young fit in a wildfire

So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the “bad” thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, “I’m uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.”

Once we stopped calling things “problematic” and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, “that’s racist” or “that’s misogynistic” or “ew capitalism gross” out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, “Uhhh... I’m not sure what’s so bad?” and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.

When You Look at Dr. Grace

Okay so I was thinking, because of the nature of their shifts, Robby and Jack probably rely on text or leaving each other notes to communicate, especially when their sleep schedules are exact opposites. For things not as urgent, they probably prefer the analog way of writing things down.

For Jack, I’m picturing him writing on post-it notes and sticking them on the fridge, on their bedroom door, etc., for Robby to find when he wakes up. He probably has a stack of post-its on his night stand to write things down before he heads off for his shift.

For Robby though, he’s grabbing whatever pieces of paper he could find to scribble on, not caring what shapes or form they are in, as long as he can get the messages across. He would be putting pieces of tape on them so that he can slap these notes on random surfaces in their home for Jack to come across, a gift of pleasant surprises.

hello rabbot nation

"You don't have an alpha?"

“…No?” Robby’s head tilts. He lets out a little laugh. “I would’ve told you if I did, you’re like my best friend.”

Someone across the table makes a wounded noise.

Jack’s heart sinks. “Oh.”

He should think of an excuse to leave, but everything is hitting him all at once and he just jumps ungracefully from the table, ignoring the clattering glasses and his friends calls in favor of bolting out of the restaurant.

By the time Jack makes it home, he's heaving. He clips every wall and piece of furniture between him and his bedroom, distracted by the painful tightness in his chest.

Of course, Robby doesn't want him. What can Jack offer that Robby can't provide himself? Idiot.

Everything rushes toward him at once. Every instance of Robby refusing his clothing or turning down physical contact. Jack stupidly thought he wanted to take things slow. Idiot.

He collapses on his bed with a pitiful whine, only to land on a soft lump hidden under his duvet. Jack is already certain of what it is, and shame eats at him. He reaches under the bedding and pulls out Robby's zip-up. It had been left behind after what Jack thought was a lovely romantic dinner at home, when he called Robby to let him know, he'd said to keep it and he'd collect it the next time he came over.

At the time, Jack thought it was his omega's subtle way of giving him something with his scent, but now he realizes it was an accident made by his friend.

And Jack has been sleeping with it like a creep.

Another pathetic noise rings from his throat. The worst part is that even after Robby made it clear, publicly, that he doesn't want Jack, he still finds comfort in the soft vanilla scent of Robby. It's twisted with Jack's own cedarwood in a disturbing fantasy that Jack deluded himself into thinking could be real.

He curls around the jacket and lets hot tears stream down his face onto the fabric. In the morning, he'll get himself together and apologize for the misunderstanding, but for now, he sobs against the last grasp of his dream mate.

"Jack!" Rapid, thundering knocks echo against the door. "Jack! Open the door! I need to talk to you!"

Jack's gut contracts as if someone has sunk their claws in and ripped him open. So much for licking his wounds and delaying the inevitable.

He trudges over to the front door and keeps his eyes cast to the ground as he opens it. Even the sight of Robby's beat-up sneakers is too much to bear.

"Jack," Robby gasps. "Wha..."

It's then that Jack realizes the thoroughly scented zip-up is still in his white-knuckle grip. He shoves the jacket forward, head hanging in shame. "Sorry."

Robby takes it with delicate fingers. From his peripheral, Jack can see him raise it to his nose. God, as if this wasn't humiliating enough. Jack forces his heavy feet to move, desperate to hide in a lump of his embarrassment. But Robby follows him.

"Jack?" He asks carefully. "Are you my alpha?"

"No," Jack chokes. "You don't have an alpha." The words are like acid.

There's a long, silent pause. For the first time ever, Jack wishes Robby would leave. Usually, he's clambering for any form of his attention, but right now, his presence hurts.

"Well, I thought I didn't, but then at dinner..." Robby comes closer. "When did we start courting?"

