under the girl’s pull, "So you do know that this is important."

Her tears started up, and Robbie felt his heartstrings tighten. Stupidly feeling for the child, as she argued with all her might. "I messed up... but we... I can't..." she rubbed her bare hand into her eyes, her words slurring with each breath. Gulping, she shook herself, like her resolve had just strengthened. "I’ll tell him right away after the date."

"No," Sportacus said, shaking his head.

Robbie watched Stephanie’s heart crack with the betrayal. As foul Robbie was, as hard a pill it was to take that this will change everything, as easy it was to lie to keep Stephanie’s mellow and kind image of Sportacus that she created.

"No," Robbie barked over whatever Sportacus’ reasoning was. "I’ll, after all, I looked it up; Sportakook just happened to be here."

The pair looked up at him in confusion. One gaped openly, while the other hid his justified rage. Sportacus leaned forward to get a better look at Robbie, his mouth pulling into a disappointed scowl, but Robbie gave him no time to answer.

"You’ll be gone by then," he pointed out, "and both of you know that this stunt by Bessie is like a miracle."

"I’ll cancel my booking," Sporacus said, standing up. And Robbie was sure he would without a missing a beat. Or losing sleep over it, if it meant doing the ‘right’ thing.

"You can’t!!" Stephanie held onto the handyman.

Robbie just watched the argument go on and on forever about family, duty, and who was more worried about the other. While Stephanie argued she was alright and that Meanswell would keep her safe either way and it wasn’t such a big deal, Sportacus corrected her and made it crystal clear how worrisome this whole situation was. How, no matter his obligations, he knew something was off.

Smartly evading the candy cane earring topic. He assured Stephanie that she would face no consequences if she admitted to Milford that she had made a mistake. After all, she was just a child.

Robbie knew a wrong move a mile away, and with this one idea of reducing Stephanie to a child, which she was, Sportacus would lose most of his credibility, so he joined in again.

"You don’t trust me that much?" Robbie was accused, fully aware that there was no reason to trust him. He never once made it so that Sportacus could rely on him. Pushed him away more than once, cruelly using his naivete against him on multiple occasions.

Stephanie, the opportunist she suddenly became, joined his side right away. "Yes, Robbie will see to it that uncle knows."

Robbie gestured around them as he looked down at the two. "Leave it to me?" he asked with the most posh accent he could think of. Causing the little girl to chuckle a little. Against his better judgment, he also fell to a ball, curling in on himself, his own posture much less nuanced than Sportacus’ stance.

"Please," Stephanie pleaded, her hands grasping at her chest.

"This is serious." Sportacus didn’t give a breath, not letting his guard down for a moment.

"I know." Robbie grunted; he molded his tone so he could convey how much he understood. "What is one day?"

"I promise we will do it!" Stephanie drew closer to Robbie, despite her sulking. Standing by his shoulder, she sunk her fingers into his shirt, using Robbie to stabilize herself and ground her mind, if the emotions running across her face were anything. "I promise."

She held her right bare hand over Robbie's shoulder, her fist curled except for her pinky finger, toward Sportacus. Robbie felt a bubbling chuckle hide behind his sudden burst of huffing.

Sportacus shook his head, his eyes avoiding the pair, and Robbie found it empowering to be once on the winning side. Even if it meant he had to cheat his way into a pact with Stephanie. Right after wearing her down and making her bawl her eyes out. And to betray Sportacus, who had put his trust in him as an adult.

Sportacus was right. His worries were justified, and Robbie shared them as much as he hated to confess to them. Yet the universe was on his side this once. Giving him a day by performing a once-in-a-lifetime miracle.

"This is not up for debate, Stephanie."

Robbie watched Sportacus eat his own words, torn between Robbie’s reasoning and Stephanie’s plea. Rather than letting Sportacus take the pinky, Robbie linked his own finger to the girl’s. "Did you know that if you break this promise, you’ll have to break or cut your pinky off?"

"I will!" Stephanie shouted without hesitation, her finger strangling Robbie’s.

"So she says," Robbie cackled, pulling the girl between them by their locked fingers. "You cannot say anything, because this is a promise between us, dummy."

Robbie pushed Sportacus' shoulders, discovering once again that he was immovable, only causing his own balance to go off. Wobbling, his knees definitely made a sound that they shouldn’t have, but Stephanie caught him, pushing against his back.

Before he knew it, Sportacus had pulled him along with himself. With Robbie ending up against his chest in Sportacus' bear hug, arms oddly dangling, one still linked to Stephanie at his side, instead of the warmth he expected, a tense cold ran down his spine. Even when the arms around him tightened and Sportacus put his chin on his shoulders and whispered into his ear, even then all he could feel was dread washing over him.

"I don’t like this Robbie," Sportacus reiterated under his breath, patting Robbie’s side.

Robbie took his hand from Stephanie, and his own tense arms circled Sportacus, hugging him back. In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to enjoy the touch and warmth. Urging his own mind to stop with the useless worry these easy words started in him, "It’s fiiiiiiine" he reasoned.

"You really made up!" Stephanie snapped, laughing happily without knowing what was going on.

That night, much like on others, sleep evaded him. Even hours after their initial discussion, Robbie was a ball of anxiety. Debating whether his decision was really right. If it was worth going against Sportacus when the handyman was absolutely right. 

Sitting in his recliner, he watched the tick mark next to his last message for Glanni. Why he didn't pick up or return his phone call was another burden on his shoulders. But he was sure that everything would turn out just fine.

It, in fact, didn’t turn out just right.

He stood near the main entrance, watching as people eagerly shoveled the fresh snow. The morning, as slow as it was, started with a little ruckus. There were some logistics to be moved around as the weather didn’t seem to let up snowing anytime soon, which meant everything got pushed back.

First, Sportacus called to notify him about his postponed flight, then to remind him about his promise.

Right after Bessie made a scene regarding some missing mail, she was clacking around in her high heels. Huffing and puffing and claiming to file a claim with the office as soon as possible, preferably by yesterday,

Followed up by Milford having to head to work before his appointment with Bessie. Meaning he left midday, leaving his luck and his briefcase behind. So when he came back, bumbling like the idiot he was, their times were pushed back even more.

The entire day became a whirlwind of tasks and contacts to keep track of. The snow stopped falling around midday, only to return with a vengeance late in the afternoon. Piling and suffocating the town, effectively leaving them snowed in. Good thing Milford and Bessie made it out before that.

Anxiety had been prickling beneath his skin since the morning. His mind turned with dangerous speed over things he knew, not being able to tell why his nerves were on edge all day. Now, close to nightfall, Robbie sat in the lobby, bare feet crossed by the ankle, as Stephanie mused over the chessboard he put up for her. 

The little girl, on the other hand, seemed to be doing well. Humming to herself in her pjs and robe, legs folded under her, she eyed the pieces on the board. She showed up not long after Milford left, chessboard under her arms, she shrugged, all but emotionally manipulating Robbie into a game.

That turned into a bet, which he won, of course. Stephanie then presented nail polishes and offered her now exquisite skills to do his nails. Robbie wiggled his toes, and the dark purple polish shined in the Christmas lights. He did them while Stephanie worked on her own manicure. Dressed down too, he was holding out for the politician and Bessie to return.

Their conversations with Stephanie were strained and mostly consisted of silent chess matches, where Robbie would either tell her off or praise her for making the best move in a struggling situation. Like right now.

She huffed and pushed her bangs out of her face, eyes on the ceiling, angry. "Will I ever win??"

"I don’t think so," Robbie mocked, giving check. He nicked Stephanie’s king over. "But it’s not you, it's me," he smirked at his own joke.

Stephanie clicked her tongue, putting the pieces back, murmuring something under her breath. "I thought I could see through you..." she scoffed, pulling the black knight closer to her.

To that, Robbie said nothing, feeling the bait was something he would rather not take. He checked his phone; only one message was there, from Sportacus, something he had already answered. Rolling his eyes, he let the phone fall next to him in the chair.

She turned the horse around in her feeble hands, pinching the bottom, and she made it gallop in the air. "Why is the knight your favorite?"

Her eager eyes moved to his face and she looked like the first day she stumbled in. A little scruffy, loud, and obnoxious. lost without anyone, at the mercy of Robbie, who, back then, couldn’t care less. Now, well, that was a different story.

Rolling his shoulders, they listened to the snaps of his joints. "I’ll tell you if you answer my question first."

That sent a glint across the girl’s gaze, preparing the question that Robbie could bet she had already figured out. So, to not be so easily predictable, he went in the total opposite direction. "Do you like living here?"

Stephanie blinked some, lips opening a little before she leaned forward. Smile plastering her round face, "I do! A lot, except there is a guy who hates me here," she added at the end of her otherwise ecstatic answer.

"Cheeky little shit, you don’t believe that." Robbie snapped the piece from her fingers, eating up the small chuckle from Stephanie.

"I don't," she confessed.

"So--" "but it hurt either way, just thinking it could be true..." she followed up before Robbie could cut in.

He had a lot of clever answers for that. Some more sinister than the other, some with flowery language, a sole one with an apology. But they had a deal with Sportacus to keep the earring a secret for now from the girl. Not wanting to shake her up even more.

"I thought you would ask about my name or my family…" she said after Robbie’s pause.

"Shows you don’t know me" Robbie smirked, putting the knight on the table. 

Stephanie hummed in response.

They had his old radio buzzing by the side, laying in the armchair opposite from their side. It announced the situation with snow every now and then, playing some popular shit that Robbie couldn’t care less about. The news blared, and advertisements occasionally diverted their attention. At seven pm, they had the airport under lockdown—no planes out, no planes in. The crowd growing rapidly in the building must have been torture.

Not for Sportacus, they spoke on the phone late afternoon. His plane should have left a few hours ago, but he still sent some update messages now and then. Mostly just to check on Robbie and their agreement.

"I like it the most because it’s the best piece," he said finally.

Stephanie scrunched her nose. "It’s only worth three pawns…also the bishop is the better piece."

"You wanted to know why I like it," he lamented, wriggling in the chair as he let his long legs reach the floor over the armrest. "It’s fast; it’s the only piece that can jump over other pieces; it can make a lot of space," he listed. He debated whether or not to share his final reason, but he let it out. "It’s also the cutest."

Stephanie listened, pulling the piece from Robbie’s hand. "You do make it jump around a lot," she said, gingerly putting it back to its starting position. "Which is your favorite trap?"

"I don’t use traps; that’s too sneaky," he offered, but turned the board around. He sat up, his ears picking up the radio’s static wobbling through the frequency, announcing some rather concerning news.

"You do! A lot too, don’t lie…" Stephanie opened with her standard pawn move, making space for the queen.

Robbie learned that was her little tactic, nothing to write home about, and that was the basis of every opening. In answer, he moved his g8 knight out to f6, paying little attention to whatever Stephanie’s next move was. Pulling her attention back to the middle, he developed a pawn facing off Stephanie’s attacker.

Creating a clear attack line against his own knight idling on the side, she even mentioned it, taking the pawn, proud that she attacked rather than defending like always. "Ah, you are escaping, coward," she snickered when Robbie dutifully moved his knight to g4, attacking the very pawn she tried to take it with.

"For someone who loves this piece," she attacked with her h pawn, chuckling when Robbie moved the dark horse towards the middle, forking her queen and the bishop. "You are giving it up too soon." she took the knight with her f-pawn, and she smirked, but a beat later her smile wavered. "No"

"Yes, a trap is only as effective as blind is the one walking into it" his queen stopped her dash at the h4 checking the king. Her pawn moved out, and her king was blocked in by her own pieces. Robbie took the pawn pinned to the king and smiled wide, "Checkmate."

Stephanie grunted, grimacing as she unfolded from the chair, moved her legs around, and studied the board. Making each individual move backwards "How did you know I would step here?"

"You are too stubborn and annoying," Robbie said, standing. He yawned, stretching as he listened to his body’s aches. "Go to bed," he opted.

"B-but we need to tell uncle ab-"

"I’ll do it." Robbie sighed; his jaw ached from yawning. "scram"

"I wou-"

Her sentence was cut short when darkness fell on them. With a slow, dull whirr, all electricity was cut off. Stephanie shrieked, and Robbie felt her hands twist into his arm. The radio kept going in the darkness, screeching over the program that was playing, thanks to the batteries.

Robbie, too, felt a sudden pang of fear. Instinctively, he pulled Stephanie behind himself, placing his hand over the little girl’s shaking one. "It’s okay, the generator will pick it up in a moment."

"Sorry, sorry, I am scared." Robbie could feel her tremble, shaking more so.

Trying his best to imitate Sportacus’s usual casual care, he patted the girl’s head. "It’s fine, don’t fret."

They stood in the darkness, and Robbie’s eyes were slowly getting used to it. He glanced out, finding the street lamps out as well. The outer world was as dark as the inside of the lobby, yet it looked calmer even with the white swirling angrily in the air. Reflecting some of the light from the sky.

Moving around in the dark was dangerous, and even knowing the place inside and out, he wouldn’t risk moving Stephanie around when she was clearly shaken. As he predicted, the generator picked up, with a loud whirr under them, thanks to Sportacus. The escape and emergency lights returned, still dark but nothing compared to the blinding black that had enveloped them.

"See," he said. Encouraging the girl. "I’ll take you up," he added. "But the elevator is out, so we will take the stairs."

"Don’t want to..." she begged. "Can’t we stay here?"

Robbie took a deep breath in, his nose twitching again from the wet smell. He looked around in the dim light, his stomach dropping, and carefully swept the girl's hands away. Stepping in front of Stephanie, who looked shaken but started to melt a little, Robbie couldn’t concentrate on that. His attention and mind were working hard. Breaking over the detail he just found on the couch’s backrest. Thinking hard if he had seen the heavy-looking denim jacket during the day.

Hovering in the middle of the room, his eyes lifted to the door leading to the staircase, the one that was usually closed. Off limits. Now a sliver of light was peeking through the open crack. He pushed Stephanie towards the main entrance as he jumped towards the slowly opening door before him.

"Step back," he whispered, as he moved towards the staircase’s door.

By his next step, the door had moved backward, and when Robbie gulped to gather himself, he cast one glance towards Stephanie, who was standing to the side. Her hands fumbled with her robe as she stepped further away.

Robbie touched the knob, which sent a thrill through him as he opened the door in one wide swing. Heart at his throat, his eyes adjusted to the brighter room. It was empty, and Robbie flinched back, feeling the draft against his face as the air rushed at him.

Gaze snapping around, he registered some takeout boxes before Stephanie’s horrified scream got to him.

"ROBBIE!"

He felt the swing of the object rushing towards him, and by some miracle he evaded it. Back hitting the wall, he grasped for something to catch his balance. Knees giving up as he dodged the next hit, crying out, his voice joining Stephanie’s as the corner of the weapon cut into his shoulder. 

Crawling away, he latched onto the receptionist's table, yelling "GET OUT!" and grabbing at the attacker.

Pulling the scrawny male with him, they fell to one of the tables while Stephanie kept screaming in the back. Robbie grappled with the hooded man. His fingers hurt, and he felt one of his fingernails peel. Whatever the thing was, it hit his side and his head repeatedly as they tussled on the ground.

Robbie tasted iron; a chill ran down his spine when Stephanie gasped that the door was closed. He heard the rattling of the window panes as she battled the lock.

He pushed the attacker, who was still battering at him, to his back with the last of his strength.Kneeling over one arm of the man, he scrambled to stand.

Stephanie's horrified, pale face was the last thing he saw before his vision darkened. The tones of the world elongated, and a heat bloomed at his left temple.

-

"Step back," he hushed under his breath, and Stephanie diligently did just that.

A familiar fear filled her heart as her feet moved slowly against the carpet. She lost control over her body’s shaking, sinking her fingers into the soft fabric of her robe as she tried to anchor herself. It was just a short outage. A snow in. Nothing to, nothing to worry about she repeated in her head. 

She willed the images of a year ago away. Sending them to the back of her brain, she watched with cold running up and down her skin as Robbie opened the door leading to the stairway. As light flooded the lobby, Stephanie’s eyes widened, hurting a little, but her heart all but stopped.

A man with his hood on lunged toward the doorman, holding a trophy. He came from Robbie’s flat, his arm in the air, ready to beat down on the unsuspecting man.

Her mouth, faster than her brain, screamed Robbie’s name. She stepped forward, her legs shaking, as she watched the fight go down. She was screaming something, incomprehensible even for her own ears.

The attacker hit Robbie. Stephanie fell back, back against the cold glass, holding her body up out of sheer panic. Like a cold hand sneaking into her chest, she watched as Robbie fell to his knees, hissing in pain. Then somehow. Robbie took a good hold, and Stephanie’s heart gave a hopeful lurch as she watched their fall into the tables.

Her attention was drawn to the chess board, and pieces were flying and clattering around. Her eyes snapped to Robbie, who shouted at her. To leave. To escape. Her hands shook as she grabbed the handle. Pushing and pulling all the same in her jittery movements.

With both hands over the cold handle, her whole world stopped. Tilted with the noise as background music. She tore against the locked door with all her weight. Skin scraped against the metal as she gasped out what she herself couldn’t believe.

"I-its-its-is clos-closed" her theet chattered against her will and she turned, watching over her shoulders as Robbie overpowered the hooded attacker.

Stephanie tugged on the door with all her might; the glass and wooden panes shook with each pull. Her muscles gave up when she saw as the trophy that was battering against Robbie until now, hit. Like roses, red bloomed at Robbie’s left temple as his eyes widened in pain before they lost their focus. Stephanie watched in horror as the doorman's body fell to the side like a sack.

Breathing came hard to her. Words hid somewhere in her heart. She fell against the glass with her shoulders, still rattling the handle with both hands. Her legs gave out under her. Shaking, she tried to, to do anything. Scream. Open the door. She pleaded for Robbie to get up.

None of that left her chest. The only sounds alien to her own ears were the shrill gasps that raked through her body.

The attacker pushed Robbie’s lifeless body off of himself. The blood now painting the man’s face kept pooling on the ground. Seeping into the carpet he hated. Stephanie pushed the information away. Useless. Move, she had to move. Her eyes snapped to the open staircase.

She wouldn’t make it.

Hanging from the handle, her fingers relented, and she slowly fell to the floor as the hooded man straightened. Grunting and cussing, Stephanie watched as he swatted away whatever Robbie made a dent in. The doorman’s blood left deep red lines against the cloth.

He took a step toward her, and her body panicked, scampering to the side. She rushed towards the corner, knowing that it would make her more vulnerable. The man was coughing and maybe saying something, but Stephanie’s sole goal was to hinder the man from getting close to her.

Biting down on her lips, she pushed her body between the window and the Christmas tree. Her eyes welled up as the pine needles pricked her exposed skin. Her gaze always fell back to Robbie’s unmoving body.

"Stephanie," the man started, and she felt her body shut down from the sweet tone. "Come out, it’s safe now."

She ground her teeth. Forced to hold her body to the wall, she balled under the wide and sturdy branches. Her knees were against her face, and her hands were sunk into her hair. That voice. That man. That,that couldn’t be. He was, she was hidden, and he was under surveillance. 

"Steph, honey," he called again, huffing and laughing.

The dissonance between his tone and his action was so great that Stephanie felt the sweat freeze over her cold skin. Shaking, she heard the miniscule sounds of ornaments moving with her breathing. From here, she couldn’t see Robbie anymore; the furniture that was tossed around while they fought hindered her vision.

"Stephanie," he called again kindly, "don’t hide; it’s me."

She felt the tree move, and the notion sent another wave of pain-induced panic through her body. Her limbs were all hurting from the force she used to bind them together. Becoming as small as possible.

She flinched as something crushed against the floor near her. "Don’t do this!" The friendly tone gave way to a more aggressive one.

The one that made Stephanie’s nightmares all the more frightening; gone was the honey-colored stumble of an honest person, and the true color of a wrath-fueled aggressor showed its face.

"Sorry!" he apologized, moving some branches and ignoring each wince from Stephanie as ornaments one after another fell to their demise. "I came for you."

Stephanie watched the arm coated in dark red stretch towards her. The thin bark bent under the man’s might.

"Don’t make me angry, Steph; I came for you," he said again, tossing a glass globe to the floor.

Each shard’s sound was clear against Stephanie’s battered mind. She urged herself to come up with an idea. For now, she has won a little time. She wished she had listened to Sportacus. She wanted uncle Milford here. Robbie to be okay. Robbie couldn’t have died, right? She tried to make out the man’s form but couldn’t see it through the branches.

The insane glint in the attacker’s eyes was clear. Stephanie saw his patience ebbing with each move.

She had to move. Move. Her mind urged her. Body frozen in fear. If you don’t move, you’ll die. She wanted to. She couldn't remember the last time she took a breath; her chest constricted. Everything felt dry and sharp inside and out. She couldn’t make out what was her own though and was the shadow her once partner's. 

The man stopped for now. He sat on the balls of his feet. Sweetly smiling through the torn branches

"Aren’t you happy?" he sighed, pushing the hood back.

Stephanie searched the man’s face. Stomach dropping further. She hadn’t seen it in years. The sharp image of her assailant was washed away by her dreams and the careful hands of uncle Milford. Now. Seeing him again, she felt her mouth open, and a wet gasp left her. The wall was cold against her back, and the frame of the glass window bit into her side. The senses she pushed away all flooded back in with the air she inhaled.

"Steph, come, COME OUT, DAMN IT!" the voice boomed through the silence of the lobby.

She pushed her palms against her ears. Shaking, her legs cramped, her skin crawled, and her senses attacked her in every direction.

You need to run.

"You are always only defending."

Her eyes snapped to the open door, facing the staircase. Then to Robbie’s flat. Donovan sat between the two, right before the tree, cursing and trying his best to calm his voice. Lamenting that she didn’t properly appreciate all he did for her. That she had seduced him once more and was now playing hard to get.

Filtering out all that she tried to move. Arms unfolded, and she forced her frozen body to come back alive. The sound of another globe shattering sent her mind to a night when her windows broke. The shrill sound of glass shards squeaking under heavy steps, and she fell back once again.

She couldn’t.

She wasn’t strong enough.

"Ah, you are escaping, coward"

Her words tossed at Robbie came to her mind. She called him a coward, and she winced as another thing crashed against the ground. Now too close for comfort, she felt the pieces hit her bare feet. She called him a coward, and didn’t he just fight a man?

Stephanie’s head was swimming. Face wet, she knew she was bawling, she knew that she was alone. The help she wanted and wished for wasn't coming. The darkness was enough proof of that.

Then, like a ray of light, Robbie’s phone went off. Somewhere on the right, Donovan grunted as he moved closer to their table.

Now.

She pushed against the tree. It toppled as she ran for it. Scampering over the first chair, her eyes snapped between the two doors. She heard the cussing overpowering the ringtone, not giving up. Scared, she felt her whole body buzz, grasping for the back rest, she jumped over the furniture.

"NO!"

The words came to her in broken pieces as pain snapped through her body. Her stomach stung with the snap of an arm against it. She clung to it, but her breath was knocked out of her as her body hit the ground. Hard. A moment passed without anything as she fought her lungs, coughing.

The ceiling looked dark, and her arms were flailing as she tried to get to her side. She whimpered, her mouth gaping, as her entire being hurt.

"Ro-bbie," he coughed, finding the man’s unmoving body.

She cried out in pain as her head was snapped back by her chin. Through her swimming vision, she saw Donovan's thin face. Sharper than she remembered, his eyes void of anything other than obsession, and his lips were bleeding. Robbie did a number on him, even as he fell.

Stephanie lifted her arms, hurting as she scratched at the man. Legs kicking, she tried to find ground under the attacker. Sounds left her in short puffs with each breath she fought to gather.

"Shh," he muttered, pushing her shoulder down with his free hand. The stabbing pain went ignored as he kept sweetly talking. "Shhshhshh Steph"

He was kneeling over her, and a new fear was born in the back of her mind. Stomach clenching, she forced her legs together, shaking as she pushed with all her might against the hand still holding her down.

The hand moved from her chin over her mouth and she felt the damp disgusting skin under her nose with each exhale. The inhale came with the stench of blood and grime, and she screamed into the wet palm.

"STOP IT!"

Lifting her head, he snapped it back against the floor.

The sound registered before the pain did. A dull, soft pain went down her neck, pooled behind her neck, and pulled her muscles to a stop. She felt her arms fall from their advances, as well as her taut body going limp in a moment. Vision swimming more than just from the tears, she felt like she just fell from a carousel, still unbalanced, she breathed in, something dripping into her nose. 

She coughed, slowly realizing that the hand was gone. Turning her gaze, she let her cheek hit the ground. Anything but looking at the man apologizing on top of her. The heat coming off him was unwanted, and she felt sick to her stomach. The taste of vomit filled her mouth, and she heard Donovan curse over her.

"It’s fine, it’s fine…" he said, as the hand that had been hurting her until now tenderly wiped her mouth. Caressed her cheek. "Look what you forced me to do..." he nuzzled his face against Stephanie's, making her want to scream.

Donovan lifted, pushing the hair out of her face. She felt like tiny blades were cutting into her face with each touch. "You are not wearing my gift today?" he said, sounding sad as he pushed her hair behind her ears. He pinched her right lobe. "You liked it, I heard," he said with a breathy laugh.

Disoriented and mortified, she remembered shakenly all the times she touched the trinket. Scared, she wanted to get away. She wanted to live. Robbie. She wanted Robbie to get out. Uncle, she wanted Milford. Stephanie felt her lungs shake as sobs broke from her chest.

"It's okay now," he said as he leaned down to kiss her, and she snapped her hands to her face, strength coming from somewhere far away, and she hid her face. Curling on in herself as the man talked, peeling her arms with strong hands. "I’ll take care of you," he said. His tone changed with each snap of her arms, building towards the rage he was hiding. "That pest won't touch you anymore-okay-okay-listen-Steph-" he pulled the arms away and Stephanie looked away "he won’t bother you, okay, I saved you" he laughed happily.

Some of the fog cleared from her mind, and she saw better now. While she closed off the sensations of boney fingers pulling her robe away and pushing into her flesh, she watched the chess pieces scattered on the floor. Their varnish was shiny under the light flooding from the staircase. In her mind they twinkled radiant, valiant, helping her push away the feeling over her thigh.

Robbie’s favorite was lying at its side, like the horse had held its gaze on her the whole time. Mourning her sorry state. Stephanie's mind was getting further and further from her body with each unwanted touch.

"Let’s check your precious legs. Hm, I made sure you wouldn’t break them. Are you happy?"

She came back, sensations rushing against her body like sharp knives. She gained some space by pulling away. Scampering, she surprised Donovan, who jumped after her, holding her down again.

"Let go!!" she screamed, her mouth finally joining her inner voice.

Just to betray her the next moment, something was pushed against her face. Coarse and sour. She tasted the cold liquid that rushed into her lungs. She fought against the hand holding it against her face, without give. Her heart was pounding and battling to keep her going, and her lungs stuttered. Oddly, leaving her taut again. The chemical smelled terrible against her skin, and she tried to gain traction by digging her heels into the carpet.

"Stay-hey-stay put-" Donovan ordered, holding her hard against the floor. "Why is this not working?" he hissed as Stephanie cried into the textile.

The burn she felt as the liquid was splattered on her face was nothing compared to the smell. Wetting her face, leaving it cold, and felt the ice burn into her eyes. She sputtered, feeling like she would suffocate as the liquid traveled up her nose. Coming back into her mouth, she struggled with all her might.

With each new breath she fought down, it felt sluggishly torn.Lungs struggled to keep up with her order. All the pain left her in a second, and her vision got a white border. Sweet warmth flooded her body, as if she were being dragged down underwater. Still breathing, blanketed securely.

She let go.

Hands fell to her side. Neck gave up, and she met the gaze of the knight again. It can jump over all the pieces, she thought as she felt something dull and hard push against her. Her body was nonexistent; she was just hanging in the water, watching the pieces roll on the floor. Mockingly wobbling up and down. It can jump; it’s cute.

That’s Sportacus; she said, maybe, she didn’t feel her lips. She didn’t feel anything. Blinking slowly, she felt tired, so tired. Then there's the bishop—oh, the one who can sprint across the board. Robbie didn’t like that one. If the knight was Sportacus, who was the bishop, she smiled.

Mind reminding her that she wasn’t supposed to. To run and hide, but the question was still there. And the rook, that was her uncle, stock still and slow. But this is crucial: an attacker lurking in the shadows of its one-track stance. Uncle Milford, he will be so disappointed. He might cry, she thought. Each blink was getting longer and longer.

Suddenly, without her consent, her head moved away from the pieces that comforted her. To the man she didn’t want to see. The face she liked once, then hated, and now couldn’t put a name to, looked pale. With his big black mouth gaping and talking to her, the picture shook rapidly. He looked shaken.

Stephanie laughed, her heart pounding with joy. Serves him right. With her eyes on the ceiling, she turned her mind to the soft idea of chess pieces. Ziggy could be the bishop, or she could be; she was quick. But it was always sidestepping and calculating as it attacked across the board, pinning pieces. Robbie didn't like it. So she didn't want to be the bishop, she thought.

"Do you know which is the most important piece in chess?"

Ah.

Now she knew.

It’s the queen.

The sound of cracking wood stole her attention. The attacker fell, and someone painted in dull red talked to her. Touched her kindly, voice filled with worry, she knew it. She felt her body move. The rushed words against her skin. There was a ruckus, and her mind urged her to surface soon as the border of her vision slowly turned black from the comforting white. The water that was lulling her until now got into her lungs, and she fought for each breath. Shaking, some of the sensation came back to her.

Something fell into the water in front of her, bubbles causing a commotion with a clear, sharp sound. Then the water turned cold. It hit her like a thousand small needles. Blooming from her back to her face—something hooked into her mouth. She hated it, letting the cold into her lungs, so she fought it.

"Keep breathing," someone said, ignoring her teeth sinking into the soft flesh that kept her mouth agape.

Even if the tone wasn’t kind, even if the water started to freeze over her. Even if her body was left behind as her mind spiraled towards the bottom of the sea, she felt she had to listen. Even if it hurt, she let the cold water fill her up.

Chapter Text

He awoke early in the morning to the sound of his trusty alarm blaring in the silence of his top-floor flat. It cut into the dense dream that his mind conjured up from anxiety and worry. Sportacus’ eyes opened on the third beat, and he sat up by the fifth. Legs snapping to the side, he jumped out of his bed.

Morning routine was drilled in so deeply that he was mostly on autopilot; while brushing his teeth, he glanced towards the luggage already prepared at the door. After rinsing, he checked his watch. In a few hours, he will be waiting for his flight at the airport. Usually this filled him with energy; the prospect of meeting his family after such a long time would make him hyper and antsy to fly already.

It hid under everything this time. Under the never ending worry caused by the pair left behind at LazyPlaza. The night before, he left reluctantly after walking Milford and Stephanie to the cinema, which yielded none of his desired results. The little girl, in cahoots with Robbie, stopped him every time he wanted to pull Milford away.

Just before they disappeared into the bright building, she ran back to him, jumping into his embrace. She tightened her grip, talking straight into his thick vest.

"I promise!" she said, pulling away with a wide and honest grin. "I’ll miss you; have a nice flight!"

Those were the last words she said to him, buzzing with energy like the information, and the reason for their caution was nothing more than a poor grade she received in school.

While his breakfast was heating, he pulled back his curtains, the motion so monotonous yet it still took him by surprise. The snow that hadn’t fallen for a week has finally picked up again. Lazily falling and piling on the pavement under and on top of the neighboring buildings.

The white reflected the light just enough in the darkness to feel deceived by the warmth it promised. Sportacus retreated to his bed, stretching his legs until his toes were almost touching the wall-length glass panes.Pulling his phone from the spare cord, he checked the time, knowing Robbie was already up. It wasn’t much of a guessing game. His insomnia was back, and he would bet most of his belongings that he wasn’t getting a nick of sleep after yesterday.

After they learned about Stephanie, Sportacus reluctantly walked into their little scheme. His mind replayed the last touches—the feel of the man in his arms. The feeling was much more than just protectiveness; he had a bad feeling about it. He knew something was wrong. Something other than the girl’s evident secrets coming to light.

"You don’t trust me that much?"

Robbie had asked. And Sportacus did trust him; he didn’t trust his decision, however. Deep in his gut, he felt that this whole ordeal was nothing to joke about. Nervous, he shook himself as his kitchen gadget notified him of his water’s optimal temperature.

Before he stood, he sent the day’s first message to Robbie.

[Morning, how is it there? Is the snow a problem? - Sportacus]

When there was no new message from the man, Sportacus wondered if he should just show up before leaving. That might make his schedule tight. Tighter thanks to the unrelenting snowfall, but it would quench his worries before leaving for another country. The snow was now turning into a storm, but he hadn’t received any notifications regarding his flight yet.

Scrubbing against his scalp, he willed his heart's rhythm to fall back to normal. After his morning exercise, he showered, his eyes wandering over to his phone, which he usually left outside. Now he couldn’t let it out of his sight.

[Should I drop in before I leave? Just in case? Is everything okay? - Sportacus]

This time his message got an instant reply; it wasn’t to his liking, but he did smile against his will.

[Leave me alone - RR]

Then, in a few moments, Sportacus felt revitalized and his worries lessened.

[Everything got pushed back. I am ON it. Get outta town - RR]

By midday, when Sportacus’ transfer arrived, the snow let up. Leaving the streets white and the traffic struggling even with the snowblower going at it nonstop. He still had time before he had to check in but decided not to push his luck. Skin still crawling with the odd feeling of guilt, he snapped the trunk closed over his luggage.

The drive to the airport was slow and full of horns blowing and people rushing to wherever they needed to be. Sportacus checked his phone again. After some more bickering from the family over Íþró’s absence, and some laments regarding both youngsters missing Christmas, they all seemed to come to terms with the situation.

Flipping through his phone, he idled over the article he had downloaded. Regretting going over it again and again. He was debating whether he should reach out to Milford after all, but he didn’t want to betray Robbie’s trust in him. Even if they didn’t ask about it, Stephanie had to have lost her parents around the time she was seven or six, but she never showed any of that. Always swiftly evading the question or turning the topic towards Milford or her daily troubles.

Sportacus jolted forward as his ride arrived at the airport, and he apologized as he handed over the tip. Watching over the crowd idling before and inside the grand halls of the airport. He lifted his eyes towards the sky, no planes were coming or going even with the pale blue clear above them. 

Never before had he trained his ears to his phone. He didn’t care for messages or notifications; he wasn’t bound to his device, some even mocked him for being old fashioned with this. But the moment his phone chirped, this time he had it unlocked, hoping to hear from Robbie.

Stopping, he smiled to himself with a sigh leaving his chest; it was only the airline announcing his delay. Dejected, he dragged his bags through the crowded area to check in. All procedures were held up by the swarming sea of people, either held back by the weather or seduced inside by the warmth until their drive arrived. Sportacus dutifully took a place in the closest line.

[At the airport. How is it at home? - Sportacus]

He paused, rereading his own message. At home? This might have made sense if he had already left the country. It didn’t make sense; he never looked at LazyPlaza as his home, nor did he ever refer to it as such until now. Musing, he was about to let the phone sink in his pocket when it started up with a shrill ringtone he rarely heard.

Fumbling, he twisted and moved out of the way quickly, finding refuge by the door. By the time he got the call, the caller had been talking for a while because he caught Robbie mid-tirade.

"-n’t care less! No, no, I haven’t said anything. Have a blessed day!"

Robbie’s tone shifted so fast that it tilted Sportacus’ world a little. Without a hint, he let out a sudden laugh. "Robbie?"

"Yeah, hi. Not to hinder you when you finally leave the country but -" he breathed and Sportacus felt his ear heat from the voice coming directly to him. 

"Did something happen?" he urged stopping the usual ‘I don’t want to see you’ tirade before Robbie could fully work himself up.

"No." Robbie said, and Sportacus could hear some shuffling on the other end. "But could you, like, stop messaging me every second? I said I'd get it done. So cut me some slack."

"Robbie," Sportacus shook his head, amused, the worry in his heart slowly festering. "I am just worried is all."

"And you make me wanna tear my face down," the doorman countered.

To that, Sportacus couldn't say much, so he listened to the shuffling and the familiar sound of soft fabric hitting a varnished wooden surface. For someone who said he didn’t like chess, Robbie did play it a lot.

Glancing to the side, he watched as the clouds lazily moved against the quickly darkening sky. On the other hand, he never saw Robbie play chess before Stephanie arrived.

"As for how it is, it’s like everyone became insane just because Bessie decided to grant a chance to Meanswell."

It wasn’t what Sportacus waited for, but he couldn’t deny he liked hearing the man’s voice through the phone. So rather than chide the man, he decided to entertain him. "Is it so bad?"

"It’s the WORST!"

"Really?" Sportacus found himself grinning from ear to ear, so he hid his face in his free palm, leaning against the wall.

"Well, whatever, don’t twist your muscle brain over it; I’ll send the updates once I am done with it." he grunted, making Sportacus listen more eagerly.

"My flight got postponed." Sportacus added it matter-of-factly. Not knowing where to go from here. He would lose any information if he pressed why this was taking so long.

"Serves you right," Robbie hummed, and it made the tightly coiled spring in Sportacus melt a notch. "Take this as a warning; DO NOT, write anymore."

Sportacus laughed, pulling some attention from the mostly lethargic room. "I’ll make sure to keep in touch." Even before he finished, he heard Robbie cut the call.

That was three hours ago, and against whatever Robbie had proclaimed before, he had once every hour sent a message stating, [Not yet]. Sportacus had found ways to kill time, and he had his stuff with him, with the promise of his flight leaving tonight, after the blizzard cleared up.

The town was hit with a brutal snowstorm that afternoon, and he couldn't help but wonder how the others were faring. The Plaza was fine; even if push came to shove, the generator would pick up. But the streets and the downtown would be choked with all the piled-up snow.

He got some interesting looks when he went into his noon routine of a well-adjusted, location-appropriate workout. After all, he was already fearing the hours of flight, meaning he would have to stay still and lay back as much as his seat allowed. With the added layer of constant concerns eating away at his reason, he found himself looking at his phone screen more than once.

It was already five pm, surely Milford and Bessie had already returned. He should have been half the way to Iceland, so why didn’t Robbie say anything?

[Robbie call me right away, I’ll be here for a while - Sportacus] there he sent it.

Then, half an hour later, he sent it again; maybe the service was also going highwire because of the weather. Tapping his feet, he decided to stop and just put his faith in Robbie, and maybe a little more in Stephanie.

Íþró had called once to see how he was doing. His voice was tortured, and he had a bad case of overworking himself, as usual, but Sportacus was happy either way. Sportacus made sure that he would handle the family and give their parents all the love they had missed from them in the previous months.

There was some brotherly teasing that didn’t sit well with Sportacus at the moment. He felt fairly hurt, to be honest.

"So, how are the grump and the girl?" Íþró asked conversationally, and Sportacus could make out the busy sounds in the background.

"Fine" Sportacus avoided the question hiding behind the innocent facade. "How is the town? It must be hard because of the blizzard."

"Same as always" Íþró’s tone shifted to one Sportacus recognized from their childhood. Sportacus knew that whenever his older brother used it, all his secrets were no longer secrets. "You are oddly short-winded; are you sure there is nothing?"

"I am sure. Is there anything you want Mother to know in detail about?" he countered.

"I have to go" Íþró hastily rushed out before wishing him a safe flight.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the details on his flight were updated, and it was deemed safe to fly out. Meanwhile, the outside world was enveloped in darkness. He had to cool his heels for the last five hours, and at some point he was ready to give up and take a chance tomorrow. Around his fourth hour, his mother called to say that at their end, they were more than ready for his arrival.

The final ray of hope was when they finally allowed check-ins while profoundly apologizing. It's not like they could change the weather, and Sportacus would rather not fall from the sky in a rushed flight. His honest opinion earned him some kind but tired smiles behind the counter. With all the people around, the crowd slowly thinned out, and all he could think about was Robbie and his ‘mission’.

He decided to contact the man one last time before leaving. He drew to the side and dialed the now-familiar number. Listening to the line, he got more anxious with each ring that wasn’t answered. He let it ring until the service automatically cut the line with rapid beeps. Confused, he checked the time; it was only a little after seven, and Robbie for sure wasn’t in bed. If he had to guess, he would be in his recliner shoveling down something that was not beneficial for his health or sleep schedule.

Another thought occurred to him: perhaps he was just talking with Milford. Sportacus was following the news regarding the blizzard and the situation in midtown, so he knew that there were ridiculous shifts in everything, including movie showings. So it wouldn’t surprise him if Milford only arrived around now.

All that to calm his mind that was working overtime, suddenly all high and strained. The bad feeling he had from yesterday was amplified by the fact that he couldn’t get a hold of the doorman. Forcefully, he pulled away from the crowd, sitting down for the first time in the last five hours, holding his phone in both hands. Willing it to ring.

It never did. Not in the last hour or so, nor when he went over security. His mind was reeling, knowing that everything was absolutely fine. No need to worry. Yet, no matter how many times he told this to himself, no matter how much of a mantra this became, he could not shake the odd feeling. The cold that coiled around his heart, buzzing with a white fear, told him that something wasn’t right; something had to happen.

Giving up, he stood as they called his flight number, and just as he was about to pocket his phone, it went off for the second time today.

Ecstatic, he hit the green button without checking who it was. Instead of hearing Robbie's tired and monotone tone, he was disappointed by his brother's.

"Íþró…"

"Have you left yet?" his professional tone never bore any good news, and Sportacus left the line to talk to his brother.

"No, I was just about to."

"Good. Listen, don’t get worked up-"

"What happened?" it was too late for that; the moment he felt the strain in his brother’s voice, Sportacus knew. Deep down in his bones, he knew that something happened at the LazyPlaza.

"You still need to leave, but I have to know: do you know any immediate relatives of Robbie Rotten that we could call?"

There was a moment there where the whole room tilted a little. Where the vacuum of the sudden silence hurt his ears and crushed his lungs. Every scenario he had or could conjure up came to him in a hurry. Yet it never involved Robbie. It was always about Stephanie and the mental torture she would suffer. But this. This wasn’t a question for a situation like that.

"Íþró what happened?" he was running by the time he realized why his voice came in puffs.

Causing no little confusion to the airport staff, they held him up as he repeatedly told them that he had to leave. Ignoring his brother’s constant shouting next to his ears, he kept walking until he was stopped by some men in uniform, showing calming motions that didn’t help him at all. He had run marathons in his life. He had fallen from really high places, resulting in broken bones that might have never healed just right.

All of those were nothing compared to what was happening to him at the moment. Heaving, the air came to him in harsh, sharp pulls, hurting him as his muscles cramped under the sudden adrenaline pumping through them.

"Sportacus, you have to be on the plane."

"Tell me, what is going on?" He urged, surrendering and standing off, half-answering the airport personnel's question. "What about Stephanie is she alright?" was Robbie?

"I asked you a question; you tell me the answer, and I’ll handle everything else." Íþró’s tone was as tormented as Sportacus felt.

In the wake of the question that formed in Sportacus sent his mind into an even more panicked state. "Are you calling as my brother" he started fearing the answer, "or an active-duty detective?"

"Just answer the question, Sportacus."

"Please," he heaved, "Íþró, I need to know."

"I want you on that plane, Sport-"

"Listen here," Sportacus felt an unimaginable rage toward his brother. "I know you; you wouldn't have called me if it was something I would be okay with."

"Look, " Íþró started, and Sportacus could hear him instructing someone else to pull data on Robbie in the background, before he turned back to him "there is no emergency contact on the man’s file, and we ne-"

"Which one?" Sportacus asked, ignoring the guards circling him oddly, their anxious gaze all on him. "I only know the name, but which hospital?"

"The name is enough." there were some sirens going on somewhere further from his brother. "I have Robbie Rotten’s phone, and found your number here," Íþró ignored all his rushed out questions "give me the name."

Uttering the name, he knew his brother would cut the call right away. Leaving him at the airport, honestly believing that he would get on the plane. As much as he loved his brother at the moment, he could have punched him square in the jaw. "I’ll get to the hospital; the name is Glanni; I don’t know if that’s the name he has it under, but he called him yesterday afternoon a few times. He also sent a text."

Íþró hummed, and Sportacus heard the pencil dance over the notebook his brother always had with him "Got it, now get o-"

"WHICH? ONE?" Sportacus ground out.

For a while, his brother hadn’t said anything, letting Sportacus cool down. "You are not related to either of the victims, so I cannot share anything; you know that."

The word was like a knife, stabbing repeatedly into his chest. His heart was beating erratically, trying its best to break out of his ribcage. Defeated, he took another deep breath and began planning his next move. His flight, fight, freeze reflex went over all states before he came back to his rational side. 

"Alright, Detective Álfur, I might be a potential informant of whatever case you have." 

Feeling empty, Sportacus let his brother walk him through the process of taking his testimony later, when he would be able to send a patrol car for him.

That was fine; he needed to go over the security and airport investigation for causing disruptions as soon as the planes could take off. The next few hours were an agonizing loop of calling people who didn’t take his calls. Bargaining with anyone to take him to wherever his brother wanted him.

All the rejections were nowhere near as bad as the fear that took root in him. An immobilizing cold circulated inside his veins each time he imagined what could have happened. He had his phone refreshing all the news outlets to learn something before he could leave the airport, but nothing came up. On one hand, this made a traitorous little hope bloom inside him.

Íþró didn’t call again, and Sportacus knew deep down that he was following protocol. That his brother was doing the right thing, but he couldn’t shake the betrayal off. The first hour he paced, hoping that the extra strain would leave his body, and then he bargained with the cars outside the airport. The drivers looked at him like he was crazy. His bags were retrieved and obviously rummaged through for any threats, and Sportacus couldn’t care less.

He left as many voice and text messages for everyone as he could. That possibly only strengthened his label as a crazy person, but he didn’t care; he just hoped that someone would take his call. Or send back something, anything.

It was a new day already, way after midnight, and he was stretched thin by the time his brother called again.

"Come out," he said, and he cut the line right after.

Sportacus was out of the door in a heartbeat, finding his brother’s police car easily; waiting for him with the engine on. He almost tore the passenger-side door off, ignoring the question regarding his luggage. Their drive after that was filled with pregnant silence and strained, familiar questions that neither of them cared for.

The streets were slippery and way too dangerous for the speed Íþró dictated, moving the vehicle with a practiced ease. Sportacus had stress pile up and layer on him with each passing moment, yet none was caused by the prospect of getting into an accident while his brother drove.

When Íþró nudged him, he realized that he didn’t answer whatever his brother was asking. They were idle at a crossroad; he knew where, and from a faraway place, the question barreled at him. Nodding, he trained his eyes on the road ahead.

The car moved again, a lot slower than before, and Sportacus couldn’t fault his brother. But he wanted this to be over as much as he wanted to see it for himself. See how bad it was. How much of his imagination was made up and how little of it really happened. For all he knew, it might have been just the two doing something or Robbie playing the worst prank ever. His mind was filled with images of Stephanie and Robbie, knowing that Íþró only asked about Robbie out of sheer necessity. 

Sportacus knew; he knew that if Stephanie was able to answer questions, she would be able to guess Glanni’s name. Even if they haven’t had a full conversation about the man before her, she is smart. Which meant she wasn’t able to answer the question. The same went for Robbie. The mere idea of what that would mean sent Sportacus into a panic he had fought for hours now.

The first thing he noticed was the blue and red painting the street and snow in vivid colors. People coming and going; a yellow ribbon keeping onlookers at bay. Sportacus knew that they wouldn't stop, and he didn’t want to. But as they got closer and closer he felt his body ache with each breath taken.

Now the car was close to standing, going at a snail's pace. On the one hand, for the bystanders and cops who were securing the area, and on the other, for him.

Imagining things and seeing them are very deceptive. Imagination can be anything, better or worse, in color or grayscale; it can calm or fuel one's nerves. One thing it can never be is real. Because reality is always worse. The worst, something one cannot in their lifetime conjure up.

Strangely, it felt like nothing. So surreal, and out of body experience, that Sportacus wished he was still in his bed waiting for the alarm to go off. For his flight to leave and meet his family. Pester Robbie a little and ask about Stephanie and their day. All of this seems so banal and insignificant, almost non-existent.

The scene wasn’t that bad. It could have been one kid breaking the window by mistake. The imaginary brick the imaginary kid tossed at the window toppled the Christmas tree over and made a mess of the lobby.

A myriad of glass shards lay on both sides of the boundary, and the snow right before the door was tainted with red and black, pulling Sportacus back to the present. Craning his neck, he took in as much as he could. No one was in the lobby; only cops were moving around and sending away media and curious onlookers.

"It’s not as bad as it looks" Íþró noted gaining speed again.

"Don’t lie."

Chapter Text

"Don’t lie."

"I am not" Íþró swerved with ease "as far as I understood the situation, it could have been a lot worse."

"That’s not very comforting." Sportacus said, tapping against the dashboard, as he watched the buildings rush by them as they drove down the street. "You won’t tell me anything, will you?"

Sportacus didn’t need the answer from his brother; he knew it already. He also knew that he wasn’t taken to the hospital, despite his best efforts to persuade him. He knew that he was on his way to the station to spill all he knew about Stephanie and what he thought might have happened. Which was hard, not knowing what went down at the Plaza.

Reason was a fickle thing. Knowing all that, adding on top that it was well after 1 am and he wouldn’t even be let close to either ‘victims’; it still didn’t deter him. It only fueled his alertness. At one point, Íþró mentioned that he contacted the family, which Sportacus forgot about, to be honest, his mind blocked that part of the day out completely. Slowly coming back from the high of his initial shock, his mind now conjured up one scenario after another.

Why and when did this all go down? What had happened to the two? Were they alright?

Íþró maneuvered the car into the crowded parking lot in front of the station. Sportacus could imagine that the blizzard took a toll on the whole town, sending half of the department out. He had to concentrate on his brother’s words as they hurried towards the main door. With all the commotion going on, cars were deployed with sirens blaring and people shouting, but Sportacus blocked most of it as he followed Íþró into the crowded building. The noise got no better even inside; phones were ringing and people hurried along, showing little attention to the pair.

After briefly fumbling with some issues at the back, Íþró sat him in the waiting area, promising to be back in a few. Diligently, Sportacus sat down for a full minute before standing again, pacing. He checked the watch screwed to the wall, noting the time, and went over his day. He called Robbie around seven; he hadn’t answered then, and his brother called a little after eight, so around seven hours had passed since the crime was called in.

He shook his hands, his fingers numb from the constant curling and flexing at his side. Íþró didn’t help matters either; his usual free and funny banther was exchanged to this serious work mode that Sportacus would have found fascinating and tease worthy any day, but tonight. Slowing down both body and mind, he scrubbed his neck, the skin hot under his palm.

Stephanie had to be fine, right? She had to. His brother never mentioned the girl. He also only asked about possible contacts for Robbie. Robbie. Why didn’t he have emergency contacts? Why did they need any? Of course it's good to have, but they needed it only whe-

"You okay, son?" an odd voice asked. The older woman who was stationed behind the information desk looked at him with a confused half-smile. "Just sit down until Detective Álfur returns, honey."

Sportacus walked towards the row of chairs with a forced smile and a wave of his free hand. Even with the anthill-like upheaval, there were only a couple of civilians idling there. All turned to themselves, waiting or nodding off at this god-forsaken hour. He stood there, unsure of what to do, flexing and stretching his legs until his muscles cramped.

He was already at the end of his patience, debating if he should just leave his brother and contact the three potential hospitals in town, when his phone went off.

Fumbling with the device, his heart was beating rapidly as he picked it up. "Yes!"

"Sportacus?" Milford’s voice was balm to his nerves.

Sportacus moved to the side, turning towards the wall as the questions spilled from his lips. Milford stopped him after his fifth, in an unexpected tone.

The calm, collected, and too short summary of the events for his liking came in a professional burst of words.

"There was a break-in and assault at the Plaza; I believe you were already informed to some extent."

Sportacus heard the noises and sounds that couldn’t be anything but a hospital, and he eagerly answered. "Yes, I am at the police station at the moment." he sighed, a small weight lifting from his chest. "Milford, which hospital are you in?"

"Great, please refrain from making any statements without me; I know your brother is ready to, but hold out on him for now." there was some shuffling, and Milford talked to someone else in a hushed tone before he returned to the phone. Swiftly answering Sportacus' confused question following Milford’s request, "I’ll send the data, and we will discuss, but it is pivotal that you remain silent until further details come to light,"

Surreal was not the right word to describe Sportacus' reaction to hearing the man speak in such a formal and professional tone. The images of the kind and soft politician and the now razor-sharp negotiator couldn't coexist in his mind.

"Alright," Sportacus yielded, repeating his most important question for what felt like the hundredth time this night. "How is Stephanie?"

"Stable and asleep" was the curt answer.

It was not what Sportacus wanted, but it was better than nothing. "What about Robbie?"

Milford was preoccupied with something offline once more, and as Sportacus listened in on the hospital's rush, he could see it before him, as Milford stood before the main entrance calling, their line sounding busy each time someone new arrived. "Could be worse, he is treated at the moment I assume."

That didn’t sit well with Sportacus, but before he could voice this, Milford went on. "Both of them are fighters, that’s for sure." there, that was the usual Milford, with a smile in his voice. "I can’t do anything for tonight, so come morning, we can manage to meet, but for now, please go home, calm down, and write down anything that might be important."

"Alright," Sportacus agreed out of sheer habit and relief with this new information about the well-being of the two. Gulping down his now-building guilt, he added, "Milford, I am sorry."

