#robert keating

Letting her fingers trace over his handwriting, the messy letters and crossed out words that she would remember even when he didn't believe them to be worth it.

Settling down in the spot he claimed as his own ever since he came over for the first time, her legs curled underneath herself, face pressed into the cushion that still held the scent of his cologne from the hours spent on the sofa together.

Their last meal together was packed away in Tupperware, left in the fridge to hold on for a bit longer than it normally would. Her heart felt like it was laying there next to it. Frozen up to not suffocate from his departure.

It made her feel insane. How she missed him twenty minutes after he left as if she hadn't seen him in a year. Love was that cruel, she had to admit it to herself at some point. This was love and she felt every bit of it because of him. A single individual that she knew for a few months was now the reason why she carried her head high and looked in the mirror in the morning a bit less critical.

Reaching for the notebook he bought her after she complained about her previous one running out of empty pages on their first date and she couldn't find a good enough looking replacement and the black ink pen she carried around since sixth grade.

Tapping it against one of the pages that were still patiently waiting to be filled, nothing that she thought of felt right. Nothing felt like it conveyed her feelings in the way that reflected her emotions. No words could capture her truth like they were once able to.

Songs had always been her escape. It was the medium she fell back on when her own experiences felt too big to carry them around all alone. They made her understand the world that was spinning without stopping and waiting for her to catch up. They made her understand herself.

Though now, thanks to the guy with messy brown hair and a smile that brightened all her darkest nights, she felt like not even her most trusted strategy could help her out of tragedy this time.

She tried to write it down: his smile, the feelings of his hands on her waist, the racing of her heart when she woke up and saw him still asleep next to her. The image of the sun uncovering the small amount of freckles that liked to hide away otherwise. The reoccurring dreams where he starred as the main role. How her heart felt aflame when he kissed her for the first time and every time after.

It continued like that for weeks.

Every day she sat down, his hoodie or shirt or pants over her body, the coffee his mom send them because he swore on Irish coffee beans, steaming next to her empty notebook. Every day he called and every day she told him that she missed him but never how much he affected her. And every day she gave up on it by noon, walking out into the streets and trying to get herself under control until it got too cold to wander aimlessly. Retreating back into the uncomfortable silence of her apartment, putting on one of his records and telling herself that it brought them closer together.

"Only a few more shows," he reminded her over the phone ever night. Her ear pressed close to the speaker, the sound of his voice treating up to her brain and making itself at home. The memory familiar enough to echo in her dreams like she was standing between two mountains and he was her own voice calling out. But he never came out.

And 'only a few more shows' turned into two shows two hours away. Two shows that she'd seen a million times and that her schedule had no time preserved in for her to take her car keys out of the little ceramic bowl by the door anyway and made her way down the highway. Speeding like a car with no brakes, her eyes focused on the goal. Instead, her goal were a few bearable lyrics on a sheet of paper that wouldn't end up ripped out and crumbled in frustration.

Two hours that felt like eternity as she watched the black of the TV and had to put on a cheap movie that would distract her enough to not image the turn of his keys in the door when she knew for a fact that they only finished the show. Let alone, wrapped up and went on their way, if they even got around to driving back home that day.

Closing night was a pub night that would rein in until the early mornings most times. She knew from experience how keen and eager everyone was for that last night spent together with no other worries ahead. So, she stopped pretending that the hope of his coming home early was occupying her mind more than what time she went to bed and the hours of sleep she would get that night. Staying in her place on the sofa and trying to shake out whatever came to her mind that could make her less wanting.

Dreams had often tricked her into thinking they were real, she had woken up enough times twice a night to find that the first time wasn't her at all but a dream projection of what could happen if she was in another reality. The sound of his voice was in her dreams too often to differentiate it from the real thing these days. The chain of previously imagined actions all aligning too well for her to actually be waking up in reality.

Though the silence felt too real when Eli stopped in his tracks in the living room, his gaze felt too soft to be a dream. And when she rubbed her eyes, pulling her skin down along her cheeks and jaw, the stretch was apparent in her previous state of stillness. Turning to find him staring with a soft smile on his face and approaching her too gently with too quiet feet to turn into something she'd wake up sweating from.

"Are you real?" she asked, her voice too far back in her head to count as a whisper. And when his lips pressed against her temple, they felt too real to not be anything but actually him.

Before he could answer, she was already on her feet. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down and breathing him in. The feeling of his chest pressed against hers finally making sense. A feeling that she could describe. The rapid beating of his heart against hers feeling like the bass of trumpets etching through a jazz piece. The simple vibration of his laugh setting her aflame. The feeling of his shirt over his shoulders acting like a barrier between their love. The barrier that kept her from writing. The barrier that made her go insane.

Taking his face into her hands, she pulled him into her before he could kick off his shoes. Both their bodies falling into the cushion of the sofa, his spot now theirs. Her blanket now beneath their bodies. The crumbled pieces of paper scratching along his thigh like knives. The danger of disappointment in her words that she didn't want to be true etching through the taste of each other.

