Robby stood quiet for a while. He always was a pensive man, but he seemed for contemplative than usual. His eyebrows were knit together, eyes unfocused, and his book was closed.
He was thinking too hard.
Dennis was quick at notice, as usual, “Are you alright?” In his voice, there was a note of worry.
The older man snapped out of his thoughts, glancing at Dennis and forcing a small, reassuring smile, “Just thinking too much.”
Even so, Dennis was never convinced, no matter how many times Robby could say it. “You seem more…I don’t know, stressed than usual. What’s wrong?”
He shifted, moving onto his stomach so he could prop himself up on his elbows and look up at the man he loved.
Robby was quiet for a moment before he sighed, setting his book down on his nightstand. His hands shook, running through his own hair. The look on Dennis’ face, etched with visible worry.
“It’s just one of those nights- I guess I just…can’t stop thinking about death.”
Dennis moved, sitting up, and sitting closer to Robby, rubbing his arm in a way he knew would comfort the man. He also knew Robby was prone to feeling like this, being trapped in his own head from time to time.
“You need to relax. You’re gonna give yourself a headache,” his chest held that similar feeling again, the one he only felt around Robby.
And for once, as Robby laid his head against the soft material of Dennis’ sweatshirt. He felt as if he belonged, the one place he wanted to be, where he was needed.
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