"Good, make it up to me," and with that, Milford was once again called away, and he ended the call.

Sportacus looked at his phone, staring at the few minutes the conversation lasted but feeling like a day's worth of information was shared with him. Even knowing they were fine, that they made it was enough for him. Realizing he was leaning against the wall and how his knees had become weak, he felt defeated once again.

"Had a nice chat, I bet" Íþró smirked, leaning against the wall a few steps away from him. 

Sportacus flinched back, the fatigue of the day suddenly crashing over him in the wake of the adrenalin leaving his system. He was seemingly so deeply focused on his conversation with Milford that he didn’t even notice his brother’s presence. He took a moment to finally take in Íþró, and appreciate him a little. Even with the advantage of countless nightshifts, he looked tired as well.

When they were children, they were compared a lot; even now, as adults, the family makes loads of fun of them for being carbon copies. Twins with years between. Five, to be precise; it didn't show, and neither hated the comparison, so it stuck.

Sportacus’s attention was pulled from his brother’s face to the hand waving with an energy bar.

"Let me guess, you hadn’t eaten anything in a while." Íþró smiled as he handed over the snack "when you get home, make sure to check your blood sugar little brother." he clapped at his shoulder.

As eager as he was to devour the offering, Sportacus held back, feeling a new confusion swarm its way into his heart. "You're letting me go?" he asked, thumbing the sharp edges of the clear packaging. "No questions asked?"

"Well, from the looks of it, you got good news," his brother smiled, his gaze shifting to some new arrivals before returning to Sportacus, "and Meanswell left a note for me while I was gone, so..." His voice trailed off as a wide grin spread across his face, and Íþró gripped Sportacus' shoulder before patting it."...go home, and call me when he allows it." Pointing at the door, he added in passing, "Your ride is here."

Confused for the umpteenth time, Sportacus turned, and now he really needed the wall as support. Ms. Busybody, in all her grace, just exploded into the waiting room, high heels clicking on the polished stone. With her usual no-nonsense attitude, she spotted the pair right away.

Marching over, on closer inspection Sportacus noticed her immaculate hairdo was frisky, her ironed clothes creased and all over the place, yet it didn’t detract from her presence. With the conviction unparalleled, she tore a large yellow envelope from her designer bag.

"Detective, a pleasure," she said sweetly, her face as stoic and frozen over her professional smile as ever. "Mr. Meanswell sent this over; I am to believe that you were notified, yes?"

"See" Íþró winked at Sportacus, as if they had  just shared some secret, not having a conversation in the middle of the police station. "Thank you, Miss," he said as he plucked the folder from the woman, then left, leaving them on their own.

"Shouldn't you have left already?"

Ms. Busybody addressed him out of the blue as Sportacus took the first bite, choking.

"To Iceland?" she added when Sportacus didn’t answer immediately.

"Once I heard what happened, I couldn't," he croaked out between his coughing fits.

Bessie rewarded him with some slaps on the back and took the minutely grasp she had on him to push him toward the main door. Nudging him along. "Great, I have a taxi waiting, and I'm on the clock, so let’s go."

At the mercy of the short woman, Sportacus let himself be led outside, still chewing on the energy bar. He couldn't taste it; his mind was tossed from one corner to the other. He was happy that the pair seemed to be doing fine—well, not bad—but the words of Milford scratched against his mind.

Before he knew what was happening, he was pushed into the back seat from one side, and Bessie sat next to him, giving sharp and to-the-point instructions to the driver. He heard his own address as well as one he couldn't place.

"You are not going home or to the hospital?" By the time he finished his sentence, he knew how stupid it sounded.

"I cannot do anything at the moment at the hospital," she said as she fished around in her handbag for a moment, pulling a small pocket mirror out, and fidgeted with her fallen locks. "LazyPlaza was emptied as the lobby is an active crime scene; thank goodness most of the tenants were out anyway," she chuckled, snapping the mirror closed.

That’s right, the images of the lobby and the main entrance flooded his mind, leaving him once again empty and cold. The words that kept swirling around him, wanting to break out, to be explained. Victim. Assault. Break-in.

Sportacus wasn’t sure how long he had remained silent or what face he made, but when Bessie’s warm hand landed softly on the top of his, he felt the calm seep into him.

She squeezed his large hand a few times, turning towards him in her seat. "They are fine. I promise."

Sportacus nodded, his throat tight. He felt the tears he had been holding back for a while prick his eyes, and he willed them away. Finding that at the moment he was in the least need of a ventilating session. "Is there anything you can share?" 

"Not much, I’m afraid." she deflated, her straight posture falling apart. "Without much detail, Stephanie, sweet child, had suffered some bruising and a slight concussion. Nothing major; according to the doctors, she will have no long-term effects on her daily life. However, they are still examining how her system reacts to the sedative that was used on her." her usual haughty mannerism was nowhere to be found, and Sportacus could see the pure worry eating at her.

Squeezing the woman’s hand back, he hoped he could help the woman just as much as she had helped him. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease either. No matter how many times or whoever told him that everything was fine, he couldn’t comprehend the situation at all. Now another word has been added to the mix of the ones sucking the life out of him.

"What about Robbie?"

Knowing the woman and the strictly business relationship she had with Robbie, he was half expecting her to dismiss the question. To pass on the blame and go on with whatever Milford had planned for the next few hours. A dread unknown to him fell on his shoulders when Bessie buried her face into her free hand. Sniffling, before she gathered herself. 

"When I left, Mr. Rotten had just been taken in for a CT scan; he was conscious," she listed, pulling together all the information she could in the short ride they had ahead of them. "There was some talk about hypothermia and frostbites; it was horrible, but" she looked up, her makeup slightly smudged, "he was fine as well, I think."

Their driver stopped at a house Sportacus hadn’t visited before, down in the suburbs, where the taxi struggled to reach. On the driveway, a tall man stood shoveling snow vigorously in the middle of the night. 

Bessie paid for the fare, worming her way out of the car with as much elegance as she could muster at 3 am. Leaning back, she adjusted her hair again. Her business smile returning, she said her goodbyes, insisting on handling the bill herself. Once the door closed behind her, Sportacus watched her waddle over to the man, who was doing his best to create a safe footing for her.

With the sudden void of any companionship he fell back into the seat, he tried to make small talk with the driver. Achieving little. Leaving him alone with his thoughts for the remainder of his trip mostly on autopilot, he got out of the car, pulled back by the belt, he somehow forgot about being all tight.

The street lamps’ dim light colored the street a sweet yellow, the snow reflecting it only adding to his mind's confusion over what time of the day he was dragging himself home. No one was on the open road; there were no cars other than his taxi. From a distance, he could even hear the snowblower’s never-ending buzz as it cleared the street. The salt’s smell sneaked into his mind as he pulled himself to the staircase, taking each step with sluggish deliberation.

It was an outer-body feeling when he opened the door and found everything as he left it. The day felt more like a year passing with his appliances unconnected. The flat was dark and cold with the heating turned down, and even more so with the curtains closed. Originally, he would have come back a week or so later, in broad daylight. Now the flat mirrored his inner turmoil perfectly.

Dragging his feet, he closed the door and, turning the key, went to put everything back on. Flicking the light on first, some of his initial dread left him. No one was lurking in the dark here other than his rapidly deteriorating thoughts. He tapped the counter, opening and closing the tap just in case, the thermostat working overtime to heat the one-room apartment quickly.

Peeling his clothes off, he let them fall to the floor, caring little about them, and he kicked his shoes as well. He breathed deliberately to calm his mind and his tired body, keeping himself afloat. By now he would have met most of his family, and would be asleep in his childhood room. Surrounded by his family, knowing that Robbie kept his promise and everything was fine.

Instead, here he was. Alone in the dark, concerned about the well-being of two of the most important people in his life. The confession itself felt stupid; he knew this already, but felt the regret washing over him and the guilt gripping him that he could have helped. He could have prevented this from happening. With each piece of information he gathered, it only strengthened his belief that hiding the earring and their theory from Stephanie’s guardian was a mistake. A grave one.

He pinched the skin between his eyes, hoping to clear them of his swimming vision. As his first order of business, he opened a drawer, his mind sluggishly reporting that his blood sugar tester was packed with his travel essentials. Grunting, he rummaged around for a spare, finding it behind mountains of towels in his bathroom. Leaning against the sink, he looked at the stranger looking back at him.

His reflection was a husk of himself—nothing a good night's sleep wouldn’t remedy. On a simple day, maybe. Tonight, he was certain that his fate would be the same as what Robbie had to endure every night for the past few months. Scrubbing his face, he splashed some cold water on his skin, hoping to freshen up a little. Slipping the test paper into the reader, he pricked his finger, taking a deeper breath than usual as he felt the needle stab him. Pinching his finger, he let a drop of blood fall on the test paper.

The little device chirped happily in the silence of the night; it read 4.5, on the lower side, but it was still better than having it ramp up after all that went down today. Yesterday, he reminded himself. The bar from Íþró helped; now if he could get a good rest in until morning that would be preferable. 

Instead, he walked back to the main and only room, pulling a block of paper from the counter. Sportacus fell to the bed, rummaging through his bedside table for a pen. Rubbing his eyes, he jotted down his action points: he had nothing in the fridge for one, his luggage was probably somewhere at the airport, and he should have called his family hours ago. He tapped the pen against the paper, leaving little blotchy blue dots.

Tearing the paper from the block, he sent one message to his mother, explaining the situation to an extent that wasn’t going against Milford’s request. Then he got to his mission, writing down everything he and Robbie had to say to Milford, what they found out about Stephanie, and what Sportacus believed was happening.

Come morning, to his surprise and guilty conscience, he had fallen asleep. If his phone's rapidly dwindling battery was any indication, it happened around four or five am. Tossed to the edge by the sudden panic in his heart hammering against his chest, he scrambled to sit up. He inhaled the warm, slightly stale air. Going to bed without showering left him itchy and uncomfortable, so to remedy that, he got out of bed with haste, scampering around for the spare cord to charge his phone.

The time read eight, and to his disappointment, he had no new notifications. Despite Milford’s promise, there was no information or details as to where to go today. What to do, what to check Sportacus kicked his pants off, his briefs joining them soon as he stepped in the shower. The cold water prickled his skin, making his muscles and body wake up and his mind alert as he scrubbed his scalp.

With his hands on the tile, he watched as the foamy water disappeared down the drain. Moving his toes, he urged some blood into his stiff soles before he scrubbed them too. The sounds of the running water calmed him, the logical part of his brain taking over. Methodically turning his mind towards positive thoughts. His dreamless night had mercy on him, and he wasn’t about to fall back into yesterday’s misery.

Given what happened yesterday and what was reluctantly shared with him, it appeared that things could have been much worse. They could have been better too. His mind mocked him again, faulting him for not helping in time. Sportacus shook the feelings off with his best effort.

After an hour of idling around, he gave in and followed his stomach’s signals. Bounding himself in thick clothes, he pocketed his phone, pulled his cross-body bag over his head, and pushed the folded paper deep inside it. Sportacus descended, two steps at a time, patting the bag. Opening the door, the cold hit his face, and the once grim and empty street was full of life.

The sun was shining, making the tops of the snow piles twinkle and sparkle with glee. Blind to what went down yesterday and ignorant of Sportacus’ misery, it kept shimmering. People were out after the blizzard, chattering and hurrying on with their days, and Sportacus stood with his hands in his pockets. Breathing out, left with little white puffs, he folded under his hunger and turned towards the nearest bakery. Caring less about nutrition than sheer necessity.

With each step, he debated if he should have gone back to the LazyPlaza, just to check. If he should have called Íþró about what he could share from the dawn spent at the station. Leave Milford a message saying that he got what he wanted. He ended up doing none of that. Instead, he almost jumped into traffic when his phone came to life.

The last person he saw before falling asleep was the one to greet him; Bessie's name flashed on the screen, and Sportacus answered the phone right away.

"Bessie, good morning," he said, stepping to the side, evading a slush-filled dent in the pavement.

"Good morning. Sorry for the late call. Milford let his phone die…" now, that was the usual Bessie, berating the politician relentlessly, like the man purposely let it die, "I’ll send you the address, come soon the visitation might end by the time you make it here."

Before Sportacus could get a word in, she continued.

"Also, get some food, dear; the man hasn’t had anything since who knows when."

Sportacus smiled, picking up pace as he ended the call.

Another challenge arose when he stopped before the hospital. With people rushing in and out. The heavy smell of disinfectant in the air enveloped everything. Even with the fresh baked goods by his side, he couldn’t battle this. The paper wrinkled under his fingers as he collected himself and stepped in. Just to be stopped right away by a rather scruffy Milford.

The politician had shed his yellowish suit; his necktie was loosened, and his shirt’s sleeves were rolled up. The put-together man looked like a doser just drove over him. Which sounded right. He didn't notice Sportacus at first. Rushing out with zeal, his usual demeanor absent, he pulled his mask down to his chin. For once, Sportacus believed that this could be someone strictly professional.

Just for that to shatter the moment Milford found him. His set shoulders lowered, and his stone face melted into a relieved smile. "Sportacus," he unexpectedly hugged the handyman.

Sportacus couldn’t fault him and patted the shorter man’s back. Lifting the bag, he forced a smile too. "I've got you some food."

"Yes, yes, thanks, but let’s go." Milford checked his wristwatch.

He led Sportacus in, and they walked past the reception area without being hindered. Sportacus’ grip over the paper bag tightened each time a new automatic door opened before him. Cautiously, he kept his gaze strictly forward, keeping to himself as he maneuvered between the staff. Dutifully following Milford down the never-ending corridors and up to the elevators, until the man stopped checking himself.

"I made some preparations so we could check on Stephanie, but she is still asleep." Milford patted Sportacus’ back good-naturedly, showing no frustration or fear.

This filled him with hope and lessened some of the strain inside him. The corridor that opened before them was a newly constructed wing in the hospital. If the man sitting by the entrance and asking for identification was anything to go by, there was tight-looking security.

Their steps filled the short hall, and Sportacus kept softening his to lower the noise as much as possible. He dared a glance around; the pristine and sterile walls bounced the artificial light back. Again, the scent of disinfectant and hospital equipment battled against his dwindling confidence.

The immense relief when they finally stopped by a door and Milford opened it washed over him. He was steeling himself to maintain a strong front no matter how he found Stephanie. Sportacus wasn’t ready but kept his head up, and a weight lifted from his heart as soon as he laid eyes on her.

She was pale and bundled in the same bleak white that overlapped everything here. With a blanket draped over her up to her chest, which was rising and falling with a solemn rhythm, the periodic beeping of the machine next to her monitored her vitals. With the exception of a few types peeking out of the bedding, Sportacus couldn’t find anything immensely wrong with her.

"How is she?" He took a few steps towards the bed, talking in a hushed tone. He took a quick glance at the room itself, finding at least five different flower bouquets and a stuffed animal waiting for their owner to wake up.

"She is over the worst." Milford answered, petting the hand over the blanket. Pinching her wrist a little, in hopes she would stir. "They will monitor her for a while, but hopefully she will be fine."

Sportacus knew that Milford loved the girl, even with the mask hindering his ability to show his emotion. Sportacus could tell that the politician was beyond worried. It was in every motion of his, in the way he adjusted the tube so it wouldn’t crease or how he swept the hair from the little girl’s forehead. Sportacus looked away, granting a little privacy, when the older man wiped a tear drop from the corner of his eyes with his thumb.

Clearing his throat, Milford turned to Sportacus, talking over the bed. "If you want to say anything to her, go ahead."

Sportacus couldn’t muster up much. "Hi Stephanie," he said, feeling his throat tighten. "I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat, which was suddenly so thick with emotion that he couldn't say much more. "Let’s go somewhere once you are back on your feet."

"Alright, we are going, but I’ll be back soon." Milford promised the sleeping girl, who didn’t move at all. Other than the calming sound of her breathing and the monitor’s beeping, the whole room was frozen in time.

Now outside, Sportacus heaved, shaking off the dread that came over him. She was okay. Stephanie was fine; no kid should be laying in bed like her, but she was alive and well. Remembering the note, he rummaged away in his cross-body bag while Milford sniffled a little under his breath.

"Here's what you asked for," he smiled, finally feeling useful as he handed the folded paper over to Milford.

The politician took it, sinking it into his pocket. "We should go to Robbie; once we start with this," he said, patting his pocket, "things will move quickly, so take your time until we can."

Nodding Sportsacus set out again to navigate the hospital's labyrinth.

In contrast to the solitude and security of Stephanie's ward, Robbie was held in general traumatology. Sportacus' skin crawled, his breathing becoming more difficult with each person he saw. Patients lounged outside with their walkers or crutches leaning against the wall and tables. Their injuries were dressed, or tubes came out of their bodies as they dragged an infusion stand.

Robbie’s room was situated the farthest down the corridor, where nurses hurried up and down, clipboards in hand, or yelled after someone who wasn’t following instructions. Sportacus felt smaller and smaller with every step he took. There was no need to check the noise he made here; he was the least of the worries of the people dancing around each other.

"Did Ms. Busybody brief you on how Robbie was doing?" Milford stopped shortly, his hand hovering over the closed door’s handle.

Sportacus nodded, a greater fear worming its way into his heart than his distaste for and phobia of the hospital.

"Good, good," Meanswell added in his usual manner, "make sure to compliment him."

"Complime-"

When the door opened, Sportacus understood without any further input from Milford. In a stark contrast to Stephanie’s room, this was shared and cut into four parts with retractable curtains. Even though it was only slightly larger in size, it was quickly crammed upon their arrival. A low murmur was filling the room as other visitors were here for their relatives and loved ones. Sportacus made at least five more observations before he forced himself to look at the man.

Robbie’s left temple was colored a deep purple, almost black; the bruising stretched under his eyes, blackening the soft skin there. His hair was all over the place, with some clearly missing over the stitching; Sportacus couldn't tell if he was sure he was ready to see. The usual paleness of the man turned to paper white, like all the blood was stripped from him.

Sportacus took a step forward, his hands tightening around the strip of his crossbag. Gaze shifting from the man’s face to his shoulders. Robbie had some dressing over his red skin; his hospital gown hindered Sportacus’s eyes from seeing how far it went. Robbie's propped-up legs on the bed’s frame were also heavily gauzed, peeking out from under the hefty heating pads and blankets piled under them.

Then, Sportacus' gaze moved back up, finding two other fingers bandaged as well. In his mind, the cause of the stark difference between the injuries was clear. The fact that one was beaten and literally sawn back together while the other was unharmed could only mean that Robbie fought with everything he had.

Finally, Sportacus was able to look him in the eyes. One was bloody and and the pupil blown out of proportion. The darned doorman who was breaking his heart. Who had been on his mind nonstop since Christmas. The bane of his existence. The only person, who could make Sportacus laugh wetly into his mask, was smirking around a spoonful of chocolate pudding.

"Ah Sportakook…" Robbie croaked, pulling the spoon back with a smacking sound. "...I guess you were right…"

Chapter Text

Milford shook his head, pulling one of the stools out to sit. Properly tired, he swatted Robbie’s offering of a spoonful of pudding away.

"Robbie, are you alright?" the question was out before Sportacus could evaluate if it was worth saying. "Clearly you aren't," he laughed awkwardly idling by the end of the bed. 

Sportacus reached down for the charts latched to the frame in the ensuing short silence while Robbie shoveled the dessert down, more for something to occupy him, suddenly finding there was nothing he could say without his voice betraying him. He wasn’t ready to find Robbie in this—well, in this condition. Not good, nor sever, but he was conscious, and Sportacus felt relief rush through him along with boiling rage.

"Had been worse" he shrugged, pulling to his right in a small hiss. "Did you become a doctor now? Checking all the boxes for good guy bingo?" he slurred a little, scratching his arm with the dirty spoon.

He doubted it was true, but Sportacus felt an odd smile pull at his lips as he turned to Milford to avoid the tone and face that didn’t match at all. "How do you feel?" question still addressed to Robbie, he put the chart back.

The only useful information there was the cause of Robbie’s lighthearted comments about the grim situation he was in. Sportacus' gaze was drawn to the IV corded to the doorman's hand, happily dulling the man's pain and unwinding his normally pressed tongue.

"Great, actually, numb maybe?" he reported, letting the spoon fall into the empty plastic cup. "My head was bashed in. I mean, I heard there were some stitches or whatever, but really, it's nothing. See, I am sitting." He wriggled in his seat, leaning back against the pillows, clattering the spoon around.

A doubtful smile moved Sportacus’ lips around the unspoken words he wanted to spill but decided against, fingers drumming on the metal. Suddenly lost for words, he felt defeated. What was there to say? His head was bashed in by whom? There might have been stitches for sure, but Sportacus couldn’t look at them at the moment. Forcing himself to rest his eyes on the slowly rising and falling slopes of Robbie’s shoulders.

"You kinda look worse than I feel," Robbie said, nicking the spoon upwards in the hopes that Sportacus would follow.

"You look worse than me..."

"Would that be a bad thing, when you usually look very put together?"

Their exchange came to his mind from what felt like a decade ago, making Sportacus once again hyperaware of the more timid feelings pestering him under all the louder ones causing a ruckus in his tormented and tired mind. Forcing his expression to show some semblance of ease, he willed the creases between his brows away.

"Wanna sit on my right side? I won't eat you, hah, bite you," he said, moving the spoon in circles with his bandaged fingers lax around it. Pointing towards the heap that was the politician to his right. "Oh, your flight!" he exclaimed as he charged forward. "Am I halluci-"

Milford pushed the doorman back with a soft touch. "Obviously he didn’t get on the plane," he said good-naturedly.

"Why? Did you get there late?!" Robbie appeared perplexed, and his initial theory of hallucination was abandoned. His eyes were wide, and his mouth moved to a small hurt pull as the battered skin moved with the expression. "They didn’t let you on?!" He grabbed Milford's sleeve, as if he couldn't believe his own theory. "Him?" he gulped down some air. "They didn’t let him on?"

"It’s no-" Sportacus tried.

"I guess the mustache," came another broken sentence, "but otherwise, look at him," and he did.

Sportacus finally found himself calm enough to make eye contact, feeling fortunate for the mask hiding his expression because he wasn’t sure what kind he was making. With the amused yet beaten to the ground doorman looking at him with a half smile, he was high as a kite on whatever pain killer the nurses were pumping into him.

"Really? Him?" Robbie squinted, hissing, and let the spoon fall to the bedding. "You flo-flopped around too much?"

Sportacus moved without much to think about; he got the spoon off, and tucked in the wrinkled blanket. Checked the man’s leg in the same swoop motion and stopped at Robbie’s left. "Actually, you don’t remember much of yesterday, right?" Sportacus blabbed, "You should ju-"

"I remember plenty," Robbie said incredulously, pouting when Sportacus took the now-empty pudding cup. "All of it, in fact, so I knew you were about to fly," he said, flapping his bandaged hand.

Sportacus took Robbie’s in his own hands, cradling the hand that was now once again wrapped in white gauze. The same Robbie had bruised a few weeks ago was now battered at another spot.

"The bliz-"

"Riiight!" Robbie pulled his hand away with a great gesture, trying to snap his fingers, just to get disheartened when his thickly wrapped fingers weren’t cooperating. "The blizzard, cold as fuck when I go-"

"Robbie, remember we talked about this," Milford suddenly joined the fray, "you should keep that in until I can get you to the private room."

Robbie’s eyes widened with understanding from somewhere far behind them. Under all the dark circles and bruising, the battered skin and painkillers, the small light that was Milford’s order seemed to take root, and Sportacus followed the man’s hand as he imitated zipping his mouth.

A gesture Sportacus had seen it a million times, sometimes with children, sometimes with his family. Never on the perpetually grumpy man, and it was endearing, making another strained knot unwind. With renewed resolve, he accepted the damages.

Now closer and sitting by the bedside, he had all the ugly and raw pain right before him. Sutures were used to pull the irritated skin together, rather than stitches, to close the scabbed head wound. How the swollen skin and bruising spread down the man's neck and collarbone, hiding beneath the hospital gown's standard blue. The usually snarky and sharp eyes were wide, and his left one was painfully blood red.

"I, I told you to sit on my right side" he pointed towards Milford. Robbie’s doubtful gaze kept on Sportacus’s half-hidden face.

"I am" Sportacus smiled, forgetting that Robbie didn’t see any of it, and reached for the bandaged hand again, wishing to feel the man's skin, his light weight against his.

Robbie spluttered at the statement, laughing, his throat fighting against him as he croaked out a tiny whine. "look at prince charming here, you going for the bingo for real, maybe that’s the type of game you are good at?" he asked his mind adventuring amidst all the thoughts his dulled mind and body let him.

"Really?" Sportacus chuckled, feeling the threat of tears coming, as he petted the hand with his thumb, touching the edge of the coarse gauze. His legs jumped with each heartbeat, feeling the tension rise again, filling the void left by the anxiety once he was sure both Stephanie and Robbie were fine.

"Are you sad? Don’t be sad" Robbie moved his hand, so now they were palm-to-palm. "I bet you couldn’t get on the plane because you did something; you look fine; you are handsome," he added playfully, clearly out of his mind.

This would normally fill Sportacus with delight and be the reason for some good-natured mischief and teasing. Now he felt it as a weight against his soul. Did it ever occur to Robbie, no matter how out of it he was, that he was here because of him? Because he was worried. About Robbie.

"Robbie, he stayed because of what happened," Milford encouraged, and he too was surprised by the effects of whatever painkiller the grump was on. Meanswell's tone was lighter and filled with ease from listening to their conversation.

"Oh!" Robbie stopped. Unwrapped fingers curled around Sportacus’ with no strength behind them.

Sportacus watched the movement and laced his fingers into the doorman’s as he looked up once again, finding the surprise on Robbie’s face.

"Stephanie is okay though, Milford said so, he said so, " Robbie turned towards the politician, panic gradually taking over, "you said she was, " moving to get up, he pulled away from Sportacus.

"She is."

Both Milford and Sportacus stood, holding Robbie back. Sportacus could feel the rapidly increasing heartbeat under his palm, as well as the heated skin hidden under the gown. When Robbie moved away a little, his hunch that the bruising didn’t stop at his neck became true.

Suddenly all fight left the man and Robbie fell back to his pillow. Sighing, then yawning wide with a wince when his jaw clicked at the last stretch. "That’s good." his words slurred more, and his blinks became longer and longer.

Sportacus leaned over, his palm resting on the wide ribcage. The sluggish laps of Robbie’s heart were strong under his fingertips, sending a warmth to his own chest. He pulled the white, bland covers further up on Robbie’s exposed torso, tucking it meticulously to his sides. He stopped when the injured man’s hand fell on his. Tone on the border of sleep, Robbie squinted at him between the slowly diminishing blinks.

"You wouldn’t lie… so..she is f…" with each word coming slower and quieter than the other, Robbie gave in to the fatigue that was so clear on his face.

Sportacus remained by his side, resting his gaze on the bruises and wounds, forcing himself to accept the situation they were in. Mind reeling over how to better the situation left him devastated. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for Milford, for Stephanie to wake up, and for Robbie to get better.

The feeling of being useless dawned on him with a terrifying weight.

The ward was getting quieter with every visitor leaving one after the other, people petering out, and nurses checking in more frequently. Each time they would just share a glance with Milford and leave for another few minutes, leaving the three of them alone.

Sportacus watched the man sleep, recalling every memory of what people with concussions should and should not do, and wasn’t sleeping on top; on the other hand, Milford was here for the longest time, and the nurses didn’t fret over Robbie’s slumping form either. The doorman came and fell back into unconsciousness, each time being surprised by the visitors before losing sight once again.

The itch he nursed for the whole time Sportacus spent inside the hospital was growing rapidly now. His linked fingers tapped against each other, and his legs never stopped bouncing. The smell of disinfectant and medicine was sinking under his skin. All these were infuriatingly small parts of the inner turmoil he had brewing inside him.

Shocked at his own peccancy, at how easily his emotions shifted one after the other. Fear, relief, anger, rage, and anxiety. Under all of that, he struggled to find his calm, his always-balanced self. Simmering at his weakness when seemingly the version everyone needed the most from him was nowhere to find. Dependable. Not someone who was being dragged around by people who asked for his aid on a daily basis.

His brother, caring and working on the case, maintained a distance, forcing Sportacus to do the same. Milford kept it all together, with a sharp resolve and professionalism Sportacus never met in their shared time. Bessie being the most openly emotional out of all of them.

And Robbie, Sportacus looked from his whitening knuckles. Robbie seemed fine; his tightly wrung and pressed self softened by the painkillers was so out of place that it made Sportacus feel uneasy instead of true relief.

"Sorry, Mr. Meanswell," a nurse said, leaning over from the door and peering over the trio. "you need to leave now, or the head nurse will throw a tantrum."

"Right" Milford stood, engaging in a short and quiet discussion with the nurse 

Sportacus followed, albeit reluctantly, and squeezed Robbie’s hand before leaving the room. With the itch gnawing at him once more, he kept his head level with Milford. Their way out was faster, and Sportacus felt better with each step, guilt washing over him for not being able to withstand this little time in the hospital while his heart was shaking for the pair tucked away between the blinding white walls.

Checking his watch, he felt he had been thrown into a time loop. It couldn't have been less than an hour. It felt longer, and if it was only such a little time, he needed to go back. Faltering in his step, he shook his head, his coat heavy under his arms, and he made Milford stop as well.

"Milford, how can I help?"

The politician looked even worse than when Sportacus first met him an hour ago. He didn’t touch the baked goods either, keeping to Sportacus’ side all along. Without much to tell, when he started again, Sportacus fell into step with him, listening to the low tone of the kind man.

"For now, go home. I’ll send details regarding the visitation; once I've gone over your statements, we can look into them together." his thumb rubbed the inside of his right eye, and he himself let out a long sigh. "Ms. Busybody is taking care of most of the things on the backend for today; tomorrow things will speed up."

Sportacus nodded along. "Íþró said something along those lines too, but please allow me to- "

Milford’s big, warm hand landed on his shoulder, and for a second time that day, Sportacus felt the strength behind it, that he could rely on the man. "You did more than enough," the politician reassured him.

They had arrived at the main entrance by the time Sportacus felt calm enough to ask the most pressing question that was waging war against his reason. Carefully wording and speaking every syllable, he distanced himself from the question as much as possible. "Is the one responsible for this," he let out a breath, "the aggressor under arrest?"

For the first time, there was something in Milford's eyes—a glint of hunger, unlike the man's kind features—that sent a chill down Sportacus' spine. Milford shook his suit out before putting it on in a short and sharp movement. He fidgeted with his cuff for a split second before he was back to his usual self as well. "As I said," he smiled with fake cheer, "let’s discuss this once we have the time to collect ourselves." lifting the bag full of cinnamon rolls and other baked goods "Thanks for this, let’s head home now."

They separated soon after. Milford was on his way to catch a cab when he vanished in the opposite direction of where "home" was supposed to be. Sportacus was once again left alone with his thoughts. He wished there was something he could tinker with or that he could go sweat away most of his worries. But he felt like no matter the intensity of the workout, he would still feel queasy and dark.

Taking a deep breath, he let his lungs fill with the cold air of the early afternoon. As the distance grew between him and the hospital, his body felt lighter, and some of the tense muscles under his skin unknotted. He shook his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers, and fished around for his phone. After a brief moment of hesitation, he dialed Íþró’s number and walked towards the crime scene while listening to the dial tone.

It took at least three tries before the line connected and his brother’s cheerful tone greeted him, with some thinly veiled anger under it.

"Sport, there is nothing I can share, so you better be calling to ask how I am faring."

The tone Sportacus knew made him exhale a laugh into the cold. Hoping that this would ease his mind a little, he walked towards the Plaza, letting his legs carry him as he joined the swarm of people on the busy street.

"How are you faring?" Sportacus took the bait.

Smiling despite the grim circumstances, he heard Íþró chuckle tiredly into the line as well. "There is this case that keeps growing, and I don’t think I’ll enjoy my New Year’s Eve; how about that?"

Sportacus stopped at the crossing, watching the light blink red before turning green. He took a step, his eyes following the lines of oddly colored patches in line with the pavement, and as he marched forward, he kept the conversation going.

"Is there anything I can help with?" he opted, in hopes his brother wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

"Listen to Meanswell and keep to your usual schedule; tomorrow will be a rush."

"How long till your break?" Sportacus turned the corner, counting back the turns he would have to take until he would inevitably end up by the Plaza.

"I just left, so if there is nothing else, I’ll just sleep through the new year."

Sportacus heard the elongated yawn, even through the effort of hindering it with his hands. Íþró’s fatigue was clear in his voice.

"Thank you," he said, finally taking the last turn.

In the sunlight, without the police cars and lights, the street looked as unassuming as usual. The buildings were still enveloped in Christmas decoration, now joined by some bottles of champagne chilling on the windowsills. The blizzard left some of the blinds damaged, and the snow was invading every crevice and nook on the tall buildings. As he got closer, the only reminder of what had gone down only a few hours earlier was the yellow ribbon expanding between the gates, moving with the wind.

"There is nothing much to thank yet" Íþró offered, and Sportacus could hear the familiar jingle of keys as his brother fidgeted with his door. "If I hadn’t called you, you would be a bigger pain," he mused, with laughter in his tone.

"Anyway" Sportacus felt a little protective and hurt by the assumption.

"You would have pestered me more and gotten back immediately anyway," his brother noted, remaining silent for a few moments. "I know that he, that they are important to you." Íþró added, clearing his throat.

They are. Sportacus paused, allowing his gaze to wander over to the building, which was surrounded by blinding white and Christmas lights. "Thanks." his gratitude was met with a low hum before his brother disconnected the call, leaving Sportacus alone.

Finding the familiar building empty and gray, he stopped before the gates. The snow was disturbed but never shoveled; the heaps of snow at the sides hid the broken glass from the main window that gaped at him. Some measures were taken to secure the lobby from any onlookers, but Sportacus could still make out most of the inside. Torn, it had clear marks of a scuffle, and the dark smudges on the deep-colored carpet made him remember Robbie’s injuries.

The cold bit into his nape as the wind came to life, sending the police ribbons into a wicked dance over the pure snow. Sportacus shook himself, debating how to proceed. The last day of the year was supposed to be spent with his family. To listen to some bickering from Robbie over a shared worry. Now, here he was, alone.

Falling prey to self-pity was something he never thought himself capable of. Blaming the wind, he smeared a tear from the inner corner of his eyes and started sniffling. He was about to leave when he heard a small curse coming from inside? Out of instinct, he took a long step forward, ignoring the restriction in his path.

"Is someone there?" With adrenalin once again rushing through him, he wanted to push forward.

"Argh, fucking finally!"

Sportacus stepped to the side, not expecting someone to emerge from the trash bins. The lanky man stood tall now, swiping some dust from his highlighter-colored attire. Instead of coming from the main door, the stranger simply stepped over the first heap of snow and then rushed out to the sidewalk in the same breath.

He had a big bouquet of sunflowers in his hand, wiggling it around for balance, when he finally stopped before the building, close but at an arm's length from Sportacus.

The man had the same features as Robbie and was unmistakably the same as Sportacus saw in the photograph. Tall, bound in dark tones, figure elongated with feminine attire.  "Glanni?" 

"You butchered it, but yes. Care to sha- I know you!" In an instant, the man who appeared to be Glanni shifted gears, stomping over and grabbing Sportacus' coat. "You are that muscleb-, Spor-whatever, you know my Robbie." he snarled, bunching the coat material in his hand, the other strangling the bouquet.

Sportacus grabbed the hand pinning him, surprised that being tall seemed to run in the family. "Yes. So let’s t-"

"Is this" Glanni gestured towards the building with the bouquet "because of the girl?" 

Against Sportacus’ best effort, he couldn’t peel the hand from his collar before Glanni decided to let him go. Swiping his hand across his chest, to rid himself of whatever Sportacus ‘carried’. He seemed to collect himself as his breathing evened out, and he smiled widely and amicably, his makeup shimmering under the afternoon sun.

"What were you doing in there?" Instead of responding, Sportacus crossed his arms over his chest and looked towards the seemingly empty lobby. Reluctant to fix his attire.

Glanni’s eyebrow rose over his condemning snear, and he swung the bouquet between them. He cradled it in his other arm as he pulled his phone from his coat’s pocket. His tone quickly changed from clear anger to irritation as he nicked the device from side to side. "Robbie called me, so, tell me, is this about the little girl he asked around about?"

Chapter Text

It hurt a lot. At one point he couldn’t even feel the cold; just the pain, after a while even that ceased. The weight in his arms grew heavier with each wobbling step, but he had to get there. They had to make it. Eyes hurting from the cold, he wasn’t sure if it was his tears or the blizzard rolling down his cheeks as he fell. Some of his body succumbed to his screaming mind and pain.

"Keep breathing," he said as a mantra to whom he wasn't sure, his teeth chattering with each word.

A lot of people fussed around. The sudden warmth evoked another wave of pain and a swarm of questions that he couldn’t even process. The thumping pain and dull warmth on his left side caused everything to tilt with a swimming haze. Strangers touched him all over and asked things he had no idea about. One thing he knew was that he had to show what he had, that he had to hold on to the girl. Blinking rapidly, he tore his head from the fingers holding his jaw. He found his arms empty, his heart stuttering, and he panicked, most likely hitting something or someone before the world became dark.

"Robbie! Robbie!"

Someone called his name; his sentences were all shattered; he forced his eyes open. The light hurt his eyes, and he turned his head, stopped by something dull and hard against his jawline. Someone was still talking and calling his name. Honestly, it was fucking annoying; just let him be. He could finally sleep, he thought, his mind making sloppy little rounds around something important.

Urging himself, he tried again; this time the light wasn’t as bad. Meanswell's round and wobbly face shifted in and out of focus. His brows were knotted, and he looked so old. Old fart; he wanted to laugh but couldn’t find it in him. Now that he had Milford’s profile in his sight, he realized the man was talking, if the black hole opening and closing was anything to go by.

"What do you want?" he wasn’t sure he said those last parts out loud, but he waited for an answer nonetheless.

"Robbie, any family to call?" Milford’s voice stuttered, with a slight ringing overpowering it.

Grimacing, he tried to shake his head—even if he told them Glanni’s name, there was nothing to add. The man was somewhere, God knows where, wasn't he? Suddenly, Robbie couldn’t recall any details about his eccentric relative. "Stephanie?" he might have asked.

Milford answered something, something washed away by the loud silence nesting over Robbie’s mind. Whatever he said, even if he didn’t understand it, it seemed to take some of the tenseness out of his muscles because he finally felt the blankets weighing him down and the sweat building at his back while he was still buzzing.

"-d to get someone here, we cannot, Milford this is"  "- at about that degenerate"  "- bie honey, you need to listen, you need to say something."

Whatever entangled messy Bessie in this twist had to be bad because she sounded worked up. The whole world shook, and when he opened his eyes, a disheveled Bessi looked down at him. Her mascara running and all, she looked funny. Robbie wanted to laugh, to bicker with her a little, point out that her nose was so red she could be that one reindeer he couldn’t seem to be able to name. 

She shook so much that it was hard to concentrate on her features, but she gasped loudly in her theatrical way, calling his name again. The lights here were better, much more tame; he liked it better; the thick thing by his neck was gone too, but now his skin felt like it was on fire. 

"I know it hurts," Bessie fussed with something around him. Her perfume sweetly lingered over him. "You need to listen carefully," she sniffled, and it was so dehumanizing. She never looked less than, and here she was. Robbie felt a little scared; something might have happened after all. Something bad if she was this, this -

"they will take you away now," she started, and Robbie struggled to understand who they were.

"Milford will be here okay, they promised you’ll be a little be-" whoever they were seemed to appear out of nowhere, suddenly it became dark and oddly warm and Bessie became an afterthought.

Whatever this was, it was the good stuff. Sitting stiffly, he watched someone work away at his palm. Blinking a few times, he tried to clear his vision. Somewhere deep, he knew he should have at least felt wetness against his hand, but he couldn’t pinpoint that part of himself. Not even after he willed his fingers to move. Concentrating for what felt like forever, one knuckle moved slightly.

Leaving the woman to work away at his palm, which he wasn’t sure needed any attention, he looked around. There were people around, and he heard someone familiar talk over others. Each time, whoever tried to speak over him was silenced. Robbie tried to crane his neck, blinking away some hurt; he felt his left eye lacking. Oddly disoriented, he moved—maybe he felt he did—but nothing really changed.

Annoyed at the constant ringing of his ears and the dull pain trying to push through his haze, he opened his mouth. It felt dry, like the cotton that was worked into his palm; licking his lips was a greater hurdle than he cared to confess, and it tasted so bad.

Out of nowhere a yellowish blob that was Milford sprung to life. It was hard to make out what expression he made exactly, but he looked odd. His voice came from underwater, and Robbie had to concentrate on each word to get what the round politician tried to convey.

"No matter who asks about it, for now, keep it in." or something along those lines, filtered through Robbie’s confusion.

Robbie felt more awake now, with some pieces of the night coming back to him. Stephanie and that man, and the cold "Pinky?"

Milford smiled, his wrinkles moving into kind lines over his tired face. "She is fine, now rest a little."

"Mr. Rotten," the nurse from his side called him; her face looked sickly, and Robbie wanted her to get away soon. 

She held his palm in her own, dressed in gauze, and she just plugged something into his skin hole over the back of his hand. Something like water flowed into him; his fingertips felt hot, but everything shivered in him. Some of his parts still felt strange to him, like his body was all over the place. Should he rest? Milford said so…but what did he know?

This time, he felt great. Fine and alert. He was in a foreign bed—warm, quiet, and dark—just how he liked it. Slight beeping and the sound of shuffling feet and textiles anchored him to a fleeting moment. It was sad because he had so much fun and it was so fluffy. Everything. With tiny lights twinkling and some cloudlike stuff embracing him. Soft.

Then someone tried to kill him. He felt his eyelid being pulled, and it hurt as something burning white stabbed his eyes. His grunt was ignored as the offender took its time to stab his other eyes as well.

"Good morning, Mr. Rotten, how are we?" the rigid tone asked, and the stabbing tool disappeared to Robbie’s greatest pleasure.

"Nice…" he croaked, his own voice alien to his ears. Blinking a few times, he was met with a small team idling by the end of his bed. One held a chart, and the other flipped the penlight around. Ah, the stabbing made a little more sense.

They were talking over the medication or whatever doctors usually yap about on the clock, and all that went over Robbie’s head. His gaze followed the familiar nurse fidgeting with one of the tubes at his side.

"You caused quite the fright at the entrance, Mr. Rotten," the stabber explained, pulling his attention back. "I am sure the nurses will gossip about it for a while."

Robbie hummed, not able to pull any of the things the man was talking about him doing seemingly only a few hours ago. Buzzing with warmth and unmatched ease, he tapped one finger against the soft bedding. Nicking his head to one side, he watched as the blanket was pulled from his feet.

Oh, he could see his toes; he remembered painting them. That purple he liked was all chipped, and his toes looked devilishly red. Now with visuals he wanted to move them, finding he couldn’t. That took some of his fun away; he felt his skin pull with his frown.

A gloved hand prodded his long toes, and if it weren’t for the numb joy flowing in him, Robbie would find it frightening that he couldn’t feel any of it. "You got lucky," the offender continued, blabbing about the difference between frostnip and frostbite while he motioned towards cuts that Robbie couldn’t see on his soles.

To be honest, Robbie didn't consider himself particularly fortunate. He felt, well, it was difficult to put into words. Empty. Hungry. The last one, he might have said it because the nurse at his side snorted. He looked over, finally finding a partner in crime. He was happy after all, so should all be. He was told everything was fine, so what was there to worry about?

"Let’s keep the dose for now," the doctor said from his feet, draping the blanket back over them. "Mr. Rotten, you’ll be able to eat in a few hours, okay?"

Robbie knew that tone; it was the same one Sportakook used with the kids. How humiliating. Robbie mused as the cold water once again rushed inside him.

"Do I look that bad?" he asked when he met Milford for what felt like the twentieth time.

The politician did look bad. All ruffled and dressed down, with flecks of whatever dirt the man seemed to roll in. In Robbie's humble opinion, it was extremely unprofessional. On the other hand, he was curious if he, Robbie Rotten, appeared to be in bad shape. When someone entered their shared room and saw him, they turned quickly and averted their gaze.

"Not at all," Milford lied, and it was so easy to tell too. "It’s not a lie!" Milofrd laughed at that thieving jerk.

"Not that I care," Robbie answered to the blatant lie. "it’s just, people look, at me, funny, funnier than usual," he said. Surprised at how easily his inner thoughts spilled.

"You look great, a little disheveled, but otherwise nothing to fret over." Milford reassured as he pulled a stool from nowhere to sit by his side. At his right side. "Without much detail, do you remember why we are here?"

"In the hospital, or in this situation?" Robbie tried to nick his head to the side, cockily teasing the man. Earning a tired sigh from the politician.

Some of the joy juice that they were pumping into him started to weaken, and his memories from the night before came to him in hot flashes, only for them to disappear the next moment. One thing he remembered vividly, as if it were etched in his mind:

"Stephanie was attacked, and we came to the hospital, I guess, right?" he frowned, and the pull on his skin felt funny and a little painful. "Someone else was there, too, oh," he came to a halt, hands lifted, confused, and he raised his left hand to his temple."I got hit?"

It started to make sense slowly, clearing up with each small part that got back to him. Confused at how he couldn’t feel the pain he remembered clearly. His left side, his shoulder, and his head. His arm gave up halfway; like it had its own will, it fell back to the bed, and Robbie looked after it for long moments.

"She is fine; she is asleep. I’ll make sure they tell you once she wakes up, or I’ll come personally, but it is imperative that you do not talk about any of this."

Wow, Milford was using big words. He looked rather serious, too. But if Stephanie was right and Robbie was right, what else was there? Nodding, he willed his finger to move with the thickest bandage, and when it listened, Robbie felt elated. Happy and comforted once again. He urged Milford to help him sit up.

He was disheartened when he was denied, and he was pushed back even when he tried. Indignant, he shook his head, only managing to make his vision dizzy and his limbs heavy in the same breath.

"Robbie, you didn’t have anyone on your emergency contact list." Milford informed him as if it were something Robbie was unaware of.

"The police have your phone, and they found a Glanni Glæpur in your call history." 

"Uh, oh," Robbie laughed, surprised that even Glanni was involved, let alone the cops. That will be very interesting once Robbie can take it a little more seriously. Right now? Right now, he couldn’t hold his laughter. "You butchered it, but yeah, that’s the one…" He realized that laughing hurt, even if the pain was dull and distant.

It took hours, ages, for someone to come and move his bed and allow him to sit. It was much better. Even better when the promised food arrived. The small table that the nurse put before him had three portions of food that only fanatics like Sportacus would call edible. Surprisingly, when he voiced this, he got a rather irritated stare from someone who looked like the head nurse.

Munching on the greens and the paste that was the ugly cousin of something that was made out of meat, Robbie mused about everything that was happening. Mind struggling to put everything in order. He discovered he didn't care. What he cared about was the sweet he desperately desired.

Furious but fascinated by the light playing on the walls. Robbie fumed in his new position. His head felt heavy, but he couldn’t really make out anything else. He knew deep down that he should be hurting, that he was hurting, but he felt great right now. He'd bet that Sportacus felt like this all the time.

Thinking about the man sent a little jolt down his spine, and he could feel something pool in the pit of his stomach. Blinking, he realized he never contacted the man, did he? He would be interested if Milford did. If anyone took the time to tell the handyman what was happening last night.

Right, there are some damages, so that meant Sportacus would stay for a little longer. Giddy with the thought, he wanted to wiggle his toes that peeked out of the blanket. They didn't move, which was fine because when Sportacus returned, he'd fuss about everything, especially Stephanie. Maybe he would spare some care for Robbie too. He could already see it, the crybaby.

He laughed into the slowly filling room. Others might think he was crazy, but he was just in love. One might say that was crazy, but who was Robbie to decide?

"Psst! Mr. Rotten!" a nurse leaned in the room, waving at him. She inched over, her big doe eyes squinting. Out of nowhere, she pulled a cup of pudding from her uniform, adding a spoon before whispering, "from Mr. Meanswell."

"For me?" Robbie clutched the chocolate pudding as if it were the greatest treasure ever discovered.

"Yepp," the nurse said, helping to peel the foil from the top when Robbie struggled with it. "Enjoy, and don’t tell anyone it’s from me."

"I don’t know you," Robbie said, all his attention stolen by the wiggly dessert. The scent alone made him happy to be alive.

"That’s the idea," she said before disappearing.

Robbie really didn’t know her. But it seemed to count little in the grand scheme of things.

He took the first bite, and the sweet chocolate lit up his senses. Craving wasn’t the right word for it; he more like needed it, and now everything was right in the world. He didn’t care for people looking at him anymore, and he didn’t note the pain it was to swallow either. He only cared about the sweetness on his tongue and the coolness of the spoon. He was feeling so light that he could float off the bed at any time.

Mid-bite Milford came back, once again with his face hidden, but his eyes were shiny, and he smiled. Most likely, Robbie wasn’t above thanking anyone, so he wanted to rush it out fast, but he stopped instead 

He felt more alive than he had in a long time, his heart racing. Dizzy and giddy, his blood rushed all around the place as he took in the new arrival. Spartacus was looking as good as ever. Shining valiantly as he stepped inside the room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that something wasn’t right but couldn't put his finger on it.

Leaving that worry behind, he pulled the spoon from his lips, and overjoyed, he confessed the one thing that had been on his mind since the moment his eyes fell on the damp denim jacket. "Ah Sportakook… I guess you were right…"

He hoped for a ‘told you so’ reaction but got nothing in exchange. The handyman stood awkwardly at the end of his bed, his eyes falling on anything but Robbie. That felt odd too. Then the usually put-together man stumbled with his words, and the breathy tones were more than worrying.

Sucking on the spoon for a moment, he wanted to tease the man a little; after all, he was so, so, him.

"Had been worse," he pushed the unimportant part aside to get to the clever remark. "Did you become a doctor now? Checking all the boxes for good guy bingo?" because he was.

He checked all the boxes for Robbie, for sure, he mused, his skin itchy from the sudden rush of emotion and ease he felt upon seeing the handyman. The idea alone that he came to see him was energizing, and he felt his lips pull toward a smile. So far from their usual conversation, it felt strained.

"How do you feel?"

"Great, actually, numb maybe? My head was bashed in. I mean, I heard there were some stitches or whatever, but really, it's nothing. See, I am sitting." he reported diligently, hoping for some reward for his honesty.

Instead, he got a sad Sportacus. The worst kind of Sportakook. With the darned mask, half his face, his mustache included, was hidden. But his puppy eyes, the ones that annoyed Robbie all the time, looked like he had just been abandoned. Was this some kind of reverse play? Wasn't it Robbie who was hurt but felt great? While Sportacus stood there, walking evidence that healthy food and exercise were working stood there, and he looked worse than him.

Using his now useless spoon, he twirled the thing like a wand. Wishing Sportacus would look at him. If anyone else looked horrified when they saw him, then what would Sportacus look like? He looked heartbroken from the moment he stepped inside the room, but never once did he leave his gaze on Robbie for more than a second.

Finally, finally his spell worked because the handyman looked up. Right at him. With those blue puppy eyes. With his brows knotted, he looked devastated, so Robbie did look horrendous. Robbie felt a grin pull against his heated skin, more out of awkwardness than real emotion. He did look bad. Well, he felt good. Really good. Sportacus should too.

It was on his left side, the one where he was hit with something. A sharp flash of memory nudged his head to the right. Like he wanted to evade the hit that came in the past. Only a phantom of the object that battered his side. His side? He looked down and saw some blue bruises on his chest before they disappeared under the light blue hospital garb.

Ah, back to Sportacus. "Wanna sit on my right side?" he tried; he wanted to have the man here for a little while, mind urging him to crack some kind of joke that would make the pair as giddy as him. After all, this wasn’t it; they should be as at ease as him. Looking at the spoon, he spluttered out with false confidence, "I won't eat you, hah, bite you," he said, moving the spoon in circles with his bandaged fingers lax around it.

To hammer, spoon, or otherwise drive his point home, he wanted to show Milford off; after all, he didn’t eat him. When he turned to face the politician, he was reminded of what had happened. So interesting; one moment, he felt like there was nothing wrong. The other knew that an unthinkable thing had occurred a few hours before. That he was absolutely fine, then he would remember he looked bad once someone looked at him. Or when he felt a pulsing pain surge through him when he moved differently than he was supposed to.

Now the memory of his phone being handed to the police came to him. Sportacus called him a lot; they exchanged messages too, right? Because Robbie promised something to the handyman. Because he was going home... "Oh, your flight!"

He sat up, a panic rising behind his ribcage—maybe the man wasn't even here; maybe everything up to this point had been conjured up by his mind? Was he even in the hospital? "Am I halluci-"

"Obviously he didn’t get on the plane," Milford said while, with unmatched strength, he pushed Robbie backwards.

Confused both by the power of the man and the notion that Sportacus didn’t fly back home, a myriad of things spilled from his lips. Grasping for a reason why they wouldn’t let the man on the flight. He was a good person. Why wouldn't they, he was probably late? Sportacus was never late; his eyes snapped from the shocked man to Milford, who looked at him funnily. 

Why wouldn’t the personnel let him on the flight? He never did anything bad. Shaken by the information, he clutched Milford’s sleeve. In disbelief, he questioned the politician. "Him? They didn’t let him on?"

