#tracing time

This will be released in clips, like a SKAM season, for ONE WEEK. I don’t have the time or ability right now to do a full ten-week thing, so this is what I settled on. (While initially planning to just post it as a fic on Sander’s birthday, I decided this might be more enjoyable. The full thing will be posted as a long one-shot on ao3 when all the clips are posted, i.e. at the end of the week.)

It does not follow after season 4 of wtFOCK and will not include any canon elements of season 5, as it’s only just started and I started this months ago 😅 For all intents and purposes of this fic, s4 doesn’t exist, and technically wtfockdown doesn’t either, although I imagine all the canon convos still took place and Jana is in New York, but COVID is not a thing here.

It does follow my VDS season Sink Or Swim, but you of course don’t need to have read that to read this. The only things that come up are, obviously, Lucas/VDS, Lucas as one of Sander’s best friends, and Jens living in the flatshare (as Robbe is back home with his mother and Zoë moved in with Senne, and Jens’s father is homophobic). These things will have relevance, I swear.

Also like Sink or Swim, there will be a mini playlist, which I will include the link to in the masterlist I make!

As it is a Sander season, it will cover his mental health and discuss the hate crime in s3. I will put content warnings at the beginning of each clip to the best of my ability. If I leave anything out, or you think I should include anything different in these warnings, please always let me know (as during editing and rushing to upload it’s very easy to just forget)!

Being so high up likely doesn’t help with the chill, but this is one of Sander’s favourite spots. He’d been pleased, the day one of his professors took their class to one of the older buildings in the academy and climbed the back stairs right to the top. They’d had to capture this scene that day. The sun glinting amidst the clouds, the clouds obscuring the tops of some of the area’s highest buildings, and all the life going on down below. Even now there are a few students milling around there, heading to their studios early or meeting fellow classmates, and interspersed is the honk of morning traffic, the hustle and bustle of a world just beginning to wake.

Sander is apart from all of it. The sun is slanting a ray solely for him; the beings below are tiny specks of colour splashed amidst the gray; the level of the world he’s entered is quiet, aside from the music lilting lightly in his ears.

He had been even more pleased that day to notice none of his fellow classmates had paid much attention to the roof itself, but simply focused on the task at hand. He had wondered how such a perfect place of solace wasn’t already constantly occupied, especially when it could be so easily accessed by a whole school of art students. He hadn’t thought he would be able to make it his own.

But sitting on the lip of the building, legs hung over the edge and arms resting on one of the lower bars stopping him from falling to his death, it does feel like the rooftop belongs to him and him alone. The thought is enough to bring a smile to his face.

He’s the only one seeing this right now, the only one capable of capturing this exact image at this exact time. It doesn’t—like many things do—make him feel as isolated or small as he expects. It reminds him that he has his own vision and his own mind and his own existence, and this must mean he is meant for something. This eagle-eye perspective of this universe in this exact moment is made just for him.

His smile widens as he ponders on how Robbe-like that thought is.

It’s this thought that eventually draws him away. He slides his legs back onto solid concrete and hauls himself to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his ass and brushing stone crumbs off the back of his jeans. Then he slips back through the doorway and down the stairs and begins the trek back to his number-one solace.

His feet cry out in relief as he quietly lets himself into the house and pulls off his Docs. They aren’t the best walking shoes. His feet feel achy and sweaty and he curls and rolls his toes on the wooden floor as he hangs his jacket back on his usual hook. Then he climbs another set of stairs.

He’s relieved to find Robbe exactly how he left him, only now lit in a more golden glow. The boy is curled on his side, facing the doorway Sander has just crept through, curls splayed on the pillow and mouth slightly agape. Fast asleep. Beautiful.

Sander tugs off his jumper and steps out of his jeans, then rounds the bed and crawls back in next to his boyfriend.

The sheets have chilled since he vacated them, unhelpful against his already-cold skin. He shifts towards the middle of the mattress and already feels warmer. The heat emanating from Robbe beckons him closer, and he doesn’t fight it, slipping right into the dip behind Robbe and sliding an arm over his waist, pulling the boy back against his chest. Robbe moves easily, snuggling back into Sander with a sigh, and Sander’s whole body blooms with heat.

As much as he likes his rooftop, there’s no doubt that this is his favourite place to be. ‘This’ being anywhere within Robbe’s orbit.

He doesn’t quite drift off again, but his body goes pleasantly lax and his mind quiets. The longer he listens to Robbe’s soft breaths the more his own heart eases.

Then Robbe starts to shift, and Sander worries he’s woken him. He wriggles in Sander’s arms and Sander loosens his grip, but Robbe simply rolls over in his embrace, turning to face him and immediately curling towards his chest. Sander’s lips turn up in a smile as he draws him in, pressing his nose to Robbe’s soft curls and inhaling slowly. Robbe’s arm curls over his waist, tucking around his back and denting his skin.

He traces patterns over Robbe’s bare shoulder in the few minutes it takes for Robbe to stir again. His grip tightens on Sander for a second as his eyes scrunch, refusing to succumb to the sunlight as he presses closer to Sander’s chest.

Sander presses a kiss to the top of his head as he lets out a tiny, whiny hum, still half-asleep as he stretches his toes against Sander’s ankles and blinks.

Robbe’s doe eyes, even while squinty and crusted with sleep, are the most mesmerizing things he’s ever seen. The corners of them crinkle as Robbe leans back far enough to smile up at him before burying his face back in the crook of Sander’s neck. “Morning,” he mumbles. Then he kisses the closest patch of Sander’s skin.

Sander hugs him tight and returns, “Morning. Sleep well?”

Robbe hums again. “Wha’ time is it?”

“I don’t know. Still before nine, I think.”

“Okay,” Robbe sighs, giving him a squeeze. “We still have some time then.” After a pause, he pulls away from Sander again and looks up at him curiously. “Did you go out? You’re cold.”

This last bit comes out as a whine, and Sander huffs. “Yeah. Just for a walk.”

Robbe hums, smiling as he snuggles back into him again, pushing Sander onto his back so he can sprawl out over his chest and lock their arms together. “Taking photos?”

“No. Didn’t take my camera or anything.”

“But you took your phone, right?”

“Of course, I needed music.”

Robbe huffs, but accepts this response without further questions, leaving a smiling kiss on Sander’s chest. He repeats the motion, then starts up a lazy trail, mapping his way across Sander’s collarbone until Sander tugs his hair. Robbe tilts his head up and lets Sander connect their lips, shifting up on the bed and pressing a hand to Sander’s cheek. Sander’s hand moves to cup the back of Robbe’s head, fingers tangling in his curls and drawing him closer. Robbe’s hand moves up his chest to settle in the crook of his neck and he feels suddenly warm.

He skims a hand down Robbe’s back, tracing the divots and dents of his spine, breathing slow under Robbe’s lazy kisses. He palms at Robbe’s hip, and Robbe quickly takes the hint, lifting his leg over Sander’s and settling atop him before letting out a happy hum.

“Good morning,” he says, amused and cheeky, and Sander bites his lip in retaliation.

Robbe giggles and Sander swallows the sound down, tucks it away in the lower part of his chest to be dug up later. He has made up a whole portfolio of these precious sounds, along with a plethora of the most stunning images and a sad imitation of Robbe’s touch. It’s hard to beat the real thing.

Sander soaks up as much of it as he can now and still begs for more, splaying one hand over shoulder-blades and letting the other slide down, curling over the curve of Robbe’s bottom, drawing him down while tilting his own hips up. Now Robbe’s hum is lower, coming from a more guttural place as he bears down on his own, only requiring that initial permission.

He breaks away to gaze down at Sander, tracing light fingertips over his face as he breathes heavily. Sander smooths his hand back up the line of Robbe’s back to tangle both in his hair. This time he makes his way along Robbe’s cheek, feathering kisses against the stubbly skin until he can brush his lips against the shell of Robbe’s ear and nip at the lobe, free of his earring for the moment. Robbe makes a small, mewling noise and tightens his grip on Sander’s shoulders.

“What time are you leaving?” Sander asks, keeping his voice at a murmur so as not to spoil the mood entirely.

“Jens is meeting me here around ten.”

Sander groans. “You can’t make that ten-thirty?”

Robbe huffs gently. He places his hands on Sander’s chest and pushes himself up to sitting, still astride Sander’s hips. Sander would be more upset with the new lack of contact if it didn’t give him such a nice view; Robbe is all clean-cut lines and lean muscle, with skin glowy and soft under Sander’s fingers. “Jens wanted to be gone yesterday,” Robbe reminds him, not unkindly.

“Why didn’t he just go with Lucas, then?”

“Because he agreed to wait around so I could spend the night with you.” Robbe raises his brows. At Sander’s permanent pout, he huffs again, shaking his head. “You can still come with, you know. We’re going to get a break before the end of school. Couldn’t you do with a break, too?”

Sander groans again and pulls Robbe’s pillow over his face. “I can’t,” he moans. “This project is due on Monday. Unless I stayed up all night tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time to finish it.”

Robbe hums. “You’re usually the one begging me to keep you up all night.”

Sander gives him a sour look, even as his stomach flutters.

“I’m sorry,” Robbe laughs. “I really am. But you know Lucas never asks for anything.”

“And you want to go.”

Robbe hesitates, but he never lies to Sander. He gives a tiny nod and an apologetic smile. “I do. And Jens really needs it.”

Sander considers him for a moment, the lovely curve of his lips and the gentle doe-eyes, and blows out a sigh. “You deserve it,” he says softly. He gives Robbe’s ear a tug and allows himself to smile. “And I suppose I’ll survive.”

It only takes Robbe’s grin to prove he’s done the right thing. Robbe leans down to leave him a kiss, light but lingering, and then turns it into a dozen different pecks instead. “You better. Thank you.”

Sander can only lie there and accept the onslaught of affection, laughing as he settles his hands on Robbe’s thighs and squeezes. He meant what he said—Robbe does deserve it. They hadn’t managed to get away over the break as initially planned, so when Lucas invited them back to Utrecht this weekend they had jumped on the offer. Sander had shared the excitement initially, but then had quickly been reminded of his reality, in which he had stupidly chosen to leave things to the last minute.

“I feel more sorry for you, anyway,” Sander mumbles, emitting a low whistle. “I’ll be alone, but at least I’ll have a quiet night.”