"I don't want you to go again without knowing whether you'll come here or go to your own place," she mumbled against his lips, leaving enough space between them to tell him her wish but not enough to hide the tears falling down her face. The prints of her sadness carried over on his own cheeks. "I want us to have one place to go to. I want us to go to the same place."

"I don't want to go anywhere else but where you are," he confessed too. His words coming out wrecked against his heavy breathing.

"I couldn't even write when you were gone," she laughed. Pulling away to pick up a dozen ripped out pages that were mostly blacked out or even destroyed through the tip of the pen. "Nothing was able to describe what I felt. Nothing could ever describe you in the way that I see you."

"It goes both ways, love." Eli's hands moved over her hips, fingers treating beneath her shirt. The endless lines decorating his palm melting into her waist. His warmth transferring over into her chest. "I tried to write something for months and nothing comes out."

Relieved at his assurance, she fell into his chest. Head rested in the crook of his neck, eyes cast down to watch his legs move as he kicked off his shoes. His hands holding her in place as he shifted his position, both legs sprawled out over the sofa. Reaching for the book, turning the light behind him on, they went through past texts. Talking for hours about what they'd written but showed no one else, the texts they found to be too much that actually were everything they felt. Honesty was always the most scary of emotions and all they wanted was to be honest in how they felt.

Eli noticed when her breath settled, he noticed when her lashes grazed his neck and fell shut. Her fists curled into his shirt like she didn't want him to slip away in the middle of the night. Their legs tangled up together. Their hearts beating as one.

Turning off the light, reaching for the blanket abandoned on the floor and tucking her in, he felt like he could finally breath. Kissing her head, mumbling sweet nothings until he fell to exhaustion's feet and met her in dreams again.

You had enjoyed the band; they were instrumentally solid, and their lyrics were captivating. Live, they were even better. Eli, drenched to the point that his hair was soaked, let out soft groans in between sung syllables. This was just the soundcheck, and though only a few fans were around, he was performing like it was the real thing.

“Think we can tweak it a bit more?” His voice pulled you back, a warning that you might be getting in over your head. Eli chuckled, eyes trailing over you from top to bottom with a slight smirk. You couldn’t tell if it was meant to intimidate, mock, or if he just found you pathetic.

“Of course,” you replied quietly, certain no one else heard. The walk over felt longer in your mind as the guys watched, and you reached for the guitar in his hands. His swift movement to pull the strap off revealed hints of muscle, all the pale skin and the brief brush of his arm, warm and damp with sweat, replayed in your mind.

“Will you be around?” His voice was deeper, smoother than when he sang, with a lazy edge that was almost too pleasant to listen to. You were getting paid for this entire experience. “It’s my job.” He raised his brows, that same confident grin tugging at his lips. You avoided direct eye contact, though you glanced at him from the corners of your eyes. You didn’t mean to sound so blunt. You were only here to set up the studio for their album recording—a short period, and soon enough, you wouldn’t see them again.

You liked them well enough, but Eli had that vibe of the guy who would’ve bullied you in high school. You thought you were past that. “I’ll be around,” you said more clearly, finally looking him in the eyes. He nodded, making a mental note of your face up close and the matching brand of your boots and his. Your delicate hand passed the guitar back to him, and he couldn’t resist; it was too easy.

“Thanks, pet. I’ll be needing you again soon.” Your gaze dropped quickly as you backed away. Josh overheard and laughed, while Eli turned a bit pink—no regrets, though. You knew guys like him. You’d worked with bands before, and you understood better than to let whatever that was get to you.

…

You only spoke when asked, keeping things strictly professional. Eli was openly watching you, blatantly, if honest. The producers asked you questions now and then, and you always responded, they’d nod and follow your advice right after. Eli already thought you were smart, which only made him more intrigued. You were focused, a little shy, content within your own bubble; he admired that. It was obvious you were fine like that, and he was bothering you, but he didn’t know any other way to approach you.

“Hey, uh…” he started, sitting across from you at lunch. Once again, you were alone, not in a bad way, just enjoying your break. “What’re you listening to?” You lifted one side of your headphones to hear him. He cleared his throat, needing to repeat the question before you could answer.

“It’s not the first time you ignore me like that, and I like it.” You had to bite your lip but still laughed, as if he were too much to believe.

“The Strokes,” you showed him your phone, sipping your Coke. You fidgeted with the strap of your white tank top, which happened to be just like the one he often wore—and was wearing now. Along with the boots, it was oddly charming.

“I love The Strokes, real teenage throwback. What are your favorites?” He smiled wide, a grin he hadn’t seen all day, feeling confident this was going well.

“See? We have so much in common,” he teased, even though, so far, it was just the band and clothes.

“I’m not a big fan,” you shrugged, “I think his voice is lazy and dragged out, not really my style, though the instrumental’s good.” His heart sank a little. You spoke so casually, completely unaware of the impact. Eli hadn’t found flirting so difficult before.

“All right,” he glanced around, watching you look at your empty plate instead of his eyes. “Did you enjoy yesterday? What did you think of the show?”