Sportacus spoke up, but Robbie wasn’t convinced. Trying to find the reason. THE reason. He did make fun of the handyman a lot, for his quirky mustache and that ridiculous pencil thing that he wished he could behold right now. That might have been it, but no one has ever been turned back because of facial hair. Were they?  

Still collecting any semble of proof that they would deny Sportacus, Robbie smiled a half smile, hanging on the now somewhat relaxed blue eyes. Disheartened, he felt like if the handyman wasn’t able to fly, then who was? Who was when he wasn’t? That, that was an unachievable standard.

Then the only idea came, and he let the spoon fall in awe as he came to the realization. "You flo-flopped around too much?" He did do that, didn’t he? Darn it. But he looked good doing it, so it might not have been after all.

"Actually, you don’t remember much of yesterday, right?" Sportacus blabbed, "You should ju-"

"I remember plenty," Robbie felt hurt, how dare he. Sportacus was the second person to talk to him like a little kid today, and he wasn’t having it. Not from someone who was refused boarding on a plane. "All of it, in fact, so I knew you were about to fly,"

All the while his little tantrum, which Robbie was entitled to, was going on, the handyman fussed around. Sportacus took his spoon, touched him all over, ironed the wrinkles of his blankets with his big hand, and even took his bandaged hand in his own. Robbie watched the handyman’s palm. Sportacus did it with the same care as he did everything else. All his attention was on the bruised hand, and Robbie’s heart raced again.

Warmth spread throughout his body, and he felt it going to dangerous places. The pulsing pain behind his ear strengthened, but he couldn’t care when he felt treasured. Solemnly swearing to never confess the tender love that he felt was threatening his sanity. After all, Robbie broke his promise and broke the man too. Didn’t he? Maybe he couldn’t get on the plane because of Robbie. Did he call the handyman? The last few minutes inside the lobby were a rush of shadows, pain, and sheer panic.

"The bliz-"

"Riiight!" Robbie felt once again on cloud nine; it wasn’t him, it was the weather, of course. Confused when he could snap his fingers, he watched the thickly bandaged digits. Why was his hand wrapped again? His head, yeah, he was battered; his side was the same. Looking up to take in the other damage, his toes were under the blanket that Sportacus fidgeted with. Right, the "The blizzard, cold as fuck when I go-"

"Robbie, remember we talked about this, you should keep that in until I can get you to the private room." Milford stopped him.

In the silence of the busy ward, with the nurses coming and going and all the strangers who all became part of the background once Sportacus arrived, he almost forgot the most important thing. The imperative thing. The big word thing, that he should keep it in. Zipping his lips, he nodded slowly.

Then, out of nowhere, Sportacus sat to his left. He was so close now that he could feel the human chimney’s heat rolling towards him. It was soothing in a way that no blanket could be. Robbie let himself bask in it for a second before the rosy clouds and the clear blue sky of his tranquility were ended with a harsh stabbing pain at his shoulder.

His left side was his ugly side, the one no one wanted to look at. If Sportacus found out, if he saw that disgusting thing nobody wanted to see than he would surely lose all the little interest that he didn’t have in Robbie. That tiny, almost nonexistent thing—the friend status that Robbie denied—was at risk if Sportacus realized how ugly it was. Robbie wasn’t vain, at least not more than others, but the only person he didn’t want to see this was the handyman.

"I, I told you to sit on my right side" he pointed towards Milford. Robbie’s heart was hammering away in his chest. Fear was gnawing at his soul, and despite the numbing, he could feel his lips trembling.

"I am," Sportacus said as he reached for the bandaged hand again.

Love exploded in him, and Robbie felt lighter—a flutter from his crying lungs. From the depth of his heart, he felt like he just saw fireworks for the first time, like he won his first chess game, laughing he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.  "look at prince charming here, you going for the bingo for real," in his eyes Sportacus was.

The dumb but kind man—no, he wasn’t dumb. The kind and good prince charming, the hero everyone was holding out for. The always-balanced but goofy man who loved children and adults all the same and made everyone around him comfortable with little effort. 

"maybe that’s the type of game you are good at?" he asked as he tried to think of a time he saw Sportacus play any game that didn’t involve a good physique.

"Really?" Sportacus chuckled, like the adorable shit he was.

Robbie relished in the feeling of the handyman’s touch. Tender and full with care, it was so sweet. Just like when those fingers moved over his torso. A tremor ran down Robbie’s spine, and he decided to give in to his wish to feel the man too. Even through the dressing, he felt the calming caresses.

When he blinked a few times, a slow but scary tiredness started to take his sanity away. Robbie forced his mind and his eyes to keep up with what he wanted to say. Because Sportacus looked so beaten. So sad. He shared care so easily that Robbie wanted to reciprocate.

Maybe he was sad about not making it to the plane? Or because Robbie assumed it was because of his appearance.

"Are you sad? Don’t be sad; I bet you couldn’t get on the plane because you did something; you look fine; you are handsome."

There it was—the highest compliment he could ever bestow on the handyman. Surprisingly easy to tell too. He was kind of proud and felt smug about it. Head heavy, he let his nape hit the rigid pillow under him. Robbie wondered if Sportacus knew he was attractive because he never brags about his body, even though he had every right to. What a brilliant man he was. Impeccable. Robbie wanted Sportacus to understand; the handyman had to know.

That he was handsome. With peak sexual appeal.

Robbie got hot behind his ears, and he let a shallow breath out of his chapped lips. Frowning against the odd taste he had inside his mouth. He let his eyes close for a brief moment, enjoying the feeling of Sportacus’ warm skin under his, the slow drag of his thumb on his sensitive skin.

"Robbie, he stayed because of what happened," Milford said, in a tone a lot more accusatory than Robbie would let him.

Because of what happened. Because of the break-in? He curled his fingers into Sportacus’ in encouragement. It was fine; there was nothing to worry about. It was fine; everybody said it was fine. Feeling a nab at the back of his mind, something was reluctantly yet restlessly trying to break out of the haze he was lulled into.

The doctor said not to force anything yet, right? He didn’t. He was completely aware of what had occurred. Someone came in, bashed his head in, and then—then what happened?

Looking around, his vision swam with swaying colors. The sun still played on the wall and the ceiling, but this time it was colored differently. Not the warm orange of the winter sun; no, blues, reds, and greens. Christmas colors blinked, and the sound of a little girl screaming came back in waves to him.

The lobby, his phone going off. The clatter of wood and the sound of broken glass  shrill against his nerves made his heart pick up more. Cold inside and out his anchor seemed to lose heat as well. Sportacus’s palm felt clammy and cold, just like the weight that he carried in the blizzard. Still and dull.

"Stephanie is okay though, Milford said so, he said so, you said she was!" he rambled, he had to get up.

Get there; she was there. On the carpet, unmoving, she was left behind. Milford lied. Robbie pushed up against the bedding; his leg resisted, and hands scampering through the tubes at his spine ate into his skin. The pain he ignored, overpowering it, came at him in a crash of sensation as his head pounded, like his left eye was about to pop from his skull.

He took a ragged breath, surprised that he was now being forced back down. Betrayed by the two men he knew for being honest and kind. Fuck them. He tried to lift again, feeling the warm hand that had been holding him until now, hindering him. Pushing him to the bed with unrelenting power.

"She is," he heard the two say several times. He wasn’t sure he believed them. They lied before. Shame on them.

Robbie felt so tired; so sleepy suddenly. One moment awake and ready to go, and now chained to the bed. What spell was this? He was fine a moment ago. How was he now so lifeless and useless? His shallow muscles didn’t listen to him, and his eyes didn’t stay open.

Glancing at Sportacus, he found those brows knotted again. The frown on his face was pulling the skin into a wrinkle; that didn’t suit the handyman. He wouldn't lie, would he? After all, Sportacus was terrible at lying. If he was, Robbie would be able to tell anyway, right?

"You wouldn’t lie… so..she is f…" he decided to believe him.

The next time he woke up, he was more himself than at any other moment in the last day. The first thing he realized was that he was in another room. A smaller one, with a large window to his left. Robbie couldn’t move his head, or his limbs as freely as that afternoon. Not sure how much time had passed, he glanced out the window.

The sky was clear and dark; he couldn’t make out any stars, but the calm of it set something off in him. Contrasting the turmoil inside him, he latched onto the night sky. Some of the day’s happenings came to him. Only adding to his pain-crippled body. Whatever he was on until now seemed to lose its effect.

His head, which he talked about being bashed in so frivolously, was now back with vigor, the pain sucking everything away. Even through the numbness and the cold he felt, he still knew that he was on the verge of something. Seeing the world more grim than before, he glanced around as much as his limited movements allowed.

At his right, the IV stand looked empty, at least as much as he could tell from the corner of his eyes. Speaking of, his left eye always felt wet; he wanted to blink away the tears, but nothing came. Leaving the lids down felt worse, so he kept blinking.

Another sensation he couldn’t name until now was the rigid pain—the stone-cold feel of flesh by his feet. Urging his legs to move, he was devastated when the limbs didn’t even flinch. His throat clenched, and he tried his best not to whine in pain as he tried to get some friction from his right hand. To push up in bed.

"There, there" 

Robbie’s heart almost stopped. As he snapped his head to the side, the movement was so small yet so painful that he almost screamed out. In the low light of the emergency exit sign, he found a familiar silhouette. The tall shadow moved swiftly, until the light seeping from the outside softened his otherwise sharp lines.

Robbie followed the lanky man’s form, his breathing slowly evening out as Glanni pulled the chair from the wall towards the end of the bed. The next few moments passed in silence as the man, eight years older, perched on the seat like a little kid. Heels balancing on the edge, he rested a folder on his knees, the light of his phone screen aiding his eyes.

"He did a number on you, little light," Glanni said as he flipped the page, the blueish light cascading down his body suit's shiny material. "From what I hear, you gave back some of it," he smiled. "Good job." 

The praise was going right into Robbie’s heart, melting the remnants of any anxiety or fear. "Why did you come?"

Glanni huffed, flapping the folder around. "I had to, they got a hold of me," he snickered into the darkness, "that boyfriend of yours is pretty nifty."

Robbie wanted to deny it, but realizing the trap that was set, he remained silent. Trying his best to override the pain that was getting stronger and stronger behind his eyes, he said, "So why in the middle, ugh," moving slightly to see Glanni better, only to find his left side also hurting like a bitch. He grumbled again, "the middle of the night."

The sharp lines of Glanni’s face moved into a half-smirk as he rolled his eyes. "When else could I have you all to myself?" his melodious tone sank right under Robbie’s skin. "You have either the maddog or the smitten idiot next to you. But I have to give it to them," he said, looking around in the darkness, "they did arrange quite a nice place for you."

The room was silent once again, let alone for their breathing and the small whimpers Robbie wished he could forget about. He felt all his ribs, and his lungs struggled against each breath. Confused about how this turned so fast from giddy numbness to brain melting pain. Glanni watched him, and Robbie felt the same gaze that scared him when he was just a child send chills down his back.

Robbie followed the man’s gaze to his right hand, where the cannula, taped to the back of his hand, closed off where it should have joined the tube for his medication. The solution bag hanging from the stand was empty, and with each heartbeat, the rhythm pumped with the pain etched into every fiber of his being.

"I bet it hurts like hell." Glanni noted this with humor. "They'll start pushing you from the morning. You might not feel like it, but you got really lucky." he lifted a scan, he for sure shouldn’t have his hands on and put a backlight to it with.

"You are right." Robbie grunted but couldn’t fault the flashy man. "It does hurt."

"You'll get over it," Glanni said flatly before returning with little to no nuance. "take my advice; you are in good hands, but only say as much as needed."

Robbie closed his eyes, still too preoccupied by the burning sensation that joined the fray of the competing pains inside him. He was tired but it felt faux; he was awake but wanted to desperately fall back to the black hole that was conjured by the medication he gobbled up. Sighing, he let his body relax.

He felt the bed dip by his legs. Cracking an eye open, he found Glanni’s frilly socks tangled in his blanket.

"Oh, welcome back," Glanni said.

And it wasn't detective work to realize he might have fallen asleep. What felt like a blink for him seemed to last a lot longer for Glanni, who yawned from the chair with his legs propped up.

"To be honest, this wasn’t what I meant when I said I'd see you at New Year's."

Robbie followed his gaze out the window. In the dark sky somewhere far away, so far that they couldn’t hear it, fireworks were sent high. From the inside, it appeared to be small and round firecrackers. One after another, without a sound, they painted the sky far away.

His mouth was dry, and as he moved his tongue around, the steely taste of medicine made him frown. His chapped lips were like blades against his senses, but some remnants of the chocolate pudding made him remember his day. A silly little feeling nesting over his heart made him all fluttery.

The pain was still there, but it was only an afterthought. Robbie blinked rapidly, willing the sudden and unwarranted tears away. His not-so-hidden sniffles caught his cousin’s attention.

Glanni stood with grace, always elegant, and conjured a bottle with a straw from nowhere. From the shadows. Holding it to Robbie’s lips, he urged him to drink.

"There, there," he chided again. "You did good, and the girl, Stephanie, is okay," he added after Robbie took the first sip. "That bastard hit her head it seems, but nothing else to note." he smiled that proud smile for his, the one Glanni only showed when Robbie won, both money and fame. When he made adults shatter before them. "Nicely done."

In the silence at the brink of the new year, Robbie could make out some clattering steps from the hallway. Robbie gulped down the last of the sweet stuff Glanni had helped him swallow. With his ears peeled, he listened for the soft sound of the bottle on the side table, as well as the heels that Glanni pulled back on.

"I have to go now," he whispered; the zipper of his boot was loud between them. "I’ll see you later today, okay?" he leaned over and swiped some hair from his forehead.

Robbie looked at him; from the corner of his eyes, he saw the man crack his door open just a notch before looking back. Mouth moving around a smile.

"Happy New Year..."

Chapter Text

"As I said," the doctor repeated, his tone strained by the never-ending barrage of questions "Mr. Rotten is healing as expected; a few more days under observation; and -" 

"Yeah, no" Glanni cut in again, hands crossed before his chest, he wore yet another flashy outfit, this time complete with sequins and an oversized suit jacket.  "We are leaving today."

To hammer his point home, he pushed the few pieces of clothing Robbie had on him when he was taken to the hospital. Tattered and too thin, not that Glanni meant it for him to wear. No, he was stuffing it into one of the bags he had with him.

"I strongly advise against that," the doctor said, tapping the pen against the clipboard.

"I also think Robbie sh-"

"When exactly did this become a joint effort?" Glanni turned to Milford, one finger tapping on his crossed arms.

The politician looked a lot better than yesterday. Freshly shaven, with his usual suit draped over his shoulder and a leather bag at his side, he stood tall. Even in the shadow of his cousin, Robbie had to praise the man for standing his ground.

"Mr. Glæpur" Milford sighed, his shoulders sinking with a practiced ease. "I just wish we could talk this out before making some rushed decision that might endanger Robbie’s health."

"Again," Glanni loomed over the round man, his menacing aura thick as he snubbed the older man. "When did this become a ‘we’ discussion?"

Robbie only listened to the rapidly heating conversation between the three men who were debating what he, the adult man in question, should be doing. Sitting, he missed yesterday’s blurred lines and faux happiness. How the light could keep his attention alone now it became a hurtful reminder that his head wasn’t right.

Thankfully, the AM review at the brink of morning by a bunch of doctors and wannabe medical students resulted in a hopeful picture. He was told, very adamantly, that his head injury would need at least a month to heal fully, that he should keep regular check-ins in the case of unusual headaches. Which, to be honest, wasn't such a great prospect for a person who had the headache literally scribbled in their daily schedule.

Regarding his feet, everybody told him that it was a good thing that they hurt and that he was lucky. It's strange how everyone insisted on telling him how fortunate he was. He didn’t feel so. In his optimal scenario, he wouldn’t have to be at the hospital. Let alone his well-being being discussed by three other people.

Sighing, he leaned back, gulping down the hiss that threatened to slip his lips. He missed the delirium now that the initial sedatives and painkillers had worn off and he was back on the basics. And the other thing.

Glancing to the side, in the halo of the afternoon sun, Sportacus sat by his bed. Oddly silent, he didn't join the currently ongoing debate. He arrived with Meanswell, and after a brief discussion, he sat and remained there, vibrating by his bedside. Legs bouncing and thumbs twirling between his joined hands, he wasn’t himself.

"Should I join them?" Robbie asked, squinting when Sportacus moved and sun rays broke over his figure. 

His casual clothing was exchanged for something more formal, but in his usual vibrant colors. Or maybe Robbie just found him more handsome when he was worrying by his bedside.

"Hm?" as eloquent as ever. Sportacus looked, and from what showed, he most likely smiled, but it was hard to tell with the mask.

"Do you think they care about what I want?" he tried again, meaning to make it sound light, but his voice broke, and the thumping pain got stronger.

It might have shown on his face because the handyman moved closer, eyes snapping over his form between the bland white covers. "Of course they do," he huffed, his tone tethering on a small laugh, "we're all worried about you."

"You all are?" he teased, his face hurting from the grin.

What felt like a slight pull until now hurt like a bitch every time his expression became too, well, emulated or grand; it pulled the stitches and the heated skin. It was only two days ago that the nurse would tell him, it is normal, she would reassure him. Robbie felt everything but normal.

He tapped with his bandaged fingers, the skin itching under all the dressing. As he reached for the bottle at his bedside, he grunted as his side pushed against the bed and the linen bit into his uncovered skin. His eyes pinched in pain, and by the time he opened them again, Sportacus was closer to him, by his shoulders, cradling the bottle and straw in it. 

"Here," he offered.

As satisfying as it would have been to be 'fed' by the handyman, the action quickly became intimidating when some of the previous day's memories surfaced. Wasn’t he overly affectionate with the puppy like man, when he was under the influence of those prime painkillers? So, instead, he pulled the bottle between his tattered hands and took a sip by himself while muttering something similar to thanks. 

Another thing that came to his mind, but he was afraid to ask, was why the man was still here. At first, it was obvious that he would stick by their sides. To check on Stephanie and, inadvertently, on Robbie at the same time. He was worried, and Robbie wasn’t questioning that. He was questioning why he remained. Now that Sportacus knew that Stephanie was alright, although still asleep and monitored, and that Robbie was about to be discharged of his own accord, if the discussion in the background was anything to go by, why was he still here?

The question was mixed with the sudden realization that he wanted the handyman to be here. So before he could reveal himself and his now undeniable feelings for said useless puppy of a man, he kept his mouth shut.

Everyone was telling him to do that anyway. First Milford, then Glanni.

"So we can conclude," Glanni said, stepping next to his bed as Robbie was still sipping from the sweet beverage. "That we" he motioned between Robbie and himself "decided to leave on own responsibility. Get the discharge papers ready."

"Mr. -," the doctor struggled to find and correctly pronounce the name before giving up, "I strongly disagree. Mr. Rotten still requires constant monitoring. His pain medication must be administered by a professional, and -"

"Yeah, all of that," Glanni twirled his hand around in circles, "is handled if there is nothing else." he pulled a paper bag from the floor and put it on top of the bedding. "we will leave in half an hour, so better get ready with the papers by then."

"Mr. Glæpur" Milford stepped closer again, looking after the doctor, who left with a selected rumble of curses under his breath. "I would like to offer to handle everything regarding the " he paused "situation."

Robbie kept sipping on the straw, his eyes moving between his cousin and the politician. Slightly amused by the absurdity of this situation. Knowing Glanni, this was either going to end in a physical alteration or in a grandiose scene. Robbie didn’t want either. Letting the straw go, he cleared his throat to speak up while the pair kept on debating, now without the doctor as a bouncer.

"Where will you accommodate him?" Sportacus spoke up first.

Robbie turned to the handyman, who was still sitting—a grave mistake in his opinion. Squinting at the man sporting the afternoon sun like his personal halo, he found that he became oddly still.

His squirming ceased, and he waited for the answer that seemed to take too long for Sportacus’ liking when he came out with a follow-up question. "The hotel you choose is too far from here and busy this time of the year; that's—"

"How is this suddenly everybody’s business?" Glanni asked, snarling around the last words, angry tick back with vengeance. "We have a place close to here, and before you go on, I have hired a personal nurse, as I said," he leaned over Robbie, challenging in his tone, "I handled everything."

The patient in question now turned to Sportacus again, who had his shoulders squared and had withstood the murderous glint in Glanni’s eyes. Robbie almost felt sorry for him, but only almost; after all, Sportacus had no idea who he was up against. His cousin was well-known for his bravado and unethical behavior when the situation demanded it. Now he was out for blood, and Robbie wasn’t sure why.

Not that he couldn’t feed into the whole protective older sibling stereotype. Or the tender care that Glanni, if he so desired, could provide for Robbie. No. He knew that under all that, somewhere close to the surface, some more pressing reason was hiding. No matter how many times he told them he got here because they got hold of him, Robbie knew better than that. They haven’t met in person for years. Now Glanni popped up ‘just’ because Robbie was involved an incident and got hospitalized? That wasn’t adding up.

The room was filled with more bickering while Robbie tried his best to sort out what was true from the pain-induced brain barfs coming to him in torn pictures. He was told that remembering would be an exercise for the coming week and that he would have a long way to go before all of his cognitive processes would be the same as they were before. Which again was said in a reassuring tone, normalizing this whole ordeal.

"All right," Milford said at least three times before pulling Robbie from his musings and dabbing his damp brow with his handkerchief. "Regarding the investigation and the court case, I would like to represent Robbie. I think that’s reasonable."

"Thank you, no thank you." Glanni smiled widely, looking like he was at his last nerve. "Robbie, please tell these strangers to leave."

"Oh, am I included in this?" Robbie laughed, regretting it by the second breath, hissing in pain from all around his body. 

"Robbie, please let me help." Milford reasoned, close to pleading "that’s the least I can do after all this."

"Finally something we can agree on!" Glanni flailed his arms around in a gesture that Robbie hoped he didn’t imitate.

"Milford, I don’t need your pity." Robbie sighed, falling back, his weight pulling to the right, where he had the fewest bruises. Before the politician could argue with him, he said, "Glanni is a lawyer; he can help me with all that, plus he is a relative."

Glanni sat on the bed, crossing his legs as well, his feet tapping on the clear linoleum flooring. "Right, so if you could just" he didn’t say scram but it was close with the sweeping motions of his hands.

"Mr. Glæpur is a paralegal, I think I am better at handling this."

For the second time in a while, Milford seemed different. Robbie was caught off guard yet again by the sharp edges and to-the-point speech, with no stuttering or sweating. Leaning into Glanni’s side, he peered up at the politician, the arguably incompetent old man who bumbled down the lobby everyday. 

His cousin was opening his mouth, teeth clicking together, when Milford went on.

"As for pity, it has nothing to do with that. I am," his voice trembled before he continued, "utterly devastated, and I regret," the politician said as he glanced toward Robbie’s head wound. "not including you and sharing information that could have prevented this from happening."

"Can we take this as a statement? Because I’ll d-"

Robbie stopped Glanni from running his mouth further. The cannula hurt as the skin strained around his grip on Glanni’s forearm. "Stop it," his head was pounding now, and his mellow mood had quickly turned to abysmal. " what do you want from me, Milford?"

"Robbie" Sportacus stood too. Once again on his ‘worse’ side, Sportacus rested one hand on his waist, the other pinching the skin between his eyes. His thumbs drove circles into his skin, and a sigh left him. "I'm sure Glanni is more than capable," he said, letting his arm fall to his side, "but doesn't it make more sense to let Milford handle this?"

"Why is your input relevant here?" Glanni turned, pushing into Robbie’s hurt shoulder.

Before he could even say anything about the pain in his arm, a hand stretched out in front of him. Robbie followed the lines of Sportacus’s sculpted forearm to his fingertips, which spread over Glanni’s shoulder blade to create space between the relatives on the bed.

Glanni took the note and leaned back, snarking over his shoulder, "Also, why are you still here?"

The dreaded question hung in the air, and before he could get an answer, which he sure as hell didn’t want to hear, he barked into the brief silence. "I want to go home, Milford. Could you work with Glanni?"

"That's no problem!" Milford jumped at the chance, listing the next steps to take.

Robbie only half-listened as he tugged the paper bag closer, peering inside. He saw the usual suspects from Glanni’s shopping spree: high-quality stuff all in ugly colors: white and beige. Robbie glanced at his cousin, who was once again in a deep argument over something with Milford; he wore all the colors that Robbie liked, but of course they couldn’t match.

Robbie shook his head slightly again, cursing a moment later as the pain came back in vengeance for his careless action.

Sportacus leaned closer, the mask hindering him some, but Robbie could still hear the pure confusion in his tone. Under his breath, the handyman confidently asked, "Will you be okay?"

Even if he wanted, Robbie couldn’t escape this close proximity, so instead of falling into the daydreams that were caused by the sad blue eyes on him, he forced a smile. "Are you worried?"

"Very" came the instant reply "Of course I am, we all are." the confusion in those brows only deepened.

Oh, ‘we all’ again. Well, Robbie took what was offered, so he tried to tease the handyman a little. With even less success. "Come on, it’s just a bruise."

"The doctor said you won't be able to walk for weeks."

Robbie was taken aback. When did the doctor say that? He did; Robie knew; but when did the doctor say it, and why was Sportacus so hyperfocused on it? "I can walk," he deadpanned. "It’ll just hurt a lot, maybe."

"It’s the same, Robbie…" Sportacus shared his beliefs about Robbie’s recovery. "I am really against this; you should stay for at least one more week."

This hurt a little—a different type of pain than all the bodily torture that kept going on every waking hour. No, this was right in the top ten. "It’s veeeery kind of you to look out for a friend," he said, confused when Sportacus huffed angrily before making more space between them. " we will handle it. I am sure Stephanie is okay. You said so yourself."

I'm hoping for a tidbit of information about the little pest. Even with everyone going on and on about how okay she was and how she was doing fine, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there might have been some things they were leaving out. They also told Robbie over and over again that he was lucky and all right after all.

Before he could prod further now that he had the attention of the handyman, seemingly the weakest link between the three men in his room, Sportacus looked ready to share and to ask questions; his overly mobile self buzzed with energy. Now even more, after the slight pause in his jittering, he looked like he was about to burst with something. Before he could find an explanation for all that, Glanni stopped the whole conundrum once and for all.

"So, get out now, so we can prepare the patient," he said, pushing the last words deliberately, "to leave."

After some more shuffling and slight bickering, Milford relented and left, with Sportacus at his heels, even less enthusiastic than the one before him. Their eyes met before the door closed on Robbie and Glanni. Robbie forced the longing down to the depths of his stomach, where it would be overpowered by hunger and constant pain.

It worked out well, more so when Glanni attempted to help him up, pulling him all wrong, resulting in both of them grunting, one in pain and the other in pity.

"Welp, sorry," Glanni half-apologized as he helped move Robbie’s legs.

Looking at the limbs, this was the first time Robbie could take them in. His toes and feet were discolored, numb, and a little too cold for his liking. All the things the doctors told him would happen—the blistering they promised didn’t start yet, but the moment blood rushed to the legs that were lifted until now, he felt the pricking of a thousand needles. His eyes watered against his will, and he ground together his teeth in hopes of separating himself from the pain.

A dry laugh left Glanni as he worked the hospital gown open, half hugging Robbie. "I might have to take back what I said last night," he said, pulling the off-blue fabric away.

Whatever he found under it, he grimaced, not a hair of pity in his tone, and his eyes wandered over Robbie’s chest and side. A tender feeling stole away his usually stealed gray eyes, and his hands that were always steady trembled for a breath before the older man shook himself out of it. "This might take longer than I thought, little light."

"Very comforting…" Robbie opted, gritting his teeth to hold back any and all sounds that wanted to break from him.

Feeling defeated now that he sat up; until he was laying down, legs up on pillows, he felt like he could do anything. It was truly devastating that his often useless and tired body could sink even further. However, going back on his decision was worse, so holding out until they got to wherever Glanni got was his only option.

"You are coddled enough as is" Glanni pulled a light buttondown from the paper bag. The garment had a tag with designer branding that Robbie had seen but never worn and didn’t plan to keep. One or two sizes bigger so it wouldn’t pull against his heated skin. " so just put up with it."

Glanni helped pull the sleeve over the hurting left side first; the cold silk felt nice against his skin at first, but it became irritating soon. While his cousin buttoned the shirt, Robbie pulled the ugly fuzzy sock from the pack. Pastel brown, cashmere, he picked at the paper with his wrapped fingers.

"How did you manage to get such people to keep an eye on you?" Glanni snapped the bundle from his hands. The sound of tearing paper filled the silence between them. "I remember telling you to keep it low…" he scolded as he lowered to one knee.

"Such people?" Robbie frowned, feeling dizzy from sitting on the edge of the bed. The blood rushed up and down, like it couldn’t decide where to pool—if it should hurt his leg or push his pounding heart into the stinging and burning head wound.

Glanni's trimmed short hair shone in the afternoon light as he moved the sock over the hurting feet, rolling the soft fabric slowly up one after the other. The sequins top reflected the light with small dots all over the reddened skin of Robbie’s leg. 

"Yeeeesh," Glanni huffed, finishing the task. "Didn’t you say all of them had fallen from grace and were losers?"

In response to Robbie's slow nod, he cackled, balling up and crouching while balancing on his high heels. Resting his thin cheek in one palm propped over his knee, a smirk played at his lips. "So picture this," Glanni offered. "I arrive, find a broken-in place, and get a message asking about a prime Supreme Court case." Unable to hold laughter from his tone, he breathed the next sentence. "Then," "hah, then I see that the one desperately looking for me is none other than Maddog Meanswell."

"Mad do-?"

"Coupled with the freelance writer, who holds half the town's secrets in her hands," he closed his eyes, swaying from side to side. Like a child with his youthful face, it was hard to tell that he was closer to forty than to thirty.

Before Robbie could grunt and ridicule his cousin for spouting nonsense, Glanni continued.

"After that, I find out your boyfriend’s brother is an active, decorated detective," he said, holding a finger up to silence Robbie’s retort over the accusation, "who happens to be the lead investigator on your case." he stood in a fluid motion, draggin a pair of shitbrown pants out. " you know I hate surprises..."

He snapped the pants out, the sound sharp against Robbie’s senses. "They are all lazy, slow, privileged, snobbish, and stuck-up idiots." he felt shame color him as his cousin pulled his pants over his knees, finding themselves in a pinch as Robbie couldn’t handle his weight and Glanni for sure couldn’t touch him gently enough to not hurt him.

"These urgh," Glanni tugged the textile in vain, "these idiots are a powerhouse of wealth and connections." the pants were now over Robbie’s thigh, hanging low.

A sharp pain stabbed Robbie's ribcage and arm whenever he tried to pull the garment. Muscles he didn't realize he had cried out for help every time he moved slightly. He laughed mostly to himself, his mind preoccupied with all the nonsense that Glanni had sprouted from nowhere. These people, the ones that pestered him over mail and used him as a free babysitter, were none of the things his cousin just said. If any of that were remotely true, Robbie was blind.

"Yeah, no, this is not working." Glanni gave up, hands on his waist, fingers tapping impatiently. "Lay back down maybe then," he said, nicking his head to the side.

"No," Robbie huffed, already tired from the lackluster activity of dressing up. Not even by himself.

Snapping his fingers, he pointed at Robbie. "I have an idea" turning on his heels he marched to the door. Tearing it open in one swift movement, he leaned out, one leg hanging in the air. "How loyal!" he purred as he stepped outside.

Left in the room alone, for the first in a while too, Robbie pulled the oversized shirt to keep some of his decency. It was again silent, and he had to realize how much he despised it. Every time it was silent, his mind would turn and try to recreate a chronological line of events. Successfully making him relive the worst parts of the night, only to find that some of the minute details were still escaping him.

That’s usual for someone whose head was bashed in. No one really used the word 'bash' but Robbie kept saying it. It felt like that. His skull cracked, and he lost a lot of blood. His IV had a complex that hindered the formation of a hematoma on top of the painkillers. The weighted blankets and the warm water heated his body, which was on the verge of hypothermia—at least that’s what the doctors were saying.

Looking down at the ugly socks, he frowned, willing his toes to move, something that he couldn’t do yesterday and that was now causing him pain, but he felt elated each time he saw the fuzzy material move the slightest. It wasn’t adding much heat, nor comfort, same as the other garments Glanni chose.

High quality, brand names—all garbage in Robbie’s opinion. The silk irritated his skin with each slick movement; the green cardigan draped over his shoulder, and Robbie could only describe it as 'goose crap green'. It felt too heavy against his bruises. The material felt coarse at his exposed nape.

And the darned pants. Somewhere he knew he had to be grateful, but at the moment he wanted to burn the whole outfit.

"Robbie"

Snapping his head at Sportacus’ probing tone decidedly wasn’t his greatest idea. A pitiful whimper left him as his neck craned in pain. The handyman was beside him in a heartbeat, fussing about.

"You okay?"

"NO?!" Robbie retorted, on the edge of laughing hysterically.

The initial silence was heavy with suppressed laughter in response to the bleak ordeal. The pain laced every movement, so Robbie held back the laugh that threatened to slip from him at the idiotic question. For a second time even.

"Why are you back?" he asked instead, blinking slowly, the dizziness only strengthening with each movement.

"Your - Glanni sent me back to help-"

"No," Robbie stated.

"-with your pants." Sportacus finished without an ounce of embarrassment or shame.

Then, in an embarrassing, degrading, and shattering experience, Sportacus lifted him with care and little to no added pain. Like he was nothing but air between his hands. Then, by some magic, he pulled his pants up, and with clinical precision, he zipped and buttoned him up.

There was no sensuality in it. Robbie wished it was somehow steamy; even that would have been better than being pitied and left at the mercy of the one person he would have rather never seen Robbie like this. Once it was over, Robbie sat on his bed, broken, his face hidden in his palms. He was desperately looking for a quip among his swirling thoughts.

"Do you have anything else?" Sportacus asked, his voice calm and tinted with a little humor.

"Yeah, there are some shards of my dignity somewhere; if you could look for them far away from here, that would be fantastic..." Robbie rushed it out.

Finally earning a laugh. A real one. He remembered some subdued chuckles from the day prior, but it left him with a bad taste. This one was like Sportacus, and it left a little timber in Robbie’s battered soul.

"Glanni and Milford are handling the paperwork, and they told me to get you" Sportacus rounded the bed, rustling with the bags scattered around. "I’ll take you down to the entry."

Robbie craned his neck, everything straining and pinching; he found Sportacus’ now constant crease between his brows.

"Is this everything?" he collected the empty bottles and the tattered clothes in the paper bag where Glanni had shoved them. "No coat?"

Robbie shrugged, or some equivalent of it. "I am not cold; also, stop fussing about me; it's strange," he scoffed, moving his hanging legs, which were now going numb again.

All he wanted was to pull back into his hole. To his small, crowded flat, to somehow curl in his recliner, and to be left alone. Everything was too much: the hospital with all the strangers, the sudden care he was showered with, and Glanni showing up. The fact that he couldn't even scratch his itching nose sent him over the edge.

As he was spiraling downward, his head pulsating with pain, Sportacus stopped before him.

"What is so strange?" the question was clear enough and easy to understand, but the tone and the mood that Sportacus’ voice carried felt too complex for Robbie's current state.

When he couldn’t answer, Sportacus simply ignored his own question and gathered the blanket behind Robbie. Looking at the bunched-up blanket, Robbie frowned. Turning back towards Sportacus, he was met with the wide chest right before his nose. The toned arms circled him, pulling the bedding over his shoulders and around him.

"What are you doing?" Robbie felt panic lace his voice, his heart picking up as every inch of his body screamed in terror.

From this close, hearing Sportacus laugh felt like a timber against his senses. Overstimulated and pained, his heart rate kept rising; he could feel the human chimney’s warmth seeping into the godawful garments and his battered mind. For the first time since the night he got here, to the point where he was on the verge of tears, he found himself safe. And somehow the sentiment felt dangerous.

"Finding that dignity you lost somewhere," he laughed, his voice muffled by the mask, as he wrapped the blanket around Robbie with ease.

Moving Robbie with care and ease, he rolled the blanket all around him. Against all of Robbie's protests, weaker than usual, he couldn’t withstand the burrito-fication. Sportakook, in his grace, lifted him off the bed, making sure that his right side was pushed against him. Just like before, like he weighed nothing, Sportacus was ready to take him away.

The white blanket was over Robbie’s face. Peering out, his own voice was now muffled by the soft barrier. There was no way to argue his way out of this. Sportaflop was beyond listening to him; even when he mentioned his fear of hospitals, all he got was a scandalous huff.

He would never admit it, not under the torment he had endured, and nothing could be worse. Never would he tell a soul that the slow and steady rhythm of Sportacus’s breathing, the warmth, and the feeling of safety lulled him into sleep. Against all the pain, all the annoyance, and all the irritation, he was most reasonably knocked out in the man’s arms.

-

Sportacus stood by Milford’s side, the hospital folk swaying with practiced ease around them in the long hallways. Whatever the politician pulled, he managed to not only get a private room but one with a personalized team for Robbie. Not as secluded as Stephanie's, but much calmer than the traumatology from yesterday. At least it was until the ‘relative’ showed up this afternoon.

Glanni Glæpur, who emerged from the shadows of the plaza, all demanding and promiscuous, dragging Sportacus right along. The first red flag that Sportacus should have noticed was that instead of immediately running to the hospital after Sportacus described the situation, he hummed, unimpressed by all of this, and stepped aside to make a call.

Like what Sportacus shared was nothing of importance, there was no great or picturesque reaction following his statements regarding Robbie. No follow-up questions, nothing. The only thing he seemed interested in was Stephanie and her case. It didn’t sit well with Sportacus.

This time too, he made plans on his own again, this time dragging Robbie along and going against everything anyone—any sane person—tried to convince him of. Robbie wasn’t in any condition to be discharged, and when he implied his disagreement as well, he was snubbed with ease.

The aggravated assault happened less than forty-eight hours ago, and now they were here waiting for Robbie’s discharge papers. Sportacus tapped his feet, attempting to relieve his anxiety caused by the environment and the rapidly mounting worry about what would happen next.

For one, he was, in a way, in constant disbelief over the man’s lack of self-preservation. Robbie kept denying it and was surprised every time someone even mentioned their concern for him. Ignoring and laughing it off as if all of this, the beating, was normal.

He had been worse, he said, under the influence of the painkillers and sedatives. Smiling broadly and clearly out of his mind, Sportacus doubted this. Wished that it wasn’t true—that only the drug-riddled mind of the doorman made him say what came to his mind first.

He was also strung along today by what his—whatever relationship they had with Glanni—told him to do. Drinking hurt him for one of the many examples; he didn’t even know if Robbie was able to stand up yet. If the doctor was right, and he must have been, then Robbie’s condition was only stable because of the constant observation and equipment at the ready.

Huffing, he pushed the other part of him that couldn’t be away from either for more than a day. Pitiful. He knew, and Sportacus argued that it was because he felt responsible. No matter how many times either Milford or Íþró kept telling him, the only mistake he made was giving it a day before sharing the information. And that might have been a part of it, but the other part—the one that pulled towards one of the two more than the other—made him question how honest his feelings were.

"Is there nothing we could do to make Glanni change his mind?" Sportacus asked.

Milford had been deep in thought until now, scrolling through his phone, keeping to himself. Ever since this whole mess started, he bounced between the two personas, pushing Sportacus’ balance off. After a short meeting with the doctor responsible for Stephanie’s care, he came right over, all business, trying his best to negotiate with the barking man.

"I am afraid there is nothing we can do," he sighed, sinking his phone into his suit’s pocket. Padding down his jacket, he tried to find his handkerchief. "as lawful guardian, Mr. Glæpur can decide."

"Robbie isn’t a kid." Sportacus laughed humorlessly. Irritation kept rising in him.

"Well," Milford shrugged, "Robbie, too, has decided to leave on his own; there isn't much we can add," he sighed. "Not to mention, they have no obligation toward you or me. The only one holding any power over them is the police."

Milford was right. The only option at the time was Íþró’s investigation, which was on hold. As much as Sportacus pushed to find a place where he could help in this mess, he got just as much pushback at every corner.

Milford already got from him what he needed.

Bessie was nowhere to be found since the night they separated, but the politician reassured him that she was working out things on her end.

Glanni Glæpur made sure he only hindered any flow of information, disregarding any and all of Sportacus’ comments regarding the case. Or Robbie.

And then Robbie. Robbie seemingly didn’t need anyone. Just as he said a week ago, a week ago that seemed like an eternity. This time too, in his vulnerable state, he still kept his chin up, was haughty, and was all snark whenever Sportacus tried to find an opening where he could slip in under the doorman’s guard.

It was clear to see that Robbie was in immense pain and that he kept up a facade for who knows whom. No one here ate up his offhanded comments about his well-being. Neither Milford nor Sportacus were open to disregarding his injuries. Without details, too, and without the records stating outright what happened, Sportacus could picture it.

"About Stephanie," the other patient hid deep in the secluded room. Slumbering like Sleeping Beauty kept Sportacus’s mind reeling as well. "Is it normal for her to be still under the enforced sedatives?"

Milford’s brows arched a little oddly, like his smile hidden under the mask wasn’t honest. "I know that you are very worried, and I appreciate it too. What I can say right now is that her condition is stable, but the substance might still cause some problems going forward, so I was advised to keep her medication up."

Sportacus wanted to cut in at least three different times, he wanted to urge Milford to include him in the process. To tell him what substance there was and who the perpetrator was. But he kept to himself, his patience virtuously keeping him going for now.

"Shouldn’t you go home to your family and rest?" Milford asked.

It felt like he was doused in ice-cold water. The politician’s voice came from underwater, through the haze of the stormy waves. Was Sportacus pushing too much? Was his presence hindering anything? Íþró him as well, and his mother’s voice was filled with tenderness, but Sportacus could still hear out the slight sadness over not meeting once again.

"I'd rather stay and help where I can," he fought the sentence out, breaking through the blockage in his throat.

Milford’s body relaxed a notch, and he fidgeted with the small handkerchief. "Alright."

With that, they fell back into a short-lived silence as Glanni exploded out of the room.

"How loyal!" he purred as he stepped out into the hallway, making both of them turn towards him.

For lack of a better term, the older man skipped to them, heels clacking against the clean tiles of the hallway. His eyes twinkled brightly, like he had won a battle only he knew about.

It was slipping under Sportacus’ skin fast, and he turned toward the man, suspicion growing with each passing second.

"By chance have you ch-"

"No"

Miford was cut off right away by the now melodious tone of the tall man. Their first meeting also left Sportacus in awe about how similar Glanni was to Robbie on the outside—not as much as he and Íþró but it was undeniable that they were related by blood. However, while outer appearances may have matched, on the inside, the soul was so starkly different that Sportacus had to question his former statement.

While Robbie was sometimes unreliable and preferred mischief, pranks, and the like, he was still an open book of dedication. Be it chess, Stephanie, or getting the kids away from his fragile sanity. Being moody wasn’t a crime.

Stealing and coercion, on the other hand, both of which Glanni showcased in the small amount of time Sportacus had the fortune to know him.

"But I need a strong man," he said, and he moved to touch Sportacus’ crossed arms, stopping just a breath away to curl his fingers back into a fist "to help little Robbie with getting his pants up."

That was it.

He stood before them, waiting for something. Thin brows rose on his forehead as he pushed his weight from one leg to the other. Peering down at the two shorter men still flabbergasted before him. 

"Isn’t the fact that he can’t dress himself a good measure that he should not go home?" Sportacus asked, holding the tall man’s stare.

"Okay," Glanni relented, examining his nails. He twirled some lint he got from his clothes between his thumb and forefinger, saying, "I’ll just get the nurses," and he sidestepped the duo to do just that.

"Mr. Glæpur, please reconsider," Milford tried again.

Sportacus was sure in vain, so, against his beliefs and his strong disagreement over the discharge of Robbie, he stalked over to the room. Filtering out the sounds behind him, he let a long breath out, forcing an easier mood on himself. He shook his hands, his fingers jittering as he opened the door.

On the bed, defeated, half-dressed, and utterly broken, Robbie was deep in thought. So much so that he didn't notice Sportacus had just opened the door. All the colors that he was bundled in only highlighted how pale he looked. A long shirt hung over his exposed thighs, the pants stopping right at the bed’s edge.

"Robbie," he regretted calling out right after.

The doorman’s head snapped up, and their eyes met for a shocked moment as pain jolted through Robbie’s body. Visibly unwell. Sportacus inspected the face, which was contorted in pain. The bruises have only darkened since yesterday, and their lines, sharper than before, cut the handsome face into separate parts.

"You okay?" he asked, already knowing the answer, holding back a choke at the disheartened, mocking tone.

"NO?!" Robbie retorted with the obvious answer.

"Why are you back?" Robbie’s voice wobbled, just as his body did, dangerously pulling towards his battered left side.

"Your —" not knowing what kind of relationship existed between the two, he chose to address the flashy man by his name instead. "Glanni sent me back to help with your pants." Sportacus didn’t let himself be phased by the small denial from Robbie.

With all the bruising and the paleness, it was harder to tell what expression he made. The swelling on the left side came down a little since yesterday, but it was still prominent enough to hinder Sportacus’s view. But. It wasn’t hard to decipher what the man’s problem was—how his already broken body now had to be joined by his broken ego as well.

Mind focused on the task. Sportacus tried to find the best leverage over Robbie’s body. His left side was obviously out; on the right, he remembered the thick lines of gauze over the man’s shoulders. Robbie also moved away when Glanni slightly leaned into his right side. His eyes moved down to the thighs.

A small, traitorous part of him—one that made his guilt bubble up—that part sent a tiny excited skip to his heart. Not for the exposed skin, nor for anything erotic in nature. No. The way Robbie tried his best to keep his decency, even though Sportacus had seen more, was cute, and it made a silly smile tug at his hidden mouth.

So to the task. He decided to lean into Robbie’s reach, slowly moving his right arm over his shoulder. Guiding the hand with the taped-down cannula, careful not to irritate the straining object. The limp hand fell to his shoulder, and the cold of the fingertips seeped into Sportacus’ skin even through his clothing.

Holding the man with one hand, he moved Robbie to the right a little. Sportacus’ other hand sank between the man’s thigh and the mattress. With a little encouragement, he lifted Robbie just as much as he needed for the clothing to slip up to the waist.

The memory of the man falling into his arms on a day not so long ago rushed to the forefront of his mind. How he found the weight sweet that time, now it was devastating. Back then, he could feel the struggle the man put up in embarrassment, and he couldn’t stop his teasing. This time, when Sportacus glanced at the man, his heart felt heavy instead.

Pulling away, he lowered to his knees; Robbie’s right hand was still on his shoulder. Training his gaze on the scrunched-up face of Robbie his eyes screwed shut, his left puffy and forever glistening with tears. Head bowed forward in apparent shame. Sportacus’ chest felt tight while he moved the belt over the waist. Fingers guided the fabric on both sides, and Sportacus deliberately ignored the purple and reddened flecks he caught while moving the shirt.

Motions that had once made him nervous now had no meaning. Sportacus made fast work of buttoning and zipping Robbie up. Idling by his feet for one more moment Sportacus took his time inspecting the man's body up close.

"All done," he whispered reassuringly. Not able to keep the smile from his voice when Robbie hid his face in his palms. Devastated. "Do you have anything else?" Sportacus asked, trying to swerve the conversation.

"Yeah, there are some shards of my dignity somewhere; if you could look for them far away from here, that would be fantastic..." 

He really wasn’t supposed to laugh at that. Sportacus wasn’t supposed to find it funny, no matter what. But the tone, the way Robbie articulated his pain made everything else seem insignificant in comparison to being dressed by Sportacus. It was so like him. How, in the moment he couldn’t escape, he would bark at Sportacus to leave, only to realize that that wasn’t possible. Ego all broken once more. 

So he wasn’t supposed to, but he couldn’t hold it in. Robbie didn’t seem to mind either. He finally looked up from his palms, a mocking smile on his cut lips. He didn’t say how much of an insufferable pest he thought Sportacus was; he didn’t have to; the expression alone was enough.

Gulping down some air, he moved around the room. Pulling stuff that belonged to Robbie, most of it temporary utensils and his dirty garb. Sportacus wasn’t ready to look into that yet, so he put the paper bags before the bed turning to Robbie, confused.

"Is this everything? No coat?" he checked the bags again, and this was it.

Robbie moved, and Sportacus translated it to a shrug. "I am not cold;"

Sportacus was dumbfounded. Did Glanni not understand the basic instructions he was given by the hospital crew? Robbie needed to be warm at all times. How was he supposed to leave in these; he looked over the garments, soft nothings?

" also, stop fussing about me; it's strange," Robbie added, scoffing at him.

The immediate question came without his approval. "What is so strange?"

In the silence of the room shared by them, Sportacus knew exactly what was strange for Robbie. It broke some small part of him that was already battered from the get-go. Every time they met, even years ago, Robbie never seemed to have much self-preservation, or even self-worth, for that matter. Being sensitive was one thing; not taking care of himself was another.

If Glanni wasn’t going to look out for him and Robbie denied it or didn’t even know what it was, then Sportacus would just make him realize it. After all, as much as Robbie kept refusing, he did care for everyone, in his own, roundabout way, especially for Ziggy and Stephanie. He might have hated it, but he cared even for Sportacus.

Gathering the blanket around the stockstill man, Sportacus laughed at the obvious question and the slight squeak in Robbie’s weak voice.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding that dignity you lost somewhere,"

There was no escaping his care, no matter how much Robbie struggled and tried to keep him away. Sportacus was set on tending to the man. He wrapped the blanket around Robbie with ease, bundling him in the heavy linen and bedding. Rolling him up like a small wrap, every part of Robbie other than his face was hidden in the blanket.

"Sportakook, are yo-" he tried to push his arms out "you are insane" Robbie struggled against him as Sportacus tucked the corners in, saying, "did you also hit your head, you big buf-"

Sportacus hoped the tiny shriek was caused more by surprise than pain as he lifted the roll up with ease. The weight added up with the blanket felt better. He couldn’t keep his smile away as Robbie butchered him further, making him sound more like himself than ever since Christmas.

"The he- put me down- Sports- ugh" Robbie shrank into the blankets when Sportacus strode out to the hallway, his voice becoming smaller. Sportacus could feel the heat of his words. "You are insane - put- let me down!" he hissed, finally not in pain.

Sportacus only hummed in return, walking slowly. He nodded to the nurse, who was gaping at them at the end of the hallway. Glanni and Milford were gone, just as they promised. Sportacus moved his hands so that he wouldn’t push into the hurting skin, but used just enough strength to keep Robbie close to himself.

"Aren’t you ashamed?" Robbie squeaked like a mouse. "Fu-fucking put me back, I'll," he huffed, his voice growing smaller as they approached the elevator. "I would rather stay then," he yawned, "than suffer this any longer…"

Sportacus had won many awards in his life; he had conquered trials and marathons, but he had never felt more elated than at this moment. Finding that the greatest compliment he ever received was Robbie falling asleep in his arms. Giving up all and every resistance in his body, Sportacus felt when Robbie got closer and closer to the slopes of sleep.

When the elevator’s chime went off, Robbie stirred, eyes opening only a notch, face buried in the softness of the blanket. His brows knotted in confusion, like he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he was. His nose moving, the black spots under his eyes stretching, swollen, and irritated, Robbie blinked some more. Finally finding Sportacus’ face above him.

"Oh, you coward," he croaked, stumbling with the words, suddenly out of his depth. His words slurred as he confronted Sportacus directly: "Aren't you afraid of ho-hospitals?"

The people in the elevator looked at their pair when they got in. Now they were purely looking at Sportacus, and he was happy he had the mask on. More so that his beanie hid the tips of his ears because he felt a heat bloom at his nape. It was one thing that he was under the scrutinizing gaze of a pack of strangers sporting different injuries and expressions in the wake of the now slumbering man. It was, however, entirely different when he himself realized it didn’t even occur to him since he busied himself with Robbie.

Huffing, he hid an embarrassed grunt in his mask. Escaping the elevator.

After what felt like a lifetime and some selective curse words from Glanni, they got the paperwork done. But only after the stylish man doubled over upon seeing Robbie’s state. His low baritone filled the main entrance, where sick people waited to be treated; they had to suffer his hysterical laughter. Panting in between words, rambling incoherently about how ridiculous he found whatever this was.

Everyone else was less than impressed with the whole ordeal. It was mainly the head nurse who put Glanni through hell before they were allowed to leave. One nurse accompanied them with an empty wheelchair. Her eyes trained on the floor, professional or not; even her lips betrayed her when she saw Robbie bundled in the blankets.

Despite the time, the sun was getting low in the sky. The roads, busy after the parties wrapped up by dawn, were buzzing with life. The new year promised a new prospect for many lives; inadvertently, it could be said about them as well. With the shadows getting longer, enveloping the snow-covered ground in darkness and taking the happy twinkle away, Sportacus felt a chill run down his back.

Hugging Robbie closer, he monitored the slight movements that were Robbie’s breathing, hiding in the carefully wrapped blanket, but he wasn’t sure for how long. Looking for a car, he idled by the main entrance. Disbelief rose in him when Glanni simply pointed towards the neighboring residential area.

"We can just walk."

"You must be joking," Sportacus scoffed, right after he thanked Milford for ridding him of the mask.

"Is he heavy?" the wide grin Sportacus quickly learned to despise; mocked him. "If not, then keep up, Mr. Álfur."

Sportacus found that he could do with one of Robbie’s usual curse words at the moment, but kept moving. "You are out of your mind."

Milford added his piece, far less aggravated than Sportacus and even less humorous than Glanni.

