‪♡ the horrors ‪♡

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Robby doesn’t even last two months on his sabbatical.

He’s seen mountains and trees and countless mom and pop diners with their faded Coca-Cola cups and elderly waitresses who call him sweetheart and honey with the disposition of a caring mother he’s never known.

He goes to the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone and Sequoia National Park.

He sleeps under the light of countless stars, under coniforous pines, by stagnant lakes, and feels the insignificance of being human in a universe where being a human doesn’t matter at all.

And the whole time, his mind is preoccupied by one single thing.

Robby had realized during his moments of insignificance how, up until now, he’s been overlooking the very best thing in his life.

He sees it in the reflection of every meandering river and every hotel room mirror and behind his eyelids every time he goes to sleep.

Jack Abbot.

Jack is his rock; his reason for waking up and the sole motivator for his continued resilience, and he can’t believe it took him until now to realize it.

They text on and off during the evenings and early mornings, right before Jack goes into work and right after he leaves.

As time goes on, though, Jack starts to text him less and less.

Emojis become punctuation, five texts become one, his tone becomes off, and Robby knows that Jack is beginning to feel upset at him for leaving.

Something has to be done about that, because if he doesn’t tell Jack how he feels about him, he may as well just be one of the stars that haunts the sky at night, destined to forever watch others’ lives play out in front of it without ever having a hand in it at all.

He turns his phone off and starts the long ride back to Pittsburgh.

When he passes into Illinois, a pit forms in his stomach — something deeply-offputting that he can’t seem to shake.

By Ohio, he writes it off as nerves.

When he passes the Pennsylvania line, he’s feeling rejuvenated again, despite the nerves thrumming under his skin.

It’s 6:57am when he pulls into the parking lot of PTMC. If he’s lucky, he can catch Jack before he heads home and finally let go of all of those stupid feelings he’s been harboring for the better part of a decade.

He’d panicked and bought a dozen white lilies (Jack’s favorite) on the way back and he feels like an idiot as he clutches them to his chest and makes for the door.

What if Jack doesn’t reciprocate his feelings?

What if he’s found someone while Robby’s been gone?

What if—

Dana walks out from the ambulance bay just before he can walk in and that pit in his stomach comes back tenfold. Just before the door closes, he can hear the sound of absolute chaos coming from inside, even more than usual.

Robby’s never seen her look so terrible.

She looks like she’s been crying for a while — the deep, hiccuping kind that’s forced out of you whether you want it to or not.

Dana stops when she sees him and he sees panic flash behind her eyes.

He’s never seen her panic, not once.

“Robby,” she breathes out, her voice rough from crying as she goes still where she stands as if she’s not sure what to do, “I tried to call.”

She’s never unsure of what to do.

“Dana, what’s wrong?” He’s rushing to her before he can think about it, wrapping his arms around her waist as she sobs into his neck, his heart pounding in his chest.

She pulls away with another hiccuping sob and Robby just wants to wrap her in his arms until she stops.

Dana speaks between gasping, panicked breaths, scrubbing a hand over her face as she looks anywhere but Robby’s eyes.

“It’s… Jack, Robby. It’s—“ hiccup “—Jack.”

Robby’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

“Jack? What’s wrong with him? What happened, Dana?”

The lilies fall to the ground, forgotten as he places his hands on her shoulders.

“I-I tried to stop him from going to the roof, but I couldn’t. He—he kept talking about how he couldn’t do it without you, and he stepped over the edge before I could do anything — before I could even think.”

Robby feels like he’s going to throw up.

There’s no way that she’s saying what he thinks she is.

His hands slide from her shoulders and he stumbles over to the bay wall, his breathing coming too quick as nausea roils in his gut. He slaps a hand onto the wall for balance as the entire world tips sideways.

“Dana, is he—“ He’s gasping for air now. He can’t talk, can’t think, can’t even breathe.

“—I’m so sorry!” Dana cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder and he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the cold ground.

He brings his knees up to his chest and lets out an choked-off noise of animal anguish — something that comes from deep in his chest and echoes through the ambulance bay like a gunshot.

“No… no, no, no… this isn’t happening. This isn’t real! I-I was going to—“

Dana sinks down with him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her nose into his hair.

“I-I know, Robby. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” She rubs his back with trembling fingers, her voice unsteady and wrecked.

He can’t say anything, though. He can’t get his body to work, to do anything but shake and tear apart from the inside. If he could speak, he would say that nothing is going to be okay ever again.