rylee

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Although, the location seemed perfect. Pristine beaches, the clearest water you'd ever seen. The friendliest greeters when you arrived at the hotel placing leis around your neck. Everyone seemed to smile and absorb all those good feelings. There was literal laughter in the air. 

It was all that you planned it to be, except you weren't alone when you first talked about coming to Hawaii. All that vacation time you saved up together, and then your life went to shit. 

That was a month ago. You debated for weeks about cancelling everything, since your partner cancelled your life together - but then over time you felt like it was worse to be sitting around at home feeling sorry for yourself instead of being here anyway. 

You could grieve your old life here instead, where everything looked like a scene on a postcard.

You went to your hotel room, opened up your suitcase and fished out your first swimsuit. It was a low cut one-piece that hugged your body. You wrapped a sarong around your middle and swapped your sneakers for flip-flops and walked down to the beach with your towel and a book. 

You'd been doing the same thing at home, except instead of the ocean you'd had your messy apartment surrounding you. If this was all you did for the rest of the day, fine. 

You fell asleep in one of the sunbeds in the long line covered with umbrellas on the shore, only to be awoken by the shrieks of a young family whose children tore down to the beach with their gear. The father gave you a sheepish look as you stared after them, picking up your book from the spot it fell beside you.

Sand was already in it, great. And you managed to lose your spot. You couldn’t be upset at the kids, though. They were in literal paradise. You probably should have stayed home…

You trudged back to your room to shower. As you got out your key, elevator doors shutting behind you, you spotted a man whose back was to you opening the room opposite yours in the hallway. 

You ducked into your room without a word, not before having brief, awkward eye contact with him. He was older than you, but handsome all the more for it. His brows hiked ever so slightly as you disappeared, and you hoped he wasn’t offended. 

You weren’t in the mood to talk just yet. 

-

Hours later, you couldn’t sleep. You ordered room service instead of attending the lūʻau, hoping that by tomorrow you would have the courage to show your face to random strangers. 

Now, with the blankets twisting around you each time you moved, there was no way you were getting to sleep anytime soon. 

You took a deep breath and left your bed, throwing your cardigan over your sleep clothes. Heading downstairs, you could hear there were still a few people around, but it was nothing like earlier that evening. 

No-one was at the bar, save the guy behind it, and another figure nursing a beer. You recognized him immediately as your neighbor from across the hall, and sat nearby him, an empty stool between you.

As you waited, you scanned the wide dining area behind you. There was one other man at the far wall, staring into his phone with a large whiskey by his elbow. 

“What would you like, ma’am?” 

The bartender approached with a wide smile, unbothered by the hour. 

“Uh… vodka soda, please.”

“Of course,” he said, and departed. 

You felt watched and looked at your neighbor. 

“I’m not interrupting?” you asked, and he shook his head. 

“Stay.”

You told him your name and offered your hand. 

“I think we’re on the same floor,” you added, and he shook your hand. 

“Yeah. I’m Michael.”

You nodded, taking a short sip of your drink when it arrived a beat later. You remembered your clothes. Michael was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. 

“I… can’t sleep.”

“Sorry to hear it,” he said. “You’re here by yourself? Where’re you from?”

You nodded. “Pittsburgh.”

He burst into a real smile and you felt your face flush. He was very, very handsome. Never mind your first impression. He was cute as hell.

“Me, too.”

“Oh, no shit?” you said, and he laughed. “What are the odds?”

You talked a bit about the journey there, and Michael said he’d got there yesterday. He was on a long vacation, nothing fixed.

You snorted. “Jesus. Mine was nothing but planned. So much of it went to shit already-”

It was like you couldn’t help yourself, cringing. You hadn’t meant to already get into it, but it was bound to come up, why you were alone. 

“I mean, I had these big plans but the person I was supposed to come with decided not to in the end.”

“Sorry, again,” Michael said, taking a swig of beer. 

You shook your head. “Don’t be. Turns out he wasn’t the guy I thought he was.”

Michael went quiet for a second, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes. “Was this… a break-up?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. 

There was a pause and you added quickly:

“Not that I’m losing sleep over him! I’m way past that. I just… had these plans…”

You should have already been drinking long ago if you were going to bring this up with a complete stranger, but fuck it. You were on vacation, things were different. This wasn’t like being at your local dive, or telling people you work with.

“I had a laparoscopy,” you said. “It’s when-”

“Do you have endometriosis?” he asked.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said.

You looked away, suddenly very aware of him looking straight at you. You wondered what else he knew about you, even if it was just by looking at you. 

“I wanted to start IVF, after this trip,” you went on. “This was meant to be our last big one before - hopefully - a baby.”

It wasn’t like you, to disclose so much. You didn’t feel judged, though you could sense the cogs were turning when you looked back at him. 

“Must be something about you, for me to get so personal so fast,” you mumbled. “And I guess that happens a lot, when people find out you’re a doctor. But I’m guessing you’re not a psychiatrist?”

He shook his head, with an almost sad kind of smile. “Emergency.” 

“So you work in a hospital?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

The silence between you that followed felt less strange, somehow. You didn’t want to avoid him like you had before, at least. 

“I really am sorry if I gatecrashed your downtime,” you said, and he shook his head, draining his beer. 

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep, either.”

He got up and you considered doing the same, but left your glass instead of finishing it.

“You wanna go for a walk?” 

You thought about it, and then wondered why it mattered. It didn’t hurt. You nodded, rising from your seat. You gathered your cardigan around yourself and walked out, down the short footpath to the beach. 

Tiki torches still burned, lining the sand well enough to see his face in the halflight. The moonlight did the rest. The tide came and went in a steady rhythm, the night otherwise blissfully quiet. 

“It’s so… peaceful out here,” you murmured, and Michael nodded. 

It was romantic. It was supposed to be, that’s why you chose to take your ex here. If he hadn’t run away from you, you’d be rolling around in the sand together, trying to make a baby. The regret crested over you again and you sighed, moving on, not waiting. 

“Has the treatment been… effective?” he asked, and you glanced his way, for a moment too lost in your thoughts to understand.

Oftentimes, when someone learned you had endometriosis, their response was pitying, or worse, falsely trying to relate to your emotional and physical agonies. No, it wasn’t like ordinary period pain. Yes, it had derailed work and school, it had made life harder in a lot of ways. 

