I want to adventures with you

It seemed like today’s motel room only had two settings: hot or even hotter. Even with the air conditioning rattling it was borderline warm in the room, Robby’s clothes sticking to his sweaty body. Even the opened windows only made it a little better. 

The television muttered quietly in the background and Mr. Abbot lay stretched out on the wooden floor - apart from the tiny bathroom the coolest place in this godforsaken room.

Robby sat propped against the headboard, dressed only in boxers and a shirt, pretending to watch some deeply terrible reality show about people renovating cabins.

From outside the smell of detergent and fries streamed in. He could hear the faint hum of the motorway - even at this late hour he could still hear cars and trucks driving by. Mr. Abbot snored like a tiny chainsaw, obviously immune to the heat, feeling utterly content with his surroundings.

Suddenly his phone buzzed.

Robby dragged a hand across his face before glancing at the clock. It was well past midnight.

There was only one person who would send him a text in the middle of the night.

He picked up the phone and opened the chat.

Jack: Just had a look at your Instagram. Why do you have like 17000 followers now?

Robby frowned. That sounded unlikely - probably one of Jack’s night-shift exaggerations. Or maybe he was just hallucinating due to lack of sleep. Or he was finally suffering from caffeine-poisoned. 

He rolled his shoulders once, then typed back.

Robby: Haha. Good joke. You know I don’t care about all this social media stuff. Not since The Facebook went sideways.

Three dots appeared instantly. Then vanished. Robby stared at his message for a while then put the phone down. Jack was obviously working tonight.

He got up and sat next to Mr. Abbot on the cold floor. He scratched the cat absentmindedly behind his ear. He woke up, let out a startled meow, then stretched dramatically.

After a while his phone buzzed again.

Jack: I’m serious. Somehow you went viral with that cat.

Robby blinked, then frowned harder. That sentence made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

He looked over at the sleeping cat. “Jack is so weird sometimes.”

Mr. Abbot didn’t care.

Robby: What are you even talking about?

Jack’s answer took a long time. 

Robby found himself automatically glancing at the clock, then he closed his eyes for a moment. And he felt something inside his chest stirring. It took him a while to identify that feeling - it was jealousy.

He was thinking about Jack walking through the ER, commanding the chaos, jumping in on every case that seemed like it could go sideways. Being in charge. Being needed.

And all of a sudden that was the feeling Robby craved. If he could he would have switched places with Jack in an instant. The urge to just pack his things, hop on the bike and go straight back home was overwhelming for a moment.

Until -

His phone buzzed again.

Jack: That influencer woman posted the picture of you and the cat. Apparently the internet loves sad biker guys and orange cats.

That yanked Robby straight out of his head. He physically made a face at his screen. He didn’t like the description one bit - he wasn’t a sad biker guy.

But now he was a little curious. So he closed the chat without replying and opened Instagram for the second time this week. That already felt excessive to him.

He glanced at his profile - and the number at the top made him pause. 

17.4k followers.

He had hundreds of notifications. And messages.

“No.” That word slipped out before he could stop it. That was impossible. He only had like three pictures on there - one which was a half-empty coffee mug.

He dragged a hand across his face. “What the fuck.”

Mr. Abbot lifted his head and meowed sleepily, obviously offended that he didn’t get any more attention. Robby ignored him - not on purpose but overwhelmed by the fact that something very strange was happening on the internet right now. And it somehow involved him.

He searched again for the post of the influencer and clicked on it. 

And he immediately noticed that this was probably a mistake. There were comments - a lot of comments. And when he started to read some of them, his face fell a little.

Why does he look like he owns exactly one jacket and has had it for twenty years?!!

Without even wanting to Robby glanced over where his jacket lay over the back of the chair and frowned. 

“That’s called sustainability” he muttered.

ZADDY ALARM!!!

“Okay, what the hell is a Zaddy?” Robby asked quietly to no one in particular.

Mr. Abbot opened his eyes for a moment, then yawned.

“Yeah, thanks, no help here, huh?”

LOOK AT THE DAD BOD I’M LOSING MY MIND

“Dad Body?!!!” Now Robby looked actually offended. He looked down at himself - a little belly hidden behind his shirt - and frowned. In a sudden rush of anger he pressed the reply button so fast it almost hurt him.

There isn’t a lot of time to hit the gym when you’re running an emergency department and working fourteen hours a couple of times a week.

He stared at the comment for a moment after typing it out - then let out a sigh. He deleted it immediately. Maybe he shouldn’t pick a fight in an Instagram comment section. 

Didn’t mean he liked the way people commented on his body.

He looks so fucking lonely, my heart is breaking for him. Can someone please save him?

“Okay, now it just feels rude.”

He scrolled further down, then his phone buzzed again.

Jack: Please tell me you’re not reading the comments right now.

Robby sat up straighter immediately, clearing his throat, looking around the room like Jack had installed cameras to spy on him.

Robby: Of course not. But just if I had done it… why are people commenting on my body like that?

The second gray checkmark appeared instantly, but Jack didn’t read it. 

Robby sighed. Reluctantly he looked back down on his profile again - and then he noticed that people apparently had started commenting on his pictures too.