Their walk was short, at least. It took them only five minutes to arrive at the high-end complex. Newly built. Sportacus knew the team who worked on the structure over a year ago. As they entered the lobby, Glanni pulled something from his pocket, fidgeting and loudly musing about the keys in his hands.

The warmth inside was a blessing, a balm on Sportacus’ mind, and his worry lessened as the cold could not reach the slumbering doorman now. He paid little to no attention to the lobby or to what Glanni’s problem was. To him, nothing else mattered at the moment but Robbie.

The elevator ride was another blur, colored by the constant back and forth between the two men of law. Over whatever points that didn’t include Sportacus, and he wasn’t as well versed in the lingo to understand any of it.

Concentrating on the ride up, he was surprised to find that they ended on one of the top floors, one where the flat opened straight from the elevator. Glancing toward the flashy man, he moved Robbie between his arms to fasten his slipping grip. He made sure the doorman didn’t stir from the motion.

 "Follow me," he said as the hall opened up in front of them.

Gaudy and dark walls, a few pieces of luxury brand furniture scattered around the wall-long glass panes, and nothing else filled the otherwise empty apartment. Boxes opened and scattered by the walls hinted at the place's haphazard setup. Even from where they were, they could see the entire city, with the hospital right beneath them. Milford was as stricken as Sportacus while they came into the flat, letting the elevator travel back to the ground floor.

Ignoring everything, Sportacus followed the man, who meanwhile kicked his heels off, caring little about the mess he made as he lost his jacket as well. Snapping his hands together, Glanni opened the closest door to the imposing living room.

In stark contrast, this room looked almost like a replica of the hospital room they just left. Complete with the mechanical bed and medical instruments. Smelling like disinfectant, Sportacus felt like he had just been transported back to the room he desperately wanted Robbie to remain in.

Glanni pulled the blanket off, motioning for Sportacus to lay Robbie down on the thick mattress. "Hurry…"

Grimacing, something Sportacus only did around the flashy man, he rounded the large bed and carefully laid Robbie down as he unwrapped the blanket. Despite the hissed warning, he yanked the hideous sweater from Robbie's body. Deaf to the myriad instructions of Glanni, he took his time to pull Robbie's legs straight slowly. Peeling the irritating socks off the discolored feet. He wanted to get rid of the other garments as well, knowing none of it was comfortable, despite the bigger size.

But he relented. With Milford on the other side of the bed, they lifted the limp arms over the blanket, which Sportacus pulled up to the man’s chest. He rested the hand with the taped-off cannula in his palm. Softly squishing the fingertips, hoping for a reaction from the slumbering doorman. 

"Good job, now go" Glanni ushered Sportacus away from Robbie.

Stepping to the side but remaining close enough to earn a scoff, he watched as Glanni pulled an IV bag from the side table, which doubled as a small fridge. Before he could say anything, Glanni moved the fluid around, then hung it on the stand to Robbie’s right.

"Shouldn’t you wait for the hired medical professional?" Milford noted, worry lacing his words.

Glanni chuckled as he pulled a tube from the drawer as well as a pair of gloves from the box hidden in the bedside cupboard. "You could say I am a man of many talents," he grinned as he rolled the hard plastic piece on the flexible tube.

He made quick work of joining the cannula and the tubing, fidgeting with the device and prodding around until he pulled the glove off. The latex snapped loudly in the silence of the room. "Great, now you can go."

At the end of his sentence, Glanni tried to push Sportacus away. Flabbergasted when Sportacus didn’t even budge, let alone move. Confused, he looked down at Sportacus, who finally felt a tiny triumph over the insufferable man.

"Yesterday, you promised to share some things about all this." Sportacus finally spit out what was bothering him.

The moment they met before the LazyPlaza, Glanni pulled the strings expertly, arguing and slipping his way into the lead position. When Sportacus got him up to speed, other than being let down by the reaction of the man, he also made a deal with him to share whatever he knew in exchange for Sportacus’ information.

"Tell me you haven’t told him anything, son," Milford said as his palm fell to his face in defeat.

"Not yet," Glanni retorted, fuming.

All three of them stopped when Robbie stirred, moving so his left temple was fully displayed toward them. The angry red skin swelled and puckered by the short row of sutures, and the bruises were the more painful in the wake of their argument. Without a word, all of them left the room.

"You don’t have to say anything, Sportacus," Milford advised, shaking his suit jacket off and draping it on the closest armchair.

"Are you his consultant? Lawyer? Because if not, you can shove your advice right w-" Glanni hissed, tossing the jacket back at Milford.

"Calm down," Sportacus tried; becoming the devil's advocate wasn’t a role he liked, nor did he condone the stuff Glanni was just about to pour on the politician. "Milford, I just wanted to know about him, not the case."

"Yeah, right," Glanni scoffed, his hand hitting the backrest in anger. "then go and wag your tail wherever else, useless i-"

"That’s quite enough," Milford warned. Sighing, he fell into the armchair, ignoring Glanni’s clear disgust over the act. "What is the deal you want to strike here?"

"I know you, Meanswell," Glanni said, squinting at the politician; both were now oblivious to Sportacus' existence. "You are infamous for your deals and workings; I haven’t just fallen from the sky to walk right into one of your little schemes."

To that, Milford laughed, deep and hearty, tilting the other parties’ world. "That’s rich; I haven’t been told how ‘infamous’ I am in a while." slowly coming down from the laughter he huffed, to calm his nerves. "Mr. Glæpur, you are mistaken if you think we are on the opposing sides of this case."

Sportacus watched Glanni’s demeanor change; all the strain left him, and he fell into the chair opposing the politician, splayed across like a cat. Like Robbie.  "How so?" he asked, smiling into his propped up hand. "From what I gather, our best option is getting up and leaving the country all together." 

"What?" Sportacus gaped, finally joining the conversation. He was the only one remaining standing, yet he felt the most pressure.

"I have a guess why you ended up with that idea, but I can assure you." Milford leaned forward, hands linked over his knees. "I won’t let anything come to Robbie."

Glanni swayed slightly as he considered the man's words; his lips pursed as he clicked his tongue. "So you can guarantee that little Robbie will come out of this scot-free?"

"Why would he be the one needing protection? He clearly is the victim." Sportacus argued, a little lost.

"You are really naive, are you not?" the condescending tone, paired with the once-over, made Sportacus more irritated by the minute.

"Milford, we should go; I don’t think this is going anywhere." Sportacus tried stepping towards the politician, who was still deep in thought.

"Right, maybe you should go." Glanni answered instead of Milford. "Before your brother shows up with a warrant and an order to interrogate my little light."

"That’s just standard procedure; of course he will interrogate Robbie; he is the victim here," Sportacus reasoned. Reiterating that Robbie was, in fact, the victim.

"Look," Glanni moved, pulling his long legs under himself, curled in the armchair, "I’ll indulge you because you are cute, okay?" he smiled, forming the words one by one, articulating clearly articulating, "the moment the camera shows that the attacker came from Robbie’s flat, he will be implicated." his fingers tapped against his face, each beat a word "he battered Robbie with his own trophy, for god’s sake." he sighed.

Sportacus had had his word thrown around for the last three days. From ups to downs, one hit after another. A shiver ran down his body, his mind only concentrating on one thing from the whole little tirade. One, Milford didn’t say anything when Sportacus looked at the politician, and the man was glaring daggers at Glanni.

But he didn’t deny any of it.

"You have the" he said, clearing his throat, pushing down the grotesque need to watch it "the recordings?"

"But of course," he sang, glancing between Milford and Sportacus, "so does Meanswell here." he grinned widely, becoming more and more like a Cheshire cat. "Want to hear what the mere paralegal thinks will happen from now on?"

The room was silent, let alone for the soft tapping of Glanni’s fingers. The sun that had been battling the horizon until now gave up, elongating the shadows of the neighboring buildings. The scene in front of Sportacus was draped in a grim, deep red and cold black. The hues played off the sequins' sparkling against the dull material of Milford’s suit.

"No objection? Okay" he chuckled again, closing his eyes. "First and foremost, Detective Álfur will arrive with a warrant, preferably within the next few hours, which is rude if you ask me," he slumped deeper in his seat." he will argue that because of the delicate topic of child abuse, he will need to push this."

Sportacus listened, walking over the last piece of unoccupied furniture in the living room set. His knees buckled as he fell to the couch. Eyes trained on Milford instead of Glanni; after all, the man was the one to verify any of the accusations that Glanni was making.

"Later, they'll come forward with a statement that Robbie was notorious for allowing strangers into the building." the man's tone had now become so matter-of-fact that it was difficult to believe he was affected by anything.

"They have the recordings, and you are one of the people going into his flat," he said, pointing to Sportacus.

"they will question if he was involved; after all, his credibility was already demolished." He continued his butchering of his own family's character by drawing a circle in the air. "The accusation of joint forces to kidnap the girl will come up; after all, he was seen and recorded talking to the attacker multiple times."

"they might latch onto the fact that Robbie had constant contact with Stephanie too and sprout some shit about him being a monster."

"why not go as far as saying they were in cohort? Robbie planned it with the culprit, but Robbie backed out, or there was some kind of altercation between them that ended in them fighting. Robbie, in hopes of lessening his sentence, incapacitated his partner and staged a rescue."

Glanni finally looked at the pair, and Sportacus found that he was sure that this was going to be the outcome. Glanni’s expression turned grim while he talked, and his sassy, no-nonsense tone shifted to something more grounded.

Milford wasn’t saying anything. It was only oil for the burning storm inside Sportacus. His muscles were taut under his skin, and his mind supplied him with a visual representation of everything. "Wait, what about Stephanie?" he prodded. "wouldn't her confession count against these allegations?"

"That might be the case, but Stephanie won’t give a statement, right, Measnwell?" Glanni answered, not waiting for Milford to add anything. "She won’t be interrogated, nor will she be put up on the witness stand, now will she?"

"Busybody is making sure none of this slips into the tabloids or any of the more prestigious news outlets," he grunted as he pushed up in the chair. "If I had to bet, Meanswell here is scampering to find something to prevent all I just stated, all the while guarding the little girl from the whole ordeal."

"But it won’t work, right Meanswell?"

Sportacus never wanted to hit anyone. In his life, there were times when he could have solved his problems with his fists. He never slumped so far or got so worked up to actually translate his anger or emotion into a physical outlet. Glanni was very close to making him break the last remnants of his nerves.

That couldn’t have been. After everything Robbie went through, to end up as a suspect. That couldn’t be.

"But all of that is not true," Sportacus tried.

"Oh, I know. We" Glanni gestured between the three of them "we all know."

Milford let his head fall to his linked hands; the knuckles of his fingers ate into the soft skin between his eyes. Sportacus saw how tense his shoulders were and how his jaw clenched around words that he too wasn’t about to let go.

"Not bad for ‘just’ a paralegal, right, old man?" Glanni laughed lightly.

The cold sweat that gathered at Sportacus’ nape rolled down his spine. Sending a chill down his core. Finding himself devastated and unable to add anything or help with anything. "There has to be another way; that cannot be," he heaved, his lungs aching from the strain. "Robbie is a victim."

"I am sure your decorated brother will be more than open to the idea of your lover being a criminal." Glanni chuckled "or your vehement protection of him."

"Robbie is not a criminal." Sportacus warned.

"Oh, is he your lover then?" Glanni pursed his lips before they turned into a smile. "Why didn’t you get on the plane? Did your brother call you?"

"Don’t say anything to that." Milford spoke up for the first time since all of them settled in the empty living room.

Shrugging Glanni stood, stretched, the sequin he wore played off the low light from the living room’s main light source. The translucent flecks danced on the walls and reflected on the wide glass panes. The dark sky gaped at them, draping the grim situation with ugly shade.

"Do you hope that keeping Detective Álfur as the lead investigator will work out in your favor?" he asked, hands linked above his head as he stretched to the side grunting. He talked through the whole incident like it was a daily occurrence, like he was talking about the weather.

"Perhaps he called you because you left something at home," Glanni speculated; "after all, you are diabetic; who knows what those calls were about, right?"

Sportacus sat there in silence. All he wanted was for the culprit to get what he deserved. To Robbie and Stephanie to get better and everything to return to how it was before. For Milford to kindly ask him over for dinner and for Bessie to boss him around.

He wanted to hear Robbie chuckle at a joke only he understood while hiding away at his receptionist desk. Or to ridicule and defeat children in chess. He wanted to talk over what happened between them—how his haste caused a fracture between them. To maybe worm his way back into the good graces of the doorman.

That seemed so far away. It was devastating to learn that their shared Christmas Eve night would only serve to solidify Robbie's accusation.

"On the other hand," Glanni added. Tone a lot lighter, smile a tad bit more honest. "maybe I should just leave this in the hands of Mad. Dog. Meanswell." he punctuated each word separately. Shrugging again "Robbie appears to trust you, so I might as well," he rolled his shoulders, "but if I sense even the slightest threat, we will vanish."

Chapter Text

He felt so cold, down to his bones. He felt like his eyelashes were frozen shut, hardened. Alone in the silence. He liked it; somewhere in the past, didn’t he say he did? Stupid, he thought as his fingers pressed against the frozen skin, his finger tips burning and his nails peeling from the layer of freezing snow that covered his entire body. It didn’t make sense; he felt hot while he knew he should have been frozen solid; his limbs hurt; and he felt everything sway with each struggling breath. The cold that ate away his skin slipped into his lungs, filling him with sticky cold. Struggling for air, he gasped.

The air rushed to him in a coughing fit as Robbie sat up abruptly in his bed. Eyes wide on the unknown bedding enveloping him. He blinked the tears of pain and panic away, heaving and hissing through his clenched jaw. A mistake as the skin pulled on his left side, irritating the wound still healing at his temple.

Looking around, his gaze was drawn to the tall windows that ran from floor to ceiling. The bare room, only catering to him with a bed and some kind of cupboard or bedside table to his right, coupled with an IV pole, was all that was there for him. He distinctly remembered that it was dark when they got here, and now he had to shield his eyes from the bright light shining through the glass.

Lifting his right hand was a movement his body wasn’t against, and it didn’t immediately strike back with some deeply rooted pain he kept forgetting. Robbie felt clammy; the clothes he had on stuck to his skin, and the slight movements tore the fabric away and sent a chill down his wet skin. With slow, deliberate movements, he pulled his hand back, squinting with his swimming vision, and took in the tube running from the back of his hand to the dripping pack.

Frowning, he turned slowly, finding the room just as bleak on the other side. With bare walls and no more furniture, Robbie gulped, finding his mouth dry and his throat hurting. He had no concept of time, so he forced his mind to collect some information about what time it could have been. Leaving him to his own devices.

The door to his left, where it hurt to turn, was cracked open. Parting his lips was an exercise in itself; the clammy feeling now became a queasy discomfort. Head heavy Robbie tried to put together everything around him, he was not home for sure, that was easy he remembered being in the hospital, then being carried here. But where was, here, exactly?

"Glanni…" Robbie wasn’t sure if he said it out loud. He heard it clearly inside his head, through an underwater-like barrier. So he tried again. "Glanni" it might have been louder this time, but he might have been wrong about that too.

It seemed to be a pattern with him these days. Being wrong. Trying to create some much-needed saliva, he moved his mouth around, opening and closing his hurting lips. He was wrong about Stephanie’s case, about how much strength he had, and about Milford as well. One thing he was sure he wasn’t wrong about was his cousin.

Like clockwork, Glanni showed up, unbothered, yawning widely as he leaned into the room. Hanging from the door handle with his reading glasses perched on his nose, he looked rather unimpressed.

"Morning," he breathed into the room. "what?"

Rather than telling, Robbie motioned that he needed a drink. Glanni followed his slow movements and disappeared, only to then reappear with a pitcher full of what looked like lemonade. Glass with straw in his other hand, he kicked the door open as he sashayed in the small room. 

Without a word, he put the things on the bedside table, crossing his arms over his chest. He waited, shawl low on his shoulders, anticipation written on his face. They looked at each other for a prolonged minute, one that felt like eternity to Robbie. If he had the energy, he would have scoffed, but with what he had, he decided to entertain his cousin.

Turning toward the prize, he used his right elbow to push himself into a better position. One where he could actually use both of his hands, preferably. Perfect presentation until now, he mused, forcing the initial urge to flinch down when his left side started to strain as he leaned towards the empty glass. The pitcher was half full; around a liter of off-color water was still sloshing around in it. He reached for the handle, the skin on his right hand flexing and sending a dull pain down his arm.

Robbie curled his fingers around the handle, hoping that one arm would be enough. Once again, he was wrong. The thing he usually flung around with ease weighed a ton. Despite his other arm being in an odd angle to try to lift the jug, the only thing he achieved was a loud grunt he wanted to keep down.

He felt Glanni’s eyes on him as he pulled the glass container against the wooden surface in hopes of tilting it in a way to fill the glass. Ideally, without breaking it. Glanni gave up after a minute of struggling and the sounds of scratching wood and his whimpers.

Taking the pitcher, he patted the trembling hands off softy. The liquid's sloshing was balm to Robbie’s mind, and he cheered his cousin on until the glass was half full. Glanni put the pitcher back, stepping away once again.

"Oh, fuck y-" Robbie’s voice was so hoarse, he didn’t recognize it as his.

"Just evaluating," Glanni offered, watching the new struggle unfold between them.

This time, boiling with anger, Robbie forced himself to pull the glass towards himself. Then, with two shaking hands—which were so bad that the content was sloshing around dangerously—he lifted it to him. He cheated by nodding slightly forward to finally get a sip.

Every once in a while, Robbie indulged himself in alcohol, each time ending with a grand hangover. All those times, the only thing that would quench his pain was cold, sweetened, or otherwise flavored water. Those drinks had nothing on this, whatever it was. It was sweet but not too much, fresh but still bland enough that all he felt was immense relief.

Thirst took over, and he sipped the small amount of liquid in no time, ignoring all the pain signals his body gave him. Eager to get another, he turned to the side table, learning that he had made a mistake again. Going against his body was the wrong decision, adding to the never-ending tab he opened a few days ago. Before he could curse over the fact that he broke a glass, Glanni stepped up and caught it before it could fall from his shaking fingers.

"Well, could be worse," he shrugged, refilling the glass and handing it over. "Grip it more with the right; the cannula is flexible; don’t be such a baby about it."

Grimacing Robbie took the glass, pulling his mouth back in irritation when the intrusive application stretched against the taping and his skin. The glass was fuller and heavier this time. Shaking his head, he gulped down the refreshing liquid.

Gazing at his cousin over his shaking hands, he took in the dressed-down man. He hadn’t seen him in years, let alone be left at his mercy. Memories from his childhood came to his mind, mixed emotions swirling behind his thumping pain. Glanni was eccentric at best and vicious at his worst. He rarely did anything without some type of payoff that would favor him, and that was why Robbie couldn’t fall into the caring big brother scheme he was halfheartedly playing out.

Letting the glass rest in his lap, he tapped with his gauzed-up finger against the cold material. The straw rolled solemnly around in the silence. The only constant sound between them was the dripping formula.

"How long have I been out?" was his first question now that he could form the words.

Glanni turned his wrist, the thick and shiny watch moved a low chime "A day and a half, on and off" he crossed his arms back before his chest.

"So it’s the-" "Third yeah, tuesday around eleven-ish" Glanni cut in stepping closer, busying himself with the IV bag and the tube.

"Anything you want to share?" Robbie asked, feeling alert after having something in his stomach.

"Oh, there is a lot," Glanni offered, shaking the bag slightly. " but before that," he turned and swiftly ripped the blanket off Robbie’s bedwarm body.

If he wasn’t used to this type of treatment from the older man, he would surely gape at him. Instead, Robbie took the time to look at his legs again; the off-colored pants felt itchy against his skin. Some of the redness ceased, and an odd grayish color took its place. Urging his toes to move, he was relieved to find his body answering his plea. 

Glanni made fast work of pulling his now lively legs off the raised back of the bed with little to no caution. He pulled Robbie toward the edge of the bed. Then he took a step back to revel in his work. "Let’s see if you can get up."

He could.

It hurt like a bitch. But he could, relying on Glanni, and they made it to the bathroom, where, with the least amount of shame and guilt tripping, they made fast work of cleaning Robbie’s dirty body. It still had grime and sweat from the night itself. The nurses did what they could, but Robbie would be lying if he said he felt clean before. Not that he had the energy or the capacity to think about that.

Curiously, there was no mirror in the bathroom. For multiple reasons, it didn’t make sense. Glanni's god knows how many steps long skin routine being the main one. The other, more pressing one, was the idea of shielding Robbie from seeing his own injuries.

He had no strength to wash himself off or to step over the tub. Even when he debated that the most joy he could imagine was a nice bath, he was denied. Rather, he had suffered both the humiliation and the pain as Glanni let the lukewarm water run down his skin. Then he made some clumsy attempts to clean his skin with a sour-smelling gel and sponge.

Robbie sat on the edge of the tub, feet propped on a small, upturned plastic basket. Surprisingly, the water hurt more than standing or walking, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was over the fact that all he had left of his pride was hidden by the wet and, at the moment, heavy towel.

His neck was stiff, and looking down, he saw some discoloration on his side; deep purple and fiery red were slowly turning into green. Not to mention the gymnastics they had to do with the IV pole before Glanni had it.

With deft hands, Glanni peeled the dressing from his right shoulder, tossing the gauze into the tub behind them. The cotton pads over his left hand followed suit; he even let Robbie hiss in pain without a sneaky comment.

Robbie took in his left hand; from a far memory, his fingernail getting caught in a hoodie came forward as he watched the irritated red space where his nail should have been. The index finger looked fine, other than the small cuts that started from the tips down to his palm. He turned his hand slowly, musing how it hurt the least out of everything but looked much worse than, for example, his feet. But he wasn’t able to see himself yet, so who knew?

As he mused, Glanni sat next to him, his clothes damp from Robbie’s wet skin. He took the right hand into his own. Robbie followed the motions as Glanni closed a small valve on the tubing while he kept the pole steady with his leg. Keeping Robbie’s hand in his grip, he started to pick at the tape securing the cannula.

"What are you doing?" Robbie knew what he was doing but hoped the answer would be different.

"I’ll take this out for you; it hurts more than it helps." He said as he was slowly pulling the tape and his skin in the process.

"It’s in your way…" Robbie deadpanned, flinching when Glanni started to pull, with a fresh cotton ball conjured from nowhere and ready at the insertion.

With a swift pull, the tool was out in one motion before Robbie could argue. "That too," Glanni confessed, tossing the medical instrument into the tub as well. "It was your last pack anyway."

Done with that, he pulled a fluffy and warm towel from the rack next to them. Tossing it over Robbie’s back, he rubbed his skin. The motion warmed Robbie’s back, and he could feel the soft care that wasn’t in Glanni’s usual repertoire.

Robbie saw that the steel behind the man’s eyes softened a little when his injuries came to light on his bare skin. So he gave Glanni the benefit of believing in his tender touches as he rubbed off all the water from his skin. It felt great, like Robbie was human again. He just wished it wouldn’t, for one, take this long and, for another, tire him out so much.

"Feel any better?" Glanni asked, now by Robbie's propped-up feet, as he was crouching like a kid again and examining his feet. Pinching each toe and waiting for a reaction.

Robbie pulled the fluffy towel closer around himself with his better hand. The phantom feel of the intrusive medical instrument still lingered with each movement. "Less clammy," he yelped as Glanni flexed his sole back, thumb pressing into the soft of his feet. "Stop that!" he barked.

"You sound better." Glanni said, ignoring the pain he caused and went for the other leg. "Give me a second," the man said as he leaned in, stretching the skin at Robbie's sole and sending a burning sensation through him. Then, ignoring all the pain cues Robbie had given, he stood up and left. 

"Not like I could," Robbie grumbled, hanging on to the edge of the tub for dear life.

After what seemed like another eternity, Glanni came back with a stock of things piled on a rolling stool.

"You had that and made me walk here." it could have been a question, but it came out more like a statement. To be honest, Robbie wasn’t even surprised or disappointed.

Glanni took this as a statement as well and pulled two gloves from the box, perched on the top. He wiggled his fingers as the dark blue material stretched and snapped onto his fingers, then pushed his round glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

Robbie followed the man’s movements, anchoring his mind as he started to feel cold again. Despite the warm and damp air enveloping them, despite the towels draped over him. So watching his cousin intently occupied his mind enough to shut off his inner turmoil.

The bathroom was big, almost as big as his living room back at the LazyPlaza, pristine, and bland. Like everything else, so when Glanni pulled a big container of some type of cream that was bright red, it was like a bonfire was lit between them. For one, Robbie would have thought that the ventilation in a pricey flat like this would be good, but no. The moment the red topping came off, the intrusive smell of mint and disinfectant attacked him.

So much so that it made him gag.

Earning an eye roll and quip from Glanni, "Get it together…" he stepped closer, gripping Robbie’s chin softly, and turned his head so the wound was in full view. "...but this might sting a little."

"You think?!" Robbie leaned away, his hair standing, as the ointment got closer and closer to his head wound.

All that just for Glanni to grip his jaw harder, to keep his head still, as he started the leather the solvent into the head wound. The cold material turned hot fast; it wasn’t just stinging; it was like his skin was boiling off his skull. The numb pain he felt until now strengthened, and his jaw tightened.

Whole body taut he gulped down the pain, eyes screwed shut he felt some tears roll down his face. Glanni clicked his tongue and then blew at his stitches from afar. The chilling feeling coupled with all the sensations shattered all of Robbie’s remaining dams.

"Thi-this is fucking torture..." he said, pushing through his grinding teeth.

"You'll get over it," Glanni repeated his mantra, letting Robbie’s chin go. "Distract yourself with something," he offered, stalking back a few steps to his feet.

This time, he held his ankle in a vile grip as he pulled another drag from the ointment. Robbie watched him through his swimming vision, blinking away his tears. He didn’t dare to move, fearing the cold would invade his naked body. Distraction, was easier said than done when all his brain was focusing on was his pain receptors firing at it.

"How is it going with Meanswell?" it took all his power not to snap his leg away when the minty monstrosity was rubbed into his skin.

"Surprisingly well," Glanni said, moving to his other leg, the one that was harder to move and the one where his cousin kept stretching the skin. He looked up, over the glasses lowered on his nose, and said, "he keeps that bumbling idiot away."

Robbie frowned, his entire body numb from the sensation; in his mind, the bumbling idiot was always a synonym for Milford, so he had to work his brain a little to figure out who that was for Glanni.

"Sportacus?" he tried.

"No, his freaking brother." turning Robbie’s feet, he blew on that too. If Robbie didn’t know better, he would think his expression turned a little more grim from whatever he saw there.

"Ah, what about the investigation?" he knew better than to ask for any details outright; Glanni wouldn’t give him any anyway.

"It is progressing, against all my predictions, quite nicely too."

"Which means?" Robbie pulled his leg from his cousin.

Glanni huffed, was irritated, and seemed constantly annoyed with Robbie. He stood there with a scowl on his face. "Which means he will now show up regularly to take your confession."

"And you think that’s a bad thing, why?"

"You’ll dress yourself, after you do your hands yourself too." he listed instead of answering Robbie’s question.

Irritated in return, Robbie felt belittled by him again, something he couldn’t shake off from their younger days. Whenever they were together, it was Glanni who dictated and who chose for both of them. Never shying away from underhanded or hard decisions in case they needed to ‘survive’ he reasoned all the time.

"I am no longer your kid brother or a child," he grumbled as he shuffled out of his towels.

"You sure as hell act like one." Glanni tossed a heap of clothes at his chest. "I’ll make some food; be ready by then."

Robbie wanted to make a snarky comment, the kind that usually makes Glanni huff and end their call with an offended half-curse. Ready to attack his fashion sense, he picked the first garment from the pile, worked up, he felt his left side hurt from the sudden expansion of his ribcage.

The touch of the cloth was soft, and he turned to find his own sweater, confused. He pulled it off and found the heart-patterned slacks right under. "These are mine."

"Yeah, horrendous" Glannie slipped the gloves off dropping those in the tub too. 

Ignoring the bait, he rolled the soft, clean fabric between his fingers. "You went to get these for me? Is the Pl-"

"No, that overexcited puppy showed up with it yesterday."

This time, there was no question who that was. "Sportacu- Sportaflop brought these here?"

It was too late now; he couldn’t dance out of this trap. Set and delivered with precision by Glanni, his cousin smirked, his tone tinted with a teasing tone.

"Why, are you hoping for something?" adding oil to the fire already wreaking havoc in Robbie’s chest, he added, "Your boyfriend comes here every day; I can see him marching over from the hospital. So -" he leaned closer, his smile a little lighter on his lips. "- better make it look like you are fine, because I cannot put up with his " he waved his hand around "antics."

It took him at least half an hour to dress himself, with many hiccups. He discovered how far he could lift his arms, which wasn't much to begin with, and now it was even less after all this. Glanni, true to himself, didn’t help a notch; he had the gall to snicker when he saw Robbie struggle with the wide collar of his sweater. Then he left him to his own devices.

By the time he was ready, he felt like he had run a marathon, or the equivalent of one. Not that he had the experience to compare the two, but this was how he imagined it. Sweating, he debated if it was even any use of him bathing before. Still, it felt a lot better than what he had worn before.

Using the rolling stool, he pulled himself out of the bathroom and finally had the capacity to take in the flat. He felt it was big when he limped from his room to the bathroom, but seeing the empty living space, it felt enormous. There were cardboard boxes and fillers all over the place, and the walls were all blank and devoid of any of Glanni's usual touches.

For sure, the greatest asset of the apartment was the view, with the tall windows and the balcony. Both which Robbie hated. It wasn’t enough that he was in constant dull pain, numb from whatever Glanni laced in the cream, and irritated from the whole debacle; now he also had to put up with the constant reminder of how high they were.

When Glanni laughed as he rolled toward the open kitchen, Robbie couldn’t fault him. It did relieve some of his anxiety when his cousin finally let out a genuine laugh. He was tense and demanding until now, as if Robbie was still the fourteen-year-old bloke from all those years ago.

Leaving the man to have his fun at Robbie’s expense, he rolled over to the kitchen island. He sat at a comfortable height, watching Glanni butcher some pastry and coat the entire tower in glazing sugar.

"Here"

The toppings, whatever they were, slipped from the top of the waffle-like tower. Droplets of syrup pooling under the pastry made whatever this was soggy.

His body suddenly remembered that he was hungry—actually starving—so rather than criticizing the creation, Robbie pulled a fork toward himself. His right hand was a little clumsy as he lifted the utensil. The first bite felt good; chewing the rubbery food was a task, but he worked through it.

"Wanna know more?" Glanni asked, peering over his mug of whatever he was drinking.

Robbie knew the man; he found a perverse joy in leading people on. Hinting at things or outright lying about others to get his way. All the while, he was enjoying the reaction he received. He was so bent on being with Robbie when he was playing chess in their youth because he couldn’t get enough of hearing a grown man whimper when his little Robbie destroyed them.

"If I sai-" he yelped, shocked at how hard it was to gulp down the food. His throat hadn’t suffered any damage, but each movement of his jaw sent a devastating stab into his wound. "Yeah..." he gave up, discovering that the pain medication was gradually losing its effectiveness as every dulled pain began to resurface with vigor.

Glanni pulled a bar stool from the other side and perched on top. He cradled his mug. "Meanswell reported that Stephanie was fine; she woke up yesterday."

Robbie let out a breath. He didn't realize he was holding back; a wave of relief washed over him, and he felt he could just fall to the ground, curl up, and fall to sleep. A question he was hesitant to ask because he was afraid of the answer. Everything he remembered about Pinky made him nervous; each time his mind reminded him of how he found her or her voice that kept him going that night, how it grew smaller and smaller until she was silent, making him crack.

He felt a strain leave his body; his shoulders slumped, his left side hurt as he relaxed the cramping muscles there, but he didn't care. This was good news; if she was getting better than this, this nightmare would end soon too.

The mug came down with a light thud against the kitchen island. "You did good," Glanni praised in his own way again.

"I should have listened to Sportacus and just kept a closer eye on her," he admitted, his fork hanging in the air. Robbie watched the syrup dribble from the bite he wanted to take.

"That’s one thing you won’t say when the detective gets here, right?" Glanni warned, leaning toward him. "Shockingly, Meanswell worked his ass off to keep the man off you for now. You won’t go and fuck it up for feeling guilty."

"What a pep talk…" Robbie sighed, trying to keep his humor light. "..did you practice it?"

"This is not a joke."

"You think I don’t know," Robbie pointed to his left cheek, "do you think I find this funny?"

Glanni scoffed, "well I, personally, find it hilarious." he watched the plate before Robbie expectantly. "Feeling tired yet? Because you cannot sleep for another four to five hours, so keep eating."

Robbie took another bite, gagging over the stabbing pain on his tongue and spluttering until he got the intruding thing out. Egg shell. He looked up at Glanni, who smiled widely, innocently shrugging. He was a man of many talents, but cooking wasn’t one of them.

Changing gears seemed to pay off better, so Robbie went for the obvious question. "You bought a flat?"

Blinking rapidly, Glanni searched his face; Robbie’s scheme seemed to work. "of course, do you think I broke in?"

"Wouldn't," he cleared his throat, gulping for a moment to drown out the pain, "wouldn’t put it past you."

"Cheeky bastard" Glanni chuckled, sighing he too seemed to let some steam off. "I bought it with the family funds."

Robbie stopped the slow fight with the spongy waffle. With tension back in his muscles, he forced his eyes to stay on the plate. The light brown syrup was shiny on the white plate, reflecting the light from outside. Robbie forced his mind to find every minute detail before him and not bite on the bait laid out.

"Before you spin your head off your neck, don’t think too much about it." he stood, pulling the mug against the surface of the island, the sound shrill between the empty walls. "It didn’t cost me anything."

Both of them knew that that was bullshit, but neither said anything. Robbie kept on eating, the taste turning stale; he didn’t enjoy any of it but kept shoveling it down. Hoping his stomach would keep it down. The fatigue he was holding at bay came back tenfold after the confession.

By the time Robbie finished with the atrocity that the dish was, Glanni changed into his usual getup. All pampered and ready, he sat with him, eyes on his phone’s screen, reading something. Whenever Robbie wanted to speak up or ask something, he was shushed down.

Robbie didn’t have anything to busy himself with; he was concentrating on keeping his senses at bay. He thought about how long it would take for his nail to grow back. Frowning at the reddish digit, that didn’t escape the ointment treatment either, so at least he didn’t feel anything.

When Glanni checked his watch and stood in a swoop motion, Robbie tried to follow him. Turning with the stool, he pushed against the island to keep up. The wheels slipped silently, and Robbie urged himself not to make any painful sounds either. Sitting curled in on himself, Robbie tried to keep awake, so to quicken his heart, he looked out the wide glass panes.

The only thing he could see from where he sat were the clouds in the clear blue sky. He knew more than he saw that the city was still under the spell of Christmas and the New Year, blanketed with snow and cold. Both thoughts he ushered away in haste.

He kept his mind occupied with pain and his distaste for Glanni’s actions until now. He wasn’t ready to face whatever he had in his memories; knowing that Stephanie was fine was enough. Wishing for more than that felt too much; wanting to forget everything else felt like a luxury, and he was never allowed that anyway.

Glanni walked towards the main hall with the gaudy elevator door, arms crossed he leaned against the wall. Robbie turned after him, confused as he peered at the hallway. 

His cousin’s phone blinked. "Just like clockwork." he hummed.

Robbie knew this stance—the one where Glanni looked taller, menacing yet honey-dripped. He hated it. And it had almost the same effect on everyone.

The elevator moved towards the flat with a slow and deep hum, and Robbie held out hope for the identity of the newcomer. Praising himself that even in this situation he could so leisurely look forward to someone. Blinking owlishly, he waited, breathing even as he tried his best to stay alert.

The elevator door opened a second later, with a small melody indicating its opening. In one way, it was what he wanted; in another, he was let down. He didn’t have to push his brain too hard to realize this was Sportaflop’s brother. He had the same structure and features; maybe his shoulders were a little broader, but from where Robbie sat, they were quite identical.

Well, without the beanie, or the ridiculous mustache, oh he had his own but it had nothing on the long pencil mustache Sportacus, well sported. He had all the markings of a police officer, including a smile similar to Sportacus'; he stood in the elevator, separated from Glanni by a metal vine construction.

"Detective Álfur, what an honor" Glanni started, and Robbie already wanted to throw the spongy waffle back up.

To his credit, the detective stood the smile Robbie could only imagine. He took a step closer in hopes of coming in for sure. "Mr. Glæpur, thank you for having me, I have just a few qu-"

"Sorry, little Robbie is still out cold, you might understand that interviewing him today would be impossible" the smirk in his tone.

At the exact same moment, Robbie’s eyes met the detective's, who frowned but kept his smile up. A little in disbelief, he turned back towards Glanni. "I can see him up and about" he waved in "Hi, Mr. Rotten."

Glanni turned nonchalantly, still leaning against the wall. He looked right through Robbie, not a muscle moving on his face.

"I think your eyesight might be at risk." Glanni turned back dumbfounded, tone relaxed and his shit eating grin splayed right on his lips. "Det. Álfur."

The detective took a deep breath, annoyed but professional. "Mr. Glæpur," he started, wetting his lips before he tried to remain polite, which in Glanni’s presence was a feat in itself. "You wouldn’t happen to be blind, right?"

"Oh, I can see clearly that you are pestering an innocent family member," Glanni picked something nonexistent from his long sleeve "so no, but thank you for your concerns."

Robbie knew that body language; it was the same as Sportacus’. All the words he kept inside made his shoulders rigid and his chest wide. The irritated smile and constant head nicking too, the handyman had all this when they first met years ago. Robbie wasn’t sure when all that disappeared but it was quiet the sight on another man. Caused by Glanni none the less.

"If you are hindering the investigation, I’ll have to get a warrant."

"I actually prefer that," Glanni said, clicking his tongue.

"This doesn’t have to be this complicated," the detective tried again, sidestepping Glanni to get a better look at Robbie.

Who, to be honest, started to get the feeling he should have rolled away the moment Glanni looked at him. But this was like a car crash; he just couldn’t look away. Ending in him looking at the detective and not saying anything. Enchanted, stock still.

The detective pointed at him with his pen and said, "Mr. Rotten, if you could j-"

"J- J- J-" Glanni tutted, and Robbie could feel the irritation bloom in himself as well "Just make sure you check that nasty eye thing Det. Álfur. Thank you for asking about my Robbie; I’ll be sure to contact you once he can talk coherently."

"Glæpur!"

"It was a pleasure." Glanni waved with his fingers while calling the reception. "Yes, Detective Álfur is on his way out; please call the elevator down."

There was some muffled grumbling and an exchange of words that Robbie couldn’t make out from where he was. But once the elevator left, Glanni deflated a little, turning his wrath on Robbie the moment he turned. "You!"

"I don’t know if I am impressed," Robbie chuckled, a hurt little note joining as his head throbbed, "or scared."

Glanni stopped, sighing; he rubbed his forehead with his fist in anger, which he didn’t want to let out on Robbie. "Both."

True to his promise, Glanni kept him up for hours. It was easy in the first hour, because whatever Robbie asked Glanni, he kept avoiding anything related to the incident. If Robbie tried to sidestep that topic and dig around for the reason Glanni showed up, he also ended up hanging.

It was surprisingly mundane. With the silence around them, wearing his leisure clothing, he laid on the wide couch, legs lifted on a stock of pillows. Robbie linked his hands on his chest and discovered that only the first movement was unbearable and that once he relaxed, everything dulled down. Even the head aches. They were coming and going, and whenever he was about to get up or when his eyelids became too heavy, Glanni would stop him.

All the while making him drink whatever he was pumping into him from that pitcher. Then that caused a need for the bathroom, which meant Robbie would become alert because there was no way Glanni would help until it didn’t look like he would crumple under his weight.

But laying here, watching the ceiling, high up with a row of led lamps at the edges soothed him. Modern and minimalistic, the very opposite of what his cousin liked. On the third hour, Robbie felt he couldn't entertain himself any longer with the walls or with the precisely built boundaries around his memories attempting to break through.

"I'm bored," he pleaded, slowly turning to his side, the blood rushing to all the places at once making him nauseous. When his cousin curled up in the opposing armchair and didn’t say anything, he said it a little louder. "I don't know, either let me sleep or," he coughed, his body flinching from the stabbing pain all over him, "do something."

"You were told to rest," he said, flipping something to the side on his phone, then checking his watch.

"Yeah, but you won’t let me sleep." Robbie grumbled, missing the sedatives that kept his mood high.

"Just because you keep saying it," he finally looked up, unimpressed with Robbie. "won’t change it."

"Can’t you give me something? My phone?" he tried.

"It’s not my fault that it's still in the evidence locker..." Glanni retorted, questioning if Robbie was as alert as he believed. "...you know the whole reason why I am here."

Huffing, Robbie grimaced as the weight of his own body felt like a dumbbell against his side. "Right"

"Oh, that's right," Glanni snapped his fingers, uncurling from his seat and leaving Robbie alone.

In the silence of the uselessly big apartment, Robbie debated if it would be worth just falling asleep against Glanni’s strict orders. If he just nuzzled the pillow and let the dream he was attempting to avoid take him. Blinking slowly, the room started to blur, swimming in shades and light. Sweet, sweet embrace of the warmth of the throw blanket over him.

With a sharp clattering noise, something was tossed across the low table in the middle of the furniture set. The noise sent Robbie’s heart into overdrive while his mind conjured up the shadow of a man towering over Stephanie. And that he used the board to—

"Look," Glanni said, full of cheer, "your lover brought this too."

The culprit, Robbie thought, was one of the chess sets he had at home. One that he hasn’t used in a while, so from inside his flat. One of the wooden ones, Robbie tried to recall which shelf this belonged to. Even though he couldn’t find that, he remembered it being on one of the top ones. Maybe.

Pushing up, he fought his body into a sitting position. Robbie whined, the sentence becoming long-winded with each word accented by a long exhale. "I know that—that you know—we are not in a relationship." a part of Robbie revolted a little. Not because what he said wasn’t true or because he wanted it to be true, but because a part of him was waiting for something. Something to contradict him. He found nothing.

"Oh, obviously," Glanni said, opening the board and scattering the pieces.

A shiver ran down Robbie’s body, his heart once again skipping a beat from the clattering sound. A memory of the exact pieces falling to the ugly carpet, their descent, and the sound it etched into his brain, made him heave. Breathing felt heavy, like someone was squeezing his middle. He heard that Glanni was talking; some of it even registered, but he couldn’t put a meaning behind it.

"Little light, are you-" Glanni was looking at him.

While his shoulders shook and his right arm was cramping up from the weight it held up, Robbie gulped, searching for Glanni’s eyes. A deep gray color that was shared between them, he wanted to anchor himself, but his body was against him again. Fighting his nerves, he realized he was wheezing and that his chest was abnormally lifting and scattering as he let the air out.

Did he. Was he breathing? Was he?

"All right," Glanni appeared out of nowhere; when and how Robbie couldn't recall.

Disoriented, he looked around; his chest hurt, and his heart squeezed in pain. He was dying, wasn’t he? The paint hat blooming behind his skull was taking his reason away. He was dying.

"Robbie" Glanni moved slightly, hands still reaching for Robbie. The suddenly soft touch felt like fire as his cousin pushed him down. "Robbie, listen, it’s fine; you are fine."

Robbie couldn’t believe him; he was suffocating. Glanni was lying. He was about to die; his hands hurt as he scraped against the neckline of his sweater, he couldn't breath. 

"Shit" 

Glanni sounded bad as well; he was definitely goner now. The ceiling looked more dangerous now; all the walls that were so far away started to move toward them. He was going to die. At least you helped Pinky. His mind mocked him suddenly, overpowering his rapidly growing fear. What if Glanni lied? He always did. Yes, he had to; Stephanie wasn’t fine, and now Robbie had to suffer too.

He coughed, desperately fighting for a breath. His hands were on fire. Pulling the fabric, he tried to make space for air. He was afraid, so afraid of dying. Throat tight it fought against him too, his jaws too, he needed to open his mouth. 

"Keep breathing," someone said. "Keep breathing," it repeated.

"I ca-" he realized, "-n’t, I’ll die!"

"You can!"

That voice was familiar. Gasping, Robbie turned his head, fear and pain coursing through him. He wasn’t sure when the man took his hands or when he arrived. He wasn’t sure if he was really there or if he was just imagining it. But if Sportacus said so, then it had to be true. Because he was a lousy liar.

Sportacus looked shaken too. So maybe he was lying after all. "You" he gasped, finally feeling air travel down his lungs. "Are you" seeing the blue eyes staring at him, breathing loudly and methodically "are you sure"

"I am" he said with that stupid tilt of his tone, "just breath, okay, in" he pulled in air, and Robbie followed "out"

The tightness in his chest eased a little, and he kept up with Sportacus’ instructions. Listening to the steady baritone of the usually cheery man. Robbie’s mind was still scattered, but he knew that in the last few days he wasn’t his real self and that Sportacus was hurt as well; Robbie just couldn’t tell where.

"Okay" he said, letting out a breath, and he felt his body relax a notch.

"Yes, you are okay" Sportacus smiled, but he still held his wrist off his chest.

Robbie blinked a few times. The sweat felt gross on his skin, and his lungs were still stuttering, restricting his breathing, but he kept following Sportacus, and slowly, slowly, the living room righted itself. Some sensations came back, mainly the hammering pain behind his forehead. Then his legs; blinking, he found Glanni by his feet, hands circling his ankles. He looked shaken too.

With both men holding him in a vice-like grip, he felt a little better. Because if they were here, holding onto him, then everything was fine. He reasoned. Feeling stupid for spiraling so fast into his mind’s dark space. Gulping down his pride, he closed his eyes, listening to the breathing around him. Keeping the tempo, he felt his heart slow as well.

"Why are you here?" Robbie whispered, turning toward the handyman.

Sportacus looked a little taken aback. The color was getting back to his face, and he smiled one of his shy smiles that he only shared with his so-called friends. Sighing, a whole body shiver went down the blue-clad idiot’s form. He pulled Robbie’s mildly hurting hands towards himself, then Sportacus let his forehead lie against Robbie’s curled fingers.

"Fuck" Glanni sighed, letting his feet go, he leaned back in the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. "Fucking hell," he repeated into his palms.

"I am just visiting," Sportacus said finally, letting Robbie's hands go too. He fell back to his bottom, his back hitting the low table.

Robbie watched the pieces roll around on the glass layer; some even fell to the floor. He followed their descent and let the sound of them hitting the ground ring inside his head. Catching himself this time and not letting the images attack his sanity.

Robbie watched the man, and a bittersweet sadness came over him as Sportacus took his beanie off, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead. He looked so defeated. Robbie was searching for the forever optimistic handyman who pestered him every day. "You have great timing," Robbie scoffed meaning to have a little bite, hearing the strain in his own voice.

"Impeccable" came from Glanni at the end of the couch.

A little laugh left Sportacus’s chest as he perched an arm on top of his knee, shaking his fingers off. "I can tell when someone is in trouble."

"Urgh," Robbie grunted, disappointed in himself for letting that stupid line make his heart jump. "Great work here," he added, shielding his eyes with his arm.

"How is Stephanie?" Robbie asked instead of waiting for any answer to his praise.

Glanni laughed, his voice so strained that Robbie could almost feel the sharp edges to it. "Why yo-"

"It's funny you should ask," Sportacus chuckled, leaning against the low table. "That was her first question as well."

Robbie frowned. Now back to his tired self, he felt all the aches. Some new as well; whatever his body had started up now was slowly returning and biting him in the ass. "She asked about herself?"

Glanni’s laughter was all sharp and sweet at the same time. Irritating a little, Robbie was asking a serious question, so why the ridicule? Instead of listening to his cheating cousin, he turned his head to take in Sportacus.

Sportacus' face swam a little, like he had become liquid. The lines Robbie learned to like, and the ash blonde unruly hair that was all over the place got blurred. So as not to lose what the handyman was saying, he concentrated on Sportacus’ lips. Eager to feel them, but he held back, maybe one crazy stunt at a time was enough. 

"No, about you."

Chapter Text

Sportacus stood in the elevator with Milford by his side, emotionally drained after what he could only describe as a personal attack on his sanity. If only half of what Glanni said came true, if only a fraction of his prediction came true, the world would be a more grim and dark place than Sportacus could bear.

Milford didn't appear to be any better. The last few days rushed past them in a blur. The man was efficient and fast at everything he set his mind to. This time, however, Sportacus saw how Glanni just walked up and pushed him over the imaginary line with ease and snarky comments.

Defeated, they traveled downward from the high building. "Are you okay, Milford?"

Milford snapped to attention in a beat, just to relax back the next, with a tired smile "Of course, we have to be, right?" he patted Sportacus on the back as they stepped out of the elevator.

This time Sportacus had the time to properly look around in the lobby. Wide and tall, the walls were all adorned with large paintings, with their own light fixtures and low benches for the visitors to enjoy them. By the reception, two people busied themselves, both occupied with some boxes and their distribution. It looked more like a hotel than a residential building.

Their steps echoed in the large space, and what felt like nothing when Sportacus cradled Robbie was now a mile long. By the time they got to the main entrance, both seemed to get some of their bearings back.

"Is it me, or is Mr.Glæpur " Milford searched for the right word as he pulled his coat tighter around himself, "intense."

Sportacus nodded, opening and then closing his mouth, deciding to let his most likely awkward smile speak for him. He, too, had his coat zipped up to his chin. Even after a few days after the blizzard that hindered him from leaving the city, it was struggling to catch up.

The new year that sparked up with vigor for most seemed to pass like molasses for Sportacus. He couldn’t get out of his head. He didn’t have the time to move around or exercise as much, not that he had the capacity to even think about that. But he knew that was one of the things that would help him clear some of the fog from his mind. Debating if he should just hold a running session, he turned to Milford.

"There must be something we can do," Sportacus said, mostly to himself.

Rolling his shoulders, he was irritated that he felt like they had no options but to drag along as the events unfolded before them with neckbreaking speed. He was truly against leaving Robbie with his relative, Glanni didn’t seem like the overly caring type. That might work on a regular day in Robbie’s life; live and let live, seemed like a match made in lazy heaven for Robbie. Right now, Sportacus believed the man needed all the tender ‘coddling’ he could get.

"There is" Milford smiled, shaking off some residue tension, he tapped away on his phone "first let’s contact detective Álfur."

A half hour later, Íþró showed up with his service car, parking right in front of the building. He earned a disappointed look from the doorman. Until he flashed his badge and skipped up to them, that is. Lightly dressed as usual, whatever he had on his plate he must have tossed it aside when Milford called.

"Sport, Mr. Meanswell" hands deep in his pockets he hopped before them. "Is this Glanni Glpur's residence?" he asked, his smile widening instantly. "And Robbie Rotten?"

"Right into it?" Milford asked back, laughing, but he nodded.

"We don’t really have the luxury of time" Íþró shrugged, pulling a notepad from his coat pocket and scribbled down the address. "Why am I here?"

Sportacus listened to his brother’s professional tone; he had heard it several times. Mostly when he told a story at family gatherings and had to reenact one of his deeds, Sportacus always assumed it was all for show, but hearing him so nonchalant, a clear difference from how he was on the night of the incident, how he talked to Sportacus. But that might have been because of his little brother’s involvement.

"I have an offer, detective."

"Íþró, please," he said, cutting into Milford’s opening line, "as well, is this official, or as a friend of my little brother?" he sank the notepad back into his pocket.

"I think both could work in our favor at the moment" Milford reasoned after nodding along Íþró’s question. "First, I would like to know if the Plaza is done with."

Sportacus mused too; two days seemed enough, but he didn’t have any knowledge of these processes, so he kept to himself. While they waited, Milford paraphrased what he was about to tell Íþró, but Sportacus wasn’t sure how that would go.

"Forensics is finished, yes, but it would be better to keep the lobby off limits for the upcoming week at least." Íþró offered, sighing, he leaned back on the heels of his feet, relaxed. "Is there something you need from the building?"

"I haven’t had the time or the composure to check the lobby yet." Milford reasoned, "I think it’s better to go with the lead detective."

Íþró wasn’t phased; if anything he looked like he knew where this was going. "Is he coming?" nicking his thumb at Sportacus, his brother’s grin widened.

"Is that a problem?" Milford inquired, letting a long sigh out.

Íþró lifted his shoulders "Not necessarily." turning to Sportacus, his smile turned a bit more cautious. "You want to?"

Posing the question as if there was a possibility of him not going, all the implications of endangering the investigation were forgotten the moment Sportacus had the chance to quench his never-ceasing imagination. Hoping that whatever he sees will soothe a part of himself that he's been desperately suppressing until now.

The car ride was short and passed with a good mood, mostly Milford and Íþró exchanging some information that wasn’t directly related to the case. More like pleasantries, and Sportacus could tell that there was some familiarity between the two from the past. Glancing up from the rearview mirror, he saw the politician relaxed, a folder open in his lap, and he flipped a page up. Still carrying the conversation with Íþró who just swerved the car into their street. 

Sportacus felt his stomach drop. Whenever he walked past the Plaza he would check, only from his peripheral vision to get used to the scene. The police ribbons were still up, some hanging off and moving with the wind. Even the few flecks and piles of snow he saw the other day when meeting Glanni were gone. Grateful that, despite the darkness falling over the town, it wasn't as bone-chillingly cold as that night, when he first had to grasp the gravity of the incident amid the snow fall and the lights of the police cars.