Robbe immediately pushes himself up again, wide-eyed. “No. We’re staying at Lucas’s house, with his mom. Surely they won’t…”

Sander snorts, waving at the space around them and raising a brow. “Where are we right now, Robbe?” At Robbe’s blush, he purses his lips together, making his own eyes big in suggestion. “It is a stress-relief getaway.”

Robbe buries his face in his hands and groans. He rolls off of Sander even as the elder protests, peeking through his hands to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m going to come home traumatised. It’ll be worse than the time I walked in on him and Jana.”

“Not if you don’t walk in on them,” Sander laughs. Seconds later, a pillow smacks him in the face. He makes a muffled protest as he’s attacked again, grabbing at the soft material and wrestling it out of Robbe’s grip to whack him back, hearing Robbe make an ‘oof’ sound before breaking out into giggles.

Eventually, Sander tosses the pillow aside and wrestles Robbe instead, getting him flat on his back and moving over him. He slots a leg between Robbe’s and presses their tangled hands down either side of Robbe’s head, and Robbe’s eyelids droop. Then his fingers flex around Sander’s as his lips part. His neck strains as his head tilts up. Sander ducks down, but forgoes Robbe’s lips to lick a stripe up his neck.

“Sander,” Robbe whines, squirming underneath him in protest even as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“What?”

“We haven’t got long.”

Sander hums, pulling the patch of skin he’d been kissing between his teeth to hear Robbe gasp. “We’d have longer if you were going to stay.”

“Sander,” Robbe repeats, this time in sullen protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sander soothes. “We still have enough time though, don’t we?”

“Did you hear my mom when you got back?”

“Nope. I assume she’s still sound asleep.”

Robbe smiles at that, pleased, and Sander finally grants him a kiss, slow and sensual until Robbe makes a needy little sound and squeezes his hands. Sander releases his hands and Robbe immediately tangles them in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“How many minutes do we have to make up for?” Sander asks him.

“Too many to waste time calculating now. We just have enough time to make sure you don’t forget me while I’m gone.” Robbe winks at him, and Sander huffs and goes in for another kiss, but Robbe is already moving. Sander half expects to be rolled over again, but instead Robbe just shimmies down, licking and biting his own way along Sander’s neck before heading lower.

Sander’s arms tremble with the effort of keeping himself up when Robbe’s lips close around his nipple. He draws his pillow over to bury his face in it as Robbe works a mark into his chest, rolling the opposite nipple under his thumb. Once he’s pleased with his work and Sander’s mumbling his name, he makes his way further south.

The following minutes are quite memorable indeed.

~^~

He goes to rub at his eyes and catches himself, eyeing the paint blotches and pencil stains marring his fingers. He uses a clean knuckle for the task, then wipes his hands off on his sweatpants before picking up his phone. There are a slew of messages waiting for him, and his heart gives a sharp, pleasant tug. A few are from his small group chat with his friends from the Academy planning to meet up tomorrow, and there are two from Lucas checking up on him and wishing he was there. Most of them, however, are from Robbe, and this is all Sander pays attention to.

oh god they’re starting to get gross why’d I agree to this 🙃

it’s just making me miss you more, tbh

I’ve finally escaped to bed and now I definitely miss you. how am I gonna sleep without my fave blanket/pillow?! 😪

I’m actually really tired now 🙈

Sanderrrr?

Sander bites down hard on his lip to suppress a smile at the obvious whining, and then realises there’s nobody around to see him and lets his grin out in full force. It’s sappy, his Robbe grin. He’s not embarrassed by it, far from it, but it scares him sometimes. His heart quickens then and he has to take a deep, shaky breath to stop it from overwhelming him, how easy this love comes and threatens to bowl him over. This happiness.

He realises he’s already made Robbe wait long enough for his message and taps out a quick reply.

sorry sorry. caught up with the project. have you been thoroughly traumatised yet?

The texting bubble appears instantly.

hmmm I think I’ve gotten off lucky tbh, so I’m not going to complain 😬

you abandoned them a while ago though?

tired. not as used to the train ride as Jens

why aren’t you sleeping then?

couldn’t without saying goodnight 🙈

There. Sander’s heart does the thing, that rapid stutter, as his lips spread into a smile so wide his cheeks hurt. Every time he thinks he couldn’t get any more fond, Robbe surprises him. He brings the phone closer to his face as he bites at his lip, as if that will make Robbe feel nearer.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you wait up

I’ll always wait for you

The message comes so quickly Sander knows his boyfriend doesn’t even take time to think about it. It’s just a casual, natural response; even though Robbe likely does have that cheesy, cheeky grin on his face as he waits for Sander to reply. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he has no idea. He doesn’t know how easy it is, how totally he has Sander wrapped around his finger. In fairness, Sander would have no idea how to express it to him. He glances at his project and corrects himself—he can’t express it outside of his art. At least, not fully. Not as easily.

I thought I was the one with the one-liners here

mmm I guess you’re a good teacher

I’m not sure you ever needed me to teach you that, Robin

you’ve always been a sap at heart 😘

hey!! and I thought I was getting a compliment there 😪

it is a compliment

from me, it always is

There’s a short pause, as if Robbe doesn’t know what to say or has fallen asleep. Sander drops onto the edge of his bed while he waits, holding the phone near his lap. The typing bubble isn’t reappearing, and he feels disheartened for a brief moment, and then another message appears. This time it’s a square, and Sander perks up as he watches the photo load, and then Robbe’s looking back at him. He does indeed look tired. He’s covering his face with his hand, but peeking through his fingers so Sander can see one sleepy eye, as well as half of his smile. His cheeks are a faint shade of red, and his shoulders are tucked up close, covered by one of his green t-shirts.

Sander falls back onto his bed at the sight of it, heart fluttering in adoration. It’s nothing new, and it’s nothing provocative, so maybe it shouldn’t be getting Sander’s heart racing as much as it is. But it is downright adorable—Robbe is—and it makes Sander miss him so fiercely, so suddenly, that he aches. It shouldn’t be so. He’d just seen him this morning. He sees him so often. How is it that he still manages to miss him all the time?

Robbe sends him another message.

you’re not even here and still

Sander grins.

still I can confirm you’re the most beautiful person in the universe

just this one?

every Robbe in every universe is the most beautiful person there

and every Sander better tell him so

🙄🙈 shut up and go to sleep

I can’t, still have work to do

Another pause, and then the typing bubble only appears for a short moment.

not too long, okay?

Of course. He doesn’t know what else he was expecting. He smiles again despite himself.

promise ❤️

goodnight Sander ❤️

night, Robin

sweet dreams

He keeps the chat open for another moment, just to make sure nothing else is going to come in, and then lets his phone drop to his chest. He pushes a hand through his hair and just breathes for a moment. Then he picks his phone up and looks at the photo again, smiling softly in the face of all of Robbe’s softness. He looks adorably sleepy, and Sander wants to join him more than anything, curl around his pillow and pretend it’s a familiar body and drift off into dreamland himself. Instead, he sets his phone aside and gets up. Rather than collecting his sketchbook or returning to his desk, he slips out of his room and creeps up the hallway.

He quietly flicks on the light in the kitchen and goes about getting himself a glass of water, then he digs about in the press for a chocolate bar as well. He doesn’t sit with them, but leans against the counter and nibbles and sips, hoping the little burst of sugar will spur him on.

At some stage, he zones out, and doesn’t notice his mother walking into the room until she speaks.

“I thought you’d already gone to bed.”

Léa Driesen tucks her robe tighter around herself and comes to stand across from her son, leaning against the table. She keeps her arms crossed over her chest but smiles softly at him, giving him a quick once over and shaking her head at his stained clothes. It’s a familiar, fond gesture. Sander feels warm rather than embarrassed in the face of it. He holds the remaining half of his bar out in offering. She shakes her head slightly. “No thanks, darling.”

“Everything okay?” Sander asks her. “Sorry, I was trying to be quiet.”

“No, you were,” she waves him off. “I was still awake, heard you out in the hall. You’re not still working, are you?”

Sander blushes, looking down at his water, and hears her sigh. “I just have a little left to do,” he protests.

“So you can sleep and finish it tomorrow.”

“It won’t take long. And I can just sleep longer then. But if I don’t finish it, and have to go to sleep knowing I don’t have it finished, then I’ll be stressed and won’t be able to sleep anyway. So really, it works better this way.”

She stares him down, eyes narrowed and unimpressed. There’s still a slight upwards curl to her lips. “And Robbe comes home tomorrow.”

Sander takes a sip of his water.

Léa shakes her head, huffing quietly. “He won’t be back ‘til late afternoon,” she reminds him. “You would still have it done before he gets back.”

“I definitely will if I just finish it now. Besides, Emilie wants me to join her and the others for a while first.”

“You’ll be falling asleep on the poor kids.”

“I will if you keep me up,” Sander says, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he moves past her.

She hums and calls over her shoulder after him. “You’re a mess. Not too late, okay?”

Sander huffs in amusement, shaking his head as he pauses to go to the bathroom on his way back to his room. He’s only a bit tired, and he feels a little brighter after splashing water on his face. He’s shaking his hands out over the sink when he catches sight of his reflection and gets caught up.

He’s still not quite used to his hair.

It’s strange, because it’s the hair he’s had for most of his life. But he’d gotten used to the bleach. Now, it’s still short from where he’d finally cut the dye out, and it still takes him by surprise. He supposes it’ll take more than a month or so to get used to again. It makes him look younger, he thinks, his natural colour, like he did when—

Well, it doesn’t matter. The bleach didn’t work to hide anything, either. It didn’t make a difference, after that time.

He goes to run a hand through his hair and pauses when he remembers they’re still wet. He settles for staring for another moment instead, and then he finally drags himself away, drying his hands and face and closing himself up in his room.

His project is still laid out, almost done. He casts his eyes over it, the scraps of sketch and photograph and poetry all melded together, examines every detail before nodding to himself. Then he fetches his sketchbook as he’d meant to a half-hour before and drops back into his desk chair.

~^~

Sander groans, sidling up close behind Robbe and wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. He snuggles against Robbe’s back, nosing at his curls and resting his head on his shoulder and pulling Robbe closer with hands flat on his stomach as Robbe just laughs at him again. “You don’t like this behaviour?” Sander demands.

“This is okay,” Robbe murmurs, leaning back against Sander even as he returns to washing dishes, his adorable smile pulling at his lips. Sander wants to kiss it.