Yes, you hoped to have children. Past tense - hoped. You didn’t know anymore. It meant doing it alone, if you were doing it now. 

“I thought you were supposed to be on vacation,” you retorted, folding your arms. 

He copied you, and you could make out a smirk on his face. 

“I’ll send you the bill.”

Your welcomed laughter followed, before you rolled your eyes. “I guess it has been. Symptoms aren’t as bad. For now.”

There wasn’t a cure. You just had to wait it out, hope that each cycle didn’t render you bedridden like usual. 

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Sorry, that’s personal…”

“Hey, I’m the one who told you,” you said, shrugging. You glanced towards the water. “Jesus.”

You sidestepped the tide as it came rushing in, faster than you expected. Michael did the same, but he’d been paying attention, guiding you back with a hand that hovered the small of your back. He wasn’t quite touching, but you felt that spark of sudden proximity. 

You kept walking in silence, a little further away from the shore. 

“How long were you planning on staying here?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m undecided,” he said.

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” you asked. 

You may as well try more honesty with him. He knew what felt like too much already. You looked at one another. 

“It’s probably related.”

You smirked back at him, then suppressed a sudden yawn. It was probably time to head back. Michael nodded toward the hotel and you walked back together. The elevator ride was silent, too. You went to your door, and then glanced back his way, shoving the keycard in.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed softly. 

Something about that made you feel warm inside. 

-

You approached him the next afternoon, among a group of other tourists waiting on the pier. You couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses but he smiled back at you.

“Hey, I know you,” you said, face shielding your eyes. 

You hadn’t seen him all morning, though admittedly you’d hoped to. You slept okay once you got back to bed, and spent the beginning of the day looking for him at breakfast before you went back to your room to laze around. 

This afternoon trip was booked well in advance. It was supposed to be a late lunch on the ocean, with a tour guide included. A few families, couples and a bachelorette party gathered to board the yacht. 

You and Michael stood together like two kids pairing up on a field trip. 

“I can’t get over how clear the water is out here,” he said, and you beamed. 

“I know, right?”

You hadn’t expected him here. In fact, neither of you had said anything about what you planned to do while in Hawaii. You packed too much, as you were prone to, so you were glad to have brought at least a couple nice dresses and skirts. 

Today’s outfit was brand new, tags popped off that morning. Linen dress that cinched at the waist with a broad sun hat. 

Michael’s Birkenstocks looked well-worn, his shorts were the same from yesterday. He wore a navy polo shirt that hid little of his broad frame. His… bulk attracted you. You wanted to stare at his forearms but tried not to. He was fun to look at, but he was a person, too. 

Also, you’d just gone through a breakup. 

You put on your sunglasses and ascended with the others, Michael behind you. He stayed by your side as the tour guide from the hotel began his introduction, and then everyone took a seat as the yacht began to move away from the dock. 

“This is insane,” you murmured. 

For the next half an hour, you listened with Michael beside you as the tour went on. Describing  the flora and fauna of the islands, you wish you could see it for yourself, not have someone only describe it to you.

There was a loud gurgle and you looked at Michael. 

“Was that your stomach?”

“...yes,” he whispered. 

You covered your mouth with your hand, pressing your lips together for good measure. As the trip went on, you too felt hunger begin to pull your focus.

When they finally docked on the other side of the island, wait staff approached with heaping trays of fresh fruit and seafood. There were collective sighs of relief all around. 

“Get in there,” Michael encouraged, and you laughed openly, tucking in. 

-

“Did that feel… weird to you?” you asked, twirling your hat absently. 

You walked back up to the hotel with Michael, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, it felt… commercial,” he muttered. “Inauthentic.”

“Not a waste of money, though, surely?” 

“I’m not your accountant.”

“I’m just saying - I don’t totally regret it,” you retorted. “It wasn’t what I expected, though.”

His sunglasses were tucked into his neckline, his arms bearing a healthy glow from the sun. You looked at his skin when he kept the elevator door open for you, allowing you in beside him. 

He pressed the button for your floor. 

“It’s not gonna help my Yelp review, I’ll tell you that much...”

You smiled again, looking away. “Obviously.”

It felt so good to be on the same page. It was different to what you were used to. With your ex, it never felt like you were truly in sync. It was your downfall, in the end. All the time you were together it felt like you’d manage to get over that eventually. 

“Are you gonna grab some dinner downstairs later?” he asked, and you met his gaze.

He wasn’t saying that just to make conversation. You believed that with how he was looking at you now, although maybe you weren’t the best judge of character when it came to men.

“Yeah, maybe after a nap,” you said. 

“Sounds good,” he said. 

“Were you… were you hoping to see me?” you asked. 

“Sure.”

He made it sound so simple. Why wouldn’t he hope to see you? Your face flushed and you looked away. 

“Okay, cool,” you said. 

“Okay, I’ll see you after,” he said. 

He let you out first, and you felt butterflies in your stomach for the first time in years. You smiled shyly and walked away to your door, letting yourself in before you embarrassed yourself. 

-

Something shifted inside you and wanted to enjoy yourself for the sake of it. You showered, after you didn’t nap - your brain kept thinking about Michael and his warm eyes peering at you - and dressed in one of your sundresses.

You found him at the bar and he nodded towards the dining area, where the host led you to a table overlooking the beach outside. Handed a menu, you peruse, unsure of where to begin.

Michael ordered beer, looking your way. 

“I’ll get a cocktail,” you beamed. “Sex on the beach.”

If it landed anywhere, you tried not to read it too much on his face as you were left alone. He hadn’t said this was a date - but he hadn’t said it wasn’t either. 

Conversation came easily, like you’d never stopped talking earlier. 

“What’s it like being an ER doctor?” you asked, as you picked up some bread from the basket between you. 

You offered it to him and he took a piece, breaking it in half on his plate.

“Chaotic,” he said. “Sometimes heartbreaking.”

“I can’t imagine how challenging it is,” you said, chewing. “I would never stay calm.”

“It’s not easy.”

You felt like he was skirting around the reality he faced, and your brows furrowed. 

“I feel like you’re trying to not sound as impressive as you are.”