It was odd. A strange serenity embraced the building and its street front. There were no bystanders like the night it happened, nor were police officers coming and going. Not even Glanni emerging from the shades. With all the lights turned off and no residents, the LazyPlaza looked like a vacuum in the middle of the rows of luxury apartment blocks. Looking up, he followed the lines of windows up to the overcast sky.

The snapping of car doors cut his procrastination short. Nodding when his brother asked for him, he followed the pair. He was hit with the realization that until now he had wanted to come here desperately, always finding a reason why he couldn’t, lulling himself with the idea of an outer force hindering him. Now he had to come to terms with his own deception. Now he had no excuse. He was offered to join the pair, and he wanted to see what the traces of the fight he had only imagined until now looked like.

Stopping by the broken front window pane, he watched the privacy foil keep most of the broken shards together. Protruding toward the street, some of the glass was shattered before the main entrance. Confused, he followed Íþró inside, and after a few exchanged words the detective flipped the light on.

Sportacus pulled the door closed; the locking mechanism was broken and hanging out at an odd angle. Blinking a few times as the light blinded him after the darkness. He struggled to pull his gaze upward while keeping his gaze on the floor and his hand on the handle. The first thing he saw was the carpet, scattered ornaments, shards of different colored glass, chess pieces, and a slight smell of something sour.

Then it came to his view. To his right, the Christmas tree was toppled over, its ornaments all around the lobby. Branches were broken, and pine leaves covered the floor as the tree was slowly wilting and dying. Sportacus’s gaze followed the tree to the toppled armchairs and to the stairway’s door, which stood open, across the receptionist table.

To his left, he saw the table Stephanie and Robbie usually use turned up. One leg was broken, the books were gaping open, and the pages were torn and wrinkled. The nail polish Sportacus knew was an odd color in the midst of all the dark and broken stuff. After that, after taking in all the details, he cowardly ignored the thing that was pulling at his mind the most and berated himself.

Off to the side, where the door of Robbie’s open flat hit the wall. Peeking from the shadow of an upturned armchair, a dark blotch painted the carpet black. Gulping, he let his hand slip from the handle and followed the pair inside. Confidently walking across the slim path created by the forensics.

"So" Íþró pulled his notes once again "what would you like to see here?" looking around, he found Sportacus. His fingers pinched the paper a little harder as his smile turned to understanding. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said again, repeating the sentence he used a few nights before to calm Sprotacus.

"Detective, could you walk me through the events?" Milford flapped with the folder "stated in here."

Íþró appeared to be impressed, which Sportacus could rarely say about his brother, the detective scrubbed at his nape, glancing toward Sportacus.

"You are asking as a representative of the victims, meaning- "

"Yeah, yeah," Milford said again, waving the folder. "take this as your official briefing to the legal representative of Stephanie and Robbie," the politician turned to Sportacus, "and him as well."

"You sure?" the detective asked, flipping over his own notes.

"Please," Milford pushed, fidgeting and not finding his place in the mess.

"What about you?"

Íþró offered Sportacus an out, but it was already too late to turn back. The grotesque curiosity was eating away at his sanity, and he made himself believe whatever his brother would share would be better than anything he could conjure up. Knowing full well that that was not true. That reality would hit harder than anything he dared to imagine. But there would be no doubt. Not being able to voice it, he simply nodded.

"Okay," Íþró sighed "more for my little brother let me outline how this will go" he said as he walked past them, turning and pulling two armchairs to the receptionist counter. Palms open, he offered the seats. "I’ll brief you like I would any of my officers," he said, leaning against the furniture as he crossed his boots, "which means you can ask me anything, but I might not be able to answer."

Grunting, Milford fell to the chair closest to him, keeping his coat on as the lobby was freezing thanks to the broken glass. "Appreciated."

For three people so involved in this, Sportacus found this too sterile. But he could never have followed his brother into the field of law enforcement. He could not picture himself as a man of politics and legalities. It took him some time and even some struggle to discover his calling. It might not have been as prosperous as Íþró’s never ending list of awards, or as profitable as the small empire that Milford suddenly seemed to have at his convenience; but found his own path nonetheless.

Here were three men: one closely involved in a case left in his care; another whose history and relationships forced him to bend to whatever the situation allowed. And Sportacus, who was at the mercy of both. Milford seemed understanding enough; his initial distance evaporated when Sportacus wouldn’t leave his side.

Íþró too, gave up his agenda of sending him home.

"You should also know that I haven’t had the chance to interrogate either the victims or the culprit." it was absurd how each word left a white puff in the middle of the lobby as Íþró started.

"On the thirtieth of December, around eight o'clock, we received a call from a neighbor," the detective pointed across the street, "the woman called in because someone broke the main window pane after the outage started."

Sportacus thought back to when Íþró called him; it was only a few minutes after eight, he pulled out his phone and checked the history, as his brother went on.

"She stated her fears as she knew most of the residents were out, and officer Jives Junk took the call as his previous call regarding the outage was at a close address." dragging in a long breath, he continued, "Arriving, he found the door locked; through the broken window pane, he noted the mess; and a generator might have been on because there was light inside."

"It was closed?" Sportacus’ confusion manifested itself in his fingertips' numbness; his lax fingers held the phone; he looked at the door; Robbie usually only locked it after all residents came back, and Milford was out on his date with Bessie that night.

Before answering and leaving the topic Íþró glanced down at his notes  "Yes. Officer Junk was thus authorized to use force to open the door once backup arrived."

"Simultaneously, we got a call from the Springhill General Hospital that two patients had arrived at their ER a few minutes ago who seemed to have been involved in an accident. But neither of the patients was awake enough to provide their information."

"However they could identify Robbie Rotten, by the time the station had the addresses linked, I had contacted the hospital, and after that, I called you," he pointed at Sportacus, "while my colleague contacted Milford as the first contact in the building’s registry."

"When did officer Junk arrive at the building, and when exactly did he break the lock?" Milford asked, leaning back in his chair.

Íþró double-checked his notes "Half past eight, the same when we got the call from the hospital."

"That’s when you called Sportacus?"

The detective’s mouth moved to a knowing smile, impressed once again. "Yes, before you ask, for emergency contact, as Mr. Rotten didn’t have any information in his file."

"Why didn’t you call me as his employer?" the politician pushed.

"Milford." there was a warning in Íþró’s tone "I called Sportacus first because he was the last caller on Mr. Rotten’s phone and he had a personal relationship with the man who they couldn't identify." Leaning on his elbow, he patted his own lax wrist with the notepad. "I wasn’t informed about the other victim's name at that point."

"I remember you naming Stephanie Meanswell after I described the victim," he added.

The following silence was heavy. Sportacus knew that Íþró was bending some of his story. By the time he called Sportacus, he already knew that it was Stephanie; he knew that the little girl was with the grumpy doorman. He even pointed it out in their previous call. Why he was doing it was a riddle. But Sportacus left it at that, finding it would be better to just leave the two handle the details. He was more interested in the what and how than these seemingly unimportant details.

"When did you arrive at the scene?" Milford relented.

"After officer Junk sent the then victim, now suspect, to the Springhill General Hospital as well."

The blood kept rushing to Sportacus’s head, and with his body tense, he moved to take the other empty chair next to Milford. Fearing that if he remained standing, he would pace around, driving the others insane. "To the same hospital..."

"The outage was still going, and there were also no instant signs that the incapacitated man wasn’t a tenant." Íþró reasoned following Sportacus’ movements. "Of course, after watching the security tapes, we took the necessary steps to secure both the victims and the suspect."

Sportacus glanced up at the camera he installed a few weeks ago. Memories of Robbie ridiculing the thing came to his mind, and he felt his chest constrict. The idea behind the camera taking root.

"I believe it was around nine," the detective replied more factually to the initial question. "By that time, officer Junk had handled the situation and set up the tape to ensure the evidence."

"There were two objects that the attacker and Mr. Rotten used." pointing to Milford’s folder, "A trophy and a chessboard."

Leaning over, Sportacus stared at the bagged evidence. He knew the trophy; it was the one he himself had put back in its place. The rectangular base had a bloody residue that he could take out even through the plastic bag it was encapsulated in. Stomach dropping, he connected the edge of the hard stone base with the cut along Robbie’s temple.

Averting his gaze, he moved to the chess board; it had cracked, and the latches that held the foldable set together were broken. The varnish chipped away, and in another photo, the inside was smeared with long lines of dried blood.

"Also" Íþró nicked his head back towards the taped-off stairway door. "We found several takeout boxes, other trash indicating that someone was squatting there, snow spray and clothes in children's sizes, as well as some objects that could double as weapons."

His brother’s tone was so factual; he had to be, and Sportacus understood that. But finding that it destroyed him, making him crumble in the chair, while having no effect on his otherwise affectionate brother, felt wrong. Sportacus concentrated on his knuckles, breathing in sharply, searching for a way to stop his tension from building. Looking around. Seeing the lobby he spent so much time in destroyed wasn’t one.

Milford, too, was tense, but he mimed calm much better than Sportacus. While fidgeting with his cuffs, he also looked at some documentation regarding the statements in his own folder.

"I can describe the events, or I can share my theories," he stood up straight, rolling his shoulder, which had been bearing his weight until now, "but I think the recording speaks for itself." he checked his watch. "I advise against it, Sportacus; also, I am off the clock in ten minutes, so either call officer Junk here or stop this."

"I-"

"I have already seen the recordings, and I am interested in what the police have evaluated the tapes to be." Milford spoke over Sportacus with ease, again lifting the whole folder like a sword. "here it only states that recordings taken in are still under processing. Íþró, what, and how many instances are on the recording from the culprit?"

Sportacus turned, mind too slow to keep up with the men around him. But his head snapped up when he heard the tone his brother only kept for insolent people who pushed their limits. 

"Milford, I am not one to flex my authority, but this is not a courtroom; this is my crime scene. My case, and I'll assist as much as I can, but" he took a step back, slipping the notepad back into his back pocket, arms crossed across his chest. "You have to work with me just as much."

"What are you insinuating?" Milford stood too, swiping some nonexistent dirt from his coat.

"Nothing; come on. We both know that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give you that."

Sportacus heard the mirth in Íþró’s tone, and as his shoulders relaxed, he watched him heartily pat Milford on the shoulder. The tension evaporating in a moment, like the earlier clash of control, was just Sportacus’ imagination.

"Why?" Sportacus asked finally; it could have been for so many things.

Why didn’t Íþró want him to see the recordings? Why was he going against Milford when he wanted to get to the end of things just as much? Why did all this happen, and why wasn’t either of them addressing the most pressing issue? Why did it sound like they were still debating if they could even say the attacker’s name?

"It’s not an easy thing to watch" Íþró decided for his why. "Plus, you are too close with both victims."

"So is Milford" Sportacus stood too now, not able to quench the rising tension in him. This sidestepping and avoidance made him all the more antsy.

"Milford is the legal representative of both," his brother argued, "a family member; you are neither."

It’s not that it wasn’t true. Sportacus knew this; it was part of his constant nervousness—the uncertainty of the unavoidable moment where he would be told to step away. For now he had kept Milford’s good grace, knowing that Íþró would have removed him from this case the moment he had a chance. 

"Let’s wait for Stephanie’s statement first," Milford offered, cutting the brotherly argument short before it could start.

Sportacus blinked rapidly at that, and he found Íþró just as confused. Wasn’t this one of the things Glanni said would never happen? Not to mention the mental load on the little girl—that could never work. Like Milford could hear his thoughts, he added.

"Once she wakes up her first words will be asking about Robbie anyway" he swatted around the folder, and Sportacus heard the pain behind the words, the withheld hopeful tears. "I’ll allow both of you in her room to ask her questions that you need to share with me beforehand."

Íþró laughed at that. Light and frivolous, the same tint Glanni had but so much more positive. Like the two sides of a coin, his brother nodded, grinning to himself. A little shake in the midst of it all. "What with the watch party?" he nicked with his forefinger at Sportacus.

"I am on the same page; let’s soften the blow with the confessions first. You seem too influenced by this son."

Sportacus felt their care, but it irritated him to no end. Milford was the soft one, the one who cried the moment he hit his finger with the hammer handed to him by Bessie, and the one to tear up at the first note of a classical piece of music. That was the Milford he knew, not this rigid, to-the-point man who seemed unaffected.

While he could explain his brother’s behavior, he couldn’t come to terms with Milford's.

But he kept it to himself. Gulping around the knot in his throat, he took a deep breath and looked around the lobby once again. Eyes moving to Robbie’s flat, the tape there was already broken and hung off the handle. Mind turned back to the man sleeping away his pain outside the hospital, in those awful clothes his family got for him. 

"All right, but," he said, letting his hands hit his sides and shaking his hands to relieve tension. "Robbie could use some of his own clothes, is that possible?" his words petered out when both men turned toward him. And he looked back at them, perplexed by what was so confusing about that.

Milford chuckled, agreeing on Stephanie’s behalf as well as some of his own personal articles. While the politician was gone, using the elevator with caution, Sportacus turned to his brother.

"Shall we?" Íþró asked, striding over to the flat, he stepped in,came to a halt, and searched for the switch. 

His shit eating grin -as Robbie would describe it - only widening when Sportacus flipped the lights on. The flat looked more or less the same as Sportacus remembered it. Except for the trash, which was gone, the recliner looked lonely without its owner curled in it. And the silence that was comfortable even on the worst days felt hollow. He glanced around, watching Íþró idle in the middle of the small living space. 

"Did the culprit really come from his flat?" Sportacus pried as he went over the cupboards.

Pulling clothes at random. Some he remembered Robbie wearing, and some he thought he would need. Feeling guilty when he rummaged around his underwear drawer and found some stuff he most likely wasn't supposed to.

"Where did you hear that?" Íþró’s tone was light enough, but it did make Sportacus halt his fingers as he folded the small pile. 

"You sai-"

"I never mentioned where the culprit came from; for all you heard from me, it would make more sense if you thought he came through the broken door." He kept his smile and kept his place, but the slightest movement of his expression betrayed him and silenced Sportacus. "Milford for sure didn’t share that, that would implicate both Robbie and-" ending his sentence abruptly he laughed a huff.

His nervous tick so similar to Sportacus’ it was like looking in the mirror as Íþró’s hand landed on his nape and he awkwardly scratched at it. 

"Íþró-"

"Good thing I just finished; let’s head to yours." he took a step to the side and asked, "Did you get everything?

After that, there was some dancing around an unspoken topic between Milford and Íþró but they remained civil. The politician went on his way, catching a car and leaving behind some notes for Sportacus with times and places to show up at.

The brothers idled before the house for a while, and Sportacus felt a deep-rooted longing towards the building. On the first day of the year, it was usually full of life. With Bessie creating a whole project plan for the year, the kids were whining about the school.

This was also the time when he would get his contract prolonged for the next term. Accompanied by the indignant noises of Robbie parading that the house didn’t need a handyman when he was here. Certainly not someone as extravagant as Sportacus. Even without the incident, the last few weeks made him forget their scheduled bickering session, where Robbie would pretend to hate his guts and Sportacus would ignore the remarks against his person.

"Any plans?" Íþró squeezed his shoulder, jolting him back to reality.

Sighing with a smile forced on himself, he swiped his brother’s arm away from him and said, "I heard you were coming over." he laughed despite his mood when Íþró grinned back.

Two bags containing Robbie's belongings were thrown into the backseat and secured like criminals as Sportacus took the passenger seat. While musing, he had the realization that he had traveled around the town by car more frequently just this past week than ever since he had moved here years ago.

"Don’t you want to rest?" Sportacus asked as they scaled the stairs in his complex.

"Don’t you want to spend some quality time with your brother?" Íþró countered diligently following him up to his top-floor apartment. 

What was there to say to that? Sportacus opened the door with a swing, kicking his shoes off as he marched to his small sitting area and left the bags on the couch. He woke the home system and directed it to heat the space while peeling his coat.

Íþró followed, ridding himself of his outer layers as well; familiar with his flat, he took place by his counter. Letting his head rest on his propped-up head. He hummed, good-naturedly involving Sportacus in mundane chatter. All under that, Sportacus couldn’t shake the tension he felt since they left Robbie’s flat.

"Mom called, by the way; she was very worried about you," his brother shared, his gaze following Sportacus around the small kitchen.

"About me?" he asked, turning and leaning against the cabinet, facing his brother. The wolfish grin on his face, something that Sportacus never saw on himself but could clearly imagine thanks to their similarity, made his uneasiness grow.

"Well, you haven’t been yourself the past few days" Íþró shrugged.

Not knowing what to say to that, Sportacus decided to shrug too. He clamped his hands around the shaker he'd just been getting filling. The whole day was absurd, from struggling against Milford to dressing Robbie to ending with Glanni’s predictions shattering him.

Glancing at the bags on his couch, the touch of the fabrics that wouldn’t send Robbie’s sensitivity to highwire, the memory of the garments worn by the doorman. He forced himself not to look in the bag back at the hospital, to ignore the torn and tarnished clothes Robbie wore. Diverting his attention, he filled and shook his tumbler again in hopes of grounding himself.

"I am too, for the matter" Íþró spoke up again.

"Is that why you wanted to come over?" Sportacus humored, once again avoiding the need to answer.

"Partially," he smiled, "I am hungry as well."

At that, both of them laughed. Heartily, something both could share was their constant need for food. Opening the fridge, Sportacus presented the fruit of his labor. From top to bottom, the fridge was filled with prepped meals that were portioned and stored separately.

With a downturned grin Íþró’s brows lifted into a comical caricature of his impressed self. His head left his palm in awe as he chuckled before speaking. "I see you are prep-ered…" he gagged on his own pun, nodding along.

Sportacus pulled two containers out, busying himself with them and his kitchen applicants. "I had the free time anyway," he explained as he peeled the first topper off.

"Is this how you spent the New Year?"

"Asked the guy who slept through the fireworks." Sportacus humored the little jab.

"True enough" Íþró said as he leaned over the island, elbows on the top, he balanced himself as he peered over to Sportacus. "we both can say that we are losers in our thirties."

Before Sportacus could respond that he would be the only one in his thirties in a few weeks, Íþró intervened. "Dad was around this age when he passed away, right?"

Sportacus' hands came to a halt over the steaming glass bowls, and the aroma of steaming chicken and side dishes filled the silence between them. They rarely talked about their father when they weren’t at home. In the embrace of the man's memorabilia, reinforced by their mother, who kept their father's photos and trinkets around, Memories ignited by each, never letting his presence fade. Frowning, Sportacus bent his mind on how the topic came up. Maybe Íþró was more sentimental than Sportacus was led to believe.

Back in motion, he searched for utensils, the noise easing some of the tension in him. "Yes" turning, he placed the two bowls, offering the fork to his brother.

As Íþró inhaled the scent of their shared impromptu dinner, humming. Glancing up, he waited for Sportacus to sit as he took his first bite of the chicken breast, praising the seasoning under his breath. "Do" he hummed again, taking a bite of the side as well "Do you remember him?"

Sportacus also took a bite, enjoying the heat of the food but wasn't able to taste it; the stale, chewy thing felt more like a chore than a comfort. "I was only six, so I remember him being fun and the feeling of being sad."

That was true; he had blurry memories of their father, but he knew his face from photos. How he felt whenever they visited him, how sad he was. He also remembered his brother standing next to their mother cradling Sportacus against her chest. How they spent time together in the blinding white. How his mother laughed until the very end each time their father’s low tone rang through the room.

"Right, you were still so small," he chuckled, and Sportacus could imagine his mind blowing up with their childish antics. "I was Stephanie’s age," he reminisced after a moment. "It was hard; I don’t know if I truly understood what was going on back then."

The kitchen became silent after that, for a few beats. Sportacus could tell his brother wanted to get somewhere with all this. That bringing up their father and then connecting it to the little girl still slumbering in the hospital had to come full circle sooner or later. So he gave it time, if Íþró was so determined to get something out of him to bring the topic up, then Sportacus would see it through to the end.

Leisurely eating and speaking around the bite, Íþró added "she also lost her parents a few years ago, poor girl, but she is a fighter."

"Must have been devastating to lose both, but she has Milford." Sportacus mirrored his brother, draggin from his drink between bites, still not fully relaxed.

Íþró pointed at Sportacus, suddenly piqued, he hurried to gulp down the fried vegetable mix. "M-Milford! Have I ever told you about where we met?" enthusiastic and eager, so much like Íþró that it was hard to follow. "When I was a rookie, do you remember when I told you about a hardass attorney?"

"When was that?" Sportacus laughed at the lighthearted quip.

"Almost fifteen years ago" Íþró stopped, leaning back in his seat a little defeated "Damn, I am old." He continued after some chastisement for daring to laugh. "So a millennia ago, he was quite infamous for how he dealt with his clients." frowning he took one bite, savoring the taste if the humming was anything to go by. "The Chief was actually relieved when he took on a political role."

Sportacus couldn’t imagine it before, Milford the maddog, but now, with each passing day and with each change in the normally mellow man’s mood and manner, he had to face it. "Glanni said the same thing,"

Abruptly hanging in mid bite, his gaze fell to the half-empty bowl before him. The rice pile balanced on his fork hung between them, and Sportacus debated whether he should dare a glance up or just make it like nothing happened. 

He chose the latter, biting down and looking up at his brother, who wasn't paying attention.

Peering over the food, he stole a glance at Íþró’s relaxed body language, all pliable and soft now that it was just the two of them. Gone were the professional detective from the Plaza, as well as the irritated big brother from the night of the incident.

Absent-mindedly, Íþró shoveled the rest of the food down, fist hitting his chest as he fought the gulp down. "Ah, Glanni Glæpur, you grumpy friend’s brother."

Sportacus pushed back the answer that was coming to him; instead of correcting his brother, he simply said, "Not his brother," pulling the plate from the table and standing with his hands full, "At least Robbie said he wasn't."

Humming, Íþró washed the food down with his remaining drink, the glass coming down with a slight noise. "How was he? The last time I saw him, he was out of it."

Sportacus frowned, letting the bowls down into the sink. A rush of breath came to him. "You went to the hospital?"

"Hm," Íþró looked up from his hands twirling the glass around. "Yes, of course, I checked on Stephanie as well."

"Why didn’t you offer to take me then?" Sportacus felt confusion wash over him. Clearly remembering his brother telling him to leave with Bessie. That something came up anyway, and Milford had left notes for him. To let it go for the night.

"Why?" Íþró sighed, leaning against the island, finger still pushing against the glass, making it slowly turn around against the countertop, the noise of it dull but constant. "Why did you want to go?” Before Sportacus could respond, his brother mused on; his brow furrowed, but he maintained his smile. "Why were you there today, or even yesterday?"

"Because I am worried," Sportacus deadpanned. He faced his brother as he moved closer to the island.

Íþró kept his gaze fixed on the glass, one brow rising he nicked his head to the side. "Because you thought it was partially your fault," he corrected.

Sportacus knew this was a trap, yet he walked right in, irritation blooming behind his eyes. The headache he nursed but kept pushing down came back with vengeance. "I am," Sportacus huffed, not seeing where this was going. Getting more and more frustrated with each passing minute between them.

"Milford cleared that up; there was nothing you could have done." Íþró leaned back, finger still attached to the glass, he was not looking up at his simmering brother at all.

"At the end, Robbie Rotten decided, and you just went with it," he reasoned, finally lifting his gaze. "so, you are not at fault; you are not a family member; from what you told me about him, you being friends is highly debatable as well," he listed, each item punctuated by a tap at the glass and a turn against the surface.

"Wha-"

"I could understand the little girl and Milford; after all, they are kind people, close to you."

"Robbie is-"

"Rotten on the other hand," Íþró hissed, breathing against his teeth. " from your stories, he sounds like a menace, but he put up a great fight; he got battered badly, but he is fine," he shrugged.

"Have you seen him?" Sportacus finally snapped, some of the tension spilling from him as his flexed jaw, his heart full and bursting at the seams. "You just said you did; how could he be fine?"

"Sportacus," Íþró warned, tone similar to the one he used with Milford "he is with his family; he decided to leave the hospital; he is fine," he said, nicking the glass. The sound rang through Sportacus. "Even if he isn't, what is it to you?"

"He is my friend; they are important to me, you know that." Sportacus shook his head in confusion, not knowing what expression to show or how to telegraph how otherworldly his brother's questions felt. Like he was a stranger. "I am worried; I want to help."

"Great! Do the same for Stephanie." Íþró’s tone was open, teetering on condescending.

"What?" not knowing what to do with himself, Sportacus crossed his arms over his chest.

Sportacus looked around the room before coming back down on his brother. He should have been the one dictating the conversation based on their positions, but he was tense and confused, whereas Íþró was the picture of calm.

"I do, but she has Milford to care for her," Sportacus argued.

"And Robbie has Glæpur" Íþró pointed out, grinning in the commencing silence "there is no need for you to fuss around them, at the moment I would argue you are doing more harm than-"

"How is it harmful? Íþró, why are you like this?" Sportacus deflated, shielding his emotions that brewed deep in him.

His brother finally left the glass alone; pulling his hand back, he rolled his pads against his thumb, as if to rid him of the residue of their dinner. Something nonexistent just to drag Sportacus’s attention as he snapped his fingers into a lax fist against his thigh. 

"For one, I don’t like it when someone uses my little brother as a bargaining chip," he said, holding his other hand up and shushing Sportacus. "Also, I never knew you were such a klutz.

Sportacus watched his brother round the counter. Sportacus took a step back but relented when the smile he knew resurfaced on his brother’s lips. Before he could do anything, he was enveloped in a bear hug, squeezed hard. Until he had no other option but to reciprocate, oddly encircling his brother’s back.

"You could be enjoying homemade food at mother’s and here you are prepping meals for weeks" Íþró pulled his head against his shoulder, patting Sportacus’ head. "You know it’s not your fault, so stop taking it on yourself."

Sportacus tried to put distance between them, disgruntled from the slight roast. "What?" he frowned, his voice muffled into his brother’s shoulder.

“You look insufferable” Íþró shifted slightly to the right, moving Sportacus with him in an odd angle, out of nowhere, his hug turned into a headlock in a swift move. He held Sportacus in a lock, laughing heartily, his guard unbreakable as Sportacus struggled against him, grunting.

"Hey!"

"So either be your usual self, or stop showing up." Íþró’s tone was gentle, but Sportacus could feel the warning behind it. Then, with a maniacal laughter Íþró ruffled his hair tossing his beanie across the small flat.

Sportacus gave up, hooking his finger into the slim leather wristwatch his brother never seemed to leave behind, he tapped against the strong arm holding him. Laughing dryly at their childhood antics, where their mother had to break up their fights or throw them outside into the cold to cool off.

Chest heavy with the implication, Sportacus straightened, trying to shake off the effect his brother's words had on him. How he seemed to see right through him. Íþró granted no ground for debate, pulling his coat from the backrest of his chair, he shuffled the material around until he could straighten the lapels.

There was nothing Sportacus could add; he got the message and felt lost for words for now. Was he so clearly under the weather, was his worry that palpable? Was he really doing more harm than good? Scrubbing against his face, he forced himself to put his scattered thoughts on the back burner.

"Thanks for the meal" Íþró spoke up suddenly.

Before Sportacus could say anything, he pushed something into his palm, folding his fingers over the slim object.

"As thanks," he said, squeezing Sportacus’ fist, the other hand patting his shoulder. "I don’t know what’s so hard to figure out about this, but take your time."

With that and an overplayed salute, his brother was gone. His heavy booted steps echoed down the stairway. Sportacus listened to the heavy metal door’s closing sound before he took a brief breath. He uncurled his fingers, finding what he had hoped he would.

The slim USB port lay in his palm, cold metal shivering in the light of his living room.Sportacus let it roll around his open palm, debating what it might be; he wasn’t as delusional that his brother would give him the night’s recordings. Not right after he stated how opposed he was to it at the time.

Gripping the object, he glanced up at his clock. Despite the darkness outside, he had plenty more time in the day. Shaking his fists lightly, he debated what to do. It felt still so surreal, like he was watching the whole ordeal from the outside, the events rushing by in stolen blinks of time. If he watched this; he looked at the tiny object, would he be better?

Pacing around, he forced himself to collect his bearings. From the slight scuffle with Íþró and the constant tense muscles he felt an energy brewing under his skin that didn’t get any outlet in the last few days. Ever since Christmas, he has been either preoccupied by work or preparation for his travel. Even before all these things went down, he had to cut back on the time he usually set aside for training.

With sudden dedication, he let the USB drive fall to the counter, and, fist clenching, he pulled his running garment from the half-empty cabinet. His heart was racing as he laced his shoes, almost strangling his feet, anticipating the trials he had been denying his body for days.

The first step outside hit his lungs hard with the cool air running through his blood. Shocking his body alive. Sportacus kicked off, tempo slow, at leisure until he realized the path he took without notice. Hopping on his toes, he stood by the crossroad, knowing ahead he would be back to where he started. The light flashed green, urging him to decide.

Looking around, he found a few people out this late. No one was passing him to wake him from his self-inflicted stupor.

A few more seconds, and the lamp would change color, and his usual path would be cut. Shaking his hands, he forced himself to move. Urging his body forward. Halting as his time had passed. Falling back on his heels, he let a long breath out. Sparse traffic started up, hindering him from passing.

On his left, the other pedestrian lamp blinked to life, tinting the night.

"Have you left yet?" "Shouldn't you have left already?" "They didn’t let you on?!"

Like a chased game his legs carried him, in a blink. Across the crossing, the pavement was heavy and wet against his soles, and he let his body move on autopilot. His cheeks hurt from the cold as the wind battled against his skin. Sportacus took the street, down the town's slopes, with no real goal in mind. Was there no place for him here? The words thrown at him spun in his head. Feet slipping, he corrected by falling into a roll, letting his momentum carry him.

"Why is your input relevant here? Also, why are you still here?"

Because he, Sportacus, someone close to a stranger, seemed to care more about Robbie’s wellbeing than the estranged relative that Glanni was. His admission hurt him a little, and his shoulders felt cold from the wet patch he earned. His own breath rolled against his frozen skin as he jumped over the railing. He took the descent with practiced ease, feeling some of the tension release inside him.

As his toes hit the soft, wet remnants of the blizzard, he let his reflexes carry out the half turn that ended in a flip. Worked up; his blood was boiling. From Glanni’s condescending to Íþró’s brotherly chastisement. What did either of them know about how he felt? How the guilt ate away at his heart, how each bruise and cut he found on Robbie, how Stephanie's all-too-still form sent his mind spiraling in the worst possible direction. How his mind tortured him, telling him over and over that he should have listened to his gut and taken the necessary steps.

"What is one day?" Robbie asked. It was everything. It took everything in a snap of a finger. "I promise we will do it!" Stephanie swore, her smile wavering, and Sportacus shouldn’t have let himself be swayed by the pair.

Arriving at the outdoor gym, where he took the kids on his days off, he found it empty. As soon as his step slowed, he could feel the adrenaline leaving his systems—his unwarmed squirming muscles, the soles of his feet. The sweat he worked up was freezing to his skin in the middle of the night.

Checking his watch, his heart rate was over the roof; his rapidly moving chest was all the evidence he needed.

The park was empty as well; none of the usual suspects of the late-night run club were here. Sportacus breathed against his reddened fingers, hoping to warm them back up. With shaky feelings swarming inside him, he struggled to name them all. He was angry that he was not counted on; he was devastated and worried about the pair in the hospital.

In the same hospital as their assailant. What was Íþró thinking? Sportacus felt the heat that simmered under his skin bloom into a full-fledged rush. He jumped for the pull-up bar; the metal was ice cold, and it pulled against his moist and warm palm until his heat transferred into it. The first pull-up felt jerky, with muscles jittering. He wasn’t struggling; the motion came with ease, but it held none of the usual fluidity.

His fingers curled against the metal he pulled up, letting the breath leave him in slow, measured puffs. His brother's questions rang in his ears. What would he have done? Would it have changed the outcome? If he remained, Milford would still go on the date, and there would still be a blizzard. If he had been with them that night, what would have happened?

Nothing. His mind supplied, but not in the way he expected.

The rational part of Sportacus that was hiding away until now came forward.

His logical part went into hiding, squashed under the guilt he worked up inside him. Letting his dumb self work it out on its own. If he was there, would the attack happen the same way? He remained in his pulled-up position, hearing the skin and metal rub against each other as his chin remained over the bar.

If the attacker was hiding in Robbie’s flat, who knows for how long, and would he show himself if Sportacus was there? Most likely not; his mind screamed it at him. Muscles bunching in his scrunched-up state. But that didn't mean his presence would prevent the attacker from abducting Stephanie later that night; after all, Íþró had detailed his plans to smuggle the girl out.

The realization hit him; he let go of his arm, swinging down, and the burn of the extended hold in his shoulders anchored him. Wasn’t he looking for the wrong answer? It wasn’t about what he could have done. Neither about what he was supposed to do nor about whether he was guilty or not.

Milford made it clear that he was not at fault; he never mentioned the conversation to Robbie either. He simply thanked him for the note and his assistance; he made no accusations. Shielding him from the recording.

Sportacus linked his legs, changing one hand on the bar, and pulled up, urging his body to move and let his restraints and bottled-up emotion out.

Bessie’s affirmation in the taxi calmed him while she herself was shaken.

How Glanni shook Sportacus off, making it clear that his help wasn’t needed. Repeating how Sportacus had nothing to do with this all. 

And Íþró tried to make Sportacus to get to this realization. By softening the first impact and hindering him from seeing Robbie right after. By questioning his every move with Milford or warning about his involvement when there should be none.

What kind of expression was he wearing all along that all of them drew the exact same conclusion?

Laughing, more in disbelief than in relief, his palms and fingers hurting as he pulled himself up once again. What was he doing? What was he doing, making everyone around him deal with his emotions?

"You kinda look worse than I feel," 

Robbie told him, didn’t he? While dressed with gauze, covered in bruises, and connected to a tremendous amount of sedatives. Why was the doorman’s first impression of him so bad that Robbie rushed to assure him that this was nothing and that he had been worse?

When exactly did Sportacus turn this around? Another huff of laughter left him laughing at his own stupidity. Wet and warm against the cold of the night. His last pull up, form all wrong, he felt his hand slip, carelessly letting the bar go, falling to his legs, balance gone, he let his body falter back. Heaving and finally hearing his own labored breathing, he gulped around his disbelief.

Laying on his back, he glanced up; with the street lamp hindering his vision, he was still able to make out the dark sea of the sky over him. Pulling in the cold air made his throat and nose itch, but he kept on the ground. Shy in the wake of the electricity the stars above him blinked away. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he rubbed his thumb into his skin, destroying the forming tear there.

The next morning found him as a new man, or his old self if he was honest. Peering over the city, he watched people wake up and get back to their scheduled lives. To normalcy. The snow hasn't fallen since the blizzard, giving the city space to breathe after the disaster but keeping the memory of it alive with the frozen, solid heaps bordering the streets and storefronts.

Last night, other than realizing how utterly lost he was once he got home, he also found that his work mail was booming with requests and contract prolongation schedules. His initial goal of checking the small device Íþró had left him vanished as he began to work on his mounting "paperwork."

Or how he had missed at least three calls from his mother. That one made his stomach drop with guilt. Leaving a message on her machine, he promised to visit her the moment he felt things were turning for the better. That his self-imposed work schedule would allow him to spend so much time with her and the family that they would be fed up with him.

Right now he was about to execute his plan to a dot. Zipping his vest, he ran over the list he got from Milford yesterday. Checking his time, he let a long breath out. Finally finding out what was the heaviest against his chest he felt lighter and more open to all that was to come.

Leaving the self-doubt and guilt behind, he looked forward. There were a lot of things to do and work out, and none of them included what had already passed. It all had to do with what was to come.

When Sportacus arrived at the Springhill General Hospital Íþró was already waiting, hands deep in his pockets, he leaned against the wall. The moment their eyes met, his brother’s face broke into a wide grin, shaking his head as he pushed off from the wall.

"So showing up it is," he said, pulling Sportacus into a half hug.

"Have you doubted it?" Sportacus shoved Íþró off playfully as they advanced into the waiting area.

"Don’t you get the heebie-jeebies from hospitals?" his brother inquired in a light tone. He paced next to him, flashing his badge to the head nurse at the reception.

Surprisingly, Sportacus’s heart didn’t pick up this time, and his muscles didn’t tense either; he didn’t feel comfortable, but the anxiety was nothing compared to the last few days. With his phone in hand, he checked the time Milford wanted to meet.

"Stephanie had finally woken up, there was no way I wasn't coming" he smiled, for real, feeling the honest emotion behind it.

Íþró only hummed in answer. Their way led up to the secluded part of the floor where Stephanie was warded off. Sportacus wanted to ask about the assailant but relented, keeping his head on his goal for the day. Milford tasked him with some stuff regarding the Plaza, which he had already taken care of. He was grateful for the opportunity to meet Stephanie right after she woke up, but he dreaded it too.

As they arrived at the empty and sterile hallway, some of the tension Sportacus had hoped to shake off wormed its way back into his heart. Listening to his brother’s and his own footsteps reverberating in the void of white, he tried his best to connect to that.

Just as Sportacus was about to knock, the door opened, revealing a doctor Sportacus hadn’t met yet, followed by Milford’s bright expression. Something Sportacus didn’t know he missed; the man looked like a tremendous weight was lifted from his shoulders. 

"Detective Álfur I presume" the doctor addressed Íþró, pulling him aside they fell into a private conversation.

Sportacus let the pair be on their own, focusing on the politician before him. He gracefully ignored the red streak on the man’s round cheeks, as well as the slight nasal tone of his.

"Sportacus," Milford said, stepping back and inviting in Sportacus.

The room was the same as two days ago: pristine white, filled to the brim with different sizes and types of bouquets. Most of them were daisies or tulips, with a few shiny foil balloons and one especially big sunflower composition. The machine no longer present, didn’t need to lull his mind into a feared stillness.

No, this time the little girl, who was as white as paper before, looked lively. Fully awake, too—no half-lids, no painkiller-induced dullness. She looked like she just got up from a beauty sleep. Her short hair was pulled into sloppy knots by her ears, leaving her face open.

"Sportacus!!" she chimed, her tone filled with life.

When his name was shouted out in a hurry, the handyman felt his heart stutter with relief. Bouncing on the bed, she shuffled around until she could sit up just right. Hissing at some parts but otherwise full of vigor. Stephanie moved closer to the end of the bed, where Milford and Sportacus stood.

Quiet comically fighting with their tears at the little girl’s hearty laughter. Her voice was laced with anticipation too; she looked towards the door, her smile wavering as she peered over. Her features moved with a slight confusion, but still smiling, she turned back to Sportacus.

"Where is Robbie?"

Didn’t Milford just know her best, predicting her first question relating to the doorman? Sportacus huffed a little laugh, gulping down the emotion that surged in him. He rounded the bed, his own smile faltering a little when the little girl kept checking back at the door. Looking between the men standing in her room.

"He went home." Sportacus decided on the truth. "How are you?"

She shrugged "My head hurts a little, but" she lifted to her knees, hands on the bed she peered out the door. "he really didn’t come?"

"Well, his family came for him, and I’ll make sure to tell him you woke up too." Milford promised, fighting with his handkerchief as his voice wobbled with every word.

Bunching the blanket up, she fell back to her bottom, and a sigh left her. Her small shoulders rounded forward in defeat. But then she turned to Sportacus, who himself was tossed into vertigo. Not only did he find Robbie eating pudding at their first meeting, but now Stephanie too was rocking around her bed, impatiently demanding the doorman’s presence.

When Íþró stepped in, knocking lightly on the open door, he looked pretty satisfied. His grin was widening like he was about to say ‘I told you so’, but thankfully he relented. The detective turned toward Stephanie, leaning a little forward to disguise his height, and smiled kindly at the patient.

"Hi Stephanie, I am-"

"Sportacus’ twin brother" she moved toward Íþró, legs pulled from under she took the detective under lens.

"Older brother actually" Íþró replied with a chuckle.

"He is detective Álfur" Milford helped out as he closed the door behind the mentioned man, "he will ask you some questions okay."

Stephanie still looked between the Álfurs, doubting the age difference, but she nodded. Pulling the pillow to her chest, she hugged it.

Sportacus had the space to see her nape now. With Íþró on the other side of the bed, Stephanie had to face his way. He was told that she had a head trauma as well, nothing as serious as Robbie's, but he was sure it was nothing to joke about. He felt a surge of rage run through him as he noticed the deep purple bruise cascading down her nape from the back of her head. The skin looked swollen too, but there was no other evidence of a struggle.

"Aren’t you scared, Stephanie?" Íþró asked, as he sat on one of the stools, the furniture screeching against the flooring as his brother pulled closer to the bed.

In exchange, Stephanie pulled away a little. Sportacus could tell it wasn’t conscious, but her body hadn’t relaxed since the door was closed. Even with the open smile she gave them, which was a tad shyer with the newcomer, the set of her jaw flexed a little.

"I am," she blurted out. "Anyone would be," she reasoned, hugging the pillow harder. " but " she looked up to her uncle "I feel safe here..."

"You are very brave." Íþró smiled, remaining in his space he still managed to sound like he was sharing a secret just with her "Sportacus here; he was a total wimp and worrywart."

Sportacus rolled his eyes, not able to help his own smile, even more so when Stephanie turned to him.

Doubt was clearly written over her features. As if that were the strangest idea she'd ever heard, she answered, still staring at Sportacus, in an act only a ten-year-old can pull off with such confidence. "He likes us a lot, so," she shrugged, "isn’t that normal?"

For three days, no one acknowledged Sportacus outright. Everyone questioned his involvement, his words. Working on distancing him from the pair, and here she was. Stephanie said it clearly, like it was the most basic thing. It's not his overbearing presence that's strange; it's the opposite. Sportacus inhaled deeply, chancing a look outside before he turned back to his laughing brother.

"Is that so? Sorry for asking such a stupid question."

"It's fine," Stephanie said cheerfully."I am worried about Robbie too."

"Mr. Rotten is a lot better now, so no need" Íþró reassured "Do you think we could go over what happened on the thirtieth? I will also have a few questions."

"It’s alright," Milford said when Stephanie turned to him. "If you don’t want to--"

 "Can I have a question first?"

Íþró cast a glance at Milford, crossing his arms over his knees, he let his notebook dangle between his fingers. "Of course."

Stephanie rushed her question out without missing a beat, as if she was on a mission to find the answer. "Did you put Donovan in jail?"

The room became silent right after. The two who knew who Donovan was remained silent, once again exchanging looks. Sportacus, on the other hand, had a name to identify the faceless danger lurking nearby. Against anything he thought would happen once he got some information, he felt none. Neither was he relieved, nor was he enraged. It was an interesting experience to have; he felt rather unbothered, like it had no meaning.

"Not yet" Íþró confessed, " but I’ll be sure to make it happen, but I need your help" he added when Stephanie seemed to defleat. "We have him in custody, though, under surveillance," he prompted when the little girl didn’t quite seem like she understood.

"Okay," Stephanie said, resting her chin on the pillow. "Can Sportacus stay?" she glanced back. "Uncle too, right, he is my legal re-representative."

"Yepp" Íþró popped the p just in case.

Sportacus felt tension building again, readying himself mentally for whatever Stephanie would say or describe. Halting when Stephanie latched onto his long sleeve, pinching the fabric, she pulled him closer until she forced him to sit on her bed. Close to her, she also waved Milford over. Huddled on the bed, the three of them sat before the detective, who looked rather humored.

"Before we start, would you like to have a lady instead of me? There might be questions that are uncomfortable."

Oddly enough Íþró speared a glance at Sportacus this time. Lasting only for a split second, but the message was clear.

Stephanie shook her head, and when the detective told her if she wanted to stop it was fine, she nodded. If there were questions she didn’t understand, she could ask about anything. It was very comforting, and Sportacus liked this profile of his brother more; this was much closer to his real self than the hardened detective.

"After uncle and Ms Busybody left for their date, Robbie and I played around all afternoon" she began, Spartacus felt the measured breath at his side. 

"What did you do with Mr. Rotten?"

Stephanie hummed, deep in thought, as she tapped against her pillow. "Painted our nails, bickered a little… also played a lot of chess."

"Bickering?" Íþró asked, looking amused.

"He likes to bicker" when the detective hummed in response, Stephanie continued "then the blizzard came and we knew uncle would be late; Robbie also called Sportacus a few times" she turned to Sportacus.

"Actually, I was the one calling most of the time, but yeah, we talked on the phone and exchanged some messages too," he added.

"So after that, around bedtime, Robbie got a little more cranky and told me to go to bed, but I didn’t want to."

"Why not go to bed? Were you not sleepy?" Íþró tried.

Stephanie shook her head, yelping in pain from the sudden movement. "Urgh...no," she sighed, nuzzling the pillow to muffle her confession a little. "I would be alone in the apartment, but most, well, because once Robbie told uncle he found out about my name, and the earring, then, then I would have to leave without saying goodbye… "

"Oh dear…" Milford sighed, sniffling into his handkerchief.

"I just wanted to stay at home, at the LazyPlaza with everyone," she admitted. 

Sportacus could hear out the most important part, the one that overwrote all their earlier discussions over the last few months. His heart was breaking for the little girl.

"I see. Then what happened?"

"The lobby became dark, and I was a little scared," Stephanie continued, still talking into her fluffy shield. "Robbie said something about a motor, and the light came back, but just a little."

"The generator?" Íþró helped.

"Yes, that, and well, we decided to go up the stairs because the, the elevator wasn’t working, I think, but I didn’t want to..." her voice wobbled a little.

"That’s okay, " Íþró reassured, taking a small note, his pen running against the paper with a dull noise. "Can you tell me something about the earring you mentioned?"

Sportacus glanced at Stephanie, her nose crunched up in disgust, eyes watery and angry she stared forward. Not particularly at Íþró but to something only she saw. "It was red and white candy canes; it was in the advent calendar house with my name... I thought it was from Robbie, but I don’t think so anymore…"

"Why?" the question was innocent enough.

"Donovan, he" again she sounded so disgusted "he told me it was from him."

"Later?"

"Hm," she said, nodding into the pillow.

"So did you go up the stairs?"

Sportacus listened, a little dumbfounded. Didn’t Íþró see the recording already why was he asking the obvious.

"No, well," Stephanie started again. "we wanted to, but Robbie told me to wait, and he opened the door." she gulped, closing her eyes, and her brows came together. Her body expanded with the inhale. "Then Donovan ran out of Robbie's room."

"Did you know it was Donovan right away?"

"No," she said, huffing before speaking up again. "He attacked Robbie, hitting him a lot. Robbie told me to get out, but the door was closed."

"Did Robbie close it?" Íþró inquired.

Stephanie shook her head. "I don’t think so; he told me to run, so no."

"I see, what then?"

This time, it took longer for Stephanie to speak up. They waited patiently for her to be ready to go forward with her story. Finally, she started by straightening a notch; "they fought, and Donovan hit Robbie; there was a lot of blood." she nodded mostly to herself, like she was cheering herself on to continue. "The door didn’t open, so I hid behind the Christmas tree. Donovan was talking to me, but I blocked him from reaching me, so I couldn't see Robbie, and D-Donovan kept talking and shouting."

Sportacus listened with building terror as the girl recounted the events. It wasn't so much her story as it was her calculated tone and the struggle she was having to recall every necessary detail that was beginning to ebb against him. The seed of the assault not being the first event like this only strengthened when he remembered the abstruse blog entry.

‘ the girl was released from her contractual obligations last spring following an alleged attack on her.’

"It must have been very scary," Íþró said his voice lower than before, smile unwavering, "you did great hiding, very smart of you." the detective praised. "Do you remember what he said?"

Stephanie shook her head a little, not hurting herself this time. She nibbled on her lips before she sighed and answered. "He spoke gibberish, he wanted to get to me, he kept breaking things around, and he apologized too, then screamed at me again."

Her hands were moving without a pause, fingers tapping against the pillow, her fist crunching the material. Her tense shoulders were full of jittery motion.

"What happened after? He couldn’t reach you, right?"

Milford was silently sniffling at Sportacus' side, and similar to the little girl, he kept moving around in his mute state. Sportacus felt sorry for the man; he had seen the recording already, but now he had to listen to Stephanie’s retelling as well. At some degree, Sportacus could share his feelings, but he would never dare say they were the same. For Milford, Stephanie was family, like a daughter, a precious presence that was hurt beyond measure.

Turning back to Stephanie, the bruising on her neck looked painful. Her always straight and unbreakable form was hunching over the pillow, curled around herself in defense as her voice steadily told the horrors of the crime.

"Robbie’s phone rang, Donovan went for it, and I ran for the staircase door." Looking up, she explained as if anyone were asking for her reasoning. "Because he came from Robbie’s room, I thought, maybe, that if I was fast enough, up the stairs…"

"Good thinking; you also pushed the tree, right?" Íþró assured again.

She nodded, her tears gathering in her eyes; she also sniffled into her pillow, "but he caught me anyway."

Sportacus couldn’t stop himself; he curled an arm around the little girl, pulling her to his side. She let it happen, pushing a pillow between them as she cried with what could only be interpreted as self-loathing. "I wasn’t fast enough... I should have stayed behind the tree, and maybe," she sniffled, "he might have stopped." Gasping, she nuzzled closer to Sportacus, one hand going for Milford’s shaking one. "Robbie too, maybe if I-"

"You did fantastic," Íþró said."I am a policeman and many of my officers are scaredy cats, they " Íþró feigned a little laugh under his nose, like he was letting Stephanie learn a secret. "All said you were very brave."

"Really?"

"Yes," the detective sighed, smiling unfalteringly. "Do you want to take a little break?"

Stephanie rubbed her forehead against Sportacus’ side as she signaled no. "I want to get over it…"

"All right," Íþró flipped through his notes, "what did he do after he caught you?"

Sportacus feared this part; even his imagination couldn’t conjure up what some vile people were able to execute at the expense of others. Just thinking about it in relation to Stephanie, a cold traveling through him.

"He held me down; it was hard to breathe. Robbie didn’t move at the side, but I couldn’t see him because Donovan held my head; he talked a lot and wanted me to sh-shut up. I fought him, but he was stronger, a lot stronger than last time…He pressed his palm against my mouth, then he became enraged, and I think" her hand moved toward her nape, her slim brows drawing together.

"I think he hit my head somehow... it hurt a lot…he said it was my fault." "But it wasn't," she said, pulling back a little, her gaze fixed on the detective.

"It wasn’t" Íþró repeated, a little proud streak pulled his mouth into a more genuin smile.

"It’s a little foggy after that," Stephanie apologized. "But that's when he said the earring was from, from, h-him," her lips pressed together, and her chin shook as she continued. "He also said he wanted my legs, that he took care of them…" she rushed out, and a wet cheek hit Sportacus’ side. "he touched them, but I kicked and fought, and he got very angry, then he put something on me. I don't remember what happened after that..." she sniffled.

"You did fantastic Stephanie" Íþró said tone soft and kind and all Sportacus knew it for.

Milford stood from Sportacus’ side and sat on the other side of Stephanie, the little girl immediately turned to her uncle. Hiding in his embrace, she kept quietly crying.

"I have a few questions, is that okay?"

"Íþró, I don’t thi-" Sportacus spoke up, earning a death glare for a split second.

"Yeah… after, can we go home?" she asked Milford, looking up, her voice breaking from the movement.

"Not yet, I am afraid, dear," Milford petted her face softly, "you’ll have to stay in the hospital for a little longer."

"Oh…okay…" she turned in the embrace, once again facing Íþró.

"All right, here we go. Are you ready?" when Stephanie nodded slowly the detective shot his first question. "Did you leave the lobby in the afternoon? Could the suspect close the door without you knowing?"

"We went to get my nail polish, but it was a very short time," she said, her tone weak.

"After that, you and Mr. Rotten only spent time in the lobby?"

Stephanie nodded.

"Did Mr. Rotten know Donovan?"

"I-I don’t think so; they fought but didn’t talk at all…"

Íþró nodded along her answer "Do you remember anything after Donovan spilled something on you?"

"I told you no..." she stammered.

"Anything, even a small thing, is sufficient." Íþró gently urged.

Stephanie remained silent for a few minutes, her eyes foggy; she was looking past all of them, somewhere deep in her memories that Sportacus’ couldn’t fathom experiencing.

She frowned before she uttered under her breath, "this will sound so dumb...

"No such thing" Íþró chimed in. 

"I think I fell into water with a big crack... very cold water... it hurt to breathe, and there was glass or bubbles or something…and someone was talking without stopping…"

"I see!" Íþró cheered, making all of them flinch with his enthusiasm. "That’s it then; you did great!"

Íþró's mood was contagious, so that despite the sour and tense atmosphere, it felt lighter. Stephanie chuckled a little, burying herself in Milford’s embrace. A slight tremble raked through her body as she kept clinging to her uncle.

"Thank you." Íþró said again, a bit more somber. "I will make sure that that stupid criminal gets behind bars."

Stephanie only nodded into Milford’s chest.

The politician was holding her in an unbreakable embrace, his expression somber and pliant. Sportacus could tell that he was also dreading this conversation and that what Glanni said yesterday must have kept swirling in his head. Feeling useless, Sportacus sat beside the pair, waiting for something. He glanced at his brother.

Listening to him speak to Stephanie calmed something else in him as well. Even with his newly found resolve, there was a part of him that kept pulling back. Hard, trying to sink him in despair once again. With kind words and a stern glare detective Álfur just solved half his problems.

"Sportacus" Stephanie spoke up.

"Yeah?" he leaned in closer, toward the bundle the pair was.

