#whaaattt

Robert’s exhausted.

Physically, mentally, emotionally — just exhausted.

From the way people have been staring at him all week, he bets he looks it, too. He’s all too familiar with the dark circles that frame his eyes and the endless downward curve of his mouth.

But he was holding it together. Barely—but he was.

At least until Friday happened.

Friday had broken him. It brought Harry, the banging of the drums, the flashbacks—everything he’d buried. And John, of course. Always there to save the day, always perfect. John.

And now Vic has gone, too. Taken Harry to visit Diane.

“I need a break,” she’d said. Didn’t say from you, but it was there. Heavy. Obvious.

And that — is how he ends up here — standing in the middle of his wrecked bedroom, his fists aching, breath ragged, surrounded by the fallout of his own horrors.

It feels pathetic now. All of it. The smashed TV, the overturned coffee table, the dent in the wall — none of it made anything better. It never does.

He’d expect it. The breakdown. It was inevitable, really. Hurried along by his half-brother’s pushing-pushing-pushing.

What he doesn’t expect, though — is Aaron.

He’s standing in the doorway of Robert’s bedroom, eyes sweeping over the small space. Wide, uncertain. There’s something raw in his expression — not just surprise, but something closer to fear, or maybe hesitation. Like he’s bracing for what he might find.

“Robert—,” he whispers, as if he’s speaking to an afraid animal. “What’re you—?”

And that’s all it takes, for the final piece of Robert to snap.

Aaron doesn’t flinch when Robert finally lets out a broken cry and hurls the beer bottle he’d had clutch in his hand at the wall. It shatters into a thousand glittering pieces that catch the light for only a second before they fall and become just another part of the chaos around them.

Robert doesn’t hear Aaron move. He’s too far gone — heart pounding, fists clenched, breath stuttering in ragged bursts. The world is distant, blurred, until suddenly—

Arms. Strong. Familiar. Wrapping around his chest from behind.

Not to hold him back — but to hold him together.

It’s not rough. Not forceful. Just steady.

Calming. Anchoring.

“Easy,” Aaron murmurs near his ear, his voice low, careful. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

jaw on the floor

WHAT DO YOU MEAN PANCAKE SAW MY ART?!???!???