“Ahh, I have a very responsible son and son-in-law.”

Sander huffs a silent laugh at his mother’s words as Robbe flushes darkly and twists around enough to look at her. Sander holds him tighter before he can even think about escaping, and ignores the look his mother gives him as she comes closer.

“Well, only the latter, actually,” she muses, rolling her eyes at Sander. “You don’t have to do that, dear, I’ll just put it in the dishwasher later.”

Robbe shakes his head, smile having gone shy; Sander tries not to think about how cute he is. “I don’t mind. And he was helping me a minute ago.”

“You don’t have to cover for him, Robbe,” Ciel interrupts from the doorway, where he has apparently decided to rejoin them as well. “We know what to expect.”

“Is this ‘pick on Sander night’ or what?” Sander asks, picking his head up from Robbe’s shoulder enough to scowl at them both.

Robbe picks up Sander’s abandoned towel to wipe off his hands before turning towards Sander and brushing back a lock of his hair with a giggle. “No, really,” he assures the adults. “It was all his idea to begin with.”

“Sander’s idea? To do dishes?” Ciel demands, faintly impressed.

Léa waves a hand. “Oh, don’t be so harsh, it’s not the first time. He’s sweet when he wants to be.” Then she hesitates. “It was his idea though?”

“Yep,” Robbe confirms, pinching Sander’s cheek. Then he looks back at Sander’s parents and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Though it does conveniently get him out of submitting his assignment.”

“Robbe,” Sander whines, as both his parents turn on him again.

“Sander,” Léa says. “God, when is it due?”

Ciel heaves a sigh. “Your professor was kind enough not to just fail you on the spot and now you do this?”

Robbe’s tone changes immediately, as he straightens up and sets his hands on Sander’s shoulders before cutting them both off in a soft but firm voice. “He’s already got it done,” Robbe informs them, casually, though Sander can hear the defensive, prideful tone underneath. It absolutely does not make his heart flutter. (Except it absolutely does.) “But you know how much of a perfectionist he is. I’m going to be, like, the fourth person to proofread it now, and then it can be submitted. As long as it’s done before midnight.”

He raises his brow slightly in question at the last part, and Sander nods confirmation then smiles as he receives a kiss on the nose. Robbe turns back and dries the remaining plate off on his own as Sander hugs him again and sticks his tongue out at his parents. Léa offers him an apologetic look and squeezes his arm as Ciel leans in the doorway and sighs.

“What would any of us do without you, Robbe?” Ciel says, shaking his head at the two of them. “I don’t know how we ever managed him before.”

“Excuse me,” Sander interrupts before Robbe can say something silly, like that he agrees. “I am perfectly capable of managing myself, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, but, he’s good, isn’t he?” Léa smirks, nodding at Robbe, and Sander has to give him another squeeze when he blushes again.

“And he’s mine to exploit only, so I’m taking him away now,” Sander informs them. He doesn’t give them time to protest, and he ignores Robbe’s, even as the boy calls over his shoulder to thank them both for dinner while Sander drags him out of the room.

Only once they’re safely closed up in his room does he let Robbe go, and even then it’s only to turn and kiss him. Robbe giggles against his lips, and Sander swallows the sound and lets it soften him up. “You’re terrible,” Robbe murmurs. “They’re looking out for you.”

“They’re annoying,” Sander groans. Then he smirks. “Besides, they agree that you’re all I need, Robin. What would I do without you, hm?”

Robbe tilts his head, and Sander knows he’s about to be cheeky. “Be very sexually frustrated?”

Sander makes an affronted noise, but eventually huffs another laugh when Robbe just continues to giggle. He kisses Robbe hard, nipping and then licking over his lips in a mild rebuke for the comment. It’s entirely forgotten, anyway, once Robbe tugs at his hair.

Robbe pulls away in less than a minute, though, and simply leans back further when Sander tries to follow him. “After,” he insists.

Sander groans, dropping his head against Robbe’s for a moment and letting himself be soothed by another soft kiss. Then he sighs, and picks Robbe up so he can toss him onto the bed. Robbe laughs as he bounces on the mattress, stretching out temptingly as Sander sits down in his desk chair and boots up his laptop to go over his assignment.

When he finally gets it open, he pulls Robbe into his lap instead. Robbe easily perches on his knee and begins reading over the essay, undeterred by the random, surprise kisses Sander litters over his shoulders. Which is fine, because Sander is doing it not to distract Robbe but himself, refusing to panic over someone examining his work with such rapt attention. It’s just Robbe, he reminds himself. Robbe, who will always be kind about how Sander’s disaster of a brain works.

It’s confirmed when Robbe has scrolled to the end and turns to Sander with an easy smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s good. Considering I don’t really have any idea what it means and I found it interesting.”

Sander huffs, but smiles as well. “High praise.”

“It is.” Robbe hums and kisses him again. “I can’t see any mistakes.”

“You shouldn’t, really, considering it’s already been read over a dozen times.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with being thorough,” Robbe winks at him. At the weak smile Sander musters, he sobers slightly. “Why are you stressing so much, hm? This isn’t worth so much, is it?”

Sander sighs. “No, but...I messed up, and he was so nice about it, I don’t want to submit something now that’s shit.”

Robbe slips an arm around his shoulders and squeezes, kissing the crown of his head as Sander ducks into his shoulder. “It’s not. And your friends told you so too, right? You can be content with it. Let’s just get it submitted now.”

Sander nods. He reaches around Robbe to open his browser, and gets to the stage of having the file uploaded before he freezes, even as the cursor hovers over ‘Submit’.

“Sander?”

Sander licks his lips, hesitating. He’s staring at the screen which means, for once, he’s not looking at Robbe. “What am I doing, Robbe?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the point of all this?”

Robbe sounds hesitant. “To pass…?”

“No. What’s the point of...of the whole thing? What’s the point of me doing this? What’s the point of me at all?”

Robbe stills. “Where’d that come from?” he asks quietly.

It takes a second for Sander to realise what he’s said wrong, how he messed up. Then he turns into Robbe’s shoulder again and holds him and shuts his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean…” he stops. He did mean what he said. He’s not sure what it is he’s asking, but he meant to ask it. It’s what he’s thinking. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t say stuff like that to you—“

“No,” Robbe cuts him off gently, carding a hand through his hair. “I’m glad when you tell me what you’re thinking or feeling, okay?”

Sander barely hesitates before nodding.

“Do you actually want me to answer, or was it more rhetorical?”

“You’re going to say something about it anyway,” Sander points out.

Robbe simply smiles and doesn’t deny it.

Sander presses closer against him and sighs. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

This appears to be all the permission Robbe needs, as he carefully extracts himself from Sander’s lap to stand. He holds onto the arm of Sander’s chair as he moves, spinning it around and pulling Sander with him as he sits on the end of Sander’s bed. He pulls the chair as close as it will go, so they’re eye-to-eye and knee-to-knee.

“Is this sort of like how you feel regarding the parallel universe stuff?” Robbe asks calmly, head tilted in that sweet way of his. “Like, alone or...insignificant?”

Sander shrugs, mulling it over before acquiescing, “I guess, yeah.”

“Then, do you not think it’s the same for everyone? Why would I have more meaning than you?”

“Because,” Sander says, but then, as usual, realises he doesn’t actually have a good response.

Robbe smiles, like he knows as well and is more pleased about it. “Do you want to know what I think?”

It’s not really a question, because the answer to that will always be ‘yes’, but Sander nods confirmation anyway.

“I think that none of us have a meaning,” Robbe says, which surprises Sander into sitting back before he continues. “I think each of us has many different, tiny meanings throughout our whole life. You know the butterfly effect? How one tiny thing can lead to another thing after another?”

Sander just nods again, always too enraptured when Robbe talks with him about such things to interrupt verbally. He can already kind of guess the rest of what Robbe will say, and that simple realisation already makes him feel better, and even that seems to hold meaning.

Robbe’s smile widens slightly, like he can tell. “I always think that, if I didn’t exist, so many things would be different. Like if I wasn’t Jens’s best friend, maybe he wouldn’t be the same kind of person at all. Or maybe he’d still be with Jana, and never would have looked at Lucas. And then I think it’s the same the other way. If I didn’t have Jens, and he didn’t have that connection to Jana and Britt, then we would never have ended up on that beach trip together. Even before, if I didn’t have them to be at that party with when I met Noor, maybe you never would have even laid eyes on me. That alone gives meaning to a whole handful of people. Myself, my friends, Noor, whoever even threw that party, whoever first set up that garage and whoever started using it as that kind of hangout and whoever told you or Noor about it in the first place. Everything affects everything.”

There are too many words here for Sander to absorb instantly, and he’s glad Robbe pauses for a moment so he can figure them out and internalise the message. But as soon as Robbe has seen them sink in, he continues.

“And I’ve told you before, how much you affect me, Sander. That nothing or no one has ever had the same kind of effect on me as you.”

“Never felt something like that,” Sander murmurs.

Robbe’s smile turns soft and gooey, but he doesn’t let his train of thought go. It’s fairly impressive. “I think I’m mostly meant to love you,” he says, casual as ever, which is still sickeningly sweet because it’s Robbe. “And it’s not because I’m putting so much importance on you that it feels like you have the most meaning. Instead, it’s...the meaning and purpose in loving you that makes you so important. Does that make sense?”

Sander swallows and shakes his head slightly; not in a denial, but a prompt for a little more.

“Like…” Robbe struggles, letting his eyes wander for a second as he licks his lip. He takes a slow breath before meeting Sander’s eye and trying again. “It feels like, there was a butterfly effect of events when I was a child that led me to Jens. There was a butterfly effect of events that led to me living in the flatshare. Or meeting the other Broerrrs, or the girls, or even going to the school I go to, and choosing the subjects I take. They’re all made up of a string of little meanings. But you, Sander...you’re the result of every single butterfly effect until I met you, and the cause of every one there will ever be after.”

Sander doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t even sure if he can speak. Robbe is just so earnest, and Sander wants nothing more than to be able to respond in kind, but he doesn’t even feel like he can process it. Maybe in the morning, it’ll seem clearer, and he can say something to Robbe then that makes sense, but it could very well take forever to actually sink in.