He laughed at that, passing a hand over his face wearily. 

“I mean…”

“You’d constantly have to be flexible, right? No day is the same, you deal with anything and everyone…”

“Yeah,” he said. “But someone has to.”

You swallowed. The waiter returned with your drinks, and you took yours with a brief smile of acknowledgment. You took a sip, and put the towering glass aside, picking out a piece of pineapple stuck to its rim. 

“So why you, then? Why not do something other than emergency healthcare?”

You shoved the fruit in your mouth, watching him. He drank from his glass of beer as you asked this. He sighed. 

“I don’t… want to. But I probably should.”

You appreciated his honesty. You sucked the juice from your thumb, nodding. The silence felt taut with more questions, from both sides of the table.

“Why’d you break up with your ex?” he asked. 

You smiled bitterly. “He didn’t want to have babies with me.”

The heaviness of your conversation only just hit you. You were both alone here, out of choice, but now you’d decided to create this bond, however fleeting it may be. 

“I’m sorry,” he added. 

“You didn’t upset me,” you said, because he hadn’t. “It’s the truth. He left me. I thought he wanted to have kids. We talked about it enough.”

You sighed, not unlike him. 

“We started dating just before lockdown, and then we moved in together pretty fast. I was already diagnosed with endo then - and whenever we talked about the future it felt like hypotheticals. I mean, the world had fallen apart, and we weren’t going anywhere. We were forced to know one another really well. And we did, I thought. I thought we were close.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself, at how wrong you were.

“I think maybe he thought I’d never be serious about it, because I knew it  would be hard to conceive, but then I started cutting back on drinking-”

You glanced at your drink briefly and gave a short laugh.

“I was trying to get my body healthy for trying, and I finally had my surgery…”

“And he flaked,” Michael said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” you said. “And I feel like an idiot that I spent all this time with him, and I never really knew him. I think he meant  more to me than I ever did to him.”

You picked up your drink again to stop talking, to stop yourself from becoming too sad again. You were only repeating the same thoughts you’d had for weeks.

“He’s an idiot,” Michael said, and you met his gaze. “He should have known sooner, anyway. Let you down better.”

You rolled your eyes again, trying not to notice how his eyes bore into you. Your skin began to feel hot.

Mercifully, the night’s entertainment began. Dancers twirling flames drew all attention away from your sad life, and with it your perspective. You were here, and not at home feeling sorry for yourself. 

The night was warm, beautiful. The scenery and culture was spectacular, and this man was sitting with you out of choice. Things could be a thousand times worse. You were lucky.

“Hey, if anyone gets hurt, at least I know where to find a doctor,” you said, clapping with the rest of the dinner crowd. 

Michael’s eyes were bright with mirth. 

Some time later, full of good food, carrying your purse under your arm, your shoes in one hand and a water glass in your other, you and Michael walked along the beach together once more.

“Do you have kids?” you asked, and Michael took a second to reply.

“I had a stepson, sort of,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

He didn’t explain, but added:

“Answer’s no.”

“Do you want them?” you asked. “I mean, did you ever?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Other times…”

Again, he didn’t elaborate, his words hanging there. You decided to fill the silence.

“I guess I always wanted to try, to… y’know, give it a shot. Try to fight my infertility.” 

He nodded, wincing. “I guess it would be hard if I was working like I do.”

“People make it work.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just naturally morbid from time to time,” he said. 

The sand was oddly comforting as you strolled, the sounds of life around you mere background noise. You drew in a breath, deciding to be your most direct.

“You weren’t just being nice, about my ex being a moron?” you asked.

His brows hiked. “No.”

“It can be hard for guys to be with-”

“With women with chronic illnesses?” he cut in. 

You glanced towards the sea, the darkness beyond. 

“Yeah, I guess that makes him sound like an asshole.” You sighed. “I’m going to stop mentioning him. I promise.”

Michael stopped, and you turned back, looking down at his hand he had poised beneath your nose.

“Pinky promise?”

You smirked, indulging him. You clasped his pinky with your own, shaking. For a beat too long, you noticed. He pulled away first, only to step closer to you, watching your face.

The heat between you was undeniable. He lifted his hand once again, thumb and forefinger catching your chin. 

“Walk you back?”

“Sure,” you said, heart hammering. 

-

It took a little while to fall asleep, since he was a gentleman and did as he said - walked you back to your room and then said goodnight. 

No kiss, not even a hug. You simply parted ways and then you throbbed for hours after, feeling like you should have just gone for it. Unless somehow you were misreading it. 

Those thoughts were pushed aside the second your landline rang beside you, around eight the next morning. You rolled over, confused, picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did I wake you?” 

Michael’s voice early in the morning made a thrill stir in your guts, a smile already playing on your lips. He was all soft and friendly, and you felt like you could hear him smiling on the other end of the line, across the hallway. 

“No. Who is this?”

“It’s the guy that’s gonna get you to see some real nature today, if you let him,” he replied.

You grinned, rolling onto your back. “What did you have in mind?”

“A hike, if you’re up for it.”

You knew you didn’t look your best when you were huffing and puffing up a hill. 

“I’ll take it easy on you,” he added.

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered.

When were you ever going to do this again?

“Alright, fuck it.”

You agreed to meet one another in the lobby in half an hour and you hung up, leaping out of bed and into the shower. 

You threw on some shorts and your new hat, tried to figure out a way to look both cute and not totally ridiculous, and then headed downstairs. You grabbed a banana from the breakfast buffet and a coffee and scoffed them down, before making your way to the lobby. 

He was waiting for you, backpack over one shoulder. 

“Don’t have one of those,” you said, gesturing. 

“I can carry everything.”

“Where’re we going?” you asked, following him out the door and into the street. 

“It’s a tourist trap, technically,” he said, and you punched the air. “But the biodiversity is up there, compared to yacht tours-”

“Man, that Yelp review just writes itself, huh?”

You suspected he could walk faster if he wanted to, but he was doing the nice thing and making sure you weren’t left behind. He offered you bottled water that you took, uncapping it as you climbed a footpath up a steep hill. 

“There’s a cliff view,” he explained. 

“That’s the reward?”

“No, the journey is the reward,” he said, and you snorted. “Yeah, I know how I sound.”