You briefly thought of the awkward moment adjusting his guitar with everyone watching and how he’d been appearing more and more on your social media—not him directly, but clips of him with fans. You’d even gained some random followers from being spotted with the band. Your feed was flooded with videos of him leaning close to a girl at the edge of the stage, his damp curls brushing her face. She’d clung to him, and he clearly loved the attention, even stopping post-show to chat and connect with everyone. It was an energy you didn’t have. You’d once wanted to be more like him but were now comfortable being reserved. He was just naturally good at it.

Then there was one photo—a girl holding his face in an intimate kiss—that made you pause. A fan captioned that Eli would make a perfect boyfriend, even if they weren’t together anymore. She was gorgeous, and he looked like he belonged with her. Him talking to you felt off, like he was doing it out of pity; you weren’t even on the same page.

“I really enjoyed it. You guys are very good.” You were honest, forcing a smile and pushing away your thoughts to show you meant it.

Eli wasn’t convinced of that. “Good to know. We’re close enough now to hang out and maybe share a cigarette or two.” You looked up at him, his hazel eyes gleaming, his freckles glowing with a hint of blush. He had that high-school-crush look, but it still didn’t make sense.

“Can’t you talk like a normal person?” In your mind, the question hadn’t sounded so hard.

“I don’t know; this way I get to keep talking to you, don’t I?” He raised his brows as looked away, noticing the rest of the band watching from another table. He could be over there, so why wasn’t he?

He dropped a crumpled napkin on the table and waited, saying he’d be persistent later when you just nodded, unsure what to expect. You were about to speak, and it was warming to see him actually paying attention, his caramel eyes fixed on you, his whole body focused—until he nudged the table, spilling half of the Coke onto your white top.

“Sorry,” his accent thickened, sending a jolt of anxiety through you. People glanced over, and Eli began wiping the spot, his hand brushing over the stain.

“It’s not helping,” you said, touching his shoulder. “Eli, it’s fine; you’re just making it worse.” Your firm tone made him stop, realizing you were right.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a little embarrassed, and he quickly noticed. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his black button-down and handed it over for you to wear. It wasn’t like you could refuse; you still had the whole afternoon before you could head home and change.

“Sorry, like, the flirting’s intentional, yeah, but I wouldn’t ever mean to harm you.”

You fiddled with his shirt, playing with the buttons. It smelled nice. He was now in a tank top like yours, and you remembered mentioning how you liked his arms before to the voices inside your head.

You cleared the table, picking up his napkin too, and he watched as you tossed his number into the trash on your way out.

“These things happen, I guess,” he chuckled, getting the closest he’d come to a genuine smile from you. The lighthearted way you suggested he’d done it on purpose; if he’d known that smile would come out, he certainly would have.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give it back,” you reassured him, grateful he wasn’t phased by the incident, though disappointed the conversation had ended, even if it wasn’t going great. At least it was something, and he got to appreciate how well his shirt suited you the rest of the day.

“It’s yours now, ma’am.”

…

At home, you made yourself dinner, still wearing his shirt. Sure, you told yourself it was just because of the chill, but deep down, you knew you wanted his scent—cologne mixed with a hint of cigarettes—lingering around you. Despite your reluctance, you eventually washed and dried it to return it properly. As you lay down in bed, a wave of mental relief washed over you, savoring the solitude after spending nearly the whole day with them fine-tuning songs. You picked up your phone, intending to scroll until you drifted off, when an Instagram notification popped up. Opening it, you saw he’d followed you and even sent a message. You set your phone aside for a moment, feeling like he was physically there; somehow, it made no difference.

When you accepted the request and opened the DM, the first thing you saw was a picture: a can of Diet Coke spilling onto his jeans, captioned with, “Thinking of you.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself. Eli probably thought it was funny—maybe it was, in a way. “You there? Am I getting ignored online too?” It made you realize you'd left the chat open, staring blankly. “Sorry, was busy,” you replied, though you instantly regretted it, realizing you could've been friendlier.

The typing dots popped up again, followed by, “With something more important than me?” You had to admit, his shameless confidence was quite charming. “Washing your shirt to return it. Hopefully, you won’t try that again xx,” you replied, heart-reacting to the Coke photo he’d sent. You didn’t want him to think you were actually ignoring him. After a pause, just as you were about to drift off, his final message came through. It was a voice note, low tone, a little sleepy, smooth.

“Uh, don’t see the problem, you know? Got to talk to you, and now you’ll return my shirt with your scent on it. You’re making this hard for me.” You could practically hear him smiling through the words, and once again, you found yourself grinning into your blankets.

…

You know those days that just aren't good? Your eyes ached, and there was a sharp pain in your head. Before entering the studio, some girls in Inhaler shirts were gathered near the entrance. They greeted you, and you nodded back, answering a few quick questions about them. You were polite, so one of them handed you her number, asking if you could give it to Eli. You took the slip of paper—it seemed routine, as if he received these often. She was beautiful. Your mind wandered to the number of girls chasing after him, not just here, but everywhere.

"Bobby’s sick; they’re not coming in today." One of the producers announced, and you felt a bit guilty for being relieved. Today, you didn't want to see anyone. It was hard to explain—if you knew how to avoid it, you would. Your chest felt like it was being crushed, heart racing, the familiar grip of anxiety that you just couldn’t make stop. As you thought about leaving, it hit you that you'd have to pass by those girls outside and take the bus home alone. You also worried about the delay in recordings, though you didn’t think Bobby should be there if he was unwell.