Because he could brush it off as a nice sentiment, a kind gesture full of sugar-coated words, sweet nonsense to offer reassurance. Because it’s almost impossible to believe that Robbe could mean what he says, or even believe it himself, that he could find something so steady and potent in someone who is a senseless, reckless storm at best. That Sander is, and was always meant to be, such an intrinsic part of his life, that he’s irrevocable and irreversible. Unforgettable in the mind and heart of one of the kindest, most loving people to exist.

It’s almost impossible, but not quite; because he knows exactly what Robbe means. Because he feels it, at his own very core, looking at the boy in front of him now. That this is meant, more than anything else, no matter which version of the universe they live in; and that it will shape the rest of his life with the width and weight of its meaning.

But he doesn’t know how to say that, and the last thought sticks out the most, so what he ends up saying is, “I’m not sure that obeys the minute-by-minute rule.”

Robbe simply laughs, though it sounds like it’s startled out of him. He twines his hands with Sander’s and leans in closer to him as he smiles. “I think,” he says slowly, “that we know we can manage a little more than that, now. We’re safe to play it day-by-day at least, I would say.”

Sander leans in and kisses him, because it’s the best way he knows to express any kind of response to such immense sentiments. And they sound so easy, so light as they slip from Robbe’s lips, but here too the meaning is always laced deep. Robbe knows exactly what he’s saying and he does so with purpose; this, at least, Sander believes, and it’s what often works to convince him of the words themselves.

“Gij en ik, voor altijd,” Robbe whispers against him. “Wasn’t that it? The future is still all us, baby.”

Sander kisses him harder, because what the hell else is he supposed to do? What else could ever be better? “Hundred percent,” he agrees. Then, having finally gathered his thoughts, he says, “You’re right, Robbe. I was born to love you.”

Sander says it in English, and it makes Robbe pull back and narrow his eyes. “That’s not Bowie,” he says.

Sander grins, kissing his nose. “No,” he praises. “Queen.”

Robbe hums, smiling into the next kiss he grants Sander. “Now, the actual point of this conversation. You need to submit your assignment.”

Sander actually freezes in confusion for a moment before he sits back with a huff, offering Robbe his attention again with curiosity.

“Whether you submit it or don’t will mean something,” Robbe says easily. “You just have to choose which you think you want.”

“But what if they have the same effect?” Sander asks, quietly.

Robbe tilts his head in question.

“What if I fail either way? What if I do this, all of it, and it’s not worth it at the end?”

Robbe considers this for a moment, before furrowing his brow and giving a slight shake of his head. “Either way, each step is something different. I can’t promise you that this will mean what you want it to, Sander. But that doesn’t mean it means nothing. It’s what puts you on your path. If that leads you to a dead end, then it’s proof you’re meant to make another.”

Sander stares at him, marveling, and lets out a huff. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“I wish,” Robbe laughs. Then he bites his lip, and gestures at Sander’s laptop, still waiting on his desk. “Did it help?”

This time, Sander doesn’t really hesitate before rolling himself over and hitting the button. He’s vaguely aware of the confirmation popping up, but mostly he’s too busy turning back to catch Robbe’s grin. This time he simply stands and makes his way into the boy’s hold, lets Robbe pull him down and unravel him, take him in and take him apart. He’s done all he needs to do for this week, this day, this minute, and he knows what it—what he—means right now, with his most precious purpose in his arms, and that’s more than enough.

He’ll figure the rest out with time.

~^~

Sander narrows his eyes, but lets his boyfriend press closer and kiss his cheek. He smiles down at Robbe as the boy twines their fingers together, still guiding him down the street at a much more sedate pace.

Robbe had just taken them out for dinner, nothing overly fancy but slightly more expensive than making croques on the grill. They’d tucked themselves into a booth in a quiet cafe, which was fully decorated in shiny wood, cracked leather, and dimly glowing light. It even had an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner that Robbe convinced to play Bowie after a coin and a few prods and light kicks. The food was still cheap and greasy and Robbe’s smile was shy and Sander loved every second of it. They tangled their legs under the table and their hands atop it and it was the most perfect birthday date Sander could have imagined.

He expected to go back to one of their homes to continue the celebrations, but instead he finds himself on his way to the flatshare, apparently at Milan’s demand. It’s not entirely surprising, and fairly sweet, really, and Robbe seems mostly innocent and unfazed. Still, Sander is suspicious. He has a feeling.

Which is why he’s utterly amused and smug when they run into Lucas outside the apartment building.

Or, well, they don’t run into him. They hear him before they see him, and Robbe stiffens and curses under his breath. Then they see him standing outside his father’s car, holding a four-pack of alcohol in one hand and a clinking bag in the other. The closer they get, the easier it is to hear another familiar voice over Lucas’s.

“—just because you and that boyfriend of yours are old enough to drink that stuff, doesn’t mean everyone here is. I will not be responsible for supplying alcohol to minors, alright? I work at a youth center, for Christ’s sake.”

“Dad, literally not even half the people here will need that warning. The others have beer, and juice, it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care, Luc, I’m trusting you to be trustworthy. That’s your stash, you watch who drinks it.”

Lucas looks towards the sky in exasperation and lets out a sigh. “It’s Jens’s place, Jens’s guests, so he can take responsibility. Why didn’t you give him this speech?”

“Because he’s not my son and he’s not the one using my money to buy alcohol for his friends. He’s your boyfriend, your responsibility.”

Lucas tosses his hands up as well as he can, considering they’re full, and casts a sideways glance this time. Which means he finally catches sight of Robbe and Sander standing a few feet away, both with bemused expressions, and instantly freezes on the spot. Sander gives him a small, pleased wave, and Lucas’s shoulders slump. “Fuck.”

“Language,” Hugo van der Heijden predictably reprimands, before poking his head out the window. Sander salutes him as Robbe gives him a pointed look, and he says, “Ah, shit. Sorry, kiddo.” He directs this at Robbe before turning his kind smile on Sander. “Happy birthday.”

Sander moves closer and tugs Robbe with him, because there’s no point in pretending now. “Thanks,” he says, burying a laugh as Lucas sits on the hood of the car and sets the bag down to cover his face. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lucas tells him, as Robbe pinches Sander’s arm and he winces away. He huffs and steps forward to meet Lucas as he stands, letting the younger boy envelop him in a one-armed hug. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Sander repeats, before tilting his head at Lucas’s navy-grey button up. “Aw, who thought you’d even try to clean up nice for me.”

Lucas punches his shoulder to nudge him back a step. “You’re an asshole and I don’t know why I like you.” The comment is accompanied with such a fond smile that Sander doesn’t even feel the sting. Instead he just pulls his friend away as Hugo beeps the horn and Lucas almost jumps out of his skin trying to get away. Lucas glares at his father as Robbe giggles behind them.

“Everything I said still goes,” Hugo presses. “Best behavior.”

Sander grins at the man. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after them.”

“No, you have fun. It’s their job to look after themselves, they’re big boys. Now go and act surprised.”

Robbe groans as Sander simply laughs, accepting the orders with a nod. Lucas waves at his father with a lot of clanking and rustling as a result. “Okay, you can go now too, thanks for the lift and the drinks and so on.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “You either sneak in as quietly as a mouse or be Jens’s problem for the night, understood?”

Lucas salutes him, but inevitably leans down to kiss his cheek before the man gives a final wave and drives off.

Robbe sighs while hugging Sander’s arm to his chest again. “Wanna swap dads?” he asks Lucas.

“Funny that a year ago I probably would’ve said yes,” Lucas shrugs. Then he grimaces. “Sorry, I kind of fucked up the surprise, huh?”

“Irreparably,” Robbe agrees. “Shall we go up anyway?”

“Yes, please, this will be too funny,” Sander says, delighted. The other two share a look and shake their heads and Sander just rocks on his heels and urges them forward. He feels overwhelmingly pleased now, his heart thumping and smile splitting his cheeks, which Robbe squishes together before granting him a soft kiss.

“Okay, at least be nice,” Robbe says. “I know that’s not your style, but, for me.”

Sander sighs heavily and Robbe bites down his grin. “Fine. For you. Even though it’s my birthday.”

Robbe’s grin widens and he kisses Sander’s nose before letting them into the apartment. Sander blinks at the key, and then has to quickly shrug it off as he’s steered through the short hallway and there’s a loud chorus of ‘Surprise!’

The room is fuller than Sander expects, and he actually does startle at the sight. His surprised face is fairly genuine, and there are about a dozen grins beaming back at him, and then Lucas joins in the cheer half a second too late and a dozen faces drop. There is a round of complaints and groans. Milan drops his head back in disappointment. Jens covers his face with a hand.

“Oh, fuck all of you,” Lucas says back, before raising his brows and the alcohol still weighing him down.

There’s a new round of cheers, to which Lucas responds by flipping off the room at large.

Sander is glad of how it worked out, because it’s a big enough break in the tension that everyone immediately moves into action instead of continuing to stare at him. The flat members move forward first, Jens to give Sander a clap on the back before taking the bag from Lucas and disappearing to the kitchen and Milan to engulf Sander in a hug.

“Okay,” the man says as he pulls back, holding Sander’s head in his hands. “Tell me you at least didn’t know about the surprise until Lucas messed it up.”

Sander snorts. “No, I just thought I was coming for my gifts.”

“Ha, cute.” Milan pinches his cheek, then winks. “They’re all over in the corner, but you’ll have to wait until later. Sorry if this isn’t what you expected after your date.” He raises his brows.

“It’s perfect,” Sander assures, serious this time. He glances over at Robbe. “Though maybe not for a Tuesday night?”

Robbe shrugs. “They all have their own free will. If they can’t survive their self-inflicted hangover for a few hours of school, that’s their problem.”

Sander huffs a laugh, and nods his acquiescence. “Still, though, how did you actually get everyone here?” Aside from Milan, the Broerrrs, and Senne and the girls, who Sander would expect Robbe to invite, his other friends are mingled in with the crowd. Adi chats quietly to Senne in the corner; Gilles and Luca are trapped in an animated conversation as Thomas watches on in clear amusement; Emilie is laughing at something Zoë says to her. Everyone, in one place, even the ones he thought Robbe would have no way of contacting.

“Well, I could contact Adi easily, and then I asked him about the others,” Robbe flushes. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“No, no,” Sander immediately appeases, granting him a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

Robbe smiles brilliantly.