He sounded like someone who could call out his own bullshit, which you appreciated. It was refreshing, in a way. In this place with him, there was no room for a facade.

You made sure to walk beside him until the path was too narrow, and then you took the lead, in the hope of seeming up for anything. Also, you knew the shorts you wore did great things for your butt.

Nearly half an hour later, you reached the top, passing another couple that nodded and smiled at you. 

“Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” you called after them, as Michael let them pass. 

The view took your breath away. Rocks below as waves crashed into them. Lush greenery all around. Birdcalls echoing as Michael rested beside you against a tree. 

“You did it,” he murmured, taking out his water. 

You tapped his bottle with yours and drank. You felt a little out of breath, but otherwise good. There was a sense of achievement.

When you got back to the hotel, Michael jerked his thumb towards the concierge desk. 

“Gimme a sec.” 

“What are you up to?” 

He had a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he walked over, you hurrying after him. As he approached the desk, a worker smiled at you.

“Afternoon, Dr. Robinavich.” 

“I was wondering if anyone was available at short notice, we were out hiking…” 

The worker's uniform reminded you to buy a Hawaiian shirt while you were here in the next few days, the thought distracting you momentarily. 

“Unfortunately, we only have a couple's massage session available, it's a longer one. Our regular masseuse Amy is away, she does our shorter sessions…”

“Couple's massage?” you blurted, and Michael looked at you. 

“Would you mind?” 

Uh, fuck no. You shook your head. The worker smiled. 

“Alright. We'll see you in twenty minutes.” 

-

You quickly realized that you were in over your head. The massage rooms were low lit with the kind of ambient lighting you associated with softcore porn.

The tiny candles that dotted the room, along with the soothing New Age music coming from the small speaker in the corner only added to the highly sensual atmosphere.

“Uh…” you said, as you walked in with Michael. 

The masseuses stood by with towels in hand, two smiling young women with matching frangipani in their hairdos, their skin glowing, looking soft to the touch. You envied their calm, feeling your face burn.

“Good afternoon,” one of them said, beaming. “I’m Naomi, and this is Mia…”

Mia gave a little wave. 

“Afternoon,” Michael said, nodding.

He was also weirdly at ease. Then again, as a doctor, wouldn’t he deal with embarrassing situations all the time? You pressed your lips together, listening. 

“We will give you a few minutes to undress to your liking. Are there any concerns before we continue?”

You cleared your throat. “I - uh, I can have a tender abdomen sometimes, I have endometriosis…”

Naomi nodded, understanding. “Yes, of course. We can avoid certain areas. Anything you want us to focus on?”

“My neck and shoulders,” you said. “I think I probably look down at my phone too much.”

“My back,” Michael added. “I’m on my feet a lot, generally.”

“He’s a doctor,” you said, and he looked at the floor. 

“Oh, wonderful,” Mia said. “Thank you.”

They departed, Michael staring after them. 

“‘Thank you’? I’m not a veteran.”

“You worked through the height of the pandemic though, right?” you said, and he met your gaze, his face changing. 

Dread or something close to it flashed across his face and you immediately regretted your question, realizing far too late how invasive and awful it was.

“I’m sorry, that was crass,” you babbled, and he shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

He moved away, towards one of the massage tables, fingers going to his buttons. 

“Right,” you muttered. “Uh. I’ll just…”

You went to the other table, taking your shoes off, hands going to your shirt to remove it as fast as possible. 

“Don’t turn around,” you said.

“You good?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you lied. 

“Because we don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”

You thought about it for longer than a second and then slipped under the towel, the table firm and unyielding under your weight. You tried to ground yourself, your nipples hardening under your towel as you spared a glance at him. 

His back was to you, but he was under his own towel, no shirt. He had some scars, a couple moles you found endearing. Freckles and marks of age that only flattered him more. He was broad, too, of course. 

You thought of that strength hidden under his clothes. 

“Can I roll over?” he asked, and you whispered:

“Yeah.”

He turned, pulling in a breath. 

“You with me?” he asked. “Are you in any pain today?”

You shook your head, and you were touched by his concern. You buried yourself further under the towel, barely peeking out. 

He murmured your name a couple times and your eyes snapped to his. 

“My liver spots and wrinkles are really that hard to look at?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you retorted, laughing uncomfortably. “You’re cute and you know it.”

He began to laugh, rolling onto his back, hand passing over his face. You wanted him so badly then, wishing he was under the towel with you. Now you had ninety minutes of this a few feet away from you.

“This is supposed to be relaxing,” he said. “So try to relax.”

“A man telling me to relax,” you muttered. “My favorite.”

“Yes, and a male healthcare professional, too, no less,” he retorted. 

Your eyes met again and you shuffled up a little, until your arms were free, the towel still covering your naked torso. 

“After this, we should-”

Whatever bold thing you were about to propose was interrupted by a short knock on the door, Naomi’s voice floating in. 

“Are you ready?”

A beat, and Michael closed his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he called. “Thank you.”

The massage itself was divine. It felt far shorter than its ninety minutes, and after a while all you could do was melt into a pile of goo. You were surprised you didn’t nod off, and Michael admitted the same in the elevator back up to your floor. 

Whatever momentum you had earlier was lost, but you didn’t mind. You weren’t in any hurry to get back there, by how liquid you felt. You were rubbed all over with lavender oil and felt your clothes sticking to your skin. You craved a hot shower and a bed to nap on. 

You gave him a dreamy little wave as you went your separate ways.

-

You woke hours later, hearing a knocking at the front door drifting in as you fought off the remainder of your sleep. You lifted your head from your pillow and walked out to answer it.

Michael stood before you.

“I definitely woke you this time,” he said, looking at your bathrobe that matched his. 

He looked apologetic but cuddly in the fluffy white robe, his feet bare. He had nice toes, you noted vaguely.

“It’s fine,” you said, not bothering to lie. “It’s better I don’t sleep through dinner.”

“I’m actually wondering if you wanna…”

He gestured behind him, toward the elevator down the hall.

“I was gonna order room service,” you said. 

You were too lazy to dress in something nice, to walk all the way down. You were spoiled by the massage. All you wanted was creature comforts. 

“You can order it at mine.”