"Uh, you here by yourself? We won’t be recording today; thought someone might’ve told you. I just needed to grab my stuff." Eli shook his lighter, a rescuer in disguise. You held a cigarette between your fingers, hoping it would distract you, but you were restless, tapping your boot on the floor and fumbling in your pocket for your own lighter to no avail. He didn’t seem to notice anything wrong—at least he didn’t show it. His curls were perfectly in place, his jacket pulled over his arms, and that familiar, inviting smile. He’d clearly spent some time talking outside.

You opened your mouth, numb lips struggling to hide how off you felt, but no words came. He stepped close, his rings catching the light, and you focused on how nice his hand looked—a random, sudden thought that made you frown slightly. "Let me help," he whispered, his minty breath brushing your face. With the cigarette at your lips, you kept patting your jeans for the lighter. This was the closest you’d ever been to Eli; his fringe touched your forehead, and you realized how easily you could rest your head on his shoulder if you just leaned in. He sparked the lighter, holding it to your cigarette, his scent dizzying. His hand brushed your shoulder, and you wanted more. His calm eyes took in your vacant look as his fingers traced down your arm. For the first time, you couldn’t look at anything but his steady gaze. His freckles seemed to judge you silently, wondering why you had no control over yourself.

Seeing you weren’t taking a drag, he pulled the cigarette from your lips and placed it in his. "You can hear me, right?" His thumb brushed your palm, and you focused on your breathing as your eyes began to water. Eli was patient, his calm presence grounding you as you tried to steady yourself. Holding your hand, he gently pressed it to his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—thankfully steady. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Feel that, love?" Closing your eyes, still feeling overwhelmed, you listened to his words. "Just breathe with me. You’re not alone; it’s all gonna be fine." His voice was a balm, and slowly, it started to sink in.

"You’re doing great; you wouldn’t even need me here," he said softly, matching your small laugh with his own. Your knees gave way slightly, and he held you by the waist, you were closer than ever before. "We can just sit here until you’re alright, yeah?" You nodded, sinking to the floor beside him, surrounded by a few guitars. You toyed with the rings on his fingers, finding it a welcome distraction, and he didn’t mind. Exhausted, as you always seemed to feel, Eli noticed your tired, red eyes and pulled you against him. It was only his shoulder, but you let yourself lean in. He took a drag from the cigarette, ready to toss it aside to focus on you, but you took it from him, repeating his movements.

"So, that’s our first kiss," he murmured, his usual flirty tone and smug grin returning. He seemed proud. "What?" you muttered, throat sore, but he didn’t need to hear it; he saw it on your lips. His free hand slid along your back, keeping you close, wanting to distract you from your own mind. He was good at it.

"The cigarette’s a swap of saliva, right? That counts." You wrinkled your nose, thinking how typical it was for him to come up with something like that. You put out the cigarette, tossing the butt away. Nicotine didn’t help much, but it was something—it was human nature, and you understood that. He noticed your shy smile, his effect on you having its way. "Not funny, Eli. I don’t get why you do this," you murmured, exhaustion pulling your eyes closed, though you stayed nestled against his soft shoulder. He swallowed, realizing you weren’t playing a game; you were just oblivious.

"One of the fans outside even gave me her number to give to you." Your tone was gentle, though the crumpled paper in your hand suggested you had some opinion on it. "You think I’m just messing around with you?" He took your face in his hand, studying your troubled eyes. "Why would I do that? I wouldn’t flirt with you if I didn’t mean it. I don’t know how to be more obvious."

The firmness in his voice cut through like the edge of a blade. Now it was his turn to look at you like a puzzle piece he couldn’t quite figure out. You stared at him like he’d just spoken in another language, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Aren’t you? I mean… isn’t this just, like, a thing you do? Flirt with people for fun?” Oddly enough he was still comfortable, Eli could be anything but scary.

He looked at you, serious, shaking his head slightly, as if letting you slip through his fingers was out of the question.

Eli raised an eyebrow, his grin slipping. “Is that what you think of me?”

You fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re… you know…” Your voice dropped as if admitting the truth was embarrassing. “You’re you.”

He leaned closer, his voice low but insistent. “And what if ‘me’ wants you? What if I’m serious ‘bout this?”

Your eyes shot up to his, wide and startled, but you quickly looked away. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, I am,” Eli said, his gaze more serious now, one of those looks you couldn’t avoid. “I don’t just flirt with everyone. I don’t chase people. But I’m chasing you. What’s it gonna take for you to get that?”

His chest had been racing, but it started to calm as he took in your parted lips and the tears lingering in your eyes. He knew he was overwhelming you at a tough moment, and he hated that. His fingertips traced the bridge of your nose, lightly outlining your soft lines, enjoying how close you allowed him to be. “Are you okay, little one?” he asked softly, the edge of his jacket brushing your cheek to wipe away the last of your tears.

“Yeah,” you replied, the incident finally slipping away as you looked back at him, unable to focus on anything else. His careful eyes, the freckles scattered like constellations, each carrying its own name that you gave them—it was hard to think of anything but them. “God, I must’ve been such an idiot, right?”