He clicked on the headshot one - and his eyes widened. There were at least fifty comments underneath - some were just a couple of emojis, some others were… kind of feral. And always the same reference:

Tell Mr. Abbot we love him. Tell the cat hi from me! We want more pics of Mr. Abbot!!!

Robby glanced at the cat next to him, completely oblivious to the sudden - and very unwanted - fame he had brought upon his owner. 

Robby closed his eyes for another second. His finger lingered for a second over the picture of the dark alleyway, but he couldn’t bring himself to click it. He was quite certain he couldn’t bear to read the comments underneath.

His phone buzzed again.

Jack: Sorry, had to step into that trauma for a moment.

Robby wrinkled his nose.

Robby: You okay?

Jack: Yeah. I mean better than the guy currently awaiting CT scans of his head.

Robby laughed despite himself. One thing he really liked about Jack was his way to cope with humor. One thing they definitely had in common.

Jack: Anyway. I guess you read more comments, so… what do you think about women in their twenties thinking you’re “husband-shaped”?

Robby tilted his head, blinking.

Robby: I have no clue what this means and I also don’t want to think about it honestly.

Jack: Sure. Because it is that horrible to have attractive younger women fawn over you. I get it. It’s a burden. If my interns stop trying to actively kill patients, I’m sure I’ll find some time to feel sorry for you.

Robby looked down at himself - old shirt, boxers, questionable posture, back pain that was probably older than most of the people who had commented on his picture.

Robby: Jack, honestly. I have no clue why they think I’m attractive. That feels exaggerated. Like some kind of internet-induced mass psychosis.

The answer came through immediately.

Jack: They think you’re attractive because 1) you are, even if you look rugged right now, 2) you’re a doctor (that’s sexy and you know it) and 3) you look like a lost puppy in desperate need of rescuing.

Robby frowned. He was slightly sunburned, in need of a shaving and a haircut and had eyebags that nearly touched his chest. He didn’t look rugged. He looked like a man knee-deep in an existential crisis.

Because apparently… he was.

And people found that attractive?

The phone buzzed again.

Jack: Stop sulking. People also think you give good hugs. And well, at least they’re getting one thing right.

Robby couldn’t help but smile when he read that. A tiny something sparked in his chest - it took him a moment to know what that meant. He felt… flattered. Which was ridiculous. He shouldn’t care about whether he was giving good hugs.

But it still felt… good.

He scratched the back of his head, then typed.

Robby: Okay. Whatever. What do I do now?

A couple of minutes passed.

Jack: That was a compliment, you dipshit. Anyway. I guess there are two options. Option 1: Embrace the chaos. Become the Silverfox Cat Doctor Biker Guy on the Internet and give them what they want. (Which is more pictures and comments.) Option 2: Keep your fucking mouth shut and don’t do anything. The internet is feeble. If you don’t feed them they will forget it pretty soon. But whatever you do - do NOT start posting selfies. If you do I’ll print them out and hang them everywhere in the department.

Robby stared at the screen, momentarily offended.

Robby: You post selfies recreationally, Dr. Double Standard.

The pause that followed was suspiciously long. Either Jack was really absorbed with work - or he had to think about an appropriate response.

Jack: That’s different.

Robby: How?

Jack: Because I know what the internet is and how it works.

Robby snorted quietly.

Robby: Sure thing. You’re the internet king, Abbot. I mean - should we talk about the gym mirror picture three days ago? Bare chest and everything?

Jack: That was educational.

Robby: ???

Jack: Promoting healthy aging, of course.

Robby laughed out loud. The sound was ridiculously loud in the quiet room. Mr. Abbot lifted his head like he was annoyed by it. He glared at Robby until he scratched his head a couple of times.

“Sorry, but the other Abbot is just ridiculous” Robby said with a shrug. “I’m not sure if he’s delusional or actually crazy.”

Mr. Abbot started purring like he clearly didn’t care.

Robby: Just to be clear - you’re NOT allowed to make fun of me whatever I post online.

Jack: Oh nice try, Robinavitch. And you know - the difference between us is: I know I’m hot. My selfies? Total thirsttraps. You? Completely oblivious to the fact you could ruin someone’s mental health with those big sad puppy eyes.

Robby stared at his screen like he couldn’t quite believe what he was reading there. He was mortified, amused and annoyed - all at once. He closed his eyes for a moment, unsure what to reply.

Jack sensed this probably, because the three dots appeared almost immediately.

Jack: Glad we could clear that up actually. And I have to work now - like really - so please go to sleep. And for the love of God DON’T answer comments. I’m watching this.

Robby shook his head and sent a thumbs up. He locked the phone, set it aside - and took a deep breath before burying his head in his hands. 

He let out a groan - and then he lost it. At first it was only quiet chuckles but it quickly became full-on laughing. His whole body shook and he couldn’t keep it quiet.

Mr. Abbot opened his eyes again, looking up at him suspiciously. Then he stretched and rolled over on his back, covering his eyes with his paws. Ridiculously cute - but unfortunately Robby didn’t see it. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks hard enough to blur his vision.

It took him ages to actually calm down again. He was still chuckling when he finally stood up.

“That is your fault, cat” he said with a little hickup, before wiping under his eyes. “That is your fucking fault.”

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