He really, really wanted to see you, that was clear. You softened, rubbing your eye. 

“Okay…”

You took your phone and your keys and followed him out. His TV set was on, his window was open with the curtains moving with the soft night breeze, and the moon was out. The sounds of the hotel floated up from below, but you liked it here best, in this little space of his.

His suitcase was open against the wall, its contents far more economical than yours. From your brief glance, you saw a small bottle of cologne resting on his bedside table. On the yacht you’d smelt a fresh, slightly sweet scent on him.

His room itself had his own scent, amplified. You could chase it if you wanted to. It was vaguely earthy, welcoming. You perched on the end of his bed beside him, your knees touching.

He was so close.

“Good day?” you asked, and he nodded. 

Then he took your hand like you were his and you stared down at him.

“Your hand is crazy soft,” you whispered, just to break the tension. 

“It’s probably from all the hand sanitizer at work,” he murmured, threading your fingers together. “Aloe in it.”

You looked up into his eyes, your stomach full of butterflies. 

“Michael…”

You took his free hand and slipped it into your robe, under your bra cup, his fingers finding your nipple. He stared down at your skin, thumb flicking over you as he rolled your breast, the moan tumbling out of you. 

He leaned in to kiss you, your noses brushing. Light teasing, lips passing over one another until he pushed into your mouth with his tongue, your breaths already turning to panting. You were  molten, wet without being touched anywhere near your pussy, and you knew it. 

Your hands went up to his hair and you pulled him towards you, the TV playing in the background as you kissed and kissed, both of his hands on your chest now. You pulled back once your lips began to numb, relishing in how soft his beard was, noting the grey hairs you could make out. 

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, nuzzling your skin as you nodded. 

He pushed down your robe and then the straps of your bra. Freed of them both, you threw a leg over him and straddled his lap, feeling how hard he was beneath you. You gave a grind of your hips against his and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you.

You slotted in together, rocking as you kissed, clumsy but not ever rushed. It was so thorough, and you throbbed for him, scratching his scalp. 

“Sex can hurt sometimes,” you warned. 

You were telling him what you knew he’d already know.

“I just don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. 

Michael promptly planted his foot and spun you around so you were pinned underneath him. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he said, and you kissed him hard for that alone, his cock rubbing against your thigh insistantly.

He broke away with a soft smack of your lips, and you gazed up at him with a shy smile.

“Can you get a condom?” you whispered.

He nodded, moving back quick enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm. You watched as he went to his suitcase, retrieving a box.

“Wow, how many is in there?” you teased, resting on your elbows. 

“I’m on sabbatical for three months,” he said, and you smirked again. “And I’m a doctor.”

“I’m not complaining,” you said. 

“Good.”

You took hold of your underwear and lifted your hips, pulling them off. You tossed them aside as he watched with a quiet awe. 

“I was hoping to do that,” he said, returning to the bed. 

The clear outline of his erection made your heart hammer with anticipation. A Pavlovian-like response, your mouth watered as he went to take off his own robe and pants underneath. 

When he stood naked by the bed, you crawled over for a closer look, and to touch, of course. You couldn’t help it. You reached for his cock, wrapping your hand around it, his hand finding your shoulder and squeezing. 

“Shit,” he whispered, as you jerked him slowly, tenderly. 

His eyes closed, distracted. He still held the unopened box, and you took the opportunity to dip down and take him into your mouth without warning. 

You went all the way down, until you were hitting your gag reflex, careful to not trigger it too hard, dragging your tongue along the underside. He tasted nice, that musky saltiness that was never quite enough. The precum that rewarded you made you moan around his cock, pulling back, swirling your tongue around the blunt tip.

He was so warm, and so hard. You bobbed your head, pushing yourself further, foregoing breathing to make him lose his own. He panted as you worked him over in hard sucks, his hand moving up to grab your hair. Just hard enough to be known, but not painful.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck…”

You missed this, feeling wanted. Feeling cherished, even if this was fleeting. You could believe it just enough. You pulled back, eyes watering from the effort. 

“You…”

He pushed you back, until he lay on top of you, caging you in with his arms. His wet cock slipped between you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your nails digging into his back. 

“You’re a menace,” he murmured, peppering your face with kisses. 

You made out again, until you were certain you were dripping onto the sheets, your naked chests and stomachs pressed together. You panted, sweat already beading on your forehead and his. 

“Condom,” he said, and you nodded. 

He broke open the box, took out the sleeve of them and tore one off. You watched as he pulled it on efficiently, expertly.

“When’s the last time you fucked someone?” you panted.

“Feels like too long ago, now,” he said, his eyes blown with lust. 

He pulled you under him again and kissed you, lining you up.

“I’ll go slowly,” he whispered, and you nodded. “We can stop if…”

“No, don’t stop,” you whispered back. “Please don’t stop.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he sunk into you, your cunt gripping him already, a whimper falling from your lips as he filled every inch of you to the brim.

You gasped, adjusting. You felt all tingly, right down to your toes. He groaned as he shifted, not moving as you accommodated for him.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he breathed, and you moaned.

“Keep… going.”

“I can’t get too worked up or it’ll be over too soon,” he said, and you laughed breathily.

“You’re so sweet,” you whispered.

“I mean it…”

He finally began to move, his nose bumping yours with each thrust. Things quickly dissolved into sweat and moans, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He moved in for another swift kiss, teeth clacking, and you gripped him harder, digging into his flesh.

Your bodies slapped together, foreheads pressed to one another’s. He slowed, breathing heavily, kissing you deep as he tried to recalibrate.

You watched him pull back, to preserve himself a little longer. You squeezed him deep inside and he blinked down at you, narrowing his eyes. 

He shifted, moving your legs up to rest your ankles on his shoulders. The stretch was exquisite, his cock feeling impossibly deep inside you. His retaliation was rewarded with your shuddering moan.

As he pounded into you, it blurred between too much and just enough, your trembling hand slipping down between you, desperate to reach your clit. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he whispered, and you nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by it all.

Your pleasure crested and you came, crying out right by his ear, his face buried into your neck as he showed you no mercy. Bending you in half like this, your legs in the air, your wailing by his handsome face - it all would usually mortify you but it felt too fucking perfect to diminish. 