He chuckled, his laugh warm and steady against you. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, gentle but grounding, repeating it a few times as if to anchor you. You rested your head against his chest, nestling your face there, feeling the safety of his warmth. Your arms wrapped around his waist, a quiet comfort settling in.

“You weren’t an idiot. If anything, I’ve been bugging you since I got here.” You murmured a soft agreement, and he laughed again.

“But it worked, didn’t it? What do you say?”

You hid yourself a bit more in his embrace, feeling good, as he held you close, content to be your shield.

…

There was a comfortable weight draped over you, not unpleasant in the slightest. Your legs were tangled up with his, and you could feel his breath against your shoulder, soon followed by a series of light kisses and playful bites. You laughed into him, accepting your fate, and hugged him tighter. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice sounding even better with that just-woke-up rasp. You glanced around, fully taking in the scene. His hand rested on your waist, his touch warm, and he was amazing at reading you, always respecting your pace.

“No one’s here yet. I’m not about to get you in trouble.” You smiled back at him, genuinely relieved.

“So you’re gonna hide us from them, huh?” he teased. “Hurts my feelings a little, y’know?” You looked down at your feet, ready to counter him, but before you could, his face was close again. He pressed a soft, wet kiss to your cheek. His messy curls tickled you, and you ended up laughing.

“When I make you nervous like this…” he traced his thumb along your hands, which were colder than your hot cheeks. “Is it a bad thing? Does it bother you?”

You met his gaze, smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. “I like how you talk to me, Eli. I just… don’t know how to deal with it right away.”

He nodded, his smile warm. “Good. I like that—it’s cute how you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

So effortlessly, he pulled the same reaction from you as before. The two of you kept talking, stealing these quiet moments before anyone arrived. Eli picked up on your hesitance with him, knowing you thought he was too charismatic for someone like you. But he also made it clear he didn’t mind your quieter world; he’d be just as happy living in it if you’d have him there.

Later that day, you ended up with his jacket draped over your shoulders and his hand resting gently on your back. You got to listen Bobby complimented you, saying you were better at adjusting his bass than any of the past techs they’d worked with. The way he talked about you was similar to how Eli did, which made you suspect Eli had already mentioned you to them before, even without knowing you well yet. None of them questioned your sudden closeness with Eli, not even when he introduced you like they didn’t all already know who you were. They were welcoming, you felt at ease.

 Eli’s hand slipped from your waist slowly, your smile softening as he looked at you. He was enjoying the way things were going. “I’m gonna grab us some food,” he said, tilting your chin up and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And a Diet Coke too.”

 You grinned, your smile so wide it showed all your teeth. “Want me to come with you?” Before either of you could say more, Ryan appeared with a question about drum kits, and Eli could see in your eyes that you wanted to answer.

 “I’ll be right back, I promise, little one,” he chuckled, leaving you with them. Minutes later, Ryan mentioned, “It’s great that Eli managed to finally talk to you. We’ve been hoping to catch you since that project you worked on with Miles.”

 The statement was so casual that you raised your eyebrows, realizing it had been over two years since that project—quite some time if you thought about it. “You guys were looking for me?”

 Ryan nodded, as if it were obvious. “Actually, Elijah suggested it. He’s into the albums you worked on. It took a while—you’re not exactly easy to track down.” You laughed, looking at them, struck by how Eli had admired your work for much longer than you’d ever realized. You’d thought he was out of reach, yet he’d appreciated your work from the start.

 “Don’t break our boy’s heart, alright? We’d have to side with you then, but we’d rather not,” Josh added with a smirk, and you felt your face heat up just as Eli returned, grinning, with a Diet Coke and fries in hand.

You nudged him playfully with your shoulder. “Was there ever a doubt?”

He chuckled, that familiar soft laugh that made your stomach flutter. “I dunno. I’ve been nervous about asking all week. Eli said I’d fumble it somehow.”

“Well, you didn’t,” you said, stopping in your tracks. Robert turned to face you, his brows raised just slightly in anticipation. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

His eyes searched yours, something unspoken passing between you, and then he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. “Let’s head back to mine, yeah?”

————————————

The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind you, something shifted. Maybe it was the way Rob looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to—or the way his thumb brushed your hand as he dropped his keys on the counter.

Whatever it was, it made the distance between you feel unbearable.

“Come here,” he said softly, an obvious tone of hunger there, already closing the spaced between you.

His hands found your waist as yours slid up to rest on his shoulders. His lips were on yours before you could say a word—warm, hungry, and full of everything you both had been holding back all evening.

You melted into him, your fingers threading into his bleach blonde hair, the slight scratch of his hair against your palms sending a thrill down your spine.

He walked you backward gently, guiding you through the apartment like he’d done it a hundred times. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and you both laughed into the kiss, breathless and flushed.

“Fucking hell, you’ll be the death of me.” He groaned, his voice low and a little rough as he nuzzled against your jaw.

You tilted your head, giving him space, your heart racing at the way his lips trailed down to your neck before returning to your mouth with a new kind urgency.