He doesn’t realise someone else has approached him until they clear their throat, and he drags his gaze from Robbe to find Zoë in front of them, her kind smile already in place. “Happy birthday,” she says sweetly, also giving him a quick hug. “Sorry we couldn’t make it more exciting.”

“No, it’s nice,” Sander assures. “I couldn’t have liked how it worked out more.”

Her smile widens and she shakes her head at him. “Of course. I won’t hold you up, I just need to tell you Yasmina isn’t here because Ramadan and she was worried she’d just have to leave right away.”

“Yeah, no, Iftar and everything, that’s fine,” Sander smiles. “She already messaged me to say happy birthday and that hopefully she would see me again soon. I’m sure I’ll see her before the end of the week.”

“Okay, good. And obviously Jana also can’t be here, but they all pitched in on your gifts, so I’m supposed to tell you that. Senne joined me in getting you something, too.”

Sander laughs, nodding. “Okay, thank you. You know none of you had to get me anything, or do all of this.”

Zoë rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling softly. “Of course we do, Sander. This is what you have to deal with as one of us.”

It sends another flood of warmth to his heart, and he’s sure she knows it, that it’s likely the intended effect. It’s a feeling he’s been experiencing a lot today, and he suspects this won’t be the last time during the evening. For now, he gives Zoë the biggest, warmest smile he can muster and thanks her again.

“You’re welcome,” is all she says this time. She gives Robbe’s shoulder a fond squeeze as well before slipping away.

Robbe rests his chin on Sander’s shoulder and gazes up at him through his lashes. “Ready to make a round?”

Sander nods and lets his boyfriend lead the way.

Of course, Gilles latches on to them as soon as they move and raises their arms in a cheer. “Sander! Happy birthday, you beautiful bitch!”

Robbe’s laugh is louder than Sander’s, so of course that means he drags them over and plops down next to Sander’s friend as the others turn to join them. Gilles beams and ruffles Robbe’s hair in greeting, and Sander is finally gratified when Robbe makes an affronted sound and brushes them away. “Lucas helped me with this,” he complains, then flushes as he realises what he’s given away. Sander raises his brows when Robbe peeks a look up at him. Robbe huffs and catches Sander’s wrist, giving a tug so that Sander almost tumbles into his lap.

“Robbe,” he complains, laughing. “I’ll crush you.”

“No you won’t.” Robbe rolls his eyes. Then he softens his gaze, looking up at Sander with his small smile and damn doe eyes. “Come here,” he requests quietly.

Sander shakes his head, cursing internally, but gently lowers himself onto his boyfriend’s lap. He prays the chair won’t falter under their weight, and the creak is slightly worrying, but it holds steady. Robbe makes a pleased hum and winds his arms around him, immediately pressing a kiss to Sander’s shoulder and then resting his cheek there.

“Thank you,” he says, all genuine smiles and happy sighs, and Sander does not melt. He might, however, wind his arm around Robbe’s shoulder and lean into him just a little more.

Gilles makes a somewhat anguished sound, but when Sander turns to look at them they’re still beaming. They’re staring with their face resting in a hand, appearing to be in a state of utter awe. “Where can I find this? Someone give me this.”

From their other side, Luca slaps their arm. “I know, right? Guys, this isn’t fair, at least Jens and I used to have some solidarity but now he’s just as bad.”

“Sorry,” Robbe laughs, not looking even slightly apologetic as he cuddles closer to Sander. “But now you two have solidarity, right?”

Gilles lights up at the realisation, spinning to Luca again with obvious interest. Robbe giggles quietly against Sander’s collarbone, pleased with himself, and Sander ducks his head down to whisper in the boy’s ear. “Does this mean I’ve upheld the deal and actually do know cool gays for Luca?”

“Depends,” Robbe whispers back, amused. “Are you suggesting Gilles is cool?”

Sander makes a face, but doesn’t argue either way. Instead, he checks if his other friends are seeing what he’s seeing. He’s a little anxious, as he looks towards Emilie, but she’s watching Gilles and Luca with an odd consideration as Amber talks her ear off. Thomas is watching the whole thing through wide eyes from behind his glasses, but he gives Sander a subtle, enthusiastic little nod.

“How did you all manage to not mention this to me?” The thought occurs to Sander suddenly, and while he’s looking at Thomas, it’s mostly directed at Gilles.

Adi speaks up and surprises him. He hadn’t seen the older boy coming over. “I wondered that too, honestly.”

“And you’re a sneaky bastard,” Sander tells him.

Adi looks amused. “Why’s that?”

Sander scoffs. “‘Any special birthday plans for tomorrow?’,” he mocks.

“Ah, come on, you really had no idea? He didn’t give nothing away?” Adi gestures at Robbe.

“I thought we were just going to have an...interesting date,” Sander shrugs, making Robbe blush.

Adi laughs. “What, are we boring you?”

“Yes, get out of my sight,” Sander says, deadpan, and Robbe lets out a startled laugh as Adi gapes at him.

“Emilie tried to make sure you wouldn’t notice anything and I tried to keep Gilles as far away from you as possible.” The explanation Thomas gives makes sense, and Robbe extends his arm behind Sander to high-five him, and Gilles is thankfully too busy to notice.

They sit around talking for an indiscernible amount of time before Sander wiggles his way free of Robbe. The boy protests, of course, trying to cling on and pull Sander back towards him, so Sander leans down and grants him a kiss before moving away. No one else tries to stop him from leaving the room, and he’s hopeful he’ll have a straight path to the kitchen. He’s starting to feel antsy, and he needs to move around and take something in, and what’s better than a drink?

When he steps out into the hallway, however, he runs into Milan again, who has just opened the door for Noor.

He panics for a brief moment, eyes flicking around for blonde hair as he debates if he should go on without acknowledging them. But Noor has already caught sight of him and is giving her brilliant smile, and no one pops out of thin air behind her, so Sander roots himself to the spot. “Hey,” he greets, aiming for cheerful. His tone manages, but he’s doubtful of his smile, which he thinks wavers alongside his balance.

“Happy birthday,” she says. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek, hopefully not leaving a bright lipstick stain. (She occasionally does it on purpose and waits for the target to notice, and with everyone else in on the game, the unlucky soul is rarely offered any help.) Sander raises a hand to his cheek cautiously and Noor simply laughs in response, shaking her head. “Not on your birthday.”

Sander narrows his eyes, because honestly, it seems like a perfectly innocent birthday prank. He weighs the possibility for a moment before nodding in acceptance and letting his smile widen again. “Thank you.”

She holds up the little bag in her hand and waves it at him. “Milan says there’s a time and place for these, otherwise I’d just pass it over now.” She lowers her arm and hesitates for a moment, smile shifting as she seems to debate if she should tell Sander what she’s thinking or not. “Britt couldn’t make it, but she helped me pick out the gift.”

Sander takes it for the crooked olive branch it is and nods. “Thank you, seriously,” he says. “And you can extend it to Britt?”

“Of course.” Noor smiles again and squeezes his shoulder before going to join the others. Sander looks after her for a moment before finally getting to the kitchen.

This seems to be the most party-like room in the house. The entire counter is littered with snacks and there are rainbow-coloured fairy lights strung along the cupboards. There’s a stack of party hats and a precarious pile of paper plates. The table has pretty much been turned into a mini-bar, with countless alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks spread out, as well as what must be at least five packs of red party cups. It even appears to have a bartender; Moyo stands behind it mixing a drink, flicking and flipping bottles around and bopping his head and hips to the tempo of the music. He doesn’t even look up as Sander makes his way over, just holds up a hand in a signal to wait.

Sander stares at the table. His pulse feels suddenly quicker. The bottles of beer are sitting closest to him, at the edge of the table, and he allows his fingers to brush over the neck of one. It’s not unfamiliar, of course. He doesn’t even know why he’s hesitating.

It’s just that he should be at home right now, working on the assignment he’d messed up. It’s just that he has class tomorrow, and doesn’t really want to suffer through it with a hangover. It’s just that things have been actually going well.

It’s just that, no matter how long it’s been, he remembers feeling suffocated. He remembers going from burning up to drowning in frigid air, from too much to nothing. He remembers feeling everything at top intensity only to drop into a debilitating state of numbness. Even when it blurs, he remembers.

“Hey, man.” Moyo breaks him out of his thoughts. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, and when Sander looks up, his expression is understanding. “Look, it’s your birthday. Robbe’s right there, and Lucas, and plenty of other friends. And if you want to take a drink, none of them are going to stop you. They never do. It’s always chill, you’re fine.”

Sander opens his mouth, then closes it again. He feels awkward and fidgety and he doesn’t actually want to respond to that. He doesn’t want to think about this.

Not now, he pleads silently.

“Or,” Moyo continues, before Sander would have been able to get two words out anyway. “You can let me make you a mocktail.”

He’s grinning, but Sander can only blink. “A mocktail?”

“Yeah. You know, a cocktail, but without the alcohol?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried a cocktail.”

Moyo’s grin widens, and he spreads his hands to show off his stash. “It’s your lucky night then. I honestly prefer mocktails, because the alcohol usually just makes them extra sharp and leaves a shitty aftertaste. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He points at Sander warningly, and Sander holds his hands up, smiling slightly now as he nods.

“I heard it.”

They both jump at the voice, but it’s just Senne in the doorway. He smirks a little before coming to join them, leaning his hip on the table so his body is twisted slightly towards Sander while he can still keep Moyo in his expectant gaze.

“Alright.” Moyo rubs his hands together, seeming to accept Senne’s presence and entrust him with their secrets. “I’m gonna make you my personal fave, and if you don’t like it or when you finish it, you come back to me for another. Got it? I am your server for the evening.”

“I’m flattered,” Sander admits, and Moyo winks at him before bursting into another flurry of movement. He’s a little apprehensive, unsure if he should really be taking anything Moyo concocts. They don’t actually know each other that well, despite how long it’s been and how frequently they hang out in the same group. Sander thinks this might be the first time they’ve actually interacted one-on-one. But Moyo has never given Sander any reason to distrust him, and the look he’d given him had been knowing. Moyo probably understands better than he thinks.

That thought still feels a little bitter, so he brushes it away and just watches the other work, trying to tune his thoughts out with the sound of the music and sheer determination.