"Adults keep lying so, be honest," she said it with such conviction that Sportacus didn’t dare to laugh at the accusation, "is Robbie really fine?" peering at him, her deep brown eyes were full of suspicion.

Certainly a difficult question. He himself thought Robbie wasn’t until now. That he knew better than anybody else how these two were doing. He thought Stephanie would bawl and remain mute, and that his brother wouldn’t be able to pry anything out of her. That she would change so drastically that he wouldn’t recognize her.

And she wasn’t fine by any measure, but - and his mind blamed him, ridiculed him for not listening - she was strong and a fighter, and she would be fine. So would Robbie.

"He will be soon" he opted, holding her gaze while she evaluated his answer.

"Okay," she said more to herself. "Come tomorrow too... bring him too…"

"I’ll come, I swear," Sportacus promised. "for Robbie, you might have to wait a little." 

She hummed, turning back to the warmth of Milford’s embrace.

"I, as a detective and his older brother," Íþró dramatized, "will make sure he keeps his promise," he earned another chuckle, "but now we have to go."

Sportacus was taken aback by the statement, and looking questioningly at Milford, he found the man nodding.

"I’ll stay with Stephanie. Sportacus, please escort your brother out."

It was a hard pill to swallow, but one that Sportacus took with ease. Standing from the bed, he petted Stephanie’s shoulder softly, making sure to say his goodbyes for the day. He had to come to terms with what he heard, for the time being, not wanting to hinder Íþró, he didn’t comment. He kept his questions back as well, finding he didn’t mind not being able to solve the situation. Despite everything, Stephanie was doing fine—miles away from normal but better than he initially believed.

He had to tear himself from the room, repeatedly saying goodbye to the little girl and Milford. Until his brother had to link their arms to say his parting words with an annoyed smile. 

"She is a great kid" Íþró said, his thumb flipping through his notes as they slowly walked away from the room.

"Certainly is." Sportacus smiled, and some of the heavy feelings evaporated, but the injustice of the situation kept bothering him nonetheless. "What about the culprit?"

"Don’t " Íþró slurred the first word, as his brows knotted over what he read "ask about that."

"Detective Álfur!"

Both of them stopped, putting their conversation on hold, when a nurse ran towards them. Small in stature and heaving when she arrived at their spot. Sportacus had seen her somewhere, for sure, in the last few days, but couldn’t pinpoint it right away.

"Yes?" Íþró mock saluted charmingly, making Sportacus roll his eyes once again.

"Yes, I am Penny Pencher," she sighed, flapping her white scrub’s neckline. "The nurse who had admitted Mr. Rotten and Stephanie Meanswell on the thirtieth."

Sportacus remembered now, she was the nurse who warned Milford of the head nurse on New Year’s. She was fidgeting with her hands, rolling her fingers in a fist before her chest, still collecting herself from the short run she had.

"Oh, right, Ms. Pencher, could you spare me a little time?" Íþró flirted with confidence. 

Which went ignored without a beat, making Sportacus snort at his brother’s side.

"Penny is fine," she flapped her hand dismissively. "Mr. Meanswell also informed me that Mr. Álfur must join us in his place."

"He did?" the detective mused.

"He also prepared a waiting room for us, so we should" and she was already leaving, with wide strides and not even glancing back.

"How thoughtful of Meanswell...

Íþró lamented at the heels of the short nurse. Sportacus couldn’t hold down his laughter. It felt so wrong, but he found it infinitely funny how Milford pulled the strings, leaving all of them in the dust. Shaking his head in disbelief, he followed along, a smile plastered on his lips.

The room was a small, private room with fresh bedding and three stools. Penny unceremoniously sat down on the farthest one, crossing her leg by the ankle; she looked oddly eager.

Íþró did not have the opportunity to ask a question or create an agenda for their discussion.The moment Sportacus closed the door, Penny was chattering away. Excitedly jumping headfirst into the one-sided interrogation.

"I have never seen anything like this" she began, hands gesturing with wide snaps of her arm. "Which is interesting because I have been here for five years, and never have I ever seen anything like this."

"I see. So-" Íþró was about to lead the conversation when Penny cut in.

"It was around nine? Half past eight and nine, yeah, between the two," she chattered, "the door opened." she made the sliding door gesture with her hands, "and Mr. Rotten was there. He was oddly holding the girl."

"How-"

"So he was there, barefoot, right, when we had a blizzard raging outside, he stumbled in, he was drenched in blood-" She took a deep breath and replied, "Yeah, from the head trauma," to a question Íþró hadn't had a chance to ask. "So he was holding her; she was cold too, but Mr. Rotten was worse. I don’t know from how far, but it seems he came barefoot and in pajamas, as if he was naked," she huffed. "So me and some other nurses, and the doctor on standby, ran up to him-"

"Could you" Sportacus tried this time, realizing she wouldn’t stop for Íþró no matter what. "Could you slow down a bit?"

"Oh," Penny sighed, her eager chattering halting and her lips turning downward. "Right, he is your boyfriend, right?" she sighed dreamily "how tactless of me, so, so, sorry." she apologized.

"No problem," Sportacus said, omitting the correction about their relationship.

The greater part of him hoped that this would help calm the overeager woman down, and a tiny, hidden piece of him enjoyed the accusation.

Íþró cleared his throat, looking worse for wear than Sportacus would guess from the last few minutes of the woman spitting facts one after the other. Telegraphing the events at breakneck speed.

"Mr. Rotten arrived between eight thirty and nine pm, with Stephanie, bloody and underdressed."

"Yes," she nodded, reaching for Sportacus’ hand to anchor him before she decided otherwise.

"What happened exactly when they showed up?" Íþró held up his pen in warning "slowly, please."

"He had hypothermia, early stages, a head trauma, hence the blood; he got really lucky with his feet, only a frostnip and no frostbite; it will take some time, but he will heal." she listed, diligently watching Íþró note down her words this time. 

"I was the first responder," she exclaimed, again forcing her limbs to still "I evaluated that he was the priority between the two, and when we tried to take the girl away, Mr. Rotten kept saying that she was poisoned."

Sportacus followed her gaze up to the ceiling. She was reliving the events at a slower pace, but it was still difficult to keep up with.

"He had two fingers in her mouth, holding her mouth open to breathe," she explained. "At first, she appeared unharmed, but once we got her out of his arms, we realized she was struggling with breathing."

"She was put on oxygen right away. Mr. Rotten wasn’t conscious enough to answer questions. We tried to get what she was poisoned with, but he kept repeating that she had to breathe." sighing, she grasped at her chest. "It was truly terrifying."

"But later you were able to determine it was chloroform." Íþró prompted, to move the conversation where he wanted.

Sportacus sat between them, and the only thing his mind could conjure up about the sedative was the movie scenes where the victim would be forced to inhale from the handkerchief to later faint. Hearing all this, another chill ran down his spine. Sportacus knew Robbie was fighting and that he saved Stephanie. But imagining the man running all the way from the Plaza to the hospital barefoot in the freezing cold.

The warmth that was kindled by Robbie and nestled in his heart was bursting aflame. He appreciated the doorman, even when he was his lazy and unbothered self. He liked him when he gave him the time of his day or whenever they held a conversation, and Sportacus found a hole in his meticulously built boundaries.

Now he also had a newfound pride in the man. 

"How did you conclude it was the sedative?" Íþró dragged his attention back.

"It was easy after I had Mr. Rotten all to myself," she boasted, her chin lifting slightly. "Once we took Ms. Meanswell, he crumpled like a sack of potatoes; it was a struggle to put him to bed because he was fighting us all. That’s when I noticed his right hand," she said, lifting her own hand in a fist.

"I peeled his fingers away, and he had the bottle in his palm; it was broken, and his blood made a mess, but the label was intact, with the dosage written on; he kept saying that it was empty, so we handled it that way. That is when she became the priority out of the two" she ended.

"Why did you change that?" Íþró asked, "wasn’t Mr. Rotten’s diagnosis is way worse."

"Well, Mr. Rotten had more severe and visible injuries, but chloroform is nasty; if overdosed, it can stop some of the respiratory systems, mainly the lung, and it can also cause long-term brain damage. With Ms. Meanswell’s proportions and the dosage, she was at a higher risk of passing than Mr. Rotten."

"Do you have the label?" the detective asked, rather than commenting on the grim reality.

"It was taken in evidence with Mr. Rotten’s phone," she noted, pointing at Íþró "Any other questions?"

"Could you give me the nurse’s and doctor’s names who were tasked with Donovan Dreach’s care the same night?"

"Of course," she said, and with that, she stood up, and before either of them could say anything, she left in a hurry.

They sat in stunned silence, looking at each other with the same expression, feeling like looking into a mirror. Sportacus shook himself but Íþró was the first one to speak up after the surreal whirlwind that Penny was.

"Well," he stood as well, laughing under his nose, "I guess that’s it then?"

"Don’t look at me," Sportcaus chuckled to himself.

"Are you okay?" his brother asked while they were about to leave. "With all of this?"

Sportacus savored the question. Really turning it around in his head. He was better in some ways and worse in others. He finally felt like himself again, thanks to stern talk they had yesterday, and mainly for Stephanie. It still felt strange, utterly unfathomable how all this went down, how both of them were at the verge of something he didn’t dare to name. Yet. There they were, seeking the other, while repeating again and again that they were doing good.

If they were doing good and they were healing, Sportacus had nothing to complain about.

Nothing.

"I am," he said with confidence.

He was, and he was ready to never answer that question again in the presence of the two.

Chapter Text

The humidity under his mask felt gross against his skin, but Sportacus kept up his cheer until he was let go by both Íþró and Milford. It didn’t take long for Penny to gather whatever the detective asked for, with her seemingly normal, hurricane-like self crashing against every question.

Sportacus couldn’t help the smirk watching his brother fight his little battle to slow the woman down and to get every bit of information out of the nurse he needed. With each word only adding more oil to the fire that Penny emitted. Before she could blow up, Sportacus left, backing out of the rapidly heating discussion.

Freed from the extra layer, Sportacus took a long breath in. Half the day was gone; another half was left. Odd how some days seemed to escape him, rushing past in a sickening spiral while others crawled about sluggishly.

Rolling his shoulders, he took the now familiar route out of the hospital’s territory, buzzing with newly found energy after meeting Stephanie. After her statement, her words, clear and loud in his head, quenched some of his morbid curiosity and fueled another that he had tamed the previous night. Cold air rushed down his lungs as he marched towards the residential area. 

He had to give it to Glanni; he had chosen a good location, midtown, with everything at their fingertips. Now, without the shadow of crippling worry, Sportacus was able to see some merit in the eccentric man’s actions. With fast steps, he beelined towards the small store tucked a few streets away. Plan clear, he smiled, hoping to find Robbie awake.

"Why are you here?"

The eccentric relative in question was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest; he eyed Sportacus suspiciously. Manners were not a breath better than yesterday. Against all of what Sportacus believed, he found that the man was somewhat drained today. His nonchalant, careless self looked worse for wear. His tone? Yeah, that was the same. More punctuated as he repeated the question, leaving the metal bars between them up.

"Well, I thought I would help with this," Sportacus offered, his measured manners coming to the surface again. He lifted a bag full of fresh produce and other necessities.

"You did?" Glanni scoffed, his brows pulling together over his amused smirk. "Well, you thought wrong; I would say thank you, but-"

"Your fridge must be empty," Sportacus tried, knowing that if Glanni was anything like Robbie, the most he had would be some instant stuff with too much sugar anyway.

"It’s not." 

"I could also put the furniture together," he said after his initial rejection.

"Believe it or not, this place has its own personnel for that." Glanni smiled with ease, lifting his hand toward the intercom.

There was one last thing that he could offer. Giving himself all of one second to think it over, he blurted it out with ease, betraying his usual alliances and breaking his own self-imposed rules.

"I could tell you what statements I heard today," he said, his throat tight.

This stopped Glanni; his hand hung in the air, just a few beats away from the dreaded buttons on the wall panel. A myriad of emotions seemed to play over the thin features of the man who held the information that Sportacus wanted the most. Glanni’s expression stopped on suspicion but on the amused side, with his lips pulled into a half smile.

"That could contradict Milford’s and your brother’s plans." It wasn't a question, and Glanni didn’t pose it as such.

"I’ll make sure it doesn't," Sportacus added, stepping in, his eyes following the metal construction as it slid off and gave him way.

Knowing the way already, he sidestepped Glanni and headed straight toward the luxury kitchen. Great and empty as he thought it would be. The flat was new, with bare walls and fixtures all around, while the large boxes and packaging of the living room furniture were hoarded in the small hallway connecting the open kitchen to the supposed dining room.

Sportacus could hear the patter of feet behind him and feel the burning gaze of the insufferable man. Ignoring all that, he looked around in hopes of finding a hint that the doorman was around. In vain.

Shaking off the feeling he was fighting against all day and mindful of his own failings over the last few days, he left one of the larger paper bags at the stock of unopened boxes and hurried over to the fridge. The two-door grand monster of a fridge was all sleek and modern, dimly mirroring him as Sportacus opened the kitchen appliance.

"I told you so." Glanni mocked him from behind Sportacus.

And Sportacus guessed right, but rather than voicing it, he just pushed the few boxes of cake batter and pre-made TV dinners to the side. Giving credit when he found eggs tucked at the very back on the lowest level of the fridge. Without much to add, he put his shopping away.

"You know he hates all that, right?" Glanni pulled a bunch of bananas from Sportacus’s heap on the counter. "He's not going to eat it... neither will I, for that matter."

"He needs nutrition if he wants to heal faster." Sportacus said, closing the doors.

"Are you blind?" Glanni let the banana fall back onto the counter. He pulled a box of pancake powder from the shelf, saying, "I have all the food he needs."

"That," Sportacus pointed while walking past the sputtering man, "has no nutritional value."

"The label says otherwise!" Glanni stomped after him, "also, can you st-"

"I also picked this up," he said, holding the bag out for Glanni.

The clothes from yesterday, all washed and dried, were folded neatly in the bottom of the paper bag. All chosen with careful deliberation after his late-night workout. He had another stock at home that he held onto as another wagering chip if push came to shove.

Glanni stood with the bag opened between them, eyes squinting at the odd garments stocked inside. Sportacus watched his brows lower in confusion. "You were allowed into an active crime scene?"

"Weren’t you scrambling from the building when we first met?" he asked in exchange, already trying to find his next objective before Glanni decided to kick him out.

A finger lifted from the strings, shushing Sportacus. "I was outside, waiting; you are telling me," Glanni snapped the bag to the side, "that your brother let you trample over evidence?"

"He said they were do-"

"Oh, I bet!" Glanni shook his head, sighing. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he looked rather defeated. "Now that you have deemed my fridge sufficient, could you present your end of the bargain?"

Sportacus couldn’t wrap his head around the manner in which Glanni spoke, with this overly complicated and condescending tone, like they were on the other side of a battlefield. Before answering, he looked over the stock of prefabricated furniture, which wasn’t in the least in line with the high-end apartment. Pulling the one with the picture of a rolling chair toward the living room.

"Stephanie was up today; my brother took her testimony.

Glanni fell to the couch, legs crossed, and peered down at Sportacus as he pulled a box opener from his bag. Sportacus opted for the floor, for easier access for assembling the odd chair. Focusing on the packaging and the individual parts packed neatly in the small box, he waited for questions.

"Was she fine with giving a statement?" Glanni asked, leaning over his knees with his head propped up on his palm. "Were you invited in or were you eavesdropping?"

That earned him a huff from Sportacus; he knew from the very first meeting with the man that they wouldn’t be friends—which was the opposite of how Sportacus usually felt—and that intuition seemed to stand. With every biting remark and belittlement, Glanni just got more and more under his skin, and even knowing that that was the exact reaction he waited for, Sportacus still couldn’t handle the man. He couldn’t wait to see how the relatives acted once they weren’t under pressure. 

If Robbie would soak up Glanni’s mockery, if the doorman would reflect it in a clever way back to the older man, or if he would just go with his usual modus operandi and flee the scene, the mere idea made Sportacus smile despite the accusation Glanni tossed around.

"Sorry, I heard you are a goody two shoes, so I guess not…" Glanni flicked his own claim away. "So what do you want to share?"

Sportacus lined the parts before him, and with a loose screw between his fingers, he glanced over the instructions before pulling the hub for the wheelbase to himself, turning it upside down, and starting to peel the flimsy plastic from the metal pieces.

"What do you want to know?" Two could play this game, and Sportacus wasn’t as good at it as his brother and Glanni, but he could play too.

"Everything?" Glanni mocked.

"As far as I understood," Sportacus slid the first spoke onto the hub, turning the metal ring, checking the next spoke, and aligning the screw holes. "She described what was on the tape with her own words."

"Does being difficult run in your family?" Glanni asked, scoffing as he leaned back, arms splayed on the backrest.

"You met Íþró?" Sportacus stopped for a brief second, then turned the hub, adding the last piece to it.

"Your brother? Hard-headed, insufferable, and awfully cheerful? Yeah, I had the misfortune." He snorted, his tone shifting to a new low.

Sportacus withheld his initial impression being the same of Glanni, and let the prepacked screws roll onto his palm. Humming to himself, he picked one out of the bunch and let it slide into the premade holes in the metal construction.

"Have you seen it yet?" the man sprawled on the couch changed the topic. "The recording?" when Sportacus shook his head in answer, Glanni continued, "Do you want to?"

"Where do you have that anyway?" he stopped his tinkering, the metal edge ebbing into his thumb as he held the half-assembled wheelbase. Sportacus searched the man’s body language.

In vain, as Glanni looked as relaxed as ever. "I have my ways," he repeated the familiar sentence Sportacus caught him using on Milford a few times through their time together.

"I have also talked with a nurse today," Sportacus offered rather than pushing on a topic that seemed like a lost cause anyway.

That made the man perk up. Both of his feet landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Shoulders squared, he leaned forward, conspiringly close. "Anything I might not have deduced myself?"

Sportacus screwed the last screw into the spokes, tightening it with the allen wrench. Dedicated to the task, he felt his muscles constrict more from the topic than from the shrill cry of metal on metal. "I don’t think so; he broke the window, then took the 1.5 km trek barefoot to the hospital, with Stephanie in his arms." he turned the wheelbase, his gaze fixed on the black metal.

"Yeah, yeah," Glanni swapped his hand around, urging Sportacus to continue, but not being patient enough, he asked, "did they find out what the substance was that that fucker spilled on the girl?"

Stopping mid-motion toward the casters packaged individually, his mind focused on the silliest things instead of imagining the act that was so easily swept aside by Glanni. "Chloroform"

At that, the eccentric man laughed, slipping from the couch down to the floor. Wide breaths and sputtering laughter tore into the tense air between them. Like Sportacus just shot a joke, or he told Glanni he was pranked. No, the man was uncontrollably laughing about the substance. Citing how idiotic one must be to think that something like that would work like it does in the movies.

"You found this funny?" Sportacus felt the tension grow with each chuckle under his skin.

"You don’t, who the fuck is so damn dumb that they be-ha-believe that a little chloroform would take someone out like they were in a fucking spy movie."

"The nurse said Stephanie could have died." Sportacus ripped the wheel’s plastic harder than he intended. The clatter of the hard plastic snapping both of them back.

"Right, if it’s a child, with the full bottle being used." Glanni shrugged. Standing in one fluid motion, he stepped over Sportacus’ work, plucked the wheel from the floor, and offered it to the handyman.

That was the closest Sportacus imagined the man would get to an apology. Taking the part, he didn’t say anything back, and his gaze turned to the plastic that lined the metal part with the hole. A thumb over the hard plastic he snapped in place, moving it around to see if it was nestled in the hull right.

"Anything else that you think is worthy to mention?" He reverted to his original position on the couch's plush.

Opening the next package under the cold light of the apartment, Sportacus debated if he should share the next thing. He was in Glanni’s grace until now, but he didn’t bring much to the table for the man to latch onto. Planning to become a fixture in the apartment every day from now on seemed to escape him in this way. There was only so much IKEA furniture he could pretend would take this long to assemble.

He tested the wheel, turning it in his palm with his fingers pinching the cold metal part, and he pushed his thumb into the point. "The attacker’s name is Donovan Dreach; I know you know that already, but" Sportacus pushed the second wheel in, listening to the sharp noise of the metal eating into the husk of the spoke. "He is treated in the same hospital."

"You must be fucking joking." Glanni sat up, body all taut out of nowhere; his annoying smirk turned into a vicious snarl, teeth grinding together. "I swear if this motherfucker is pulling the same shit like last time, I’ll skin your brother," he hissed.

The apartment was silent for a few beats. The bare walls bounced the man’s voice; each of his words reverberated inside Sportacus. Skin crawling with the need to know, to join in Glanni’s righteous anger. To go down to the hospital to get a hold of his brother and pry all the answers he wanted out of him. By force if necessary.

Instead, he took a long breath and eased his hold on the metal under his fingers. He examined the long lines left by the wheelbase's bite into his skin. Rubbing his fingers together, he ignored the low grumbling of Glanni. "Have some trust in them," he said. He had decided he would; that he would stand by and wait it out.

"How is Robbie?" he changed the topic, ignoring Glanni’s flowery answer to his advice.

"He is asleep," Glanni rolled his eyes, finally realizing he wouldn’t be able to pull Sportacus along in his little tirade. "Taking the whole ‘need to rest’ very seriously," he sighed theatrically.

Sportacus left the emotions that had brewed in him from the careless and, to be honest, heartless comments of the man. It irked him, making every slow and sluggish movement of him putting the chair together all snappy and overexaggerated.

A task that usually made him settle—to make the jitter in him quiet—now gave him no solace. "Well, he should. He just had a traumatic experience." Sportacus tried his best to remain impartial, snapping the next wheel into the husk, the sound sharp against his own ears. "He almost died..." saying it out loud with his own words felt like a knife against his skin.

Huffing Glanni leaned against the backrest, relaxing his body. "No, he wasn’t even close to it." he twirled his hands around, "Look, he is fine, so all this lover’s coddling you are doing," he motioned towards Sportacus, "you can stop with it."

The last wheel snapped in, and Sportacus let the base clatter on the floor. "I am not his lover." he snapped, betraying himself, and moved the rolling base around. Shoulders taut, he forced a smile on his lips as he said it, but knew that the eccentric man was seeing right through him.

Humming, Glanni followed the partly assembled chair roll around. "I knew, I just wanted to hear you deny it." he snorted. 

Sportacus wanted to say something about that. Pulling out his innermost anger, his ugly hidden part where all his false worries and self-inflicted guilt were brewing, slower and more laid back since he turned his never-ending imagination down. Instead, he leaned back and let his shoulders relax, his arms becoming lax from their extended tension over the metal.

"Not like you need it, but," Glanni said, busying himself with the tassels of the pillow under his arms. "He wasn’t close to dying; it is nasty. It will take some time to heal, but he is fine; it looks worse than it is."

To that, Sportacus didn’t know how to respond. In the short-lived silence, he pulled the rest of the chair closer to finish with the furniture. Letting the cold gas cylinder lie in his palms, he turned the man’s words over his head. Even though he was right, this lack of care was alarming. Even Íþró had the decency to share his fears and worries for the doorman. Sportacus just couldn’t accept that a family member would disregard it to this extent.

"About the other thing," Glanni continued, "do you want to be?"

Sportacus felt the older man’s eyes on his profile. Lying like he didn’t understand the question—that the man was prying at a question he himself wasn’t able to answer yet—would come to light right away. Before all this went down, the day before he left, on the day they found out about Stephanie’s past. That day, he was sure.

He wanted to make Robbie understand that what happened on Christmas Eve wasn’t out of protectiveness or looking out for a friend, as Robbie suggested. Sportacus came to terms with his undeniable attraction for the doorman. He also found out that it was easy to confess when he was wrong if it involved Robbie. What took him several hours of thinking over how he could have done something better, how he could have made the doorman believe him, to come to the anticlimactic conclusion that he was wrong. And Sportacus was fine with that.

With this, leaving their side and being wrong about how he went with his emotions and actions the last two days was hard.

"Your idea of a friend is obviously not the same as mine."

Robbie said back then, going as far as to offer to work it out. That too was something that didn’t sit well with Sportacus; under all that happened, it was a tiny memory of a stolen beat of his heart betraying his reason. If Stepahnie didn’t show up then, would he have gone for what was pressing against his lips?

Even if their idea of friendship was different, even if it meant that Sportacus would only be able to keep their connection based on the doorman’s terms, he was still willing to cling to that. Whatever it was that Robbie offered Sportacus, he knew himself, but for some reason it took him longer to realize what this was—what his constant following of Robbie’s forever tired form meant—but once he realized it, it was too late. By then, he had made a mistake.

"It’s not for me to decide," he said finally, letting the mechanism sink into the holster.

Glanni said nothing to that, following his movements as Sportacus pulled the seat and flipped it to see the bottom with four holes. He had already peeled the foil from the fixture he needed to secure to the chair’s bottom and pulled it closer with the screw and allen wrench laid out on the instructions.

"Stephanie wanted to see Robbie very badly," Sportacus offered as a new topic, knowing that this wasn’t the man’s cup of tea. Not once had he asked about the wellbeing of the little girl. But if Robbie were to wake up and ask about her, Sportacus wanted Glanni to tell him she was all right. "Asked if he could come with me tomorrow."

"I hope you said no to her." Glanni sighed. Sitting up, he pulled the paper bag to him, and emptied it. "God knows my little Robbie couldn’t…" the contents fell in heaps until the heaviest and sturdiest object fell on top.

Sportacus didn’t miss the careless shows of affection here and there; the endearment was always sandwiched between some unsavory comments regarding the doorman’s decisions or actions. Every now and then, Glanni would let the nickname slip, giving Sportacus hope for some familial love between the two.

"This too," he lifted the shiny board, shaking it so the pieces were clattering inside, "didn’t he pick it up again because of her?"

"Yes," Sportacus simply answered, lining the pieces together and putting each screw in before going for the wrench. "I can’t remember him playing it before," he offered, happy that the topic was kept off of their assumed relationship.

"Hm…" Glanni left the set on the couch and, again sauntering across the space, took off towards Robbie’s room.

Tucked away. Sportacus was keeping his ears sharp during their discussion, hoping to catch the slightest hint from the doorman. Only to disappoint himself in the absence of any sign of another person living here. He pulled the last screw tight then let it ease up. Lifting the chair to the mechanical bar, putting everything together.

He turned it with ease, finger tips rolling off the textile part of the chair, Sportacus watched it spin in the empty room. This high no street light could filter in through the tall window panes; the tops of the buildings coated in snow peeked into the secluded universe carved out for the two. Leaning back, Sportacus let his weight fall on one hand, the other still idling with the extra screw packed with the chair. His invasion was successful for now, but he was debating how long it would remain so.

Glanni didn’t like him much; it was clear as day. Sportacus wasn’t quite taken with him either. But the older man tolerated him for now, mainly because he had some leverage over the information that Glanni seemingly couldn’t coerce out of people.

"So~" Glanni stepped over his stuff, falling into the chair with grace. With his legs crossed in a smooth motion, he leaned forward, smiling wolfishly. "is there anything else?"

It sent Sportacus’ mind into a flight reflex, feeling cornered even with the spacious living room all to himself. Leaning out of the intimidating aura of Glanni, Sportacus squinted at the man, who just clicked the chair together with his weight.

"I could put another one toge-"

"I know a better way you could help." Glanni leaned to the side where Sportacus escaped him. Head nodding charmingly to the side.

Despite the clear malice in the tone, Sportacus couldn’t handle his sudden, happy urge to dive headfirst into whatever Glanni offered as an option to help Robbie out. "Really?"

"Uhum," Glanni hummed, pulling a phone from his pocket; with one flick of his finger, it came to life. "Do you happen to know who Adrin is?"

The name took most of the eager energy from his body, and Sportacus followed the tapping fingers at the screen. The call history showed the ‘Annoying Prick’ over and over again. Multiple times a day, Sportacus leaned closer, eyes raking over the dates and times.

"He is Robbie’s friend." Sportacus said at the end, deciding against any ill will.

"The one who visited Robbie a lot, right?"

"Not a lot, I don’t th-" Sportacus grumbled, feeling stupid for his souring mood, and tried his best to answer when Glanni interrupted.

"He is the one who you barked at on Christmas Eve, right?" Glanni tapped away, opening the messages.

"Barke-"

"You little dog, you," Glanni chuckled, turning the screen towards Sportacus before he could say anything to that. "He seems rather worried for our little Robbie," he added, not sharing any of the messages.

"Of course he is; he is his friend." Sportacus huffed, conflicting feelings taking root in his chest.

"With benefits, right?" Glanni smiled when Sportacus didn’t say anything to that, glancing back at the messages.

Swallowing the thoughts that came unbridled to his mind, Sportacus allowed the same grace that he would have wanted if he was in Adrin’s shoes.

"I don’t think anyone contacted him about what happened."

"Relax, I have told him." Sportacus watched his brows come together, comically pouting Glanni looked up at him. "Maybe I should call him over instead of yo-"

He bit his sentence off when Sportacus pushed the rolling chair away. Glanni found his balance quickly, slowly rolling and turning around in the empty space. Glaring at Sportacus for his action, a thin-lipped smile stretched on his face.

"Stop that; ask what you really want to ask." Sportacus urged collecting his clutter from the floor.

Focused on the feel of each object—the edges of the screw, the thin but sharp feel of paper wrinkling under his fingers. Just because he realized his fault and worked towards bettering the situation in a way that was actually helpful, didn’t mean he was fine with it. Learning a new fault, a new weakness he had harbored deep down, hidden just to be pried open by the meticulous and vicious fingers of the rude man.

"Are you having fun yet?" Glanni mocked like he was able to read his mind, waving with the phone.

"Why do you have Robbie’s phone to begin with?" Sportacus pushed off the ground, walking toward the man, who pulled his legs up to the chair.

"It’s not his; I just had his copied." Glanni turned after him as Sportacus walked past him.

Stopping at the tower of DIY furniture, Sportacus eyed the heap, taking his time to choose the next one. Shelves, a TV mount, bathroom applicants, and dishes, all still in boxes. He chose the latter, picking it up with ease and carrying it to the kitchen under his arms.

"Isn’t that breaching his privacy? And a crime?" Sportacus asked.

He started peeling the tape from the eight-piece set; the sound was too loud in the otherwise silent apartment and made his skin crawl. Usually he liked the sound; it always promised a new beginning, but this time it roared with misery.

"You are no fun," the older man lamented from his seat.

When Sportacus didn’t say anything to that, the man kept on rambling. "Being the handyman of the Lazy Plaza, becoming friends with the doorman," the sound of wheels against the hardwood joined the rubble of the packaging, "keeping tabs on them, ‘protecting’ them."

Sportacus could hear the sarcasm peak; no longer able to keep it to himself, he turned. Glanni was still sitting a few steps away, tapping away on the supposedly copied phone. Sportacus knew even without the man stating that he failed in that aspect.

But rather than pushing the topic, the older man snapped his head up, and a lighter smile made him resemble Robbie more. When his hardened shell cracked the slightest, he did resemble the doorman, the grump, who was somehow nothing like Glanni, yet one couldn’t deny their familiar connection.

"Such a good puppy," Glanni broke him out of his musing while sauntering over to him, standing far enough but keeping an eye on Sportacus’ every move.

Shaking his head, Sportacus pulled the first plate out; the ceramic was cool under his rapidly heating touch. Sportacus stopped, irritated, and a little more snappy than he intended. "Stop with the mocking; just say what you want."

"You don’t seem to take orders from our family to heart." Glanni grimaced, counting on his hand; he didn’t voice all of them but was loud on the ones that were more pressing. "Robbie told you to leave him be; he said to leave him alone; he told you to get lost," he kept on even when Sportacus stopped with the unpacking. "I told you to leave too, and today too you barged in here."

"You needed help," Spotacus said, leaning against the counter and challenging the man.

"No," Glanni smirked, "YOU needed access to Robbie, and this," he pointed at the boxes, "is your only way in."

"Maybe," Sportacus offered, smiling at the dumbfounded expression on Glanni’s face. "But you need my help too; Íþró will drive you up the wall; you’ll be happy to have me here then."

"Pf, you only want to be close to my Robbie."

"True," he shrugged, pulling the next plate, feeling triumph wash over him when there was no counter to that. When the only noise between them was the slight clicking of the plates against each other.

"I don’t like you; you are no fun." Glanni murmured, stepping away with a defiant look playing on his sharp features.

"Tomorrow I’ll put the shelves together." Sportacus declared shutting the cupboard.

Sportacus was above gloating most of the time; this time, however, he felt elated as he jogged towards his home. Not only did he find a way in, he made a chip in Glanni’s armor in the same swoop motion as well. Childish joy pumped through his veins as he flipped down from the overpass.

Stephanie was awake and as strong as the first day he met her. Outspoken and fast on her track, she pushed for justice as soon as she was able to voice her worries. Milford softened back some as well; his sharp edges disappeared with a simple tilt of Stephanie’s smile.

Him as well.

Sportacus pushed over the frozen railing, letting his body’s learned movements carry him home. He, too, felt lighter. The only thing that was to be sorted out was the crime and punishment. How the criminal, whose name he now knew, was going to be sentenced.

His mind calmed; now, with the logical part at the forefront, Sportacus could fall back on his old self. No longer was it necessary for everyone around him to ask for his well-being or to worry about someone not involved. Before he could rationalize his involvement, he found himself outside his apartment complex.

January was now roaring with life; even at night, everyone was ready to start the year anew. He met at least four tenants scampering up and down the stairs as he made his way up. Many were greeting him and wishing him a happy new year, which usually amounted to a longer discussion on the resolutions or their vacation.

This time, Sportacus excused himself as soon as the topic turned to his travel or his time off. How did the holidays go for him? How was meeting his family? All questions in goodwill, all sparking a tiny bit of hurt in Sportacus with remembering how the holidays actually played out.

Once he closed his door, he kicked his shoes off, pulling on his upper arm and forcing his shoulders to relax in the stretch. Going with his usual night routine, he kept eyeing the sole USB left on his counter. Each time he passed the open kitchen, each time he dragged another article of clothing from the still-unpacked luggage, his eyes were glued to the tiny object.

Caving when he walked into the corner of his table while staring at the thing, he pulled it from the countertop. Tossing it to his made bed, towel still around his neck, he clattered around for his laptop. He took his time fidgeting; instead of pushing the idea away, he kept stalling for time.

After an eternity, with a cup of tea, some freshly cut carrots, blow-dried hair, freshly changed bedding, and his breakfast tray to perch the machine on, he couldn’t find anything else to hinder him from opening the darn storage gifted by Íþró.

Cross-legged, he idled a moment more as the files loaded, looking out at the slowly stilling night sky. The thick layer of clouds promised another snowy day, menacingly swirling against the dark sea of the sky. Sportacus inhaled the tea’s aroma, letting the chamomile calm his rapidly tensing nerves.

To his surprise, when he opened the storage, he found that rather than one singular file, he had at least ten recordings loaded in the folder. Sorted by name, it was chronologically ordered, the first titled ‘2022_12_02_10_05_15’; glancing over the list, he realized fast that the night he was looking for wasn’t among the files.

Frowning, he worked his mind to find out why Íþró would choose these specific days and times for him to look over. With his breath held, he clicked on the first one, the player popping to life with the black-and-white recording of the camera he himself installed on the first of December.

The lobby came into view, the angle from above a little distorted but just as he prepared it to work. It had the whole lobby captured, a little fish-eyed but recording everything from the main door to the receptionist table, the elevator doors, and the scattered furniture.

The Christmas lights twinkled away, but otherwise the other main light sources were all down. Peering closer, he waited for something to happen, then the door opened. Someone peered in, then two people stumbled into the view, first Robbie, pulling Sportacus after him. His wobbling and broken bike followed him.

Pausing the recording, he huffed a low chuckle. This was the day he fell with the bike, and Robbie helped him out. Playing again, he watched his disoriented self be commandeered around by the doorman. He watched the light smile on Robbie’s face and his own dumbfounded expression turn when he was pulled into the man’s room for the first time. Their muffled voices were easy to make out, and he remembered most of what went down.

Once they disappeared behind the door to Robbie’s lair, he was confused. For one, why did Íþró include this in his files other than to mock his little brother, as well as why was this almost an hour long? If he remembered correctly, he was with Robbie for a good chunk of time before he came back to his senses.

The memory sent an unwanted and guilty spike of lust down his spine. Fidgeting, he swatted the unsavory images away. Eyes glued to the screen, he fast-forwarded time and stopped when another person stepped into the lobby.

The lanky guy walked in, looking around. His movements were calculated as he walked past his bicycle, which was leaning against the staircase’s door. The bag at his side gave him away right away; he was the new postman, the one that replaced Pete. The young man looked around some more, scattering with his bag as he walked up to the reception.

Sportacus felt a wary fear bloom in his chest as the guy rounded the table, and while he kept checking towards Robbie’s door, he opened the PC. Sportacus stopped the recording; only a few more minutes were left from this one. Frowning, he leaned closer, feeling the heat from his laptop, and took in the long slopes of the guy’s nose. His eyes, the grainy recording, was hindering him from seeing any other feature clearly, but the constant checking towards Robbie’s room and the anger-filled snap of the PC when he couldn’t get past the password were enough for Sportacus.

Now, at the default speed, he watched the guy jump and scamper towards the staircase door, stopping by his bike, while the supposed mailman fidgeted. Then Robbie broke out of his apartment, followed by Sportacus, who was sporting a dark shade on his cheeks. Robbie snapped the offered mail by the guy who kept looking at Sportacus, his expression shredded by the shadows, and Sportacus couldn’t recall what happened. The recording stopped, the screen freezing over Robbie facing the mailman, both of them still pinching the stack of mail between them.

"That can’t be..." he said out loud, shoulders taut as he realized he was still leaning in close. Confused, he kept watching the grays play on the three of them in the lobby.

Snapping back, he looked for the next one, finding that it had more than a week gap between the dates. ‘2022_12_10_11_13_02’, before he clicked play, he opened his calendar. Going over his schedule quickly, he realized this was the only recording where he didn’t visit the Plaza for something. The only one where he couldn’t be on. 

This one was longer too—hours long—and he was about to up the speed when he saw the thumbnail was the pair idling in the lobby. Hitting play, he found Robbie and Stephanie playing and arguing over the chessboard between them. As always, she was mouthing off Robbie for winning, and the doorman kept his smirk hidden behind whatever he had on him, belittling the child.

The familiar scene sent a little hope to Sportacus’ tormented heart. Unable to withhold the smile, he watched the pair bicker before Stephanie ran for the elevator, disappearing from the recording. Sportacus watched Robbie look after her, shaking his head in his usual disbelieving way. Sprawled over the armchair, he flipped the book he had on his lap open.

Sportacus watched Robbie in his most vulnerable state, alone and calm; he looked as handsome and grumpy as ever. His long legs were pulled under him, and he kept looking at the elevator. Sportacus had no doubt that he was waiting for Stephanie.

Insted, the door opened and the mailman stepped in, shaking some of the freshly fallen snow from his shoulders. The young man’s usual cadence and stuttering tone filtered through the grainy audio of the CCTV recording. He watched Robbie dismiss the man, just to end up getting up anyway. Talking about nonsense and mostly disregarding the guy, Sportacus watched Robbie tear the mail from the gloved hand.

There were two other boxes that Robbie ignored, allowing both to fall behind his counter. Sportacus kept his eyes on the mailman for now. Following each of his micromovements, he watched the guy look around while Robbie signed some papers. Kept his gaze on the man as he peered into the open door of Robbie’s room, then turned toward the elevator, looking back at the camera.

Sportacus paused the recording. He took a screenshot, enlarging the easily breaking, pixel-ridden image. He had seen the guy a few times but never took notice of him; he looked introverted and kept to himself. He never saw him interact with anyone other than Robbie, and it made a part of Sportacus tense up.

Going back to the recording, he glanced at the timestamp. There was still a good chunk of the video, but the guy left in the next few moments, so Sportacus wasn’t sure why his brother left the remaining recording here.

Also, why did he take the time to cut this little montage for Sprotacus? Of him failing to realize they had let a predator in the Plaza? That they gave access to someone who would otherwise be kept away with ease, under the guise of being a service worker.

Shaking his head, he hit play and watched Robbie put the new arrivals away, disappearing under the counter. Then Stephanie stumbles out of the elevator, pushing against the stuck door. Something Sportacus still had on his list to repair after this was handled. She ordered Robbie around; her clothes now were made of a flowy material, and she was wearing slippers. The recording didn’t have great detail, but Sportacus can imagine them being her ballet slippers.

Soon enough, he was presented with the sweet performance of the little girl. In the ovation of Robbie, so uncharacteristic that Sportacus could feel the shock in Stephanie. Not seeing her tears didn’t help his choking up at the scene. Her body curled in on itself; shaking shoulders, she was crying on the ground. He watched the doorman clumsily try to calm the girl, helping her up from the floor, while he kept blabbering, his tone distorted by the recording but true to his feelings.

He followed the pair’s movements, a permanent smile on him now, his fingers curled around the cup he kept nursing in his left hand. Its warmth kept him anchored, and with the recording still going, he sipped from his tea. Stopping at his lips as Robbie asked Stephanie to dance.

How he took the small hands into his own, leading her down a clumsy waltz to a music they couldn’t hear. Robbie’s shaky voice counting the beats, Sportacus was mesmerized by the dance, by the slow turn, by the elegant twirl. Chuckling whenever Stephanie shrieked, accusing Robbie of trying to stomp her to death. Their voices filled with cheer, and Sportaus laughed out loud once Stephanie huffed and puffed, taking over the lead.

Making the tall man turn whenever she demanded. Her tone came in broken little tunes; her humming was too low for the camera to pick up, but sweet nonetheless. And Robbie kept counting, focused on his steps as Stephanie led him into a turn, making him lean back, chastising the man for grunting from this little 'exercise'. Sportacus tapped the mug in the same rhythm as Robbie’s count. His mind calmer now, he was thankful for his brother for allowing such a precious moment to be shared with him. Stopping when the pair abruptly did the same, Stephanie clung to the man, their eyes on the window panes, which Sportacus couldn’t see.

Gulping down his drink, he stopped. Rewinding to the point where Stephanie took over the lead. Where both smiled and grinned, bickering through their little Christmas waltz.

The next few recordings were all small snippets where the mailman, or Donovan, as Sportacus had to deduce, was exchanging words and mail. A few minutes at a time, Sportacus couldn’t deduce if Íþró only shared the videos of their interactions or if the culprit didn’t show himself unless Robbie was the only person in the lobby. Whichever it was, it was unnerving to say the least, watching the supposed evidence Glanni mentioned piling up against Robbie.

‘2022_12_16_13_34_00’ was the file that made Sportacus stop his musing. This time it was a video all about him pestering and pampering Robbie after he almost broke his hand while catching Ziggy. Watching himself fuss about Robbie, he kept thinking about the kids. Did Ziggy know what was going on and to what extent? When would he be able to go back to the apartment complex? When would the two be able to continue living there in peace? Would that even be possible?

"Come on, hero, let me go." Robbie’s cackling laugh came in broken pieces.

Sportacus stiffened, called out so earnestly, he couldn’t recall it at all. He couldn’t remember how he felt about the accusation then. Right now it was like a knife against his heart, knowing when the next instance of that title was tossed at him. Where he was firmly told he wasn’t needed.

Even with more to watch, he snapped the PC shut. Sportacus fell into his bed, the soft pillows taking the brunt of his sudden movement. One hand on his chest, he watched the low lights play on the ceiling. Forcing his breathing to slow and even, he all but lulled himself into a slumber.

"Why is Glæpur so hard to work with?" Íþró asked, stuffing his face with whatever pastry was left on his table.

Sportacus couldn’t honestly answer that question; well, he could, but he decided not to. Seeing a complication coming his way from miles away, he wasn’t about to compromise his gap to get under the mentioned menace’s guard. So instead, he knocked some of his latte back.

His brother asked him out for a late afternoon snack right after their second visitation with Stephanie. The girl was even livelier, if possible, and more dejected when Sportacus showed up alone again.

Questioning why Íþró was still coming when she had already given her statement. Kept glancing conspiratorially between Milford and the detective, to then try and pry some information from Sportacus. When that didn’t yield any more information, she kept trying to make it so she could flee the hospital. Preferably back to the Plaza, or to meet Robbie.

Íþró worked his words around the bit he was fighting down: "For the matter, why are all of them so difficult?" cleaning his hands with the napkin, he shook his head.

"Glæpur, I understand, but what about the others?" Sportacus inquired, leaning back in the stylish chair of the coffee Íþró chose.

"Well," his brother widened his eyes for a second as the happenings ran through his head, nicking his head to the side a little, "for one, Meanswell is too cooperative."

"How is that a bad thing?"

"I just don’t like it when a past lawyer keeps dripping evidence and dropping hints. Not asking anything in return, yeah, I don’t think so." his brother shook his head, lifting his own cup to sip on his coffee.

"All I hear is that he is helping," Sportacus offered, smiling at his brother’s self-imposed misery.

"Busybody too. I can’t handle that woman. She is sweet, but"

"Too demanding?" Sportacus laughed at the face Íþró made.

"You too…" Íþró pointed at him while holding his cup. "You may be the worst."

To that, Sportacus couldn’t say anything; he just laughed around his own sip. Whatever his brother was hinting at, he couldn’t find it, and to be honest, he didn’t even try to. After all, Sportacus kept doing what he was told to do. What Milford made him do, what his brother wanted to hear, where Glanni needed him—Sportacus did it all.

"How so?"

"Go home!" Íþró put his mug on the table with a sharp noise. "Go and calm our mother down; stop lingering around." crossing his arms across his chest, he had a little more authority. "It has been four days; everyone is awake; go home."

But not over Sportacus. "I am a witness," he smirked, and feeling smug, he challenged his brother.

"I have your confession from Meanswell," his brother relented, relaxing in his seat. "You know what? Do what you want; you won’t listen to reason, so I don’t care." Íþró shrugged.

"Don’t take it to heart too much; I’ll leave as soon as this is over with." Sportacus said it with more conviction than in the last few weeks. "I talked with Mom, and she is fine with it."

"Of course she is," his brother mumbled, grimacing, his tone and features belying his age.

"Who else has stepped on your toes?" Sportacus tried to get back on his brother’s good side, checking his watch to see that he had around a half hour before he would invade the derogatory man’s mansion.

Íþró squinted at him over the rim of his mug. Suspicion clear on his face, he kept eye contact as his signature smug smile came back. "You are awfully chipper after the whole depressed self-loathing you sported just two days ago."

When Sportacus didn’t answer other than with a tired glare, his brother snapped his fingers, eager and loud. "You watched the recordings!"

"Some," Sportacus confessed, feeling bashful for some reason; the heat kept creeping up his nape while he talked with his boisterous brother. Before he could ask why Íþró took the time to put that together, Íþró spoke up again.

"You know, watching Rotten interact with Stephanie, he does look like a nice guy," he smiled fondly, making Sportacus happy and a little cautious at the same time. " nothing like he looked today."

"You saw him today?" all other topics had flown out of the window once his brother halfheartedly confessed he had seen the doorman. "Is he awake?"

Sportacus didn’t really wait for an answer; he stood in a fast motion, pulling his coat from the chair so hard it almost toppled over. The ruckus of the furniture dancing on its legs and his sudden outburst made all the other patrons look at them. That was also a little of his concern as he swung the garment over himself, patting his pockets to push some money to his brother.

"It was hours ago," Íþró started, tone exasperated.

"Then you should have told me sooner," Sportacus cut back, leaving his brother behind.

Thankfully, the coffee was close to the apartment complex, only two to three streets away, and he was already running before he knew what he was doing. Because if Íþró saw Robbie but wasn’t let in, as he lamented before, that meant that the doorman was up again. Hopefully clear from all the medication and Sportacus couldn’t stop himself.

Betrayed. But the feeling got gobbled up by the happy cheer born from the idea of being able to talk with the man again. Glanni didn’t let him check on the man yesterday and didn’t push in hopes of remaining at the man’s right side. This time, he could, and Robbie could vouch for him.

Skidding around the last corner, his mind halted, his body was still in fast motion, and he wondered if Robbie would be the one to send him away. That was fine, because then Sportacus could still hear it from him, and he could finally relax knowing that both of them—Stephanie and Robbie—were fine.

Stopping before the fancy housing, Sportacus swiped down his wrinkled jacket. Hitting his tights at the end of the motion to calm some of his nerves. Eager with a bounce in his step, he hurried along the wide lobby. Acknowledged the receptions with a shallow wave, heading straight to the elevator. He flicked his hands a few times inside the small compartment, trying his best to keep his excitement to a minimum.

As he got closer and closer, the elevator rushed up, and he felt a pinch in his shoulders. Cautious, he frowned, rolling his shoulders. The odd feeling didn’t cease, not even when the lift stopped. Door opening to the familiar hallway, his way in was hindered by the gaudy metal bars.

From somewhere far away, he heard muffled words and the sound of a fight. "Hey!" there was no answer, but the sounds became more and more loud and aggravated with every passing second.

The dread that was slowly coming over him during the ride was now exploding inside him. "Glanni!"

"Robbie," came the man’s voice in broken pieces, "you are fine."

Sportacus was sure that was not right; he grabbed the metal bars, pulling hard. Yet other than making the whole contraption shake, he didn’t achieve anything. Calling out to the man once again yielded the same results, and Sportacus could feel his anger morph into fear with each passing second.

"SHIT!"

Glanni finally showed up at the end of the hall, pale as paper. He stumbled, pointing at the locking panel with his phone. Scrambling right back out of Sportacus’ view with the locking mechanism open, he ripped the metal to the side, pushing and rushing towards the wide living room.

Glanni kept talking, to him or to Robbie—he wasn’t sure. Sportacus fell right next to the couch where Robbie was fighting for air, fingers dragging long red lines into his own bruised skin as he tried to rid himself of his clothes.

"Help him!" Glanni shrieked, shaken as well, seemingly not knowing what to do.

Sportacus caught the hands of Robbie, peeling them from his garment, making sure he wasn’t hurting the doorman but holding him firmly. "Keep breathing,keep breathing," he repeated.

With his heart close to breaking out of his chest, he tried to keep Robbie still. With his hands in his hold, the doorman pulled his legs up, soles dragging against the furniture. Sportacus glanced towards the bruised skin there, and not being able to recognize his own tone, he ordered Glanni to hold Robbie down.

Repeating the same sentence over and over, he watched as Robbie’s chest lifted off the couch as it flexed against their hold. "I ca-n’t, I’ll die!" he gasped.

That wasn’t true, Sportacus urged; he was here; there was no way Robbie would die. "You can!" he cheered, keeping the hand that still fought against his hold firmly above the man’s chest.

Robbie’s whole body was shaking from both fear and pain, taut under Sportacus’ and Glanni’s unshakable hold. Sportacus looked him over, over the man that he saw dancing to his heart's content through a black-and-white lens, someone who was taking a beating for a little girl. Robbie was pale and fighting against their grip, too deep in his own mind, gone from the light.

Sportacus kept calling out to him, urging him over and over, until the man took a deep, stuttering breath. His head turned toward Sportacus. His eyes were wide and watery, and his face was wet from sweat and tears. A thundering gasp left him as Robbie searched his eyes and Sportacus tried his best to look reassuring. To not show any of the fear and dread that were washing over him in waves.

"You!" he gasped.

Finally, finally, some air seemed to get to his lungs; the tint of the voice became a tad bit more focused, as well, as he kept on asking, still holding eye contact with Sportacus. "Are you -are you sure?" he stuttered out, his gray eyes stormy under the shock and pain that must have surged through him.

"I am" Sportacus heaved out, and a small huff of laughter came with it—stupid and all too light—but he found Robbie’s panicking mind. He caught the doorman’s worried heart for a blink and wasn’t about to let it go. "just breathe, okay, in," he said, pulling in air, and Robbie followed him a lot slower, with stuttering breaths. Sportacus kept the air down; "out," he let the air rush out, and watched the same happen to Robbie.

The hot rush of the man’s breath silenced a part of Sportacus that was screaming at him. So he kept on. Instructing and mimicking the doorman's breath. Calming himself as well as his measured breaths kept him anchored to the moment.

"Okay," Robbie whispered, and Sportacus felt the taut body relax momentarily. His back was back down the furniture, arms no longer twisting against his hold.

"Yes, you are okay," Sportacus said, but he kept the man’s wrist off his chest, fearing he would start to claw at himself again. 

Sportacus glanced at Glanni, who was keeping to the breathing tempo he dictated. Gaze glued to Robbie, Sportacus could see his arms shake, grip hard on the slowly sobering man’s legs. Despite his usual humor, his usual brute force, and his usual self-assurance, he was shaken beyond what Sportacus could ever imagine him to be.

Keeping up with the breathing, Sportacus turned his attention back to Robbie. The doorman was still not fully recovered from his panic-induced stupor; he could see it in his searching eyes. How he kept glancing towards Glanni and himself, his gaze halting on his own hands in Sportacus’ grip.

Sportacus had seen panic attacks before; he learned how to handle them when he still had other aspirations in life. But learning about it and seeing someone close to him suffer was different. Sportacus felt happy that he was able to pull himself together enough to calm Robbie down.

The fast staccato under his fingers as Robbie’s heart fought to keep him alive felt like hammers against his fingertips. Reminding him that Robbie was alive, maybe not well at the moment, but he was here.

"Why are you here?" Robbie whispered, turning toward the handyman.