You loved his lips being on yours more than anything, but that burning heat in the pit of your stomach needed more. You needed to jump in his bones at this stage just to feel some kind of relief.

“Shit,” you moaned quietly between a kiss. “Go-go back to my neck.” You managed to stutter out, and he wasn’t the one to say no to you.

You could ask him to get on his hands and knees and crawl for you, and he’d do it without a second thought.

The two of you had made out before, so he knew where you liked to be kissed, or little things that got you riled up, and the left side of your neck, right under your ear, was one of those spots.

His lips found the spot in an instant, and he wasn’t afraid to bite down on the sensitive area slightly, sucking the skin lightly after to try and get a moan from you.

“You sure about this?” He murmurs against your neck, voice low, husky with something between hope and restraint. His fingers brush under your dress, hesitating about mid thigh, waiting for your answer.

You pull his head gently away from your neck, looking him straight in the eyes and nodding. “Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want you. Really, I mean it.”

He leans in. The kiss is soft at first—careful. His lips are warm, a little chapped, tasting faintly like the red wine from earlier. But then he deepens it, tongue teasing the seam of your mouth, and you melt into him with a quiet gasp. His hands find the zipper of your dress, and you practically jumped out of it, desperate to feel his hands on your bare skin.

His fingers splayed over your ribs, thumbs stroking slow circles just under your breasts. You’re not sure how you make it to the bedroom. It’s all a blur of mouths and laughter and demands.

But most importantly that wild, dizzy feeling of finally getting what you’ve wanted for so long.

Clothes come off in stages—his button up shirt practically being ripped open, the slow peel of his jeans, your dress was left behind in the hallway but he wasn’t shy to take off your bra, finally admiring the part of your body he’d been nearly craving to see face to face.

The drag of his fingers down your spine as he pressed you back against the mattress, dragging a low moan out of you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, almost like he’s saying it to himself. “Been thinking about this… about you…”

“Rob, baby, I love you so fucking much. But please, get to work I’m dying over here.”

You reach for him, pulling him down into another kiss, and this one is full of hunger, your bodies flush, his skin practically boiling hot against yours. His weight on you is grounding, electrifying. He kisses down your neck, slow and reverent, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue flicking just enough to make you squirm.

You gasped softly as his teeth grazed the soft skin above your breasts, and he smiled against your skin, his hands splaying wide across the outside of your thighs.

"You nervous?" he asked, pausing to look at you—his blue eyes suddenly a darker shade of blue, pupils blown, but still so gentle.

"A little," you admitted. "But not in a bad way or anything. It's just been a while since I've...you know."

His hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing along your bottom lip, slow and careful. "We can stop any time. Just say the word."

"I don't want to stop."

That was all he needed.

He kissed along your chest slowly, reverently, letting his tongue flick over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched instinctively and he groaned at the way you moved under him.

The feeling of his calloused fingers tracing your ribs, your stomach, it had you feeling like your head was stuck in the clouds. You finally managed to pull yourself back down to earth for a second when you noticed he was kneeling between your legs, pulling your underwear down at a teasing pace.

"You're shaking," he said softly.

"I know," you breathed. "I just...I want you so fucking badly."

Rob leaned down, lips brushing yours. "You have me."

Then his hand slid down your thigh, then between them, and you gasped as his fingers found you already wet, already aching for him.

"Christ," he muttered. "You're so fucking perfect."

He dipped one finger inside you, then another, curling them just right, his thumb brushing your clit in slow, patient circles. You moaned, hips lifting to meet his hand, and he watched you with something close to awe—as if seeing you come undone for him was a privilege he didn't quite believe he deserved.

"I'm obsessed with you, you know?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your throat, your breast. "So obsessed."

You tightened around his fingers, gripping onto his wrist as you moaned out in ecstasy. But before you knew it, the feeling of his touch was gone, and you could've screamed from frustration.

"Come on, baby. I think we've both had enough of playing around." His smiled was close to a smirk, tone clearly teasing. You didn't know if you wanted to kiss him or slap him.

Probably both.

You watched his every move. The way his muscles flexed as he took his boxers off. The way he ran his fingers through his bleached hair as he took in a shaky breath. You couldn't possibly get enough of this man.

He reached across to the top drawer of his night stand, clearly in the search of a condom.

"I'm on the pill. We don't need to use one." you rushed to say. Just wanting to feel all of him with nothing in the way.

"Are you sure? You're still taking a bit of a risk without one."

"No, I'm sure. I just want to be able to feel you."

His face practically scrunched up in what looked like pain. Pain from you killing him with words.

When he finally slid between your thighs and pushed into you, he went slow—achingly slow—watching your face the whole time, checking for any flicker of discomfort. But all you felt was full, deliciously stretched, your legs wrapping around his waist as he bottomed out inside you with a low groan.

"God, you feel unreal," he chocked out.

He moved slowly at first, deep, measured thrusts that made your breath catch every time he rocked into you. His forehead dropped to yours, sweat beading along his hairline, threads of his hair sticking to his forehead.

"You're taking me so well," he murmured against your lips. "So tight around me. Let go, baby. Let me take care of you."