He can enjoy himself. He’d even worked a lot on his assignment today already, knowing he’d be meeting up with Robbe in the evening. Robbe wouldn’t be keeping him away if he didn’t think Sander could manage it, and Sander trusts Robbe’s faith in him. It’s even enough to make him smile as he watches on with apprehension.

“Are you gonna make me one of these too?” Senne asks, head tilted curiously.

“Nope,” Moyo says, without a hint of hesitation. “Special birthday treat. Anyway, don’t pretend you didn’t come looking for alcohol.”

Senne lifts a beer and has the cap off in an instant. He tilts it at Moyo and takes a slug in confirmation, before turning to lean back against the table and giving Sander his full attention. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Sander grins. “How’s blissful married life?”

Senne scoffs at him, but he’s still smirking slightly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’d say it’s going very well,” Sander hums.

Senne’s smirk softens into a smile, and he crosses his arms before casually taking a sip of his beer. “You’re still treating my boy right, then.”

Moyo snorts, barely halting his movements as he raises a brow at Senne. “Your boy?”

“Hey.” Senne presses a finger to his own chest as he looks over his shoulder at Moyo. “I was the hot older guy in his life first.”

Sander and Moyo just burst into laughter. “Yeah, but in like, a teen dad kinda way, right?” Sander muses, squinting as if he’s trying to recall where he got the description.

“A hot dad,” Senne keeps up his argument.

“A DILF,” Moyo offers.

Sander laughs again as Senne points at the boy in agreement. Moyo finally passes him a full cup with a triumphant expression. Sander takes the cup and then a small sip. He lets the liquid coat his tongue, savours it as it slips down his throat. His brows raise, and he holds the cup back out to Moyo in a toast. “You’re good.”

Moyo taps Sander’s cup with his own and cheers.

At some stage, he ends up alone on the couch. The others, by now, are spread out all over the house, but most of them are in here, chatting or dancing. While most are energised by whatever alcohol they’ve consumed, Sander is nursing his second mocktail and beginning to feel the weight of a long day. Still, he tips his head back against the cushions and watches his friends and he feels okay.

Jens joins him, eventually. Sander doesn’t even see him come in, and then he’s dropping wordlessly into the empty space next to him. The silence lingers on for a moment, both of them content in it. The exact reason Sander enjoys Jens’s company.

After a while, he holds his beer bottle out to Sander with a raised brow. It takes Sander a moment to figure out why, and then he bumps his cup against it. Jens nods in approval and takes a gulp, and Sander watches his eager swallows in silent contemplation.

“Enjoying your birthday?” Jens finally breaks the silence, glancing back and forth between Sander and the others dancing.

Sander shrugs, nodding. “It’s a more exciting day than I expected, honestly.”

Jens hums, then takes another sip. He doesn’t say anything else.

It’s strange. Jens isn’t the loudest one of the group, by far, but he’s being oddly quiet. His slouched posture could be his usual chill demeanor, but it seems too tense. Sullen. It’s weirding Sander out, a little, and he wants to understand it so it isn’t quite so freaky, but it still takes a moment to convince himself to ask.

“What’s wrong?”

Jens startles at the question. He looks over at Sander in surprise, eyes a little wide. Just as quickly, he’s looking away again and clearing his throat, sitting up a little straighter before he speaks. “What? Nothing.”

Sander narrows his eyes, but doesn’t prod. If Jens doesn’t want to tell him, that’s fine. They aren’t besties. Sander can just quietly inform Robbe, who will deal with it himself, and then Sander won’t even have to feel guilty. It’s not actually his place. Instead, he just waits.

“I think Luc is pissed at me,” Jens mutters, after all of about five seconds.

Sander huffs, but frowns slightly. He looks out at their friends. It doesn’t take him long to find Lucas—mostly because he’s right next to Robbe. Whereas Robbe is twirling Noor around in a fitting dance to the music, however, Lucas is focused on a more chaotic Milan who seems to be attempting to show him some rather sensual moves. Lucas, equally, does <i>not</i> seem to do his best to follow along, poorly mimicking the moves through hysterical laughter.

“He doesn’t seem pissed,” Sander muses, turning back to Jens with a brow raised pointedly. Jens shrugs and looks down at his beer, tracing his fingertip around the top, and Sander sighs and thinks fuck it. “What’s wrong, Jens?”

Jens glances up at him, and then down again, and then lets out a sigh of his own. “She finally kicked him out.”

Sander blinks, and has to think for a moment. When realisation hits, he decides he probably should not be the one handling this conversation. He has to tread lightly. Maybe he should just pretend he has to pee to escape and then fetch Robbe, instead. But...Jens has trusted him with it.

Dammit.

“Your dad?” he asks quietly.

Jens nods.

“Isn’t that a good thing? What does it have to do with Lucas? I mean...aside from the obvious.”

“Well, because.” Jens pauses to run a hand through his hair, frustrated. “He’s not even gone yet, and Lucas wants me to move home.”

Sander purses his lips in understanding. “You don’t want to.”

“Why would I?” Jens huffs. Then he pulls a face that’s faintly apologetic before shaking his head. Sander realises he’s likely more than a little tipsy, if his rapid but sloppy speech is anything to go by, along with the seemingly senseless hand gestures he’s making. “I do miss my mom, I guess, and Lotte, but still. I go into my room and it’s just...it’s suffocating. And Lucas is pissed about it. Well, I guess he’s more pissed on my behalf. He says that what happened shouldn’t get to control me so much, especially when the asshole’s not even there. That I shouldn’t have to keep making the sacrifice because of it when I have the freedom to go back now.”

This is starting to sound very familiar, and that hits rather close to home.

There suddenly isn’t enough air, and his chest is suddenly tight, breaths just a little too shallow. He flicks his gaze around until it lands on Robbe again. He’s moved onto dancing with Zoë now, her confidently leading his more awkward frame. Some of the tension in Sander eases, and he swallows down the feeling in favour of trying to form a coherent response.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s pissed at you,” Sander says carefully. “It also doesn’t sound unreasonable, and it’s not like he doesn’t understand. He just wants the best and the most for you.” He wants you to have the world. The universe, if possible. He doesn’t want anything to be taken from you, and especially not because of him.

Jens seems to accept this, but still frowns slightly, still makes himself a little smaller. “But I’m happy here. I’m happy. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Sander swallows. He lets his eyes shift from Robbe to Lucas, and finds his friend staring back at him. Lucas’s expression is mostly blank, but Sander can see the concern etched into his eyes and the pinch of his lips. Sander offers him a hesitant smile and after a moment, he looks away.

“Maybe it’s not enough for him,” he says.

Jens’s face falls.

Sander quickly shakes his head. “No, I mean—maybe it’s because of how it still affects him. He doesn’t want it to control how he feels. He wants to be bigger than it, move past it, but there’s nothing he really can do. Except for helping you. If he’s seeing you deal with it and recover from it, then it makes it easier for him, too.”

The feeling of too much is creeping in. He’s thinking too much, saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much away. It’s an overreaction, maybe. After so long, surely. That event shouldn’t still affect him like this, right? It shouldn’t still feel like a shock to his system. He can only hope it doesn’t appear like one outwardly.

But Jens is just silently contemplative as he takes in what Sander has said, eyes lingering on his boyfriend thoughtfully. When he turns back to Sander, he’s simply curious. “Has he spoken to you about it?”

Sander doesn’t even have to think back. “No. Aside from at the time, he’s never brought it up. I didn’t want to do it and just hurt him, so it wasn’t discussed.”

Jens purses his lips and nods. His smile is self-derogatory. “You just know my best friend and my boyfriend better than me.”

“No,” Sander says again, even though he’s not as sure. He’s fairly sure. The only people he knows who seem as close as Jens and Lucas are Robbe and himself. “I’m just speaking from experience,” he admits quietly.

Now Jens’s gaze sharpens, and he actually looks at Sander. It takes no time, then, for the realisation to set in, and he curses under his breath. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this to you right now, anyway, it’s your birthday.” He rubs his hand over his face and huffs. “Sorry, I swear, sometimes I have no tact. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, stop.” Sander waves him off. He hesitates only slightly before continuing. “I’m glad. That you’re comfortable enough that you could talk to me about it. I think the universe seriously wants us to be friends, at this point.”

Jens snorts. “I think you’re all seriously weird about your universe stuff.”

Sander grins at him. “The universe stuff will take over you eventually, too. I don’t know how it hasn’t already, how long have you known Robbe?”

This time Jens just rolls his eyes silently, but he’s smiling now too.

“Seriously,” Sander says. “Thank you. It doesn’t matter about the timing, I’m glad you can talk to me.”

Jens’s smile softens, and he gives a small nod. “Maybe we should all be able to talk about it more,” he says quietly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They return to a short lapse of silence, and Sander takes a sip of his forgotten drink. The fruity liquid soothes his throat, and the break in the conversation allows more of the pressure to release. His heartbeat feels normal again by the time Jens turns back to him.

“Thanks, though. Seriously. You’re probably right, about Luc. I’ll talk to him.”

Sander just feels pleased as he smiles now, like he accomplished something, said something right. The mood and balance is being restored, and he just needs to accept the segway and lighten things further. “If you want to thank me, I’m sure you can play a pretty piano version of ‘Happy Birthday’.”

“Fuck you,” Jens scoffs, eyes narrowing slightly.

“So you can’t? I thought that would’ve been fairly basic, but okay.” Sander shrugs, taking a casual sip of his drink to strengthen the taunting.

Jens glares hotly at him. “Fuck you. Of course I can play ‘Happy Birthday’.” Jens drags himself to his feet and jabs a finger at him. “Don’t move then.”

Balance immediately restored, Sander thinks amusedly.

Milan pauses Jens as he makes his way through the crowd, and Sander watches as Jens says something in response and Milan beams. He shoots a look at Sander before the two of them are flouncing off, and moments later, Sander is being subjected to a much louder, much further off-key rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, and more candles.

The keyboard bit is fine, though, he grudgingly admits.

When Jens sets it aside, Lucas is there grabbing his hands and dragging him to his feet as Robbe does the same to Sander. They’re both smiling through their protests, and everyone can see it.

So now, they’re dancing.