Sportacus felt a little taken aback. He let his body relax a notch, blood rushing through him now that his own panic had subsided. Hearing the doorman’s clumsy tone flitter through his haze forced him to let a breath out that he had been holding until now. Muscles shaking, he let his body relax as he pulled Robbie’s hands towards himself, letting his forehead lie against the weakly curled fingers.

Taking as much as he could at the moment to silence the voices in his head. His thundering heart hiding behind his practiced and reassuring ease. Eyes closed, Sportacus could hear Glanni curse, voice muffled by his hands; he couldn’t help a small chuckle against the cold skin under his own.

"I am just visiting," Sportacus said finally, letting Robbie's hands go and regretting it as soon as the touch left his skin. His legs gave out under him, folding all wrong when he first dropped to his knees next to the furniture, and he fell back into the low table.

Drenched in sweat, he huffed again, letting another long sigh out. He, too, forced his heart and body to calm. To halt and don’t cause another attack for the shaken doorman. Blinking a few times, he wanted to laugh loudly. He wanted to jump around and run a marathon, and with the adrenaline still working in his veins, he could too.

His gaze fell to Robbie, who was watching him; his hands, which were hurting him a few moments ago, lay softly at his still rapidly lifting chest. But his gray eyes were on him, and Sportacus had to avert his gaze before he said something that would only make things worse. Taking his beanie off, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"You have great timing," Robbie scoffed with none of his usual bite.

"Impeccable," grumbled Glanni into his palms, still hiding his face.

Trying his best to look normal, Sportacus perched an arm on top of his knee, shaking his fingers off. Their numbness gone now, they buzzed with life. Itching under his skin, he let a small laugh escape, more from anxiety than real emotion. "I can tell when someone is in trouble."

The doorman grunted, his hand slow and deliberate as he shielded his eyes and face from the pair in the room. Sportacus had to quash the tiny voice that pleaded with him to stop any movement that could hurt Robbie, even if it was done by the doorman himself.

"Great work here," he praised, then changed the topic quickly. "How is Stephanie?"

"Why yo-"  Glanni laughed—none of the ones that Sportacus has heard until now, no, this was strained.

"It's funny you should ask," Sportacus chuckled, leaning against the low table. "That was her first question as well."

"She asked about herself?" Robbie sighed into the air, his normal tone slowly resurfacing.

"No, about you." Sportacus spoke over Glanni’s hysterical laughter. He relaxed against the table, looking over the chess pieces sprinkled around them.

Not able to hold his smile, he watched Robbie’s broken-down and shaken form squirm on top of the couch. Still fidgeting and sometimes gasping for air, he turned toward him, hissing. Even kicking towards Glanni, who was now laughing lowly into the creek of his elbow. Turning toward the great windows, hiding whatever emotion he regretted showing from their view.

"She asked when you would visit her," Sportacus said, tapping against the low table with one hand while picking a piece from the floor with the other. Focusing on the piece helped him calm his mind a notch as well.

"Not for a while, I think," Robbie answered in broken words, a yawn breaking from him.

"Are you better now?" Sportacus tried, gathering himself from the floor, and he leaned over the doorman’s form.

Braving a touch, he moved some unruly hair from the wet forehead of the doorman. The skin was hot under his skin, a harsh contrast against the ice-cold hand of Robbie. Sportacus could even make out the low and slow pulses of the man’s heart as his thumb petted the purple skin softly.

"Well, if Glanni let me sleep, I would be." Robbie talked like his panic attack was nothing to mention.

Like everything else, what went down was just a hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Not like Sportacus found Glanni scampering close to desperation to hold on to Robbie, who was clawing against his own skin. Suffocation from the mental load suddenly crashing against him.

"You can," Glanni swiped from his hiding spot in the corner of the couch.

"I meant your panic attack," Sportacus helped out, moving his hand from Robbie’s forehead to his jawline, lightly pinching there, and saying, "this is no joking matter."

Another short-breathed chuckle left Robbie as he rolled his eyes. "Everybody keeps telling me that..."

"Really?" Sportacus mused, his throat tight, as he took his time to take in Robbie’s features.

Savoring the time and the place, he found his left eye still bloodred, his pupil better, and the swelling better as well. Even the chemical scent was a balm to his mind. Knowing that despite every one of his prejudices, Glanni did take care of Robbie. He was bundled in the clothes he put together, and he looked better—no blood clots in his hair or smears in places that the hospital staff didn't have time for or access to.

Robbie hummed in response. Blinking slowly, he pushed Sportacus’s prodding hands away, grimacing, and one of his usual half smirks popped up. "Now that you are here, be useful and tell me everything."

Sportacus laughed again. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions he had been riding over the last four days, it was easy to fall back right into place once he was around the doorman. Feeling mean for giving Robbie the same treatment he suffered for days was an understatement. "I am afraid I can't."

"Of course you can’t..." Robbie mocked, rolling his eyes, landing on Sportacus’ face.

With the stolen second, Sportacus felt a weight roll off him when Robbie found his searching gaze. When he could finally remember something else about the man than his battered and hurt form. Even if it was just the last four days compared to the last four years, it took Sportacus everything to gather any image of the man who was not broken.

Saying sorry wasn’t enough for Robbie at all; he went on fuming about his cousin torturing him. Tattling on Glanni with all his might now that someone else was there to listen to him, his words slurred together as he rushed them out, still under the spell of his panic attack. Ignored by Robbie, hidden behind mean words addressed to Glanni, who grunted each time but didn’t play into the doorman’s little charade.

Sportacus crouched down when Robbie lamented that his neck was hurting from looking up at him, grinning widely at him for his gullibility. Sportacus didn’t care; at the moment, he felt like Robbie could ask him almost anything and he would be happy to oblige.

Glanni excused himself and left for a room closer to the bathroom, furious with the two. Going on and on about how irritating their antics were to him. Now left alone, Sportacus couldn’t really find what to say. He found it funny that he was pushing and rushing to share anything, to hear anything from Robbie, and now, with the opportunity on a silver platter, he found himself unable to say anything.

Ridiculous, he felt ridiculous sitting there, nodding along to Robbie's rambling about his day and about the solvent massaged into his skin and how it burned. Sportacus ate it all up, soaking in the man’s broken tone and finding solace in the honest nature of Robbie’s dark humor and grumpiness.

"So why are you really here?" Robbie asked, grunting as he turned more towards Sportacus.

"I came to assemble furniture," he said, smiling and nodding along with his statement.

"Did Glanni force you?" Robbie squinted, hissing as his skin pinched at his left side.

Sportacus shook his head, now grinning, "No."

"He is capable of that," the hurt man added, smiling a little himself.

"I don’t doubt it."

"It’s not your fault." Robbie yawned, and they heard his jaw click loudly. "What happened is not your fault."

The room fell into silence again. The shadows had grown since Sportacus arrived, and the sun was in its downward spiral now. Its oranges peaked from under the thick grays of the clouds obstructing the sky. Forewarning anyone who cared to look up. Snow was coming again.

Peeling his sight from the sky, he gulped down his guilt, Sportacus hummed, and he held his other wrist in his vine-like grip over his pulled-up knees. They were close, if Sportacus wanted to he could reach out anytime for Robbie. Easily gather him up in a hug or cuddle him to his chest just to feel the beating heart under his touch. Feeling sappy, he cleared his throat.

"And they keep telling me that," he said, pushing his lips together and tilting his head toward the man.

"Good," Robbie nodded, huffing a low laugh. "You need to hear it; I bet Stephanie is way better than you," he mocked good-naturedly.

"Thanks to you."

It was true; if Robbie hadn’t pushed himself beyond what any of them believed he was capable of, Stephanie would most likely be gone by now. Thinking back on the nurse’s testimony, Sportacus looked over Robbie with fresh eyes. Each and every bruise, cut, and scab was a glaring evidence of the man’s heroics.

"Jealous I took the spotlight? Hm, you hero, you?" he scoffed, with no ill will behind his words. "Will you cry? You shouldn’t be sa- shit"

Sportacus laughed harder now, balming his good mood for the small tears in the corner of his eyes. "I can’t be sad; I am handsome after all," he said, fueling the sudden blush rushing to Robbie’s face more.

"I was under the influence," Robbie spoke into his palms, turning away from Sportacus. With his back to the handyman, he coughed a little from the pressure against his battered left side.

"You were," Sportacus offered mercifully, not pushing on the topic but feeling giddy at finding Robbie to be his usual self.

When Robbie didn’t say anything to that, Sportacus followed up with, "she is good, thanks to you; she only has some bruises on her neck."

"What about the stuff?" Robbie’s words became slurred the more they waited between each sentence.

"They are running tests, but it seems she won’t have any permanent damage." Sportacus stood quietly.

Picking up chess pieces in his palm, he let them down on the table with their felt feet, minimizing their sound. Listening to Robbie’s slow and calm breathing, he debated whether he should say anything else. If he should look for Glanni, who has now been gone for a while.

" that’s goooood" the word got slushier the more Robbie stretched it, ending in another big yawn.

Before Sportacus could do anything, hands still full of pawns, Robbie sat up suddenly. Well, as suddenly as one in his condition could. With broken movements, accompanied by sighs and small cries of pain, Robbie fought his way up before Sportacus could help him.

Waving him off when he tried to hold the hunching man up. "I’ll go to sleep," he stated, putting his feet to the ground one after another. Looking around, he frowned at Sportacus, who was still hanging between two steps. "Where is the chair?"

"Chair?"

Sportacus put the pieces in the pile on the table, looking around and being dumbfounded as to why going to sleep involved a chair.

"Yeah, the chair I need to walk with," Robbie elaborated like Sportacus was an idiot.

Rather than voicing his opinion about the idea, Sportacus sighed, looking over his shoulder. Having a hunch where the whole idea originated from. "I’ll just take you."

Not waiting for an answer, he leaned into Robbie’s personal space, his shoulders just under Robbie’s chin. He leaned the flabbergasted man back a little. Ignored the small fight Robbie put up, pushing Sportacus away with no power behind it. No matter; even if Robbie was healthy, he couldn’t deter Sportacus now. Four days after his accident, walking alone on his own feet, Glanni was a monster.

Cautious about his left side, Sportacus scooped Robbie up with ease. Chest to chest, knees hugging his torso, Sportacus let the man’s full weight fall flush against him. Showering in the shy whimper that was more from surprise than from pain, he soaked in the warmth coming from the broken man’s body, seeping into his skin. How he could feel their hearts close under their clothes, Sportacus allowed himself a second to enjoy all that before he took a step toward Robbie’s room.

"Glanni will be mad…" Robbie talked into his shoulders, chin resting by his nape.

"I don’t care," Sportacus confessed, honest glee in his tone, even more when he felt the slight rumbling laugh against his chest from Robbie.

"You don’t like him," he stated more than he asked Sportacus.

"I don’t."

"Hm, that’s new." "Are you sure you are Sportaflop?"

Sportacus stopped by the bed, and, moving the weight to one arm slowly, he pulled the bedding back. Glancing around, he didn’t see the IV stand or any other medical stuff that Glanni had just the other day. Taking care, he lowered Robbie to the mattress, positioning his legs and making sure he put pillows under his ankles.

"Hundred percent," Sportacus humored the man, ignoring the name-calling, and he tucked Robbie in.

By the time he was finished with all the fussing, Robbie was on the verge of falling asleep. Hanging on by sheer willpower, it seemed, he cleared his throat. "Will she be able to dance?"

"Yes"

This seemed to be the last restraint on Robbie, because he fell into a deep slumber as soon as Sportacus reassured him. Eyelids falling closed over his calm features, it wasn’t too different from two days ago when he left him here, but it felt entirely new and calming.

Sportacus’s fingers curled into his palm, and with a strong fist, he shook some of his nerves off. Glancing up, he saw Glanni leaning against the door, gazing accusatorily and mouthing for him to get out of the room. He nodded to do just that, but before he did, he took one last, long glance at Robbie, at his discolored skin and his slowly falling and lifting chest.

"I AM mad," Glanni referred to Robbie’s accusation once Sportacus closed the door behind them.

"And I don’t care," he repeated his own answer. He didn’t; he had his opinion about this whole ordeal, but he kept it to himself, figuring that allowing this much should be enough for the cousin to stop with this.

"He should have been up for one more hour."

The older man lamented padding after Sportacus, hovering over his shoulders as he pulled a larger box from the new furniture. "He just had a panic attack. I think it’s fair to think he was exhausted."

"Pampering won’t help him recover; keeping him up and alert will."

"Good, because you sure don’t pamper him at all, so by your standard he will be healthy tomorrow." Sportacus hauled the large box with ease, a mean streak in him only missing Glanni by a breath.

"Ugh, for someone who is not a lover or boyfriend, ‘just a friend’ you are utterly demanding." the older man pushed past him, stopping him in his tracks.

Sportacus shook his head a little, not giving in to the man; he stood his ground, looking up to Glanni, who was even taller than Robbie. Balancing the shelf set on his shoulder, he nicked his head to the side. "It’s normal"

"You tore my metal gate off." Glanni deadpanned and pointed down the hallway at the elevator.

Sure enough, the metal netting that was there to hinder anyone from directly accessing the flat from the lift was hanging off its hinges. Sportacus frowned, not remembering having so much power when he pushed his way an hour or so ago.

"I’ll fix that as well, s-" 

"It’s fine; you rushed in to help, so I don’t care." Glanni scoffed, walking away toward the living room.

Sportacus remained at his spot, boxed furniture now getting heavier with each second. Beyond belief, utterly exhausting and tiresome. Annoying and, honestly, the worst kind of person Sportacus ever met, but he knew that this was the closest he would get to a thank you from the man.

Chapter Text

It’s so warm. Teetering on uncomfortably as heat pools at his nape. Wet and sticky, it keeps him on the ground. Like everything he was, was collecting to the his back, like a puddle accumulating into a mess. Clustering under his skin like a myriad of stars bursting to life. With pain and swaying, he was caught under the rapidly falling ceiling. A pink foil over his vision, he gasps for air, but the colorful film catches in his gaping mouth. Then something wedges itself into his skull, prying open his head; he wants to scream, but the thin film keeps him from doing so. A weight pressing against his chest, everything crumbles. He urges his body to move, but it’s fighting against him, plastered against the heat he grabbed fo-

Gasping drool fell from Robbie’s lips as he coughed while fighting to get his bearings. His heart struggling between his ribs felt like it would give up at any moment, but stuttering with the air Robbie was able to get down. His skin ached as his dull nails and the gauze tore at his chest, gripping his shirt. Tasting copper, he tried to calm his hectic lungs. Blinking rapidly, he felt sweat roll into his eyes, tearing him up. It joined the thumping headache.

Glancing to the side, the view shook with pink. The light hurt his eyes, but screwing them shut helped balance his spiraling mind. The darkness felt empty and frightening; a beat in the black sea of his mind made him flinch to the right, and a piercing scream against his left temple shook him. Losing his balance, he fell to his right elbow, the skin pulling against his shallowest wound.

Hissing, he blinked away the wetness in his eyes. His whole body felt like it was on fire, a heavy and sharp contrast to his first sober day. He wished he could have gone back to the medicine-induced cool. That his limbs would feel cold, like he was blanketed by the snow. Now it was scorching heat and never-ending pain.

Listening to his own heart, Robbie let his body come down from the height of adrenalin. The shaking in his limbs would cease for a while, and he had no intention of moving, but he felt like he had to run. Like, if he stayed here, he would surely die. Burn to death under the bland white blankets twisted around his ankles, holding his legs hostage.

With a long, calculated breath, eyes closed, he willed his nightmare away. A souvenir he could enjoy to his heart's content every night now. Not that the typical nightmares and lack of sleep weren’t enough, now he could try to ward this off too.

Forcefully relaxing back into the bed, he turned to his right, his back to the anxiety-inducing windows, and pushed his cheeks into the pillow, drying some of the sweat from his temple. He felt disgusting again; everything hurt and ached, like he was constantly scraping against his own skin and flesh. Every move needed precise calculation to execute; even breathing too deeply sent a stabbing pain to his core.

Sniffling, he pushed the tormented images away. Not like this was such a big deal; this would be over in a few weeks. He just had to wait this out; like everything else, this will pass as well. This was temporary, just like everything else.

It was the fourth day of the year, and he was expected to get up and freshen himself up alone. Under the watchful yet unhelpful gaze of Glanni. Grunting in pain, he grumbled as he tore his body from the bed. Muscles he never used, didn’t even know he possessed, hurt, even cramped a few times a day. Yet it was still better than whatever Glanni was giving him.

The oddly colored and fresh-tasting water and the irritating salve.

Shaking his head, anger flaring in him, he pulled the chair, using it as an impromptu crutch to get to the bathroom. Avoiding eye contact over the kitchen island, where Glanni was perched on one of the barstools, the phone was permanently in his hands. A luxury allowed only for him, it seemed.

Harboring anger and distaste for Glanni on top of everything was more tiresome than he was ready to confess. He did like his cousin, but for sure didn’t miss him. Rolling his eyes at the lack of morning greetings, he stumbled to the bathroom, still annoyed that his room was the furthest from it. Pristine and clean, the blinding whiteness and minimalist interior were hurting his sensitive eyes.

Still missing the mirrors, the slight hunch that his cousin was desperately keeping him from seeing himself has become a fact by now. There were no surfaces which could reflect his visage, or anything else for that matter, and he had an inkling of an idea why that was, but it couldn’t have been that bad, could it? Musing, Robbie let the water flow, let it gather in the faucet, and he took his time to lower his hands into the clear, cold water.

Hissing slightly before the relief came, the cuts in his right palm pulled together under the sharp cool of the water. Deep red lines, peppered with smaller dots, falling in line with his flexion creases. Or lifelines, as Glanni referred to them, Robbie huffed, his solitude loud as his voice bounced around the tiled space.

What he could see, with painstakingly craning his neck, were bruises all over his torso, up to his shoulder. Even without seeing, he knew that his left side must have looked fucked. It felt fucked for sure. With a pinch in his nape, he turned to his right; there was only one cut across his upper arm, close to his shoulder. The one he couldn’t evade that night, well, the first one he couldn’t evade.

He chuckled, spreading some soap on his left palm, being careful around the dressing on his fingers. His thumb rubbed into the unblemished skin, the feeling somehow alien, and he made fast work of washing the bubbles down. Eyeing the tub, he debated whether he should chance it, then decided against it and grabbed the sponge he detested from day one. 

"You look chipper," Glanni said once Robbie padded out of the bathroom. "I have breakfast for you," he beconed Robbie towards the island.

"Could we just get takeout?" Robbie rolled with the chair, too tired to walk; his soles were acting up too. "I don’t know if I can take any more eggshells."

The obvious jab seemed to go over Glanni’s head. Smiling amicably, the older man pulled a glass container from the microwave, pushing it over to Robbie and saying, "Don’t be picky."

Whatever it was, it smelled good. Robbie pulled the lid slowly, fingers numb from the cold water, and the sudden steam hit him in the face. Sputtering, he leaned out of the heat, his cheeks wet from the overheated food. He was awarded with a tongue click but no other biting comment. Robbie glanced down, a little confused about what he saw; he wasn’t sure what the meat was, but it looked bland, and the rest of the container was overstuffed with some birdfood-looking thing and fried vegetables. 

"You didn’t cook this," it wasn’t a question. Robbie lifted the fork with less finesse than he wanted to, pulling two deep green twigs to the side. Against his best efforts to want to hate it, his stomach grumbled cheerfully from the moment he smelled the dish.

"Are you questioning my culinary skill?" Glanni mocked, pulling a croissant from a paper bag that had been hidden until now.

"There is not much to question," Robbie shot back, struggling with the chicken or some kind of bird. Dreading the moment he would have to chew. The memory of the pain from the day before was still clear in his mind. After what seemed a lot longer than what it took to dissect the bird, he pushed the food through the gap he could muster with his hurting jaw.

It wasn’t even breakfast food; it was nothing like Robbie had usually had breakfast, or any meal, to be honest, but it wasn’t bad. It was a little better than not bad. Tears pricked his eyes as he forced his teeth together, and pain stabbed down from his temple to his collarbone, tightening his throat. The first bite took a while to fight down but once it was done, he had some hope.

While Glanni tore his pastry into tiny pieces and shoved them down his gaping mouth, he jabbed in one or two good-natured, well, in his case, good-natured, remarks regarding the sounds Robbie made. Painful wasn’t among them, even though Robbie could only describe them as such.

It took an embarrassingly long time and some gagging from the green stuff before he finished half of it, pushing it away. Revolting once he had the strength "It wasn’t bad…" he said to Glanni’s sudden curious question.

"Good, I’ll get Sportacus to make more then," he laughed.Cackling all but showering in Robbie’s misery.

Choking on the last bite hurt Robbie’s pride more than his head as the last chunk tried to take his life. Hitting his chest, another pain bloomed after each hit, reminding him of the morning. Coughing, Robbie found his ground after a while, his struggle accentuated by Glanni’s never-ending laughter.

Leaning forward for a moment, forgetting his left temple’s stabbing pain, he snapped back before his head fell into his palms. Ending in him letting his right cheek be cupped by his propped up hand. Eyes closed, he kept a few more coughs back.

"Could you enjoy my misery a little less?" he asked after a long-winded critique of the breakfast.

"You should at least allow me this much," Glanni deadpanned, taking the rest of the food and trashing it.

Robbie felt a little guilt prick at him as the remnants of what seemed to be a ‘made with love’ meal landed in the bin. Adding to the already massive pile of things he's been feeling guilt over for days. And some that he had nursed for a lot longer.

His gaze fell on his wrist, where just the night before Sportacus had held onto him to stop his descent into the depths of what looked like a panic attack. How pale the man looked and how lost his eyes were when Robbie finally could capture them, Robbie saw the clear guilt on the idiot’s face, regret, and the need to right things the best way possible.

Going as far as bending under Glanni’s grip. Confessing his distaste for his cousin with ease was so unlike Sportacus, the modest and honest to a fault handyman. When he was faced with the same ire only shared by Robbie years ago, Sportacus still kept pestering him. Sportacus still came back every time, smiling.

This time he only suffered it voluntarily because Glanni was chained to his friend, namely Robbie. So he put up with it.

Glanni too. Robbie watched his brother’s back. Always straight, broad, and a lot stronger looking than he was, just as Robbie remembered him to be. Glanni, too, didn’t like the situation or the people around.

Saying sorry would be futile; he wasn’t the least bit worried about what happened; no, Glanni was worried about how it happened. Whatever he found out about Stephanie or what he wanted to do before all this went down was more pressing.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t still be here. This lovely brother act, which he gave a rather sorry performance of, was tearing at the seams. He was in and out of his life for fifteen years, and now he bought a flat just to cater to Robbie’s accident. Yeah, Robbie wasn’t born yesterday.

"Are you not interested in what happened?" Robbie asked a few hours later, when they were sitting in the living room. Strictly turning away from the tall windows, legs up, he mostly sat in silence, with nothing to entertain him.

"I know what happened," Glanni added, flipping up on his phone.

"Did you get my messages? Is that why you came?" Robbie tried another route, watching his toes wiggle, as there was no other thing to do.

"I did, and no," his cousin said, dropping the phone, his legs dangling from the armrest in his sprawled state. "Why all the questions out of nowhere? You never ask about me," he pouted, the pout quickly turning into a scowl.

"Fine, whatever," Robbie mirrored his cousin, crossing his arms just to snap back when the dull and constant pain exploded at the motion.

"You know, I thought I knew everything about you since you moved in that..." he hesitated, then chose the worst word of all "hole" Glanni articulated, eyes still on Robbie.

"Not that it was anything noteworthy anyway," he said once again, watching his palm and the glistening salve on his skin. Followed the light to his wrist, up his arm, where the bruises started to peek out of his shirt.

A short huff left Glanni as he moved to fully turn toward Robbie. "I told you your little entourage wasn’t all slacking idiots, and you shrug it off like it’s nothing. You were let go on the condition to ‘lay low’, and look at this," he sighed theatrically, "you entangled in a supreme court case, with the police sniffing around you."

"Sorry to inconvenience you," said Robbie. He would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt.

"You know it’s not my ‘inconvenience’ you need to look out for," he sighed. "Just drop it; enjoy this downtime before things start up again."

"You call this downtime," Robbie gestured at himself, hands swaying up and down his form under the throw blanket.

Glanni peeled his body from the armchair, sitting next to Robbie, by his thighs. One of his slender hands fell to his left side, pulling the soft sweater up. They both looked at the colorful bruises on his side. Glanni sighed, his features a tad bit softer. Robbie was always lost for words when Glanni used his little endearment toward him.

"Little light, you should have stuck to your lifestyle of four years." As he worried his lips between his teeth, his expression changed rapidly, returning to his usual cynical one as he dragged the garment down. "Milford did some background checks, and he is preparing the case just fine, but I don’t know if we should stay and see how this turns out."

Frowning, Robbie felt his heart pick up. "You want to leave? To where? I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want to live with you either," he said, gulping down his shock. "I am just fine like this." he blinked, trying to find his focus in the bland room.

"Let’s say I believe you... Once detective Álfur takes your confession, we will have this discussion again. But I don’t see how we could come out of this scot-free." Glanni leaned in, pointing at Robbie’s chest.

"Was Pinky’s case so severe?" Robbie moved back from the accusatory finger. He did not care for all the things Glanni sprouted; his pessimism only rivaled his vanity, and he kept jumping to conclusions that wouldn’t even cross other people’s minds.

Squinting at him Glanni also moved back, leaning his weight on his arms, elegant as always, nothing compared to Robbie’s crumpled hunch and halfhearted posture. "Well, her situation is complicated, yes, but Milford is doing a good job with it, and as much as it hurts to say, I have to praise his line of thinking. Not to mention he is keeping this all under the radar; one week in and I haven’t seen anything in the media at all. Not even about  the break in," he did look impressed.

"So why are you like this?" Robbie swatted at him. "This wound up; why did you come here?" As Glanni opened his mouth to snap back, Robbie continued, "Not this; originally, why did you want to meet?"

"Is it bad I wanted to meet? Really, the disrespect I get around here...your guard dog as well, Sportacus, he keeps showing up; it’s unbearable; couldn’t you send him away? He won't listen to me."

Swerving the conversation once again, Robbie let it go. Suspicious about what his cousin wanted. Rather than entertaining the man, he simply made him realize what Sportacus’ care actually meant.

"He won’t listen. He feels guilty over the whole thing, and we are friends, so he will come until you get better at taking care of me." He felt pretty triumphant over this.

Over the displeased grimace his brother showed. There were only a few people who could get under his cousin’s skin, but Sportacus could wedge himself right in the moment they met. It was amusing; Robbie could laugh at their one-sided banter all day long.

"Friends," Glanni smirked. "Like Annoying Prick?"

Robbie rolled his eyes, feeling tired from talking; his jaw ached, and his vision had been swimming with every other blink for a while now. "No"

"Why? From what I saw, there were benefits with both." Glanni made a grand gesture by falling from the couch and hiding behind his arms as Robbie hit him with his pillow.

"Fuck you!"

He was allowed a few hours of sleep after that, once again sleeping on the couch, he felt more at ease in the spacious livingroom, with the windows out of his vision. When he blinked away the remnants of his latest bile-tasting dream, he could make out voices not too far from him. The clatter of tools and Sportacus’ deep baritone with that irritatingly adorable tilt of his voice. Devastated at feeling the smile on his lips stretch at the thought of the handyman, he forced his mind to come up from its delusions.

Except for the murmured words shared somewhere to his left, the flat was silent. It must have been less sleep than he thought, as the fatigue that kept coming in waves was just sweeping over him, over his head, like he was about to drown.

But he kept forcing his eyes to remain open, his fingers to come to life, and his body to fully wake up. It took a while, and the noises were coming from closer now. Confused, Robbie opened his already-open eyes. That wasn’t possible, he reasoned, as the pounding pain kept squeezing his temples toward his brain. This time, when he opened his eyes, the light was more merciful. Playing in the deep oranges on the wall, making Robbie forget that it was winter.

Following the light that played against the wall was a source of security he had embraced in the hospital. Knowing his mind would and could never conjure up something like this, he felt safe. Safe awake. 

His ear picked up a new type of sound, shallow and slow. Calculated and dull in a world that was all too sharp in the last few days. Glancing from the wall down to his legs, he frowned, his head wobbling a little as he pushed an elbow under himself. In the golden hues of the afternoon, a big blue blotch was perched by his feet.

Said blotch cleared some as Robbie blinked off the residue of sleepiness. His heart betraying him at the sight, he felt the blood run all around his body. See, this is exactly why Robbie avoided and cut Sportacus off right at the beginning of the summer. Sitting there, arms flexing as he was putting together whatever Glanni wanted him to, with the thin layer of sky blue short sleeves. Glued to his chest, form-fitting all around, Robbie had to gulp.

It was all delicious, yes, enticing too. But what he found the most endearing, adorable even—such a disgusting notion too—was the dedication in the lowered brows. The care and attention awarded to the task behind those eyes. How whatever Sportacus did, whatever he put his mind to, he would give it everything he had. How the attention and care that he spilled into his work were always rewarding.

Robbie glanced toward Glanni, who was watching him instead of the handyman. He nodded approvingly with an upside-down grin, not giving him away just yet must have been a fluke as whatever merciful spirit came over his cousin left a blink later.

"Finally up?"

"Urgh…" Robbie grunted as each word sent stabbing pain down his spine, to his heart, and into his eyes. He wasn’t sure, but it all hurt at once.

"Robbie, you are up, how are you?" Sportacus let whatever was holding his attention until now fall to the ground.

With little care for the object, he turned toward Robbie, his smile just as uneasy as it had been since Robbie learned he didn’t fly away. The very same Sportacus must have thought looked fine, but it didn’t; there was no honesty behind it. It did get better in the last few days, but their first meeting in traumatology was still haunting Robbie. And not just for the words spilling from his mouth, betraying Robbie, and sharing a tidbit he was never going to let slip.

Welp.

"Literally dying…" he whimpered, letting his torso fall back down. Again, the blanket was too much; he felt sweat drench his nape.

"Don’t be such a baby-" "We should go to the hospital-"

Robbie blinked, hissing in pain as the voices joined over his head, battering down to his teeth. He felt more than saw that Sportacus jumped up, ready to spirit him away, while Glanni also stomped over holding the handyman off. Their argument became more and more heated. Words and reasons were all flying around with great abundance and little to no decency on Glanni’s part.

"J-just sh-shut up" he winced when Glanni got louder after a well-intended opinion from Sportacus. "Please" it even hurt to press it through his lips.

Robbie felt like he only breathed that out, but it became silent immediately. It took him a moment to realize they were both going mute above him, blinking as he squinted up. The two faces hovering over him were exact opposites, one annoyed while the other had a shaky, worried smile.

Against all odds, he felt a shy laugh bubble up and escape his chest, regretting it when breathing became harder a second later.

"He finds this funny," Glanni whispered, rolling his eyes. Missing Sportacus with his elbow, he staggered to the side a little, pouting when the handyman sat primly next to Robbie.

The heat rolling off the man was unbearable, joining the feverish burning Robbie felt on his skin. While he tried to fight his body to sit up, he was met with the same lax but firm hold he was handled with just a night ago. Sportacus’s skin on his felt scorching hot, and none of the finer details made sense—how he was handled with such ease or without a word.

How a hand remained at his back to hold him up, almost hugging, in an odd amalgamation of limbs, his and Sportaflop’s arms were linked. Now sitting, the blood rushed out of his head, leaving Robbie light-headed; his stomach churned; and he felt like he would throw up at any moment.

A cold hand landed on his mouth when he first gagged, and his whole body was repulsed by the fact that he was still held by Sportadork while he was about to barf his guts out. Glanni held his mouth shut, and for the first time he seemed to have mercy.

"Take him to the faucet." it was under his breath, and he didn't have to tell Sportacus twice.

Before Robbie could comprehend how his own hand took Glanni’s place, he was already hefted into the air. The motion made his empty stomach travel up, and he gasped, a low chuckle coming with the hilarity of the situation. This was, what, the fifth time he was hauled up the man since they knew each other and each got exponentially worse. 

Robbie had little masculine pride in himself, but he felt robbed each time, weaker than he was ready to confess. It was one thing to be manhandled by Sportacus when Robbie could actually enjoy the strength behind the action. Or the care awarded to him in those situations, or the safety of those ridiculously thick arms of the handyman. This was pure torture.

Gagging again, he heard but couldn’t understand what Sportacus was saying.

Felt like he was hanging in the air, in the embrace of the sun, radiating and cruelly peeling his skin. The sweat felt clammy against his skin. But the tone and the softness of the words hitting his neck felt nice. Feeling this weak after he believed he had already been through the worst of it was like the universe itself was mocking him.

"It’s okay" the first sentence he understood, and it was horrifying. "Let it out, it’s fine," Sportacus said, still holding him in the blinding white of the bathroom. The thumb on Robbie's back petted him reassuringly as he was shuffled around.

"Ngh," Robbie gagged, his whole body convulsing from it; pain traveled through him, and he felt disgusting. "N-no," he said, tasting the salt in his saliva, his hands trembling.

Sportacus shifted him slightly, and Robbie couldn't figure out why he wasn't pushing against his injuries. "It’s nothing," he said.

Maybe it was nothing for Sportacus; Robbie could imagine it. The kind, modest goody two shoes wouldn’t bat an eye even if Robbie threw up at him. But Robbie could never live it down; he felt miserable as it was with Sportacus constantly around. Knowing well why he was sticking like gum to them, and as noble as he was, there was no way Robbie would be able to forget this.

"Glan-ghu-Glanni," he called rather his free hand pushing against Sportacus’ broad chest.

"Yeah, yeah," he heard his cousin babble as the rush of water overpowered the voices in Robbie’s mind. "Put him down."

For a split second, Robbie could swear the hold on him got firmer, like he was taken further away from what he believed was Glanni next to the tub. Glancing up, he found Sportacus looking at Glanni with that sharp glare that Robbie learned only lasted a few seconds before it would mellow out to his usual kind gaze. This time, however, it remained pissed off, even when Robbie felt the hold relax. 

Robbie was ready to stand and usher the two out, but found himself lowered into the cool tub. Confused, one hand still over his hiccup like gags shaking his body, he glanced up. Glanni was sitting on the edge, already pestering Sportacus to leave, while the handyman stood there looking lost.

Robbie’s mouth filled with an acid taste, and Robbie felt it burn his heart as well. His fingers ached as they clawed into the pants he had on. He hoped, against his instincts, that Sportacus would be gone the next time he looked up. Mind and mouth preoccupied, he clutched his chest now, desperate to keep everything down, to keep his remaining pride, as small as it might have been, intact.

His silent pleas, anointed by his gagging, were heard by his cousin, who, in line with his quite unsavory manner, all but kicked Sportacus out as he pushed a white plastic bowl to Robbie’s hand. Bickering, lamenting, and describing the sounds that Robbie’s gut just made as disusting while he left the bathroom with the reluctant handyman in tow.

Now alone, again in the dreaded bathroom, like a child sitting in the tub, he lifted the bowl. Pain laced every one of his moves; his head was close to splitting; he felt like his throat was burning from inside; and the horrific image of his impromptu breakfast coming up squeezed his torso.

Retching. It took long, all the while listening to his own misery bounce back from the walls. A tear he was desperately trying to keep in rolled down his sweat-drenched face, making his skin itch. Pitiful and the scum of the earth. His whole body shook with the velocity of his gut struggling to get rid of anything still irritating his stomach. The taste, the feel, the way he had to pull his arm against his lips multiple times before he felt close to being done were disheartening at best.

The acidic smell and the colors he was appalled by and absolutely rejected looking at prompted him to push the warm bowl away to the other end of the tub. Curling in on himself, he took a deep breath, his abdomen hurting and his body still working out the immense jolts. Dignity gone, shattered, he pulled his legs against his chest. The cool of the tub’s inner walls helped calm some of the pain and tension boiling in him.

Robbie kept his head down, not caring for the slowly building pain in his head wound as it pressed against his upperarm, when the bathroom door opened. Even without looking up, he knew that it was Glanni; this time he didn’t make a grand round about the mess, nor did he lament about the state of the ‘preistine’ tub. He simply, without fanfare, took the bowl and emptied it into the toilet.

Robbie flinched at the sound of the water rushing down, overpowering the sound of the bowl’s contents falling in. Balled at the end of the tub, his cousin had ample space to rinse the bowl without getting Robbie wet. Listening to the noises—the tiny ruckus the reluctant relative created—made some of the painful strain in his shoulders ease up.

"You done?"  Glanni asked, sitting between the bowl and Robbie on the edge of the bathtub.

Robbie nodded into the circle formed by his arms and knees. Whimpering against the stabbing pain from his temple and jaw. 

"Great, here."

Glancing up, Robbie followed the fingers ending in his toothbrush and a bottle cap of mouthwash. Weaker than he was ready to confess, he swatted at Glanni, not ready to take the items. Not ready to be alive again, to show his face. To live like this. All he wanted was his dark, tiny home. The hole that Glanni couldn’t stomach. To be alone, preferably forever, because that was what he needed and what he deserved for being such a pitiful shit.

"I am fine," he croaked, his mouth tasting vile and his throat all scratchy. The sensations only added to his already mounting torture.

"You don’t look fine," his cousin offered, his tone shifting as he slipped closer to the edge. As close as he could get to caring "Little l-"

"Then don’t look…" Robbie retorted, pained; he felt like he was being squeezed dry and trampled over at the same time.

However deep he was in his self-pity, Glanni didn’t give a shit. Robbie flinched when the bony fingers pushed against his forehead, aggressively ordering Robbie to look at him. He looked drained as well; for the first time since New Year's Eve, Glanni looked human. With a grimace on his face, he pushed the bottlecap onto Robbie’s lax fingers, closing them on the flimsy plastic.

"It’s like a car wreck; I can’t look away." with a little tilt of his head, he looked like he harbored some soft remorse, hidden behind his sharp edges. Holding Robbie’s head with a single finger, he smiled. "Wash up. You have five before I send the anxious buffoon in."

The mouthwash dripped onto his finger, his skin pinching from the cold, minty liquid. He was debating whether feigning unconsciousness would save him. Robbie came to the conclusion that it would only add oil to the fire already blazing between the reluctant caretakers.

Glanni pushed some of the hair out of his face, then let his head go. Rolling his fingers together to get rid of Robbie’s sweat, he shook himself and asked, "can you get out?"

"I don’t think so…" Robbie confessed, kicking the mouthwash back; it burned the inside of his mouth, and all the tiny cuts and grazes tensed and closed from the intrusive stuff.

He felt some escape his mouth by the corner and once again felt useless, pushing the toothbrush against his teeth while holding the liquid in. His words hung in the air with nothing much to add. Both of them knew it would inevitably be Sportacus who would have to fish him out of his misery-filled solace inside the bathtub.

Robbie wasn’t ready; he hated this.

Hadn’t the blue buffoon seen him at his most vulnerable already? Didn’t he keep showing up to help? Even Glanni, the one person who would normally threaten someone with a knife if he had to, was somewhat beaten by the forever positive man. A treat that Robbie could have used now, to ridicule, to keep his mind off his pitiful being.

No, the idiot chose to worry. Non stop at his heels, on Glanni’s bad side, in the apartment, and under the pressure of his brother’s constant efforts. Robbie could have worked with any other emotion. Joy, straight avoidance. Sadness, some good gloating. Jelausy, just mock the guy.

This worry, this emotion hidden behind the worry that kept clawing against Robbie’s reason, was a challenge. It was hard, because the tender care he received from the handyman, he could see it given to all. For Sportacus to share it with anyone really, his devotion to the things and people he cared for was unmatched. And Robbie was way too weak to withstand such a strong force.

Glancing up, he saw the now clean and empty bowl held out for him with a glass of water in tow. His cousin patiently waited out the gargling and kept his insults to a minimum before he all but screamed for the handyman. Breaking all the remaining trust Robbie had fostered for Glanni in a single action.

It’s so warm. Scorching his skin with each touch. With the slight pull of skin. A morbid lust tasting like iron, heaving in pain, he hates it. It cuts deep, and Robbie tries to escape. There is a hand on his wrist, pulling him towards the edge of the stairs. The voice screams at him, and his suddenly small body is smashed against the pavement. Amid the noise and suffocating heat, he sees his blood, the only person keeping to his side. Tall and bruised, eyes sharp as blades, the fire comes ablaze, and everything withers as the weight pulls him under again, finding the familiar carpet drenched.

This time when Robbie woke up, he knew right away where he was, what day it was, and could make out the lines of the early sun. Slightly turning to the right, he watched the sky. Still dark, plump snowflakes kept falling gingerly, like the concept of time or their mortality meant nothing to them. Robbie followed them, eyes moving slowly; he blinked a few times.

His mouth felt cottony dry again, but he already knew the drill. If he wanted anything, he would have to get it himself. Glanni was most likely still asleep anyway; after he kept harping on the fact that he was exasperated from the last few days, he all but disappeared to his room last night. That memory pulled the one right before, where he was scooped from the tub, then, after some persuasion on his side, he was let down to his feet.

Sportacus’s worried gaze swept over him, and Robbie now knew how a forced smile looked on the handyman’s lips. It was atrocious, as Glanni would say, and ugly, if you asked Robbie. Anything false would look bad on someone as honest as Sportaflop.

Lifting his arm, he found that today would be better already. This rollercoaster of mood and state was beating him down to the ground, then kicked him just for good measure. He smiled around his own bad metaphor, and with oiled ease, he chucked his legs over the edge of the bed. Stopping, he felt blood rush to his feet, and the usually tiny prickling felt more like Lego under his soles.

With nothing short of a miracle, he pulled one leg over the other to see his feet. A feat he couldn’t even imagine a few days ago, and peered at the rosy skin there. He had several cuts on his sole, a dip in his heel, with an ugly jagged edge. Robbie ran his thumb over the ridged skin; some of the shallow cuts caught on his fingers, but it didn’t hurt, but it was buzzing.

Letting his feet down, he pushed off the bed. His balance was shaky, and he shook himself, just like Glanni said this coddling was getting to him. If something happened, he would just get up, shake it off, and wait it out. Wait until it passes. 

In the dim morning light, he opened his door, just to be taken aback by the scene before him. The living room was bright, all the lamps were up, and a low murmur came from the open kitchen. Keeping his steps easy, he slowly advanced toward the kitchen, where he could smell something nice. Glanni kept on chattering in his plush robe, perched on the furthest stool from the handyman, who was working away in the kitchen.

Confused, he looked back at his bed, to his room, his gaze moved over everything in the two rooms that might have indicated he was still sleeping. Somehow, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t adding up. Using their one-sided conversation, and their backs turned to him to his advantage, Robbie put some confidence in his steps, forgoing the chair and padded over to the kitchen.

As silent as he could be, he moved to the stool on the inner side, slipping on the cushion, he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

"I am perfectly capable of creating and keeping a dietary plan for him; you don’t have to" Glanni snapped his hands all around. "come here at the ass-crack of dawn and do whatever that is…"

Robbie peered at the pan as well; something brown and mushy was shimmering with Sportacus stirring it, giving a delicious look of something that otherwise would turn his stomach, it was an added plus that he could see the man’s muscles flexing. Gulping his hunger down, Robbie enjoyed his invisibility.

"...also, it was your cooking to begin with that made him sick." Glanni snickered, one of his more serious jabs going right over Sportacus’ head.

"Or," Sportacus spoke up finally, "maybe the never-ending amount of isotonic water you keep pumping in him did."

"It helps recovery." Glanni retorted, crossing his legs, and pulling his robe closer in on himself. "I thought a musclebrain like yourself would be privy to such basic knowledge."

Impressed at the gaudy language, Robbie glanced to Sportacus, waiting for his retort, any smart-ass workout analogy, or something akin to belittling Glanni for his insufferable presence. Rather, the handyman just shook his head, his shoulders stiff, his whole body strained and kept on stirring.

Robbie watched the muscles constrict on his back under the form-hugging long-sleeve shirt. The dejected little bow of his head, neck deep in his early morning delusion.

"Holy Fucking Shi-!!!!"

Robbie flinched back, and so did Sportacus mid turn, both of them watching his cousin flail then fall from the stool he was so primly perched on. Hissing and cussing, he made a whole ruckus as he gathered himself from the floor, snapping his arms down his robe in anger.

It hurt; it was too much pain, but Robbie couldn’t withhold the laughter. Gloating at his cousin’s misery, even more so when he realized he caused it.

"YOU!"

"Good morning," Sportacus was silenced under Glanni’s booming voice.

Robbie wanted camaraderie, and he found it in the handyman at last. The twitch of that ridiculous mustache and the quivering of his lips were all that Robbie needed for another laughing fit got to him. He didn’t even flinch or fight when Glanni stormed over his side and strategically poked him at a spot that hurt the least, with his boney finger.

"Why" a poke, "didn’t you speak up?" another poke, "lurking like a creep," Glanni kept poking now sitting at his side.

"I just -haha-ha-ha" when Robbie looked at Glanni another fit came over him. Something in his chest unlocked, and with the laughter came something else. Something he didn’t want to show, so the tears that fell from the corner of his eyes were all blamed on his hysterical laughter. "Iwoke up and sat down," he sighed, shoulders still shaking. "That’s not a crime…"

Glanni grimaced but let it slide. If his usually put-together self was a little more disheveled, then none was the wiser.

"How do you feel?"

Sportacus asked his now-standard question, and Robbie debated whether that would ever change after all this was over.

"Like whatever…" he shrugged.

His head wasn’t hurting at the moment, but that could also be accounted for the pain medication that Glanni gave him late last night. Not as good as the ones in the hospital, but close in dulling his senses right away after the injection. The only tension in him was the fear of the pain coming back—that it would once again push him down and break him. He would rather not do anything, just not feel this gut-wrenching anxiety.

Without a word, Sportacus put something before him. Glancing up a small bowl with the yellowish hot stuff that the handyman was stirring before was portioned for him. It smelled sweet, but the memory of yesterday’s disaster soured his mouth.

Sportacus pushed the food with a finger, leaning over the table, close enough for Robbie to be aware but just far enough to not disturb him. "It’s fine; this is good for your upset stomach."

Suspicious Robbie looked up. "What is it?" if it was Sportacus, it must have been something utterly healthy and most likely tasting just off enough to bother Robbie.

"Ban-" 

"It’s a BRAT diet dish," Glanni cut in, laughing as he flicked a finger into the porridge-like stuff, "because you are a brat." he looked quite satisfied with his reasoning and childish jab. Nodding at his very intellectual answer as he slipped on the stool next to Robbie, and licked the stuff off his finger.

"It’s banana and apple mush; actually, it will taste sweet; try it." Sportacus ignored the whole debacle from his cousin and offered a spoon.

It did smell sweet. Robbie took the spoon, again, with much less finesse than he wanted to share. His fingers trembled slightly on the cutlery. Shaking himself, he sank the spoon into the hot food. After some gymnastics involving Glanni insisting on being the one to blow on it for a prolonged time, Robbie tasted the odd thing. It was sweet but nothing like what he usually liked; the consistency, as well, pulled some of the memories from the day before.

Gulping it down, he took his time with the next bite. He glanced up and watched with little to no emotion as Sportacus’ face broke into his usual sunny smile. The irritating one. The one Robbie missed just a bit. Ignoring the pair, he fought the remaining stuff down; relived when, for the first time in days, he felt some of the normalcy was coming back.

Now he just had to somehow get back to his lair and convince Glanni that staying was fine. The next gulp felt like honey, glupy and overly sweet, like it took its time to slip down his throat, but that could also be because of the tightness he felt there. The constant pain and the tension just kept growing each day, rather than shrinking. 

He stared at the metallic utensil and mused, his mind slower than usual and much more relaxed as well. Without much of his usual sensory overload or the constant aches of his everyday, he should have felt better. Not getting more and more anxious, or fearing the pain worsening, so he anchored hismelf in his current interesting and new pains.

The dull sound of the spoon against the ceramic of the bowl was neat. A sudden good feeling enveloped him, a kind of warm buzz he hadn’t felt in a while. Maybe when under the influence. Back in the hospital. His eyes moved from the spoon to his finger; he stared at the nail for a long moment before moving his gaze up to the off-white wrappings.

Stephanie is okay.

Something that his mind, now and then, out of nowhere, just repeated. He didn’t care. Actively, so to say, it was hard to describe. He wasn’t worried, not really. But she kept popping up in his mind. Glanni said she was fine. Sportacus also said so, and he never lied.

His musing ended when the sharp stench of the salve Glanni kept smearing on his wounds hit him. "No." he warned, pulling away.

"Yes."  Glanni said, gloved fingers glistening with the stuff.

"I just ate." Robbie tried pulling away more. The clatter of the spoon was loud between the three of them.

"Good for you?" Glanni scoffed, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. Still coming closer, now his other hand was also creeping towards his head wound.

"I feel good today. Can’t we just... ugh... stop it!" he pushed against his cousin’s arms. “Do it LATER!”

Moving away; he knew the fastest way back to his room, and he was just about to find out if he could run for, he didn’t care how childish it was, he wanted to keep this one, ONE, serene moment. Hiding away mihgt be cowardly, yes, but remaining here and offering up some free torture was worse. 

Still holding onto Glanni’s arms, he slipped from the stool. His stomach dropped as his feet hit the tiled flooring, and a sudden shadow of fear came over him. A shiver ran down his back, as he felt something behind him, and he was ready to run. Body on high alert until all of it melted away with a single sigh.

Sportacus stood behind him,he was still smiling, not a false one either, a little uneasy maybe. From his hunched position, Robbie had to actually look up at the shorter man. It was too soon to relax. The warm hands vined up Robbie’s, slowly peeling his hands from Glanni’s "Sorry..."

"Traito-argh" Robbie snapped away, backing right into Sportacus’ chest and shoulders when his cousin smeared the glistening stuff on his now burning temple.

"Traitor," he repeated a little later. He was above pouting, but he was sure he was doing something like that. "You are supposed to be on my side," he hissed at Sportacus, who was innocently sitting on the opposing armchair.

Stupid smile on his face, chuckling like the idiot he was. Robbie kept watching him; not even a week went by before some of the usual banter was back. He liked that better anyway. This pitying and soft care was ebbing at him, gnawing at his reason, and Robbie didn’t need that right now.

He didn’t need to know that his feelings were all real. That he liked tha handyman, as a person. Loved him as he was, including his mustache. Lusted for him as a man. All of that could just rot somewhere far away, for all he cared. Robbie knew that even if he were to confess, he would be met with some kind of halfhearted pity right now. Either that or enthusiastic acceptance.

Neither sit well with him.

Robbie took his time looking at everything but the handyman for a while, as his mind was running wild. Hopefully not from whatever the man made. It was still early, way too early for the man to be here. "Did you come just to mush up some bananas?"

Sportacus stilled for a bit, his constantly moving legs and fidgeting fingers halting. Like he was debating inside his head before actually answering, he glanced up at the wide glass panes behind Robbie. "And apples, but mostly, yes," he ended up saying.

"Did Glanni force you to become his maid?" Robbie pushed up in the couch, or his impromptu napping space, and said, "not that I don’t enjoy your self-inflicted atonement," trying his best to sound a little like Glanni. It seemed to get a rise out of the handyman after all, and he would have loved to see it happen from his pestering for once. "I do, very much, but you don’t have to do any of this."

"I want to." Sportacus’ hands linked between his knees as he leaned forward.

Robbie wanted to just focus on Sportacus, but all he could think about was the very same sentence he all but spat in the handyman’s face on Christmas Eve. Suddenly his throat felt tight and his mouth dry. The cavity in his heart he could not name tightened. His back was shivering like he had just been hit with a bucket of cold water.

Back then, he told him he didn’t need a hero, that he wasn’t a victim to save, and that he would rather have anyone else near him than the handyman. 

Still. 

His eyes hurt from the unshed tears, and he hastily snapped at them to hide any evidence of his sudden weakness. Rubbing the skin relentlessly, not caring for the pain that was blooming at his temple from the pull against the stitches.

Suffocating, he gulped down air and heard the handyman move. He felt before he saw that Sportacus was kneeling before him, a hand calmingly laid over his knee, while the other reached for the madly rubbing hand. 

Still. 

Sportacus was still here. What an idiot, what a flipping moron, one must be, to do something like this. To suffer, let alone his cousin, but Robbie’s antics as well.

Now too, Sportacus held him like he was made of porcelain.

Robbie despised this, mainly himself. He had told Glanni that Sportacus wouldn’t leave, but he was half hoping he would just up and disappear under the guise of his brother forcing him. His other half, the one he desperately tried to silence, the one which kept making his heart jump into loops inside his chest; that half Robbie wished he could have just killed. Better yet, if it could have died in the Lazy Plaza.

"Where does it hurt? I’ll call Glanni, j-" Sportacus was about to leave, and his smile that was finally coming back was gone.

Robbie let a hand fall on the one holding his knee taking a long and deep breath,. "I’s okay, just a - uh -" he blinked a few times " a passing pain, yeah, I am fine," he said as he pinched the handyman’s moustache, pulling it lightly to the left. "See, don’t be such a," he looked for the word that could hurt a little but still sound silly. "Worrywart," he said, tugging one last time before letting the facial hair go.

Smiling against all the turmoil inside him, he watched as the tenaciously straightened thing rolled up a little thanks to his touch.

The hand over his knee turned up, and Sportacus linked their fingers. "I’ll do whatever I want," he reiterated, in a tone that was light but strict, which was a skill Robbie realized.

Sniffing a little, he willed all the idiotic and stupidly teenager-like reactions. He pulled his hand away, pushing it under his armpits, and crossed his hands tightly around his chest. "Whatever"

Another day, another letdown.