Your nails dug into his back, leaving marks down his spine as your body climbed higher, tighter. He sped up just enough to make your breath stutter, your moans getting louder, his hips snapping into you with perfect rhythm, hitting that spot inside that made starts burst behind your eyes.

"Rob—" you moaned, barely able to get the words out. "I'm so close, I—"

"I've got you," he said, voice rough, hand slipping between you again to circle your clit. "Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel, baby."

And you did—hard. Your whole body tensed, you cried out his name like it was the only work you knew, and clenched around him as your orgasm tore through you like a wave. He followed moments later, groaning into your neck as he thrust deep one final time and spilled inside you, hips jerking through his own release.

You stayed like that for a while—tangled, breathless, your limbs intertwined and skin flushed with heat.

After a long silence, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering, "You okay?"

You nodded, burying your face in his neck. "That was...fuck me, that was good."

He laughed softly, brushing your hair back. "I couldn't agree with you more, beautiful."

Your eyes glistened as they locked with his. The two of you just admiring each other, not wanting to end this moment too soon.

"I love you so much." You whispered, your voice thick with emotion and love.

"I love you most."

"That's impossible, Keating."

you made your way over to the bar, pushing past the drunken bodies of sweaty university students grinding against each other. the music pulsed in your chest, lights strobing just enough to disorient you as you weaved through the crowd.

someone shoved past with no warning, and your foot slipped, sending you stumbling straight into someone’s chest.

two hands caught your arms, firm but easy, keeping you upright.

"careful," a voice said, he had an accent. "you alright?"

you looked up, ready to mumble a quick apology but then you saw him.

tall. brunette curls styled perfectly around his ears. and piercing sky-blue eyes, that made you want to sink into the ground and cry, locked onto yours with the most gorgeous smile you had ever seen.

realising you were staring, you stepped back. flustered.

"shit, sorry. i didn't see you."

"no harm done," he said, amused.

you look at him again, confused. "do i know you?"

"nah," he shook his head, "saw you at the gig, on your mates shoulders. at least i'm hoping he's a friend."

"you were at the gig?" you asked, eyes lighting up.

"something like that, yeah." he chuckled.

"what am i missing? where were you watching?"

"from the stage," he muttered, "i'll admit i was a bit upset you weren't as excited for our set as you were sam's."

"yeah?" you asked, smiling sweetly. "well if only i had known how cute you were upclose, i might've got more excited." since when were you this bold?

"just cute?" he questioned.

you hummed in agreement. but no, not just cute.

"so the guy whose shoulder's you were on..." he leaned closer to your ear, "he just a friend?"

you laughed under your breath, he's bold too. "yeah, just a friend."

his grin widened. "good. wouldn't want to be stepping on any toes before i even buy you a drink."

"oh?" you raised your eyebrows. "you're buying me a drink?"

"was hoping to, yeah." he said, shrugging like it was the most natural thing in the world. "might be easier if i knew your name."

you smiled. "it's y/n."

"y/n." he repeated.

"mhm." you nodded, biting your lip. "you gonna tell me yours?"

"robert. or bobby, if you like."

"i like bobby, it suits you." you smiled.

"so..." he paused, "can i buy you a drink, y/n?"

you hesitated for just a second. "alright. one drink."

he led you through the crowd, glancing back once to make sure you were still following. the heat and the noise swirling, but somehow, walking just behind him, it all felt a little more bearable. like the chaos had dulled to a comfortable hum.

he leaned on the bar, flagging the bartender with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. you slid in beside him, feeling the heat of him at your side.

"what're ya having, then?" he asked, turning towards you.

you told him, and he gave a small, approving nod. "classy. i like it."

"and you?" you asked him, nudging his arm with your elbow.

"i'll have a guiness, please." he sad to the bartender.

you snorted, "of course. you can take the boy out of ireland..."

bobby laughed with you, "what about your friend?"

"huh?" you asked.

"your friend," his head motioning over to where the bathrooms were, "you were getting her a drink, no?"

"i- uh- yeah." you fumbled your words, "have you really been watching me all night?"

"hard not to." he said, a little too quickly.

"smooth." you chuckled, "so, how long are you in newcastle?"

"we leave tomorrow, actually. we're going to the US for tour."

both your smiles drop.

you nod slowly, the weight of it sinking in. "must be mad, doing all that travelling. i'm just here for uni."

"uni?" he said, interest sparking in his gaze.

"yeah," you smiled, "so newcastle's home for now, at least."

he grinned, a little softer now. "there are worse places."

"guess so." you said, feeling the sudden distance of knowing the man you only met minutes ago, would be gone soon.

before the moment could get too heavy, the music shifted. the bass dropped low and fast as new order's blue monday filled the room.

you snorted at the irony of it all, "oh my god!"