He kept going for several seconds after you crashed back to earth, huffing and nearing his own end. You clung to him as he spilled inside the condom, going rigid above you. You pressed a kiss to his arm, panting with him. 

In the gentle afterglow, he settled against you, a happy kind of hum in your hair. He held you against him, and it didn’t feel like he let go for a long, long time, but things were blurry at best by the end. 

It was a good fuck. Legendary, even. He peeled away reluctantly and flopped beside you with a sigh. You rested in the wet patch for all of one minute before you too decided you had to move away. 

-

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but you woke much later. You drew in a breath, surrounded by Michael’s heat and scent. You shared a pillow, you remembered, as you blinked and took in the surroundings in the early morning light. 

The TV was still on, though its volume was too low to make out the majority of the dialogue, you could see it was a black and white Italian movie. 

Michael’s arm was across your middle, as if he had flung it across you during the night. You watched the side of his face. His blissed out face filled your stomach with butterflies. 

You rolled over, and then he stirred at your movement. You waited until he was waking up to finally move again, slipping out of bed and walking to the bathroom. 

“Get back here,” you heard him call, and you smirked, glancing at the mirror. 

Once you flushed the toilet and washed your hands, you went back, seeing him waiting for you. 

You picked up your robe and threw it on. Michael's brows hiked. 

“I really don't want you doing that.” 

“I'm gonna go,” you said. You sat on the end of the bed. “Sorry to burst your bubble.” 

You moved to grab your slides but he stopped you, suddenly behind you and pulling you back into his arms.

“You want me to stay?”

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmured, lips already ghosting your neck. 

You hadn’t slept with someone new in literally years, so you were rusty, you figured. But he seemed serious about how much he wanted to repeat this. After all the buildup, he wanted more? You weren’t about to argue with him when his hand opened your robe again, exposing your skin once more.

And you certainly weren’t going to stop him when he lay you down, your head half off the bed, diving between your spread thighs with all eager lips and tongue.

He had a confidence with a woman’s body that you knew didn’t just come with age, though you suspected it helped immensely for some men. He had a greater understanding of experience, plus his regular ‘touching strangers’ thing. You could never. Michael seemed born for this.

Your hands found the back of his head as he ruined you, spearing his tongue inside you, fucking you relentlessly with it once you started to whine and shiver with pleasure. Your thighs quivered, fighting to keep themselves open as he stroked deep inside your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…”

You back bowed as you came, and he didn’t let up, working your clit with his thumb at a steady rhythm. He only stopped when you tried to pull away, his kisses landing on your inner thigh, wet and sticky. He kept kissing you, cherishing you. 

It was so intimate and intense you had to look away, your hand over your face. 

“You okay?” he panted, and you nodded. 

He pulled you up and rolled you over so your face was in his pillow, the spare under your hips a second later. In no time at all, he lined himself up, the blunt tip of him teasing your folds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and you believed him. The reverence was undeniable. 

When he pushed inside, bottoming out with a grunt, you gripped him in earnest. He bent down, kissing your neck, your shoulders. You were still recovering from before, still in that floaty stage, when he began to move. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered, never missing a stroke. 

He didn’t last long, and you didn’t mind. You honestly didn’t notice, with how full and wanted you felt. He was rougher than last night, taking from you, all the while whispering encouragement as you gave him all. 

He came with a groan, fingers biting into your ass as he went still. You sighed, content as he pulled away. 

Once you showered in your room and returned, he ate you out again after breakfast. It was a lot. But it felt like the closest thing to perfect. Too bad it wasn’t going to last longer than a few more days of your vacation.

“What are you doing after this?” you murmured, popping a grape into your mouth. 

“Well…”

He glanced down at you beside him, lifting the sheet, as if to examine your naked body. 

“I meant after vacation,” you said. 

He was engrossed in your lower half. You moved your free hand across your lower stomach where your scars were. As if detecting your self-consciousness, he switched back. 

“I’m still not sure.”

“Haven’t given it more thought?” you said. “You’ve got a passport, right?” 

He nodded. 

“You could always, y’know - disappear…”

He swallowed, looking away. The immediate shift in him had you wanting to take it back, like usual.

“I don’t have to know,” you added. “I’d just hope you enjoy it. You deserve it.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I dunno about that.”

He went quiet then and you finished eating, moving closer. He let you under his arm, pulling you into his side. Your legs tangled. 

“What have you ever done that was so awful, Michael?” you whispered. 

He gave a pained smile. You were starting to know it well.

“The stepson I had,” he began. “Jake.” 

“What happened?”

He closed his eyes. “Pittfest.”

Of course. The entire event had slipped your mind as something he’d be part of. You remember donating blood in the days that followed, and you were lucky to not know anyone who’d been there. The whole city had been affected though, for months after. 

“He was there, I gave him my ticket for his girlfriend,” he mumbled. He bit his lip. “Leah. She… she was shot, and I… I… couldn’t save her.”

You pulled him into a tight hug before he could resist it, kissing his head, clinging to him. Your chest squeezed when he hugged you back, and you heard him sniffle. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” he mumbled. 

You stayed like that for a while, and he began to relax against you, your lips still brushing his brow when you spoke.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t,” he said. 

“Michael, it’s not- it’s not your fault. Don’t do that to yourself. I know we’ve only known each other a few days but…”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. 

“I feel like I… fucking skipped time or something. I know you well enough that you tried everything you could to save her, and… I’m sorry. I’m just so fucking sorry you have to live with that-”

He broke you off with a crushing kiss. In seconds you were tussling again, rearranging yourselves for him to push inside you. It was rushed and desperate, like you hadn’t been fucking for hours. 

“We fucking skipped time,” he whispered, pounding into you like it was his mission to do so. “C’mon, I’ve got you…”

When he played with your clit, everything shrunk to a pinpoint and you tensed up, clenching around him. 

“Attagirl,” he whispered, watching you fall apart. 

He didn’t relent until he had his fill, your mind going blank.

-

Robby’s back and shoulders were beginning to ache, as they always did this late into the shift. He hadn’t sat down in over eight hours, except to tell a patient’s relative some bad news in the family room. 

That didn’t count. 