It feels more lively, after that. Everyone is gathered on their makeshift dance-floor by now. Sander takes catalogue of them all, marveling at how Gilles has somehow managed to rope Thomas and even Adi into dancing. Emilie is now the one with Luca, both of them laughing as they sway around with their hands joined between them. Noor and Moyo have gravitated towards each other as usual and, instead of huddling close like the others, seem to have a teacher–student method of dancing going on that Noor keeps up with rather well. Milan, Zoë and Senne are dancing in a little circle, and Amber and Aaron have moved on to just standing amidst it all and kissing. Jens and Lucas aren’t dancing anymore, either, but they’re held close. Sander watches until Jens leans down to murmur something in Lucas’s ear and Lucas smiles, leaning into the taller boy as Jens kisses his temple.

Satisfied, Sander is finally able to focus on the boy in his own arms. Robbe is already watching him when Sander catches his gaze, brow slightly furrowed and lips slightly quirked in that adorable questioning expression. Sander draws him closer by the waist and interrupts their step-swaying to catch him in a kiss, and as the music gets louder, his mind quiets.

~^~

It’s strange to see that his mother is clearly wide awake, and that his father hasn’t left for work yet. Though he is already dressed in his police uniform, as one should always be when apparently preparing to have cake for breakfast. “Thanks. Don’t we usually do this in the evening, though?”

“Blow out your candles,” his mom orders. “Remember to make a wish!”

Twenty candles. The woman has twenty candles in a circular cake. (He’s sure, he counts them.) There’s already wax threatening to drip onto the icing, where the hastily piped ‘Happy Birthday Sander’ has holes pierced in it, the cake too small and the candles too numerous to avoid all of the writing.

Sander quickly blows out the candles.

“What did you wish for?” Léa asks, innocent and eager.

His dad, Ciel, makes a noise of protest and holds a hand up towards Sander. “If he tells you, it won’t come true.”

Sander points at him in agreement, and Léa huffs. It’s odd, that it’s odd to see his parents standing in front of him so early, interacting so casually, doing it all together. It’s not that they’re a distant couple, far from it. Sander’s father is just a busy man who sleeps and wakes early, and his mother is a not-quite-as-busy woman who has the luxury of being her own boss and rivals Sander’s own temperamental sleep schedule. They do not have breakfast as a family because they do not cross paths in the morning. They have dinner all together once or twice a week, if they get lucky. But there is certainly a bigger chance of their evenings coinciding.

So what is happening here?

“We’ll keep this for another time, I made actual breakfast,” his mother adds, gesturing at the table—with the cake still in her hands. Sander takes it from her quickly and sets it aside on the counter.

“Are we not having dinner, then?” he asks carefully.

They both give him bland looks. He curses both their heights—surely he should have earned an extra few inches from them. “We know you won’t be free for dinner,” Léa says.

Sander opens his mouth. Closes it again. Smiles sheepishly. “Oh.”

She huffs as she squeezes his shoulder. “But at least I can still be the first to wish my son happy birthday.” At his increasingly sheepish expression, she corrects, “In person. My god.”

It’s part of the reason he’s so sleepy still. He’d stayed up on a video call with Robbe until (well after) midnight, and the boy had wished him ‘happy birthday’ countless times, peppering kisses at the camera and apologising every time he’d started to nod off. It was possibly the cutest thing Sander has ever had the honour of witnessing. His lips twitch in a smile as he thinks about it again now.

He’d gotten a slew of other messages, all almost simultaneously at midnight. Gilles and Emilie and Thomas had all messaged almost at once into their small group chat, with varying styles and lengths and emoji usage. Adi and Lucas had both kept it sweet and simple. Milan had sent him a short video singing all of ‘Happy Birthday’ and blowing him a kiss. Jens had sent him one a few minutes late simply saying ‘happy bday. no I didn’t forget’, which Sander had blinked and then laughed at. He’d responded to them a while too late, after Robbe had eventually decided they both needed to sleep.

“Why couldn’t we just ask Robbe to join us for dinner?” Ciel asks. Not for the first time, Sander thinks that, for a policeman, his father is at times worryingly oblivious.

Léa clearly agrees, as she simply rolls her eyes in response. “I’m sure they’ll have their own private plans, of course he’ll want to spend his birthday with his boyfriend.”

“Uhm,” Sander says, again. “I still have class first though, so…”

“We should eat,” Ciel agrees, but glances at his wife. “Gifts now too, or in the evening?”

She considers it for a moment, then nods decisively. “We will do it before you two have to go. I’m not sure it’s too exciting, but you can make more use of it this way, maybe.” She offers Sander an apologetic smile.

He waves her off and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t be silly.”

She returns his gestures and then pulls him to the table, pressing him down into a chair and piling food in front of him. It doesn’t matter that he’s not quite hungry enough for it, not this soon after waking, and his stomach protests a little with each bite. He enjoys it. He sits and eats with a parent at either side of him and he doesn’t get the feeling of too much. He doesn’t think undeserved. He’s not worrying about another year gone and him still the same. He’s not hit by a wave of inexplicable loneliness, or fretting over his current painful mistake, or mourning another year of life gone in which he has failed to grow up.

It’s all there, lurking in the constant shadows, but it’s not there, at the same time. Instead it’s his parents’ light bickering, and the memory of Robbe’s ‘goodnight kiss’, and all those messages on his phone.

And it’s relief.

Another year. Twelve months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes.

All that time, and nothing has really changed.

No intrinsic part of his life has altered, nothing’s gone. He’s still managing school (mostly), he still has the same friends, his parents are still fairly understanding, his unrelenting mental illness still hasn’t killed him, and he still has the man of his dreams across infinite universes (as said man claims).

He’s still here. Breathing, living. Thriving, his mind exalts.

“That’s a genuine little smile,” his father notes, returning it with one of his own. “It’s nice to see.”

Warmth spreads through Sander, cushioning his heart but also sneaking into his cheeks as he shakes his head and takes another overstuffed mouthful of food. Ciel’s smile just widens in understanding, and Sander feels a twinge for how often he turns the man away. It’s moments like these where he thinks it’s wrong to do so, that he should give him more of a chance on occasion, that maybe he really would be more helpful than Sander lets himself hope for.

But it doesn’t matter, today. Nothing like that needs to matter when they’re all happy to make it about his birthday.

They give him his gifts after breakfast, quickly. New clothes that he likes enough to go change into before he leaves, wearing the tee with subtle Bowie graphics with pride. There’s the usual restocking of art supplies as well, more expensive than he ever buys himself and which he gives his mother another kiss for. Then they pass him a card, which has sappy words in his mother’s handwriting and money tucked inside.

“Thank you,” he says, for the third or fourth time, squeezing them both in a quick hug as Ciel checks his watch and Léa smacks him on the arm for it. “Everything is perfect, really. And we can have some cake in the afternoon? I’ll come back for a while before I meet up with Robbe.”

His mother narrows her eyes and places a hand on her heart playfully. “So kind of you to include me in your busy day, the woman who brought you into this world.”

Ciel smiles at her, in a way that suggests he’s heard this particular speech before. “Yes, really a day to celebrate you, if we’re doing it right.”

“Of course,” Sander agrees, nodding sagely. “What was it? Seventeen hours of labour?”

“Followed by twenty years of tender and loving care,” she adds, and Sander laughs.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses the top of her head before leaning away to pick up his bag. “Truly the best,” he tells her.

“Save me some cake,” Ciel requests, also collecting his things by the door.

“But you weren’t involved in any of that credit,” Sander notes. “Hard to know if you should get to join in the best part of the celebration.”

“I cooked those croques this morning, and I’ll drive you to college.”

It’s a cheap bribe, considering Sander could drive himself if he so wished, but he still beams and pats his father’s shoulder, following him out. “A slice will be left in the fridge.”

~^~

He pulls Sander in after him, their lips never once detaching. Then Robbe’s closing the door and backing Sander up and their previous position is suddenly reversed. Sander shivers as his back hits the wood and Robbe boxes him in, laying an arm by Sander’s head and keeping the other hand on the back of his neck, slipping a leg between Sander’s.

Sander’s hum comes out as more of a moan, this time, but it would be more embarrassing if Robbe didn’t simply respond in kind, licking his way past Sander’s lips. Sander lets his hands slip down, just a little to start with, pinkies brushing over the top of Robbe’s back pockets. Robbe nips at his lip in retaliation, but he’s grinning as he steps back and pulls Sander with him once more.

The shock of the sudden distance surprises Sander into looking around and finally recognising their surroundings. His eyes go wide, but by then Robbe’s already pushing him onto the bed and following him down.

“Wait,” he protests, even though that’s the last thing he wants to do with Robbe now straddling him. But he recognises the glasses on the nightstand and the skateboard in the corner and alarms are blasting in his brain. Robbe stops instantly, stilling his hands and his weight as he stares down at Sander. “Jens‘s room? Are you kidding?”

Robbe raises his brows, tilting his head in a manner that is much too adorably innocent for the current situation. “Do you want to go back out? Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume…”

Sander stares at him incredulously for a moment, then squishes his cheeks. “Dummy,” he murmurs, then tries again. “Jens’s room. His bed. Where he...does things.”

Robbe widens his eyes exaggeratedly. “You mean sleep?” he whispers, mock aghast.

Sander shoves him.

“No, wait,” Robbe protests, laughing and clinging to Sander’s shoulders to stop himself from toppling. “Relax. You’re not gonna catch any Jens germs.”

“How do you know?” Sander demands. Then he narrows his eyes. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

Robbe’s nose wrinkles, and he lets out a tiny incredulous laugh. “What?”

“Ah, ah, come on, don’t tell me Jens’s bed hasn’t come up in your fantasies before.”

“Oh, gross, Sander, it’s been years,” he whines. “Are you never gonna let that go?” When Sander merely stares up at him, maybe a little petulantly, Robbe pokes his cheek and lowers his voice as he kisses Sander’s nose. “I’m in here with you,” he points out. “That’s the only constant in my fantasies. Honestly, I feel like the surroundings are even more reason for you to feel smug about it.”

Well.

He’s not wrong.

Sander still narrows his eyes a little more. “Okay, fine, that’s not even the point. What about our germs?”

That startles a laugh out of Robbe, even as a flush creeps up his neck and he pinches Sander’s shoulder. “Sexy,” he teases. Then he takes a moment to actually consider before leaning down close to Sander, letting their lips ghost together teasingly in a very familiar move. “Guess we’ll just make sure we don’t leave any.”