"seems like fate to me." he gave you a knowing look, offering you his hand.

you took it without hesitation, letting him pull you into the thick of the crowd  the drinks long forgotten. the bass thumped through the club, vibrating through your feet as bobby led you deeper onto the dancefloor. the chaos around you blurred into the background, leaving only the rhythm and the warmth of his hand in yours.

he pulled you closer, his fingers resting lightly on the small of your back as you moved together, matching the energy of the music. your heart hammered. not just from the dancing, but from the way his blue eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

for a few songs, you lost yourself completely. spinning, laughing, the world reduced to the thump of drums and the heat of his body close beside yours. when the dj finally slowed the tempo, the buzz between you thickened, heavy with something unspoken.

bobby glanced around, then nodded toward the exit. “want to get some fresh air?”

you hesitated for just a moment. the night had been a whirlwind, exciting and reckless in a way you weren’t used to. you weren’t usually the type to just follow someone outside a club in the middle of the night.

but something about bobby made you want to say yes.

“i don’t usually do this kind of thing,” you admitted quietly as he led you out into the cool night air, the sounds of the club muffled behind the door. 

the air was crisp against your skin, contrast to the heat lingering on your cheeks from the dancing. bobby had stepped just a little closer, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"this is..." you started, then trailed off, chewing at your lip. "weird."

"a bit," he admitted, but there was a smile playing at his lips. "but not a bad weird."

you looked at him for a long second. searching for something beneath the surface. "do you do this a lot?"

his eyebrows rose slightly. "do what?"

"you know," you said, tilting your head, voice smaller than you meant it to be. "travel around, play gigs, meet girls, kiss her outside the club and then leave. like it was nothing."

you weren’t trying to accuse him, not really, but the words came out sharper than intended, threaded with something vulnerable. it surprised even you, how much you suddenly cared.

god, look at you. getting worked up over a guy you met two hours ago.

bobby stared at you. like really stared at you with those intense blue eyes that made your legs feel like jelly. the teasing dropped from his face, "is that what you think this is?"

you didn't answer right away. your eyes flicker down to the pavement.

he stepped even closer, slow, his voice quiet but firm. "i meet a lot of people, yeah, but i don't do this. not like this."

you looked up at him. "not like what?"

"not like you."

that stopped you cold. 

he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "jesus, i mean, i saw you from the stage and i couldn't stop looking. then you bump into me in some random club and suddenly i'm here, trying to be all smooth and failing miserably."

you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. it was soft, surprised.

"and yeah," he continued, "i'm leaving tomorrow. but i'll be thinking about this. about you."

you swallowed thickly, breath catching when his hand came up gently, fingertips brushing against your jaw, then settling at the curve of your neck. his other hand found your waist, his movements were slow and deliberate like he was memorising this moment.

"so, if you're still okay with it," he murmured, "i'd really like to kiss you now."

your heart stuttered beneath your ribs. but you nodded, just barely, but that was all he needed.

he guided you in, enough for your bodies to meet in the middle. and then he kissed you.

it was soft at first. tentative. like he didn't want to rush it, to feel every second of it. your hands slid up to his hair, tugging on the longer strands at the nape of his neck. he tilted your face just slightly as he deepened the kiss. you pulled at his hair again, harder this time. he responded with a soft groan against your lips that sent a thrill right through you.

the world around you stilled, the hum of the city and dull throb of the club's bass melting away until all you could feel were his hands and lips on you.

you barely noticed how tightly you were holding onto him until he shifted, pressing you gently back against the brick wall just beside the club's side door, hidden in the shadows. the cool stone against your back only heightened the contrast. him, warm and solid and all-consuming in front of you.

he pulled away just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged. “fuck,” he said, voice low, hoarse. "you're..."

he didn't finish the sentence, just kissed you again. rougher, a little desperate and you felt yourself lose any grip you had left on restraint.

the kiss lingered, slow and drawn out like neither of you wanted to let go first. and when you finally did, when his lips pulled back from yours, they hovered there, still so close it was dizzying.

his hand on your neck travelled further up, brushing the stray hairs from your face. you smiled at him softly as you glanced up at him, "do you want to-?"

"yeah," he said before you could finish, like he already knew what you were asking. then softer, "only if you want to."

"my flat's like... a ten minuted walk."

he smirked, just a little. "lead the way."

and then you were walking fast, back through the city streets, his hand in yours. you tugging him just a little too quickly. he kept close behind you, his thumb brushing circles against your palm as the two of you moved through the streets like you’d always known exactly where this night would end.

the next morning.

sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, golden and quiet, pulling you from sleep. the first thing you noticed was the cool air against your bare shoulders. the second was the empty space beside you.

you rolled over, heart sinking just a little. the pillow still held his shape. the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the fabric but he was gone.

you sat up slowly, wincing at the dull throb behind your eyes. your flat was quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic outside. you reached for your phone on the nightstand, already half-expecting nothing. nothing, well except for a text from your friend.

your friend: saw you leave with that cute brunette. call us if u need saving xxx

you laughed softly, before reaching for the glass of water that sat on the table on the other side of your bed.

that was when you saw it.

a piece of paper folded neatly and placed where his head had been. your fingers moved before your brain caught up, unfolding it carefully. it was written in messy, slanted handwriting, black ink on plain paper torn from your notebook.

hey, sorry for running off like this.

i promise this wasn't a one night thing for me.

bobby x

p.s. check your phone ;)

your hands trembled slightly as you reached for your phone again, unlocking it. you had a notification from instagram.

you have one new follower — @.bobbyskeetz