He hung his neck, tugging on his stethoscope with both hands, taking a deep breath through his nose. It wasn’t chaotic, but a steady hum of constant beeps, voices and movement around him. He was waiting for several beds to be available upstairs.

“Six still waiting on labs?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dana said without looking up. “And trauma two’s CT just came back.”

“Great,” Robby muttered.

Everything was normal, the tunnel-vision type of end to his day. Dana answered the phone, taking off her glasses as she stood up from her chair.

“Robby. Incoming severe vaginal bleeding.”

He nodded, looking around. Whittaker went into eight with a brave look set on his face. He watched as Mel walked with Mohan, deep in conversation. He knew Santos was trying to chart nearby. 

McKay came out to grab another computer, logging in. 

“Severe bleeding incoming,” he murmured. “Look alive.”

Not three minutes later, the paramedics burst in with the stretcher, a sheet thrown over the lower half of the woman whose eyes were closed, her face twisted in pain.

“Severe vaginal bleeding,” one of the paramedics rattled off. “History of endometriosis per patient. Syncope at home.”

Robby’s mind clicked into gear.

“How long?”

“Couple hours of heavy bleeding.”

“Any pregnancy—”

He stopped. The patient’s head rolled slightly to the side on the stretcher, just enough for the overhead light to fall across her face.

Robby’s brain registered it before the rest of him caught up.

The ER disappeared. The smell of the antiseptic, the fluorescent lights. All of it was replaced with sun, the ocean - Hawaii. 

You.

He stopped walking, McKay bumping into him. 

“Robby?”

“Trauma One,” he said, coming back to life. Years of practice kept his voice steady.

He stepped forward, grabbing the gurney to help steer it. 

“BP is eighty over fifty.”

“Jesus,” he hissed. 

“Heartrate is 130.”

Of all the places to see you again, his ER. 

Of all the hospitals in all of Pittsburgh, she rolls into mine.

Like something out of fucking Casablanca.

You were transferred to the hospital bed, Robby slipping gloves on as he approached your side, his voice calm:

“Let’s get two large-bore IVs. CBC, type and cross, CMP.”

Your head lolled to the side, your eyelids fluttering.

“...Michael?”

He ignored McKay’s eyes burning into the side of his face. He began to check your pupils. Your skin was cold.

“You’re in the ER at PTMC. You’ve lost some blood, but we’re taking care of you.”

You blinked, still hazy. But you managed to focus on his face, his gentle tone. You nodded, closing your eyes again. 

Monitors clipped into place with soft, rapid clicks. The familiar choreography of a patient circling instability.

“Fluids and a transfuse,” he said to the room. He glanced back at you, grabbing your hand.

“Pressure’s dropping,” Princess at your left said. “Seventy-eight systolic.” 

He adjusted your arm for the IV, the sting of it nothing compared to the pain you felt elsewhere. Someone hung a bag of fluids behind him. 

“Blood’s on the way, we’ll start a transfusion the second it gets here.”

“Excellent,” he said. 

You struggled, eyes fluttering shut. He leaned in closer to you. 

“Hey - stay with me.”

“Robby, should we page OB now or wait for labs?” McKay asked, and he shook his head.

“Given the history, I don’t want to wait.”

“The… history?” she asked, sharing a look with Princess.

Robby tried to not visibly react to the highly likely scenario that this incident would be circling in the days to come.

Robby ignored them, giving your wrist a small squeeze. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

“BP’s responding,” someone called. “Up to ninety-two systolic.”

“Good,” Robby said immediately. “Keep it going.”

Your breathing had steadied slightly, though your eyelids still fluttered with the effort of staying conscious. The first unit of blood arrived moments later.

“Type O negative.”

“Perfect,” Robby replied. “Let’s start it.”

The bag was spiked, the line flushed, the transfusion beginning in practiced, efficient movements.

Robby didn’t step away, nor did he hand you over or delegate. He lingered by your side, hand resting beside yours as he watched your vitals. 

-

On the last day of your vacation, you woke up in his arms. You could hear the crashing of the waves below the open windows, the sea breeze on your bare skin. 

You rolled over, facing him, your noses brushing. 

“I wish I could go with you,” you whispered for the first time. 

You meant it, but knew neither of you would actually follow through with it. 

“I should kidnap you,” he whispered back, and then he kissed you. 

-

“Robby.”

It was Santos, rushed but remaining calm. Practically fearless, but looking for help. Robby glanced over his shoulder, then back at you in the bed.

“Yeah,” he sighed. He took off his gloves, stood up and tossed them in the trash. 

He went by Dana at her desk and nodded over at your room. 

“Come and find me when she wakes up.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Dana stared him down but he refused to engage. He wasn’t in the right headspace. Seeing you like that, so vulnerable, had too great of an impact.

He pushed off the desk and left to follow Santos. 

-

You rest for an hour before you manage to open your eyes again. You glance around, seeing a nurse wearing a hijab checking your vitals.

Among the sea of pain is a shame so sudden you gasp, remembering Michael all over again. What were the chances you ended up here?

“I’ll go get Dr. Robby,” the nurse said. 

You sat up on your elbows, nodding. You hadn’t prepared yourself for this. You only had to wait another ten minutes before the resident with a ponytail from before came in with Michael in tow.

“How are you feeling?” the resident asked, and you glanced over at Michael, feeling scrutinised.

“Okay, uh-”

“I’m Dr. McKay, and this is- well, you seemed to know each other,” McKay said. 

Michael crossed his arms. “Yes, uh…”

“We’re friends,” you said, though that didn’t feel right. 

You hadn’t spoken in months. On that last day, no promises were made. You exchanged numbers, but you hadn’t wanted to ruin his time off, and you left him in Hawaii. 

Sure, you’d thought about him constantly since, but not all for good reasons.

Michael didn’t say anything about that, looking at your monitors.

“You’re definitely improving,” he murmured. “And the glow is back in your skin.”

“It might be sweat,” you muttered.

“How’s your pain?” McKay asked. “If you can give it a number-”

You always thought this was one of the more frustrating ways of dealing with endometriosis. Having to self report.

“Like a seven to eight,” you interjected. “I wouldn’t say it’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I can kind of sleep with it. Or pass out.”

That wasn’t funny, not even remotely, but you saw Michael smirk in the corner of your eye.