His voice is still low, but his eyes are light as he raises a coy brow, and Sander can’t protest any more. He tugs Robbe down and instantly goes about getting a groan out of him. It doesn’t take long, and then Robbe is giving him a heated look and taking over. His lips move across Sander’s jaw and throat, his angel necklace falling against Sander’s chest as his hands slip under Sander’s shirt, and then everything’s a flurry of clothes and kisses.

Sander has managed to divulge Robbe of his shirt, as well, by the time Robbe’s hand finds its way into his hair and tugs. It’s punctuated with a sharp suck over his pulse, and he bites down hard on his lip to muffle the sound that’s punched out of him. His hair has grown out enough by now for Robbe to easily thread his fingers in, to clench them around a fistful at any given moment—usually when Sander is least prepared for it.

It’s clear, by now, that Robbe knows exactly what he’s doing.

But despite Robbe’s ability to take him apart with everything the boy knows he likes and well-practiced skill, Sander can’t help releasing a breathless laugh as Robbe settles eagerly at his nipples. The sound also falls apart quickly when Robbe actually sets his mouth to work, however, going so far as to look smugly up at Sander through his lashes.

“Tease,” he mutters. Robbe’s hum reverberates through his whole chest as his hands now tangle themselves in Robbe’s curls. He can’t help letting one curl around Robbe’s ear, brushing his thumb over the lobe before gently tugging Robbe’s earring. Robbe’s startled breath morphs into a sigh that gusts over Sander’s skin, and Sander squirms in his impatience. It isn’t, however, in any way unpleasant, and he’s the farthest thing from annoyed. It’s so enjoyably infuriating that he does feel like crying in relief when Robbe finally tugs his jeans down around his thighs, though.

Sander sinks back into the pillow with a sigh, thighs clenching on either side of Robbe as the boy’s fingertips graze his hip bones to curl around the waistband of his underwear. He breathes slowly, one hand grasping at the sheets now with the other still lightly cupping Robbe’s head. He lowers it to mouth at Sander, and Sander makes a noise that is definitely not needy or anything like a whimper.

Then sound floods into the room and shatters the atmosphere like a broken glass, with a wide-eyed, swearing Jens as the culprit.

Robbe squeaks and attempts to cover Sander with his own body. “Jens,” he yelps. “Get out!”

But Jens is already backing away with his hand over his eyes, curses growing more colourful as he slams the door and calls, “Sorry,” in the same hopelessly embarrassed tone. “No, wait, Robbe, what the fuck?”

Robbe groans where his face is now buried in Sander’s thigh, and Sander squirms at the unrelenting sensations. He doesn’t embarrass easily, but, well.

This is really quite a lot.

“Jens, fuck off!” he shouts.

“No, you assholes, that is my room. You’re not having fucking sex on my bed. You’re not fucking on my bed! Get out, seriously, Robbe…”

Sander is going to kill him. It doesn’t matter if they bonded, or if Robbe would be upset, or whatever. He is a fucking disaster and he is going to die, at Sander’s hands. “It’s my birthday,” he calls back, which should really be an unnecessary reminder, but hopefully work to guilt Jens in his favour.

It does not work. “It’s my fucking bed! I have to sleep there later!”

“Well,” Robbe pipes up, surprising them both enough that neither snaps back. He’s looking up at Sander with a hint of his cheeky grin, even though he’s flushed right down to his collarbones. “Feel free to come in here and put a stop to it.”

Sander’s eyes widen, and then he beams and tugs Robbe up to him so he can kiss his cheek, and they wait.

“You can’t be serious,” Jens says finally.

“Try me,” Robbe sings back.

Jens even throws in some French swears, this time. Sander barely notices, because Robbe has gone back to kissing him and the slick slide of their lips is the only sound filling his ears. He sighs as Robbe strokes over his cheek and deepens the kiss, the cool metal of his pendant settling at the base of Sander’s throat. He can’t help but grin when he realises the silence is only making Jens more antsy, voice nervous as he bangs on the door.

“If you want this as your birthday gift, fine then, asshole, but I’m taking mine and Lucas’s back.”

“Cool,” Sander agrees, purposefully adding a tight, throaty tone to his voice that has Robbe smacking his shoulder and Jens smacking the door. “Bye now.”

“Clean up your own damn mess or I swear,” Jens warns, with another smack to the door. “I hate both of you, oh my god.”

This time they stay still and silent for a moment, and when they finally hear Jens’s grumbling retreat, Robbe rushes over to lock the door. He looks simultaneously terribly embarrassed and shamelessly debauched, cheeks red and hair a mess, chest bare and jeans tight. It’s a sight to behold.

Sander doesn’t want to know what he looks like, spread out on the bed with only his damn jeans up to his knees.

Robbe licks his lips while looking at him, though, even as he slowly pads his way back over and tilts his head. “How much did that ruin the mood?”

Sander raises a brow. Robbe already has enough visual evidence of the truth, which is somehow ‘not at all’. Robbe flushes further in understanding, clearing his throat as he kneels on the edge of the mattress. “You?” Sander asks him.

Robbe kisses him again in response, deep and dirty, and Sander’s pulse kicks back into hyperspeed.

For about ten seconds, after which Robbe is pulling away once more and saying, “Wait.”

Sander groans, but tears his hands away from his boyfriend obediently. His voice comes out sounding a little impatient, though. “What?”

“I want to give you your present.”

“Right now?” Sander demands, blinking. “Isn’t that what’s already happening?”

Robbe has the audacity to laugh at him, though it is more of a shy giggle. “No, just…” he trails off, blushing again as he sits away from Sander. “Do you wanna…?” He gestures at Sander’s waist, and Sander buries his face in his hands.

“You’re killing me, Robbe,” he mumbles through his fingers, before obediently pulling up his pants with a quiet huff.

“Okay, okay,” Robbe laughs. “Just, here.”

He holds something out above Sander’s face, and Sander lets his hands drop. He finds himself looking at a key.

Robbe’s key.

To his house.

“What?” Sander says, lost.

Robbe looks nervous. It’s incredibly endearing, how he tilts his head and bites his lip but makes himself hold Sander’s gaze. “I obviously got you stuff too, but, that’s at home. So. I’ve just been meaning to give you this, as well, and now seemed like a good time?” He pauses. “Well, maybe not right now. Sorry.”

“Robbe. What?”

“So you can come and go whenever you need to,” Robbe says, quiet and hesitant. “If I’m not there and you want to wait for me, or if you ever need me during the night, I figured this is better than waiting for me to come let you in, just in case it’s…raining, or something.”

Sander stares at him.

Robbe’s expression drops slightly and he bites his lip. “It doesn’t mean you have to use it, obviously, just that...you can. If you want to. Mama is completely fine with it, too.”

Sander is speechless. He doesn’t think words actually exist to describe it. The...the amount of trust Robbe puts in him through this small item is ridiculous. How he had described the offer is completely insane. He’s happy to let Sander allow himself into his house in the middle of the night, simply if the desire takes him. He’s happy to give Sander, who has been labeled everything from annoying to downright crazy, the freedom of his home. His own sanctuary. He’s opening all of it to Sander with the only doubt being that Sander wouldn’t want it.

As if it isn’t the best thing anyone has ever given him.

He can’t speak, so he reaches, pulling Robbe in to offer his gratitude and reassurance and disbelief in a kiss. It’s still a hard press of lips, still hungry, but it’s slower and softer than any of the others they’ve shared tonight. It means something else, something beyond the basic desires they’d been indulging in minutes ago. It means something more.

“Robbe,” he breathes, heart fluttering at his boyfriend’s responding happy hum. “Thank you.”

Robbe strokes his cheeks so softly, and smiles so lovingly down at him, and Sander feels cracked open and laid bare beyond his near nudity. “I may have an ulterior motive,” Robbe admits. “I didn’t bring another key, so if this is to be yours, I guess I can’t get home without you.”

Sander huffs a laugh, lips spreading in a too-wide smile as he stretches up to kiss Robbe again. “Clever,” he praises.

Robbe hums again, equally pleased, and holds the key out to Sander. Sander takes it, closing his fingers around it carefully, watching the light flicker over and dip into the ridges as they press into his skin and imprint on him. He rubs his thumb over the rough metal, just admiring it for a moment, before looking at Robbe again.

He is the easiest thing to admire. He’s still flushed all down his neck, though it’s happy nerves more than embarrassment now. It’s enticing enough that Sander has to lean in and kiss the bare skin, has to feel Robbe’s heartbeat reverberating through him. He draws Robbe closer, back into his lap, into the circle of his arms, and pulls him close enough that they are entirely pressed together, chest to chest with heads tucked over each other’s shoulders. Robbe’s angel pendant presses into the skin near Sander’s own heart, which feels incredibly fitting.

“I love you,” Sander murmurs, because it’s the only thing he feels in this minute—the only thing he feels every minute, regardless of everything else.

Robbe presses a sweet kiss to his cheek. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Sander.” He allows Sander to hug him tighter for a moment before adding, “You should be able to find one of your other gifts now, too.”

“Find?” Sander pulls back just enough to look at Robbe quizzically. His eyes widen a fraction and he pats the pockets of Robbe’s jeans, feeling a smirk play at his lips. “Did you come prepared?”

“No,” Robbe yelps, batting him away. “You’ll have to search for it online.”

“What? What do you mean online? Do you know how vast ‘online’ is, Robbe?”

Robbe rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “YouTube, then. You have to look on YouTube.”

Sander tilts his head, baffled. “Did you rejoin a Broerrrs video?”

Robbe shrugs, all wide-eyed innocence, as if he’s not the one who put it wherever it is.

“Okay,” Sander announces. “We’re not doing anything here.”

He admits to feeling a little smug when Robbe’s face falls. “I thought you wanted to?”

“Oh, trust me,” Sander reassures, “I definitely do. But neither of us actually came prepared, and I’m realising this isn’t all I want to do to you tonight. No, we’re going to go back to yours and I’m going to find this mysterious online gift and then, then this will be made worth it.”

Now Robbe’s wide-eyed gaze holds a very different vibe, and his flush has darkened alongside his eyes, and he nods just a little too quickly. “Okay,” he agrees.

Sander grins, and does, however, spend a little more time kissing him, still clutching the key in an incredulous grip.

And, well, the thought of making out on the bed of Robbe’s old crush with Robbe is oddly satisfying. He might feel a little smug. And if it makes said crush squirm a little because he thinks they carried through on their threat with a little more commitment, well, that’s even better.

~^~