Robbie sat up in his bed. Today seemed fine the first time he opened his eyes. Now, only a few moments later, a new kind of pain took root in him. His abdomen and ribs, mainly on his left side, started to act up. It was nothing like the dull pull of his muscles whenever he moved the wrong way or too fast. No, this time it was like he kept reliving the hits again and again. Which was interesting because he didn’t remember it hurting this much the first time.

Slowly, with deliberate motion, he fought his way up in the bed, this time giving himself some time before he turned away from the window. Squinting, he gazed out, imagining it being the ground floor rather than whatever floor they were on.

The sky cleared up, lazy clouds swam before the radiant blue shining through their thin veil. When he was younger, back when they traveled with Glanni from town to town, he would pass time by lying on a bench and doing just this. Gazing at the vast sky, he made out patterns and forms of nonexistent things, calling them all the obscure words he knew. Now it gave him little to no amusement. Or help any with calming his mind.

His cousin knew that he hated high places. He knew that he had had this fear since they were young, So in a way, Robbie was sure that this was the lightest but most constant jab his ‘older brother’ could conjure up. Sniffing, he kept his breathing as shallow as possible, as with each expansion of his ribs, his side went out to kill him.

Cussing, he pulled himself from the bed, a gamble each day.

"Anyone here?" he asked the empty flat when he finally struggled out of his room.

It wasn’t such a great mystery, nor was it surprising. Glanni, from the very first day, kept on disappearing for hours on end. Sometimes he used Sportaflop’s kind nature and left him back. On others, he just made sure that Robbie was bedridden and couldn’t get up. So when Robbie waddled out to the wide living room, glance moving over the half-finished shelf by the walls, he yielded to the idea that today he would be alone.

Which, for one, meant he could forego the minty shit that his cousin kept massaging into any skin that was half off-colored; or the tiniest cut, let alone bruises. Hunching over, he found a posture that hurt him the least and looked for something that would hint at where Glanni went. The shuffle to the kitchen would be comical. Could he watch it from the outside, living it? Yeah, he could literally think of a million better things to happen to him. And it included doing his job.

As he presumed, a note was laid on the island, with Glanni’s elegant and elongated handwriting. ‘Shopping, rest, be back soon’ curt, with as little information as possible. Robbie slapped the flimsy paper, regretting it when his shoulder pulled his whole side into a contraption. The only thing he could compare it to would be a cramp, just radiating through his whole chest.

Against all that, despite the cramp and the hurt and the misery he was rolling in constantly, his body, namely his stomach, came to life. Now that he was on the diet he would not name, his appetite came back a little. The handyman made a few portions of the bland but somehow tasty food for him, like the kitchen maid he was. Robbie chuckled at the image.

It took him a good hour to execute the high-severity, overly complicated, and draining task of feeding himself some half warmed banana mush. Giving credit where credit is due, he applauded himself, leaving the dirty dish. All the while he fought with his body, his jaw, and the microwave, he thought about what to do. His phone was gone, and he had no other entertainment to fall back on.

Musing, his gaze shifted to the living room. To the table specifically. He didn’t miss chess, not more than he did before Stephanie showed up and all but coerced him into playing again. What he missed, he realized with a sour taste in his mouth, was the time spent that playing chess meant. It meant good-natured banter, bickering with a child, whose mind would conjure up things he never could have come up with even if he tried, just to then lose nonetheless.

Robbie sighed—a mistake, but it was too late. Grunting, he pushed off the kitchen island and looked around. Searching for the panic-inducing thing that Glanni banned from the living room the moment he put two and two together. Peering at the door to Glanni’s room, he debated if he should just slip in and out. His cousin hated when someone stepped over his stuff or touched his things, with or without his consent.

On the other hand,

Technically, it was Robbie’s. The chess board, that is. Satisfied with his reasoning, he nodded along as he took the few steps to the door. Debating and rationalizing were a dangerous combo, even more so for a fun-depraved and bored Robbie Rotten. He hesitated a moment when his hand fell on the cold handle, but decided it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

The room was nearly identical to Robbie's in size and length of glass panes. The walls and floor were just as bare as everything else in the enormous flat; the only character it had against Robbie’s room was the furniture. Some low shelving, a simpler bed, and a long office table pushed against the glass. As messy as Robbie remembered, with clothes all around in piles, he couldn’t make out which was the clean and which was the dirty pile. Table scattered with prints, some books, photographs, and his PC that Robbie never once saw him use outside his room.

He took one caotious step, feeling like a child threading in mischief, and he left the door open just to hear, or more hoping to hear, when the elevator arrived. He couldn’t find the set at first, so it just confirmed his reason for going in further. Careful not to disturb any of the piles or stuff Glanni left all around the place, he moved in slowly, without any real goal. Peering at the table, he moved so he didn’t move the chair; his whole reason for coming in was to take the chessboard, so he stopped with the lurking around. If he took it, Glanni would know either way that he invaded his space.

Soon enough, he found his prize under a pile of prints he didn’t care for. Glanni was vicious when it came to the law, something he had many encounters with when they were children and took it upon himself to practice it just enough to make sure they could always slip away scotfree. For Robbie, this was nothing of importance; he just laid low and buried everything deep down, where no one, not even their wretched relatives, would be able to dig it up.

Frozen in half movement from the pain, he watched the papers slip from the shiny surface of his closed set. The pages joined another pile, and Robbie could only hope that there was no method to this madness. It wasn’t even heavy, but it kept pulling him to the right, with his buzzing and numb left side now acting up again. The clatter of the pieces was sharp, and for a split second, he debated whether this was his brightest idea to do it alone.

Then the board slipped into his wounded palm with a calming familiarity. A sudden chuckle betrayed him, with a small huff leaving his bruised lungs. He shook it for good measure, only flinching from the pain that was pulling his skin at his left cheek.

Humming, satisfied with himself, he was about to leave when a frown came over him. Blinking for a few seconds, he pushed the board under his arm. He felt his skin pinch at his eyes as his brows knotted. Under the board, there were a few books, some open, others scattered around. At least four books had the same logo, from a series, and the open ones clarified what they were about. Robbie just wasn’t sure why his cousin had so much material on ASL.

The nagging feeling he had from the very start came back viciously, hammering against his skull. Glanni would not have come specifically for him, despite his desire to believe otherwise. There was something behind it all. Robbie looked around one last time, moved the top few pages back over the books, and left the room.

"You went into my room," Glanni said the moment he arrived, eyes moving between the set-up chess board and Robbie sprawled on the couch.

"I was bored, and I am fine, thanks for asking," he grunted, using the backrest to pull himself up, just to shimper when his side acted up again.

Confused Glanni shook off his coat and tossed it on the armchair carelessly. "I can see you are fine. You should have waited; I hate when you move things around."

"I just took the board," Robbie said once he was sitting again. With great pains, literally, he leaned forward after watching his cousin fall into the armchair, creasing the expensive coat without a second thought.

"You better," he sighed, fanning himself.

Robbie shook his head, rolling his eyes; he wanted to ask about the books but didn’t care for them as well. There must have been a reason; there was always something with Glanni. He never just did something out of boredom or without self-interest and a good payback.

It was a gamble, but he took it. For now. Leaning forward, he moved the board toward himself so he could make the first move with white. Wincing whenever he changed position, he scooched closer, at the edge of the couch. Picking up the right-side pawn, he moved the piece to f4, letting the sound of the wooden piece against the shiny board run down his form.

He could feel Glanni’s gaze on him, the one that was too suspicious to be as nonchalant as he wished to look.

"What opening is this?" Glanni moved closer himself, taking no action to join the game.

"Bird's," he answered simply, looking at the lone pawn now stationed on the flank of the board.

"You just weakened your king…" Glanni lamented, correctly pointing out the intentional flaw of the move.

Shrugging Robbie leaned back painfully slowly, letting his back relax against the puffy pillows scattered on the couch. Letting his weight rest against the plush, he tapped a finger against his thigh.

"You are not wrong, but —"

"I am right." Glanni corrected.

"For one, this gives me an attacking chance that might surprise someone who thinks I just broke my structure, or I can lull them into believing not knowing any heavy theory," he usually didn’t play this, maybe once with Stephanie over the last two months. Never in events when he still competed, but it felt fitting. "White has to be prepared for several gambits, and black needs to overprepare to take advantage, which might end in them losing..."

Glanni shimmied deeper into the armchair, his head resting on the armrest. He shook his head. "Never understood your fascination with this stupid overspeculation." 

Robbie didn’t say anything about that. He didn’t need to, if he had to translate what his cousin just told him to chess terms, his move would be king’s pawn to e5. Offering a gambit, and if Robbie took it, this game would become extremely complicated.

-

With his daily routine established, Sportacus was back on track.

Early in the morning, before dawn could break, he was at the Lazy Plaza. With the police’s approval and Milford’s guidance, he was tasked with getting the lobby back to its original state. Complicated for numerous reasons, but Íþró connected him to the right people.

Visiting Stephanie, who was getting more and more eager to get out of the hospital. She was pestering every adult she could get to listen to her for more than a minute. Sportacus was happy to oblige, listening to the girl’s anecdotes and retelling any story but the one that ended with them battered. He once found her jumping around her bed, evading the nurse who was attempting to give her medicine.

She never asked about the crime again and never pushed to know if the culprit was behind bars. Whenever she was with Milford, she would quiet down and listen well, but the moment her uncle was out, she pushed for Sportacus to cohort on some mischief she planned to get out of the hospital.

As much as it hurt to deny the child her wish, Sportacus knew that this was the best place for her. He never mentioned to her how worried he was whenever a coughing fit came over the girl or when her energy evaporated a few moments after she all but erupted with cheer.

Milford would pull him to the side and share whatever he could regarding the investigation. His sharp edges showed whenever he was talking about how to proceed. About what Sportacus could and couldn’t do.

How Glæpur was going along with everything for now, but Milford had a bad feeling about it. The exact opposite of his brother, who was actively fighting against Glanni’s guard. Trying his best to bend and mold the man in a way that would come out positively in the end. Only for him to grunt and grumble to Sportacus about how unapologetically insufferable the cousin was.

Sportacus shared the opinion, yet every afternoon he was voluntarily suffering under the blatantly hate-filled gaze. Today as well, he was just finishing fixing the metal bars, which Glanni kept harping on that he broke intentionally to let Íþró in against his wishes. Sportacus shook his head a little, rolling his eyes whenever Glanni walked up and peered down at his work, pointing out something that was not even close to being done.

After whatever needed fixing, Sportacus would linger around for a little to catch glimpses of Robbie. His panic attack subsided; he could keep most of the food down as well now. Another instance for his hopes that the doorman was getting back to his old self was the chessboard positioned in the middle of the low table. Set up but untouched today. And under the same intense gaze that made Sportacus’ skin crawl, Robbie seemed to flourish. 

Perched on the couch, he lounged, relaxing with a book that he kept criticizing and waving around angrily at Glanni. He blamed all of his misfortune on his cousin, and he appeared to be in the same scheme as Stephanie, pretending that nothing had happened.

"Look!" he exclaimed to Sportacus, holding the book up with his wrapped fingers tapping against the page.

He just finished with the bars, cleaned his hands on his handkerchief, and walked up to the doorman. With the constant glistening of the salve Glanni kept administering and rubbing into the hurting skin of Robbie, his head wound looked cleaner, and the swelling was also slowly going down.

Still plopping painkillers all day around, shared by Glanni, who was never too far from Robbie. As much as he despised the ‘coddling’ he had been doing things his own way. Every sarcastic sentence was followed by a small act of kindness. It was infuriating in some ways and reassuring in others. Right now, he was also sitting on the other edge of the couch. Clicking his tongue and ignoring Robbie.

"What?"  Sportacus tried.

"Look," Robbie shook the book toward him, urging Sportacus to get closer, "here, read it."

Sportacus plucked the thin paperback from the doorman. Following his instructions, he glanced at the page and ran over a few paragraphs of text. With each word he read, Sportacus got more and more confused. Turning the book to check the cover, he frowned; it was a simple black and white cover titled Medea. Well, the wording made a little more sense at least.

"It’s boring," Robbie started when Sportacus glanced up at him, "but that isn’t its worst offense either." he wriggled his fingers toward Sportacus to get the book back.

A spark of endearment bloomed in Sportacus at the man’s action, fighting his smile. Sportacus handed the book back. Mood high and bright, just to be soured by Glanni behind him.

"It’s a cautionary tale... You are not smart enough to understand it if you find it boring." Glanni said, flipping a page in his magazine.

Robbie shook the book toward his cousin, only hissing when his grip weakened around the paperback. "She killed her children!"

"Revenge and passion are hard; she had to get a new life." Glanni added to the horrendous action. "It's what she had to do."

"Jason wasn’t worth going after," Robbie said as he tossed the book toward Glanni; thanks to his weaker hold, the book only traveled a short distance, hitting his own leg.

"It’s not about Jason, see. Too simple to understand, brat."

Thanks to the diet that they had to enforce so Robbie could get some of his strength back, Glanni had a new leverage that he kept on harping whenever he had the chance. Sportacus felt he could step in, but found it better not to. Instead, he sat on the armchair across from the pair. He listened to their bickering, hoping it wouldn’t turn against him. He had to share Robbie’s opinion; he hadn’t read this play, but he couldn’t rationalize killing your own children because her hatred for a man was greater than her love for her children.

"Whatever," Robbie huffed, kicking, or nudging more so, the book away, "I would rather be dumb than someone who reads Greek tragedies for fun."

Glanni responded without looking up, "Says the guy playing chess alone for fun."

Sportacus had no idea where to look or what to say, but he could feel the bubbling amusement beneath his ribs. Knew better than to give in to laughter in their vicinity, so to escape the wrath of the two, he stood up, looking for his next task. He put most everything together over the last few days, and the place started to look like a home, even with the empty shelves and nondescript art. It was getting livelier.

Robbie mumbled something as he walked slowly past Sportacus, struggling to get up. Sportacus was not to help Robbie until he asked for it, which Glanni made clear for him by threatening access to the apartment. Which they both knew would never happen. Even at his lowest, Robbie had some pride left and kept it close to his heart, no matter the pain.

Sportacus followed the movements. Robbie's usual cadence was back, as was his murmuring apathy. Walking from wall to wall, he disappeared behind the bathroom door. "Íþró will come with a warrant tomorrow." Sportacus shared, his eyes lingering on the closed door.

His brother insisted on telling this to Glæpur, to sow the seed of anticipation in his mind. Hoping to shake the man a little, but Sportacus knew better. Whatever Íþró had prepared was nothing against the man’s vicious counter. Idling with the oily cloth, Sportacus waited for something, knowing there was nothing to come from the snobbish cousin.

"Then let him come," Glanni offered, his gaze never leaving the pages.

Both knew neither had any say over if the detective of the active case wanted to interrogate one of the victims. Neither would Glanni be able to hold Íþró back, after all, his brother had gone around doing everything else until now. What didn’t sit well with Sportacus was why such a clear-cut case was handled this way.

Wasn’t the mounting evidence enough for the police to put Donovan behind bars? Or was there some truth in what Glanni had told them in their darkest hour? Milford had also gone his separate way; Sportacus only met him when they visited Stephanie; other than that, he never showed himself.

Glanni said he was putting together a case. But still, wouldn’t he also need to hear Robbie out?

Speaking of.

They heard the rush of water, then, with the grace of a freshly hatched duck, Robbie wobbled out of the bathroom, shaking the water from his hands. Spotacus found him cute again. Selfishly hoping to be at least a small solace for the doorman’s everyday struggles.

"Say, are you stupid too?" Galnni asked out of nowhere, but with him, it was most likely calculated and executed at the exact moment he intended to.

"Excuse me," Sportacus huffed, trying to keep his mood up.

"You must be, right?" Glanni grinned, snapping his shiny magazine shut. "Otherwise you would have already figured this out," he motioned between Robbie and Sportacus.

Glanni held Sportacus’s gaze, the challenge clear in his eyes. A half smile that was reminiscent of Robbie’s was playing on his lips.

Sportacus stood it with ease; it wasn’t a secret; he knew it already, he knew it ever since Christmas. He also knew where his place was; Robbie showed him with a simple sentence. The doorman’s actions ever since then have all been in line with what Sportacus could only interpret as depending on him. After all, he was the put-together, in every rage-inducing way, perfect handyman again, like he used to be. That was enough. 

When Robbie stopped beside him, Sportacus offered his hand like it was second nature. Realizing how true it rang for him. He smiled with a small shake of his head when Robbie ignored it, only glancing down before he mockingly wobbled away. Engaging in another bickering match with his cousin.

Later that day, Sportacus hovered over his laptop again, blinking out at the slowly falling snow as he sighed. Arms and legs crossed, he had to calm himself again. Each passing day, the dread he couldn’t put a name to grew inside him. Breaking his mind over why this was happening now, when most of his initial worries were slowly getting solved. When their relationships and the case were moving forward, against Glanni’s worst efforts.

Looking at the next recording, he thought about the day. ‘2022_12_18_18_04_53’ It was a few days after Robbie almost broke his wrist. Nothing noteworthy happened, and glancing at his calendar, he had some minor things scheduled.

The player came to life. In the usual view of the lobby under the grainy black and white layer, he found Robbie shoveling down cake, Stephanie working away on his nails, and Ziggy jumping around the two. Right, it was when Robbie gave in and started to act like they were friends, soon enough he saw himself come in, pet the kids, and Robbie.

Sportacus’s finger hovered over the pause button, wishing to take in the moment but also keeping his eyes peeled for something more important. Watching Robbie, Sportacus couldn’t understand how stupid he was, not realizing the doorman’s body language. How he kept pulling away, shielding himself. Was Sportacus this blind? He had been told he was tactless a few times in his life, and now he had evidence of it.

Keeping it up, he glanced back at the monitor, laughing at his own shortcomings. The early night played out with Stephanie and Robbie painting nails, as well as some small squabbles, then Sportacus stopped the video. Gulping down the sudden knot in his throat, he watched Stephanie shy away from what seemed an intended hit from the doorman. Which wasn’t possible. It was clear that there was something amiss, but the recording was at an odd angle.

His credibility will be destroyed. Glanni said with heated words, with a bite Sportacus couldn’t believe in. They will create a narrative where the doorman was in fact implicated. But, this, this couldn’t be it; it was clear, and Stephanie would testify too. He forced his gut feeling down. After all, Glanni was wrong once already.

The video ended with the pair walking up the elevator.

He rewinded the recording. Again and again, with his mind easing up with each viewing, it was clear that there was no ill will on the tape. Somehow still, the dread he couldn’t shake kept piling up in him. Twisting his wrist, he jumped out of the bed.

Working up a sweat would negate his nightly routine, but he had to move. He linked his hands behind his neck, lying between the wall and his bed. The first sit-up came easy, with some of the tension lessening. Sportacus kept focusing on his movements, chasing any memory or doubt away. There was no need for him to stress over those. Keeping afloat and waiting to drift to the shore like a trusty boat, he had to keep the two safe until they reached their destination.

Sighing, he smiled wryly at the hilarity of the analogy.

After what felt like only a few minutes but was at least an hour, he worked most of the tension off, finding it harder day by day. He dried his wet palm in his night pants, huffed, and sat up, enjoying the slight burn of the muscles in his abdomen. With an arm propped on the bed, he remained on the floor and turned the laptop toward himself, finding the next file prepared by his brother.

The next snippet was of the day Adrin showed up for the first time, and it wasn’t any easier to watch it through the fish-eye lens of the CCTV camera than to live it. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear the exchange of words, but watching his past self and not knowing why he was so protective of the doorman felt worse than being called stupid.

The next two cuts were from the same day. One at dawn, where in the darkness it was not clear from where someone wearing a hood appeared, and with the faux snow, the camera’s view was darkened and cut. A few hours later, the next video captured Robbie smearing and cleaning the lens. ‘2022_12_22_12_11_23’ was the title, and Sportacus knew he was just about to appear.

This one was also easy to recall because this was the moment he felt a spark catch fire inside him for the first time. When he called Robbie cute, holding him in his arms, and had to pay for that mistake by bribing the man with cinnamon rolls.

To his surprise, his brother did not include the Christmas Eve recordings, despite the fact that Sporacus was confident there would be some things his boisterous brother would find amusing. To pick a little fight over Sportacus’ undeniably unacceptable behavior. Shaking himself, he urged the memories away, for one, because they sent his heart to a broken little place.

But sent his body to a heated and unwarranted lust. Nestling a warmth under his sweaty skin that was itching through his whole being. Something he didn’t let himself indulge in for weeks, distraught that his mind would again and again conjure Robbie’s writhing body under him. But then, what happened after made the little fire trampled under the pictures of aggression the man had suffered.

Grunting, he leaned back, eyes fixed on the sea of darkness outside, as his back hit the cold wall. It felt reassuring against his wet and heated skin, even through his shirt, cooling the slowly brewing excitement in him.

He had only one more thing to fix at Glanni’s place. After that, Íþró will hear Robbie's testimony. 

After that, he wasn’t sure.

The very next day, he stood across from his brother, uncomfortable but staying on the side he vouched for at the moment. To Íþró’s credit, he didn’t even bat an eye when they met on the opposite sides of the metal contraption Glanni seemed to like so much.

"Detective Álfur" Glanni started. "It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that today will not be working as I must leave," he sang, surprising everyone as he stepped into the elevator with the detective, closing the gate behind him.

Sportacus glanced at the taller man. Then he looked back at his brother, who, beyond what Sportacus could describe as praiseworthy, only smiled to himself while shaking his head. Scoffing, his hands were deep in the pockets of his jacket, hiding his usual hint when he was getting irritated.

"Mr. Rotten is of age, right?" Íþró asked, leaning toward Glanni.

Glanni, who tried to read his card in to make the elevator rush down, stopped at the question, and he looked taken aback. "Do you have some impure intentions, detective?"

Sporcaus looked between them, left to his devices. On one hand, he didn’t want to leave his brother in a pinch; on the other, he found this quite amusing. Finally, it wasn’t him directly suffering from Glanni’s sarcasm and cleverly spun narratives.

"Couldn’t be further from the truth," Íþró hummed, leisurely leaning against the panel that Glanni needed, "but Mr. Rotten is up, conscious, and decidedly in his right mind, so what could your presence add to my questioning?"

"The best thing ever," Glanni grinned, pushing the detective off the panel with minimal struggle, surprising the brothers "legality."

As the elevator door was about to close, the cousin leaned into the gap, his voice but a snarl. "I’ll be back sooner than you think..." he glared at Sportacus until their connection was cut by the elevator door.

He could still make out some banter between the men as the lift descended, leaving him alone in the short hallway. Under the spell of the fast exchange and Glanni’s - at this point - anticipated hold on the situation. 

When he got the call at the crack of dawn, his heart almost went into cardiac arrest. For one, it came from Robbie’s phone, and Sportacus knew it was Glanni, as he had not yet shared with Robbie that his phone had somehow been copied. As he fell out of bed, his mind jumped to the conclusion that something horrific had happened and Glanni couldn’t reach anyone but him. And Sportacus knew he was pretty low on the his list of emergency calls.

As he tore his shirt off his head, he fumbled with the phone, eager to hear the man out. Blood pressure at a sky-high level, just to be let down by a prolonged yawn before the insufferable relative, man of many talents, and resident menace told him to come right this morning, lamenting that this was a simple pay back for his cooking escapade.

So an hour or so ago he came as summoned, freshly baked goods under his arms, properly pissed off. A silent standoff commenced when he arrived, rounding the eccentric man Sportacus took his now familiar route to the living room. Finding Robbie, who was usually lacking in sleep, up this early felt like a crime.

Now too, still at the same place, the doorman kept to himself.

A book was open on his knees, he was curled up in the end of the couch, only his vibrant orange pillow was missing from his usual image, and Sportacus swore he would get it as soon as he could. Robbie hadn’t seen him come back from the little altercation in the hallway yet. So Sportacus could watch the man without much remorse, cataloging the man’s features to his heart's content. 

Glancing toward the last piece he had left to work with, the TV mount and the appliance were both leaning against the wall. When he asked where to put it, he was shot down fast. Glanni didn’t care for it, leaving it to Robbie, who wasn’t privy to the opportunity yet, shockingly, as he kept whining about the lack of entertainment. Taking his time, Sportacus kept an eye on the captive as he set out to do just that. Offer some entertainment.

"Playing nanny?"  Robbie inquired, his smile stretching without the hiss that usually accompanied the wide gesture.

Ignoring the slight jab, Sportacus sat on the low table; he could have chosen the armchair; he could have even sat by the man’s leg, yet he chose the closest place possible. At the cost of a scoff for moving the chesspieces frozen in time. "So how ar-"

"If you ask me one more time, I swear I’ll tear your moustache off," he warned, pushing himself up into a half-sitting position. "Actually, if anyone asks, I might do it out of spite," he grimaced, snapping his mouth indignantly.

"I told you, people are worried about you," he said, offering a hand while glancing down the man’s form.

He became stronger in the last days, even with the step back of his upset stomach he was getting gradually better. Sportacus would have liked it more if the insufferable cousin just gave in and went back for a check in the hospital. Rather, he kept on postponing the day. Curiously enough, Sportacus couldn’t find anything wrong with what Glanni did; when he showed any kind of care at all, it was always precise.

Robbie, on the other hand. 

The broken man kept ignoring all the pain cues; all the whining ceased when he was told to stop. Defiant grimaces and childish retorts were all he added, but he became oddly silent each time. Now again, Robbie ignored his helping hand, and moving toward the backrest, he created a little space between them.

Sportacus’ fingers curled back, the memory of the man pulling away clear in his mind; he chuckled, fidgeting with his fingers while Robbie pulled himself up.

"Will we ever have a normal conversation again?" he asked out of the blue.

Sportacus frowned, his eyes darting around, and a laugh escaped him. "We're talking just fine," he said, perplexed.

"No, well, without all of," Robbie looked at him; now sitting, he gestured at the whole of Sportacus with his wrapped hand. "this."

Sighing with little to no humor Sportacus gave in "What is ‘this’ hm?"

Robbie grunted into the silence of the flat, irritated voice bouncing all around. "I am at the verge of begging you" he grumbled, hands crossing across his chest, his body flinching slightly from the movement. "I am this close," he showed his fingers almost touching, "Glanni is finally gone, so tell me something," he heaved with thinly veiled anger, "anything."

"My brother will take your statement aft-"

"I’ve had enough of you," Robbie said, shaking his head, visibly irked by Sportacus’ nonchalant answer.

Robbie’s impatience was waning; for the last few days, he had been docile, mostly because of the amount of painkillers pumped into him. Sportacus was somewhat fearing this phase; he could already tell that Robbie was becoming more and more tense with each passing day. He saw how the doorman's eyes never rested like they used to, how his injured fingers flinched whenever he strayed even slightly from his comfortable pattern.

Sportacus somehow, against all odds, became used to the wounds and bruises. He could get used to the slouching ever so slowly becoming a crawl. Keeping to the man’s left, tattered side, at the end it was always like he was peering at Robbie from the corner of his eyes.

"What is one more day?"  it was too late when he said it. Too late.  He snapped his head up, an awkward laugh leaving him in a rush as Robbie’s exact words rang in his mind.

Sportacus didn’t know what he expected, but it sure as heaven wasn’t for Robbie to look at him like he was the most idiotic person he ever met. Or that he would squint at him suspiciously, pouting a little before he spoke up. "Is this some kind of vendetta?"

He peered at Sportacus more intensely, so much so that he could feel the heat pooling at his nape.

"Some good guy thing?"

"What?"   Sportacus was dumbfounded, and instead of an argument, he found himself in a rather tame situation.

"Are you my conscience or something…" the doorman mused and leaned forward, arms still crossed; he looked quite comical. "You know what? Okay, I am fine; good, I’ll be fine too, so do not ask again." he rushed it out.

"Really?"

As Sportacus asked, he felt like he understood what Robbie meant by normal conversation. The one where the man either shied away, lurked in the shadows with malicious comments spilling from his lips, or ridiculed someone from his high horse, only to back down when challenged. While Sportacus stood there, taking it all in. Questioning if any of the prior was a farce or Robbie’s actual personality.

Not waiting for the irked man’s answer, he offered his joker.  "Today, I have the TV set to install."

Now that piqued Robbie’s interest, who sat up with a whimper following his exhale. "You lie…you must not be real…" Robbie said, reaching out to him. Pinching Sportacus instead of himself.

"No, I really -"

"Put it here, here," he kept pointing the wall across, worming his way closer to the wall on the couch, just like a child.

Like Stephanie when she found out from whom the sunflowers were from. Sportacus stood with ease, following the finger with an easy smile, and with his soul lifted, he stepped away. With a happy buzz under his fingers, not only could he feel useful, but he could also make something to help Robbie’s constant misery.

He was just about to peel the box from the packed TV and its accessories and seal them when Robbie screamed in pain.

Sportacus twirled on his heel, coming to his side in a blink, looking for what caused it. Robbie remained on the couch, gripping his leg, his fingers clawing against it as he hissed in pain, grunting and whimpering he pulled left leg up which spazmed.

Without a word, Sportacus pulled, ripped the blanket off, peeling Robbie’s hands in a swoop motion. He ignored all the words tossed at him between pained cries and tight-lipped hisses. Slipping up against the man, he pushed Robbie's right leg against the back rest while pulling up the PJ pants on the strained leg. Firm grip on the left ankle, he found the culprit right away. To be honest, he was waiting for these to hit, but he couldn’t even imagine the skin-crawling sounds that came from Robbie once his muscles constricted.

"It’s a charlie horse" Sportacus said, rushing to push the ball of his sole back, as the arch was as hard as stone as well. His movements were stuttering as he saw the battered skin and deep stabs mids the remnants of the freezing cold trek.

"A -a," Robbie grunted, attempting to pull his leg away but failing as his lungs and side must have fought back." what?"

Sportacus moved slowly, sitting down. He nudged his knee against the backrest too, all his attention on the calf that was constricting and hardening, looking as painful as Robbie made it to be.

"A cramp," he elaborated as he let the left sole press against his clavicle, his hands turning to untangle the muscles in Robbie’s leg.

"Do, guh, must you come up with some funny n-name?" Robbie let his torso fall back, leaving it up to Sportacus, still sputtering from the pain, his leg pushing against Sportacus’ chest in hopes to countermeasure the strain inside his calf. "Shit, some funny name for every freaking thing?" he grunted out with a sad half laugh.

Sportacus had to concentrate on the tight tissue squirming under his touch, his thumb running against the hard and heated skin. While the other palm kept on rubbing the bunched up muscles. "Is it any better?"

"NO?!" Robbie looked up at him, only to snap his head back down with a whimper as another cramp ran down his leg. "Oh, for, fu-"

"This is goo-"

"Shut up!  Shut up!  Sh—it" 

Sportacus could almost hear his teeth grinding. As pitiful as he found Robbie's situation, and as much as it hurt Sportacus to see him in pain, it was difficult for him to keep his sudden mirth in check. Biting the inside of his mouth, he kept on with his ministrations, running his now warmed-up hands against the shin, up to the knee, just to fall back to the ankle.

Sportacus fought the little laugh that was threatening to escape him, making a rather bad job of hiding it from the doorman under his care. His hands never stopping, he looked over the man sprawled under him. As the cramp eased up so did Sportacus’ mind, and it kept wandering, to the contact at his chest, where Robbie kept pushing against him, relying in him with every snap of the cramp latching against his sole. The heat and the movement enticed his heart, and not with the usual timid and kind feelings.

His fingers pinched the skin experimentally, leaning forward to push against Robbie’s leg, folding the limb against the man’s stomach with relative ease. It elicited a small gasp from the man, but still from pain, not what Sportacus’ suddenly vile imagination connected it to. He found another point of contact at his right hip, where the captured leg of the still sniffling man was pushed against him.

Robbie looked up again, fighting his way to his elbows, oblivious to his situation or what was going on in Sportacus. His still discolored left eye was full of tears, and his skin was red from strain. Sniffling, Robbie’s deep frown only let a small peep out. "Cheeky horse…"

Sportacus laughed hard at that, his chest moving with it; he felt the feet against his chest strain, then finally relax. With his heart fluttering inside his ribs, he felt weightless, returning to his real self again. All it took was for them to be alone a little, and he fell right back into the status quo. Even with the tiny pain of betrayal, he found this to be pure joy, rushing through his veins, impatient to let all the words he kept like a secret fall from his lips. Just to end up correcting the doorman.

"Charlie horse"

"CHaRLIe hOrSE," Robbie mimed, his words overarticulated as he sighed in relief.

Sportacus kept on chuckling to himself while he massaged the muscles, moving the knee joint; he worked up a good heat, pooling in his fingertips, but taking dangerous turns whenever Robbie moved the slightest, and Sportacus had to come to terms with what he had created in his haste to help.

How he essentially made Robbie straddle his hip, something his mind had mustered up a few times just to then chastise himself. Now, having executed said filthy fantasy bundled in the guise of help, Sportacus could feel his heart drop a little at the parallel of a night with similar intentions.

Glancing up, he found that Robbie was following the movents of Sportacus’ hands against his leg with an admiration that Sportacus had never seen in the man. Never in their four years of knowing each other had Robbie looked at him with such an unbridled fondness. Leaning in as Sportacus was, pushing against the leg, Sportacus could close the distance if he wished to. Easily push up to the man and indulge himself.

Catching himself, he fell back, against the couch, to his bottom. He let one hand sink to the ankle and slowly pulled it off his chest. He took his time to look at the battered skin there, hard from the trek in the snow. He let his fingers run down the edges of the cuts, while his other hand held the calf up to not put any strain on Robbie.

His hammering heart came down from his uncomfortable excitement, the kind that sent an antsy twitch down his abdomen. With more time on his hands, he moved his thumb against the ball of the battered and somehow still cool skin, pulling against it as he ventured down his arch, careful not to irritate any of the slowly mending tissue.

Wriggling his toes, Robbie pulled him from his musing, both his hands halting Sportacus looked up a little fazed.

"So, why, what, what the hell is this cramp?" Robbie was suspiciously short-winded as he tried to pull his leg from Sportacus’ grip.

Instead of letting go, enraged by the doorman's attempt to end their session before Sportacus deemed him 'fine,' his fingers dug deeper into the skin. "The charlie horse"

"I feel like you are ridiculing me," Robbie grunted, giving in and not trying to pull again, instead going rigid and still under him. "Like, like with you sportscandy bullshit."

"That’s the term, though," Sportacus laughed, realizing he hadn’t used one of his favorite words in a while. Shrugging, he moved the limb, folding it deeper and relaxing it slightly, to get some more blood to come back to the strained muscles. "For one, it might be partially because of the isotonic drink and not moving enough for it to work as intended," he shared one of his greater gripes with Glanni. "Also, you have overworked your muscles when you took -- when you ran to the hospital."

His pause didn’t go unnoticed, but with a slow nick of his head, Robbie let it slide as he once again followed Sportacus’s hand as he slowly twisted the ankle. Sportacus made an effort to will his affection away; there was no place for that. This was getting more and more tense and jittery with each low sigh that escaped Robbie.

A tiny gasp was what made Sportacus still, his eyes closing as he took a long breath, forcing his mind away from something that was deemed to fail anyway. He didn’t need the insufferable man to tell him he was in love with Robbie; he didn’t need to point out the inevitable cold shoulder he would get if he braved a confession of any kind. He had already been told off; screamed at; just  for at the end whispered words could cut into him. His attraction to the man physically was never up for question. 

From the beginning, when he was cursed and tormented to get lost, even in the depths of his rage-filled litany that he shared with his family, he could never describe the man as unattractive. But how he got from finding Robbie nice to look at to wanting to hold him was beyond Sportacus.

Clearing his throat, Robbie snapped Sportacus back to their current predicament, where he was still cradling the bare leg, thumb deep against the soft of Robbie’s arch. "Well, not everyone can be as flippy as you," he mocked, pulling to his right side.

Even without showing it, Sportcaus knew that every muscle on his torso was killing him and that all the pain accumulated wouldn’t disappear in a misely week. But moments like this made him hopeful—that under all that, that after everything, Robbie was still himself. 

Indulging himself Sportacus leaned in once again, only a little, he reasoned, folding the crampy leg again, now with him holding the ankle rather than having it push against his chest. With a smirk on his face, he slipped his hand against the outside of the calf, over the knee. Revelling in the broken mockery, Robbie couldn’t finish because of the well-intended caress on Sportacus' part. Sportacus pinched the fabric of his pants in a swoop motion, pulling the garment back down and letting Robbie’s left leg rest on his thigh.

He followed the fabric to the ankle to make sure he had covered the suffering man up right. His feet anchoring him on the floor, he patted the shin affectionately as it should have relaxed against him but remained strained. Confused, with a hint of fear, he looked up. "Does it still hu-"

Sportacus ate his words halfway through his self-induced panic. His gaze stopped on Robbie’s panicked face, on the downturn of his eyebrows, on the pull of his lips. He gave himself a second to enjoy the pure red blush on the pale man’s face and how his high cheekbones turned such a cute shade. Then, then he moved on to the source of Robbie's current embarrassment.

With the fabric taut against Robbie’s form, there was nothing to hinder Sportacus’ heat-filled gaze from taking in the evidence of arousal. Mouth dry, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the length, hard and straning against the soft fabric. His heart pounded around, not able to keep up with the sudden emotional turmoil in Sportacus. His hands, still at the man’s ankle, twitched, wanting nothing more than to serve, while his logical self was screaming at him. Blinking a few times, he tried to silence the more irrational part of him—the one that was sending a triumphant thundering lust through his veins.

Tearing his eyes from the prominent bulge, not sure what to say but clear on what he wanted to do, he looked at Robbie. Decidedly, this was bad for his heart, mind, and slowly for his body as well, as the doorman was watching him with a shocked expression.

His mouth fell open just for a breath, eyes wide with concern, and the deep boiling heat was written clearly over his features. The stuttering of his chest when he finally took a breath sent a victorious glee over Sportacus. He tried to soften the punch he was about to deliver, unable to keep his smile.

"It’s normal" "Oh SHUT UP!" Robbie spoke over him, his voice broken and squeaking like a mouse.

Sportacus laughed, forcing himself to calm down a little, letting his hands rest on Robbie's legs around his hips. Not missing the light twitch of skin under the soft fabric, nor the new short breath that came with a slight pain to Robbie.

"It is," he reassured. A brave hunger taking over his reason, he kept on talking, against his best interest, against the heat creeping up his neck and the sting he felt on the tips of his ears. "It happened to me several times after some very demanding workouts an-"

Well, it wasn’t a flat-out lie, and if it helped the tension in Robbie to lessen, then he would tell a small fib. "and well, sports massages."

The doorman peered at him, and Sportacus found him so endearing. Lightheartedly, he mustered up some courage and moved his hands up the man’s thighs, ready to stop anytime Robbie wanted. "Want me to…?"

He was half hoping Robbie would kick him, toss some selected cuss words and swears at him. Be at odds with him and despise him for a few days before, eventually, he would pretend nothing happened and belittle Sportacus again. But all Sportacus could hear was the thundering of his own heart in his ears and the short, raspy breaths that Robbie took in desperation.

With a filthy hope blooming in his chest, Sportacus moved closer, his hands moving from the outsides of the thighs circling his hip, to the inner parts. Moving closer, his thigh met Robbie’s ass, sending a jolt through him as a warning to keep his distance. Keeping his own voice in his chest took more discipline than he thought it would.

Sportacus’ heart was close to bursting when he moved the heel of his left hand just a breath over the straining fabric. Excitement pooling in his abdomen, when Robbie didn’t stop him, he let his hand sprawl against the hot, hard erection he elicited in the doorman. If that wasn’t the highest prise he didn’t know what was.

But he was wrong; the best thing was the low rumble that it forced out of Robbie.

Sportacus slowly rubbed against the whole length through the fabric, his right hand now resting against Robbie’s hip, the warm skin there broken to goosebumps from his ministration. Gulping, his buzzing and spinning mind urged him to make Robbie do that sweet noise again. All the while, his palm and fingers felt scorching hot, yet he couldn’t stand the fabric between them.

He remembered Robbie’s nude body from Christmas Eve, from their only intimate moment. Until now. His louder part urged him. Each drag of his hand made Robbie do something so exquisite, Sportacus felt there was not enough space in his heart to catalog it all. The man who kept his dreams sweet was breathing a little choked up after each movement of Sportacus' hand, his chest vibrating with the movements, and when the next pull against the erection came, Sportacus made sure to push the hardness into the man's quivering stomach.

Instead of the deep grunt he was aiming for, Sportacus stopped when a small, painful whimper left the doorman. He halted, his hand resting against the heat; concerned, he lifted a little to see Robbie better; his right hand, which was making languid circles against Robbie’s hip, moved from under the shirt. "You okay?"

Hearing his own tone shift to this heady hunger was shocking. His gaze fell on Robbie’s shadowy face hiding under his forearm. The movement against Robbie's hardness made him gasp, and Sportacus etched the wet, bruised lip into his memory for safekeeping.

"Y-yeah, my side just hurts like a bitch" Robbie pressed out, still hiding.

Sportacus took his hand away, already missing the touch even through the fabric. His right hand went to peel the arm away to get a better look at Robbie. "Should I stop?"

Robbie’s eyes snapped at him, and the pupils were blown, this time for arousal and from anything clouding his mind, or from an injury. Just pure want "No," he said quickly. "no," he said again with a twitch of his nose, a slight frown stealing his easy bliss.

Sportacus felt a tension in his shoulders that he hadn't realized was there, and his entire body relaxed a little. He let Robbie’s arm go and lifted until he could pull one of the pillows from the end of the couch. A surprising docile Robbie let him lift him until the pillow could nest right under his shoulder and head. Sportacus pulled the forgotten blanket from the backrest and tucked it to Robbie’s left side gingerly until it pressed into the man’s ribcage slightly.

"Better?" he asked, clearing his throat from the husk he seemingly worked up.

"Yeah, but, like, can you be less" Robbie peered at him, more suspicious than before from his vantage point, some of the haze lifting. "This," he repeated.

Sportacus wanted nothing more than to keep that sweet bliss in those hazy eyes, so while answering, he moved back, hand back to ignite the fire in the doorman. " ‘this’ again?" he smiled at the slow intake on the doorman’s part as his thumbs moved under the waistband of the pants.

Gulping, but now with his eyes on Sportacus’ every move, Robbie let his hands fall to his chest and torso. " you creep."

Sportacus laughed heartily at that. An ease came over him as he ran his fingers over the tender skin, his smile widening when it elicited a sweet twitch from Robbir’s cock. " how charming," Sportacus whispered, and he meant it. He was under a spell as he took a last glance at Robbie, safe in the pillowfort he created, lost to the pleasure he gave him. 

Again, without a word, Sportacus could feel the staccato in his fingertips as he pulled the pants down. It wasn’t a surprise the man had foregone the brief; in his situation, it would only complicate things. Sportacus mind got a little scattered as the hard length bobbed against the man’s stomach. Free from its restraints, its glistening wet head smeared Robbie’s stomach with precome.

"Won’t you wash your hands?" Robbie challenged, his tone mocking but still as breathy and excited as Sportacus wanted it to be.

A chuckle left him; two could play at that. Imitating to move, he said, "Ah, you are ri-" before he so much as lifted, a hand circled his wrist.

The hold was nowhere near as strong as he remembered or wished, but just as fever-inducing. "You jerk," Robbie said, but his face did contort in a slight panic.

Sportacus hummed, enamored by the man’s clumsiness even in this situation. Sportacus took Robbie's cock with his free hand, grip lax, he ran a thumb over the head, dipping into the wet slit, he pulled his coated fingers down just his head. A hum rumbled deep inside him when the fingers around his hand still splayed on the man’s clothed torso stuttered. Flinching slightly, Robbie’s mouth fell open just a little, like a small surprise, and he closed his eyes, pushing against the pillow.

The sounds that Robbie made when Sportacus pulled down with a slow tempo first were nothing short of delicious. Like the food of gods was laid before him with every wake of his movement, twist, and drag. His own muscles were all tense under the man, hand slowly slipping under the shirt. He wished Robbie could grasp firmer. Wishing that the man was able to feel his thunderous heartbeat under his bruised fingertips

The first wet pull on his full length made the man arch from the couch, or at least jitter to do so. Just to end in a painful hiss. 

Sportacus pushed lighty against his hip, plastering the doorman into the couch just enough to hinder any further dangerous stunts. As much as he loved the feeling of the shuddering breath and stuttering muscles under his touch, he would rather Robbie enjoy this to the fullest. The second, more firm but decisively slow drag earned him a close-mouthed whimper, the kind he was keen to hear.

His blood was boiling and rushing to his groin; he couldn't care less about his own pleasure that his pants were constricting. Right now, his sole mission, his life goal, was to please Robbie, to help him release the tension that had built up over the last week. Doing just that, he twisted his wrist around Robbie’s cock.

An open-mouthed sigh, as close as he could get to a moan, escaped the man under his hands, and the shudder running through his bones unlocked something in Sportacus. Burying the memories of a failed night and overwriting them with the pale skin vibrant with lust under the early winter sun "so good," he murmured, "you're doing so good," blatant nonsense spilled from his lips as he upped his pace.

A moan escaped Robbie’s lips, and he bit down. It was music in the silence of the flat. An orchestra of pleasure-filled little grunts and gasps that only urged Sportacus on joined with small pain-filled chokes, and Robbie was teetering on the edge of release but lost it each time when a movement made him recoil.

The sheen of sweat he worked up gave Robbie an ethereal glow under the pale sun, the lax fingers were still quivering on Sportacus’ wrist, never losing their connection. He wanted to do so much more, to taste and caress every part of the man, but it wasn’t about that right now. Right now, Sportacus desperately wanted Robbie to come.

Every twitch of the skin under him, every jitter of the hips, or flex over his thighs only fueled his pleas. If Robbie was close to pleading before, now Sportacus was begging in earnest. "You are so close, so good," he exhaled, moving closer to see Robbie's pleasure-riddled features, "can you come for me?"

The first moan raked through Sportacus' entire body, nesting in his abdomen; he felt he could come like this himself if the man continued to listen so well. "Can you? You are so good Robbie," his delirious mind urged Sportacus on to close the distance between them.

Hovering over Robbie’s heavily lifting and falling chest, so close he could already feel the man’s hot breath hit his cheeks. It wasn't enough for him; he needed to feel Robbie's skin against his. Sportacus moved again, this time with less finesse but keeping his weight off the man, grunting as his cock pressed against Robbie's inner thigh and he buried his nose into the nook of Robbie's neck.

His desperate sound was met with Robbie’s stuttering whimper of pleasure. " yes" Sportacus urged as he upped his speed, chasing the feel of the sweet sound he elicited. With a choked wince Robbie’s dull nails sunk into his skin, and Sportacus nudged the man’s jawline with his nose, begging, his own voice breaking " no, no, you are doing so good," he twisted his hand and enjoyed the rumble of the Robbie’s throat " focus on this, you are doing so well"

Selfishly pushing against Robbie’s thigh, he rubbed himself in tandem with his hand, while the one in Robbie’s grip was now dipping the couch for leverage. So close, Robbie was close; he just had to make it to the goal. Not able to hold himself back, he moved his mouth to the doorman’s ear, dragging his lower lip against the wet skin there.

" fucking come for me," he ordered rather than begging, and it was enough.

Robbie's whole body tensed up for a second, and he tightened his grip on Sportacus' wrist as his cock in Sportacus' hand jolted one last time before it coated his wet hand in cum. Sportacus' movements were halted for a moment as a happy warmth rushed through him. Forgetting his own pleasure, he made a tentative pull on the sensitive member, feeling more cum spill to Robbie's shirt.

Enveloped in the small, broken murmurs of Robbie, Sportacus lifted from the man’s throat, sad that he couldn’t witness when Robbie was taken over by pleasure. As Robbie's spent cock softened in his grip, he took languid caresses, each touch evoking a shallow tremble on Robbie's skin. 

Robbie looked beautiful.

Blush kissed skin sweetly glistening, Sportacus could almost make out his heart beat under the heavy breathing. Their sounds joined in the empty apartment, colliding like never before, and Sportacus hummed with a glee in his deep tone. He slowly moved back, giddy with his accomplishment, and hastily moved his ignored erection slightly so he could lean back.

Hands coming back to Robbie’s still shaking legs, he tapped his fingers against the skin and the soft fabric. Sportacus couldn't get enough of Robbie like this. He took his sweet time taking the man in before Robbie slowly came back from his high.

Blinked a few times, he took a deep breath, ruining their shared rhythm, and Robbie nicked his head down. A little pain running through his features, he squinted with his left eye. Before he spoke up, he licked his lips, and Sportacus almost missed what he said.

"You cursed…"  Robbie said it so softly that it was barely audible.

His voice weakened by pleasure wasn’t the only thing making Sportacus chuckle heartily. Tapping against the legs still stradling him, he smiled a little more smug than usual, but he couldn’t help it, not even with the molten lust lingering in him. "I did a lot more than that," he pointed out.

Robbie gaped comically, and Sportacus couldn’t hold the bubbling laugh anymore. Harrumping and snorting, he couldn’t hold it, and when he didn’t stop even when Robbie’s knees hit his sides, the man moved to sit up. Sportacus rubbed his eyes to get the happy tears off and helped Robbie by holding his elbow.

He had his usual haughty tone back; the only evidence of their little affair was the slight tint of his tone and the red still shading his pale skin. Even when he started his clumsy little tirade, it didn’t become awkward. "Just so you know," Robbie started, "I would help you but my hands," it was like a light bulb moment: "that’s why you had to do it for me, because of my hands." a half-smile stole the wavering frown away, which Sportacus couldn’t exactly describe.

"Right," Sportacus agreed, shaking his head, the smile never leaving his lips. He honestly felt too silly to even argue Robbie’s obscure point. 

Sitting this close, he felt almost buried in Robbie's scent and warmth. He lowered his gaze and picked at the hem of Robbie's soiled clothes. Another slow fire came to life inside him when he found the small crescent moon prints in the wake of Robbie’s grip, a mark that was left as evidence of the pleasure Sportacus evoked.

It felt almost unreal how slowly and yet abruptly their shared passion ended. A tiny fear was gnawing at Sportacus, their last intimate; might it have been misled jealousy and the heat of the moment, but things ended with them going back to being acquaintances at best. Even when their joint efforts to help Stephanie pulled them closer once again, Sportacus could still feel the distance and the walls put up by the doorman.

Now, pliant in his reach, coming down from the delirious highs of satisfying Robbie, Sportacus couldn’t put a name to their relationship. Sportacus knew what he wanted, but pushing for anything with Robbie in this state felt nothing less than criminal.

"Ugh… what is it now?" Robbie asked, rolling his eyes, as he pushed against Sportacus’ shoulder. "Regretting it already?"

"No" it was immediate "Do you?"

For Robbie, it took longer, but he came to the same answer: "No." Averting his gaze, he yawned into the crook of his elbow. "At least Glanni didn’t show up in the middle of it," he snickered a little.

Sportacus, on the other hand, had a shiver down his spine as he said, "Don't bring him up..."

"So why the long face Sportadork?"

"What are we doing?" he asked, surprising himself, he tried to backpedal right away, just to be silenced by Robbie.

"Enjoying each other's company, I guess?"

Sportacus was concerned by Robbie's shrug and the tilt of his lips, but he couldn't express why. "So you enjoyed it?" Sportacus asked, his good mood slowly falling back on him.

"It sounded like you enjoyed it as well," Robbie retorted angrily, snapping his lips. 

"You should wash up," he suggested instead, and he moved away slightly, allowing Robbie's leg to fall to the ground.

It was a little tricky to untangle their limbs and keep his modesty while he helped Robbie off the couch. Ridiculing him when Sportacus hinted at him not being able to walk to the bathroom. He was able, but Sportacus could still feel useful even if he was just a glorified crutch.

Some of the excitement had left him by the time they stepped into the bathroom, but it just came roaring back when Robbie asked him to help take his shirt off. Of course, only after a few minutes of grunting in pain and wincing he become increasingly irritated with himself.

Sportacus feared that the soft calm they reached would slip away if he let the man struggle anymore.

Eager to help and feeling useful, he slowly pulled the shirt over Robbie’s head, taking care not to irritate the wound there. Sportacus helped untangle the man's arms from the dirty garment. Sportacus felt his heart sink with each pull, his excitement fading. The more skin he discovered, the more devastated he felt. Robbie’s left ribcage had a dozen heavy and deep purple lines.

Sportacus’s mind put the trophy’s edge right there, as did the rectangular base. His shoulder, shoulder blades, and upper arm were all littered with bruises. Some even dangerously close to his heart, Sportacus could only imagine how much they hurt. A grim mark left by a scum who deserved nothing less than hell.

"Is it that bad?"  Robbie sighed dejetedly.

"No," Sportacus frowned, shaking himself a little. Robbie didn’t see himself yet, and Sportacus never imagined it looked this gruesome. "It’s healing nicely." he moved closer to help with the pants as well.

Robbie took a hasty step away, a hand holding his waistband. "I'll handle it," he warned.

Sportacus felt a surge of mischief and couldn't pass up the opportunity: "Are your hands better?"

The indignant scoff he got was enough to chase some of his doubts away as he was ushered out of the bathroom. Still high on satisfying the man, he concentrated on feeling Robbie under him. Around him. Lifting his right hand, he invoked the feeling of those blund nails biting into his wrist, Robbie using him as an anchor as Sportacus pushed him over the edge. Allowing him to get close, even with the excuse of them being friends.