“You called the ambulance?” McKay asked, and you nodded.

“After I came to,” you said. “The bleeding was getting worse, and then I realized it wasn’t slowing down, and my towel was soaked through.”

“How was your last menstrual cycle?”

“Fine,” you said. “Not like this. Not exactly easy, but not like this…”

You pulled in a breath. You knew where this was going.

“Any surgeries?”

“I had a laparoscopy six months ago,” you murmured. You looked at your hands. 

“Any other complications?”

Your eyes stung. You picked at a cuticle. 

“I had an ectopic pregnancy a few months ago.”

-

Robby rubbed his eyes under his glasses, staring at his screen. He had left you and McKay, dragged away by another patient.

Santos came up to the charge desk, glancing up at the list of patients. 

“Ectopic?” 

He heard McKay beside her. 

“Left tube,” she said. “Treated with methotrexate. When detected early, we can avoid rupture and surgery.”

It was a teaching moment, but only then did it hit Robby squarely in the chest. He’d been distracted. 

Ectopic, a few months ago. 

Hawaii?

He looked at McKay, whose conversation with Santos changed to something about the weekend. 

“Hey, Santos?” he called. “Are you any closer to sending your guy home?”

“Sure,” she said, hands in her scrubs pockets. “Once I get back a clear drug test.”

McKay met his gaze. 

“I ordered an ultrasound for your friend,” she said. 

He nodded. He looked at his watch. 

“You think you’re leaving any time soon?” Dana snapped. 

He put away his glasses with a sigh. He felt several pairs of female eyes on him as he made his way back to your room. 

He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. You swallowed hard, a lump already there.

“Hey, so… you lied to me,” you said. 

“About what?” 

He came over to your bed and sat on the chair beside it, scooting closer. It was too close for a doctor-patient relationship, you felt. You didn’t mind.

You lifted your hand and reached over, tapping his name tag.

“It was easier to be Michael.”

“‘Robby’ does suit you,” you murmured. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated, leaning on one elbow. 

You stared at one another for what felt like an age, a story unravelling between the two of you. 

“Don’t be sorry you came here,” he whispered. 

“I’m not, it’s just - I didn’t want this to be the way I saw you for a second time,” you mumbled. “I mean, if I ever saw you a second time. I didn’t… I didn’t call.”

“Neither did I,” he said. He sighed. “I could’ve.”

“But I didn’t, like you’d hoped.”

“No,” he said. “You did not.”

Everything felt heavy. You sniffled.

“Jesus, sorry,” you said, with a roll of your eyes. You wiped your nose with your hand. “To be fair, I am on my period.”

“It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice so small you could barely hear it yourself.

He was the one to take your hand, your fingers twining. He squeezed.

“I didn’t get back with my ex,” you said, and he nodded. 

“Good.”

You snorted, but then instantly sobered by the look on his face. He stared intently at your fingers before looking back at you. 

“Was it mine?”

You nodded. You knew what he meant. The moment passed between you and you let out a shuddering breath.

“It wasn’t even a real pregnancy,” you said. “No possibility of it… happening. But I just had this feeling before - and I tested positive, so…”

You rolled your eyes again.

“For two days it was like…”

You couldn’t get the words out. He squeezed your hand again. 

“For two days it was like it was ours.”

-

Robby had been taking a lot of deep breaths in the last half an hour. On the rooftop, the air was fresh, the nighttime sharpness coming in. 

“So,” he heard someone say, and he turned, seeing Jack.

“So,” he echoed.

“Who’s the girl?”

He smirked, shaking his head. Unbelievable. He hadn’t even seen him yet and he knew about you. He could accuse Dana, but if he was honest, most everyone at the Pitt was a gossip.

“She’s the one I met in Hawaii,” he murmured.

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”

“Mm.”

“You’re up here because you’re trying to figure out a way to get out of this?” he teased.

He joined Robby, glancing down. 

“Not exactly,” Robby replied. He grit his jaw for a beat. “She was pregnant. Ectopic. Then today she came in after she couldn’t stop bleeding.”

“Endometriosis? What stage?”

“One.”

Jack shook his head. “Y’know, there are women whose biopsies confirm it, because surgeons can’t find it. They can be microscopic.”

“It’s brutal,” Robby muttered. “I can’t stand it, Jack. Seeing her like that. She might’ve…”

He didn’t dare say it. 

“What’re you doing up here, brother?” Jack murmured. 

“Thinking,” Robby muttered. “Thinking too much.”

As they began their walk back, he said:

“She’s waiting to be transferred to OB.”

He wasn’t going to let it go until he said it out loud, so he did it, feeling heavy.

“I got her pregnant. It was me.”

Jack didn’t seem surprised, giving him an understanding, soft sort of look.

“It’s okay, it happens. Is she okay?”

“I guess. No?”

He needed to focus back to work, to finally finish his shift. He started to make the rounds. 

-

He came back to your room. You put down your magazine Dana got you. 

“Hey,” you said. “You’re gonna leave?”

He nodded, going to the computer, swiping his card. He typed, glasses on. You remembered the first time you saw him use them, when he read the menu on your first not-date on vacation.

“I can feel you watching me,” he said, not looking up.

“What’re you doing, then?” you asked.

He typed, then scratched his head. Typed some more.

“Recommending you have an iron transfusion after your follow-up blood test. Your gynecologist will get a letter from the hospital. And then… it’s on me.”

“Robby,” you said, a little alarmed. You knew the cost of those. “That’s too much. What the fuck?”

He smirked, giving a definitive tap.

“Because, baby, you are anemic.”

You felt a burst of something - a warm affection that made your eyes water. You watched as he came over, sitting on the edge of your bed. He held your hands.

“A girl walks into a hotel bar, and she happens to be from Pittsburgh, and I pass that up? What a fucking…”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“...moron.”

You gave a tearful little laugh, and leaned toward him, kissing him. It was rushed and clumsy, but the mixture of trust and danger - it was everything to you. 

He was everything. You pressed your foreheads together. 

He exhaled against your skin. 

“Robby,” you said. 

“Hmm.”

“Don’t disappear again.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly.

“I promise.”

tagging: @that-wimpy-cowboy-doll @thesandbeneathmytoes