What? Robby was there. Jack crosses his arms, still looking at the floor. "In December, when I asked you to go to Radici's."

"But that was just dinner."

Jack looks up and is met with the deep crease forming between Robby's eyebrows.

"It's a nice restaurant," Jack argues.

"No, I know," Robby assures. "But inviting someone out to dinner... alphas do that all the time."

Jack's going to be sick. "Alphas ask you to dinner all the time?"

"Well..." Robby shuffles awkwardly on his feet. "Or like mini golf, or a walk in the park or something."

Jack blanches. "And you say yes?"

Robby shrinks in on himself. "Sometimes. But mostly no because I don't know them, so why would I want to hang out? And recently, I've always had plans with you."

That alleviates a bit of Jack's queasiness. "Those are dates, Mike."

Robby shakes his head. "How can they be dates? No one has ever offered me a courting gift."

"A courting gift?"

"You know, like, like this." He holds up the jacket. "I mean, not that I meant to, but you get it. Courting starts with a scented item. 'This omega is mine.'"

"Mine? Mikey, I don't want you to be mine. I want us to be each others."

Robby's face glows red, and Jack can feel the heat of his own face matching.

“I mean,” Jack clears his throat. “I’ve never met anyone that starts a courtship with clothing; that tends to come later.”

“That can’t be true,” Robby argues. “My bubbe taught me—“

“Your bubbe?” Jack interrupts. “Mike, how long has it been since she got courted?”

“Well…” Robby sighs and ducks his head. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

“What?” Jack steps back. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, I know we’re friends, or that we get along.” Robby pulls the jacket closer to his chest. “But I didn’t think I was someone you’d want to court.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to court you?” Jack can’t think of a single reason, and apparently neither can any of these other alphas pleading for Robby’s time.

“You’re…” Robby gestures around Jack’s frame. “Perfect. You could pick any omega in the whole world.”

“Okay,” Jack whispers. “Can I pick you?”

“You don’t want me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Jack.” Robby holds a stern gaze that makes Jack’s hair stand on end. “Among everything else you know about me, it should now be obvious that I’m a naive idiot.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t know one thing—“

“A huge thing.”

“—and we got that cleared up. I know plenty about you, and I like it all.”

Robby takes a deep breath. “What about the fact that I’m bigger than you?”

Jack tilts his head with a frown. “Yeah? I’m aware.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be with a proper omega?”

“Proper? What? No. It’s, like, the main reason I wanted you.” Jack’s face is ablaze again. “Not the main reason, sorry. I just meant, you know, before. When we didn’t know each other, but I was still attracted to you.” Shut up! “Now I’m in it for your personality, and your intelligence. You’re a proper omega. I like that you’re bigger than me.”

Jack clamps his mouth shut before he can make this worse for himself.

Robby fails to hide his laughter. “Okay. Then why haven’t you offered me any clothes?”

Jack’s mouth is dry. “Huh?”

“I told you that’s how I was raised. Clothing means courting.” Robby approaches, leaving barely a foot of space between them. “Are we courting or what?”

Jack dashes back to his room and rummages through his closet. He tries to think of every sappy movie he’s ever seen; something soft like a sweater would be more traditional, but it’s starting to get hot out, so Robby won’t wear it often.

He lands on a rec team t-shirt. It’s old and worn to ideal comfort, and has the added benefit of ‘Abbot’ being written on the back.

When he presents it to Robby, he’s gifted the zip-up back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Robby says.

Then, in an act Jack can only assume is meant to test his will, Robby pulls his shirt off and changes into Jack’s offering right there in the hall.

He’s seen Robby shirtless before. In similar contexts when something unfortunate sullies his scrubs, but here in the dim light of Jack’s home is unlike anything he’s seen before.

Robby tosses Jack the shirt he wore to dinner. “You can keep that,” he says. “The other one isn’t that strong anymore.”

“Thank you,” Jack says again.

“No problem.” Robby rocks on his feet. “So, where are we going for our first date?”