i’m a liability

Your eyes are glued to the double set of lines on the stick in front of you, as if sheer force of will could possibly change the situation.

As if staring hard enough will make the line vanish, and this nightmare disappear.

You can't have a child.

You can barely handle your dog, Pablo - were it not for a friendly neighbour offering to walk him with her own, you'd have had to pay for someone to come in and let him out during your long days.

You're a second-year anaesthetics resident. You're going to be working insane hours for the foreseeable.

This is what you get for trying to bulk up your CV for a trauma fellowship. After pulling some ER data, and spending a couple of days down there with Benton, you'd managed to pull an abstract together on 'First-Pass Intubation Success in the Critically Injured Patient'. It got accepted to a conference down in Dallas, and you'd scraped together enough cash to go.

Benton was never going to take time out of theatre to go to some schmooze-fest, so you were on your own.

Until John Carter had tracked you down after your presentation to ask you a couple of questions.

You'd been expecting them to be about the study - that maybe he was wondering if his own intubations had been included in the data, but they almost have nothing to do with medicine at all.

How do you know Benton?

I'm the only anaesthetist resident he hasn't made cry yet. Think that automatically makes me his favourite.

It's funny. I did a year of surgery, and I feel like I definitely would've remembered you.

After putting together the timeline, you'd realised that you'd been working in obstetric anaesthesia during his surgical internship, while he'd been stuck in triage on the days that you were down in the ER.

The amount of times your paths almost crossed was impressive.

Not that you didn't know Carter.

Of course you do. With the boyish grin, and big brown eyes, you're pretty sure every woman in Chicago is aware of him. He had dated one of your fellow residents, and she'd spent the entire short-lived relationship gushing about how good he was in bed.

After he dumped her, none of you were even allowed to mention his name.

At the time, you hadn't paid it much mind, but sitting across from at the hotel bar had gotten you thinking about Helen's tales, and whether they were true or not.

It hadn't taken you long to find out. After sticking together for the rest of the day, you'd ended up at a bar nearby, drinking on Carter's dime before he kissed you over a margarita, and asked if you wanted to go back to his hotel room.

It had been an easy yes.

Work makes it nearly impossible to date non-medics, and hospital politics make it impossible to sleep with your immediate co-workers without the gossip spreading like wildfire.

All to say, you haven't been laid in a long time.

It doesn't hurt that he's 6'2 and gorgeous.

Even if you do get a trauma fellowship at County, the odds of you having to regularly interact with Carter are slim to none. Most of the time, you're only physically in the ER briefly, before the patient is taken to theatre.

You kept telling yourself that it won't be awkward, as he took your hand in his and led you to a far nicer floor than the one you had been staying on.

Part of you made a mental note to go digging about the state of his finances, but that had been completely forgotten when he made you cum twice before even reaching for the buttons on his own slacks.

Maybe Helen was right.

Whatever Carter may lack in technical precision, he more than makes up for with his eagerness to please.

The next morning, you'd acknowledged that it was a good time, and parted as acquaintances.

And now, eight weeks on, you're pregnant with his baby.

You're not even sure how, outside of the obvious 'man meets woman' bullshit. You've been a stickler for birth control your entire life. Never missing a day, and always taking it at the same time each morning.

You'd never considered that you might one day be part of the 0.3% that still manage to get pregnant with it.

Not when your friends would miss days and never pull out and always be fine.

Leaning forward, you drop your head into your hands and let out a heavy sigh. You shouldn't have let him finish inside, even with the birth control.

You wouldn't normally.

But both of your minds had been totally clouded by lust, and when Carter had been panting above you, cheeks flushed, you distinctly remember telling him that it was alright.

N-Need you inside. S'fine - I'm on the pill, oh, oh god, John-

This is why you're not a spontaneous person. This is why you make lists, and weigh up pros and cons before you even consider making decisions.

All it gets you is being single and pregnant and still in thousands of dollars of medical school debt.

You've seen Carter a few times in passing since the conference, and he's always been friendly. A hand on your waist as he passes behind you in the cafeteria, a kiss pressed to your cheek in greeting at the surprise party he threw Benton.

Nothing close to what you're going to have to tell him today.

*****

You find out from one of the nurses that Carter is due to finish his shift in fifteen minutes, and take up your wait in the ambulance bay. You're still feeling jittery from this morning's revelation, and worry that contact with anybody for too long will lead to you blurting out your news.

You're contemplating every life decision you've ever made when he finally appears. "Hey - what are you doing here?"

John Carter is a very easy man to read, and you can tell exactly what he's thinking right now. He's assuming that you've had the shift from hell, and just need some time to cool off.

He doesn't realise that you're about to turn this into the shift from hell.

Still - you don't want to break it to him harshly.

He doesn't deserve that.

"Can we talk?"

Not the most original of openings, but there's really no other way to do it. He nods immediately, and goes to sit down, but you get to your feet instead. "Not here - walk with me?"

"Are you alright?"

He falls into step beside you, and you can hear the concern seeping into his tone. It makes you want to cry. Rather than draw it out any longer, you shake your head, lip between your teeth.

"I'm pregnant."

Both time and John slow to a stop, the latter's mouth managing to form a perfect 'o' as he stares at you. "What?"

You swallow, wiping hastily at the stray tear on your cheek. "Found out this morning. B-But, I swear I was on the pill, and this isn't one of those like baby-trapping scenarios, I-I mean I don't even know if I want it-"

"Hey, hey," he interjects softly, reaching out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "That's not what I was thinking at all. I'm just shocked."

"I'm sorry," you sniff, finally gathering the courage to meet his gaze.

"You think this is your fault?" He almost laughs. "Honey - it was very much a two-man operation."

His eyes flick downwards for a second, to your currently unchanged stomach. The first of many things that would change if you kept this baby.

"Do you want kids?"

It's a surprisingly pragmatic response - one that you figure most guys would be incapable of. You weren't exactly expecting theatrics, but you thought he would seem a little more perturbed by the news.

It throws you off.

"I mean... yeah, I guess? Didn't envision it happening right now, though. Thought I'd be an attending... have a house..."

Be married. You don't say that part aloud.

He doesn't reply for a second.

"Do you want to?"

"Do I want to what?"

"Do it with me." His expression is earnest, and if you knew him better you might be able to detect the slight hint of excitement in his tone. A sane man would be begging you to get an abortion - that's what you'd been gearing up to hear. Just an hour ago, you were convinced yourself that you were headed that way. "Just... just hear me out. How often do you go out on dates?"

Feels like a strange segue, but you consider. "Not very often. Like once every few months."

"I'm the same. Can you see that changing in the next few years?"

You mull it over a little. "I guess not."

He nods once, like it confirms whatever theory he's cooking up. "Right."

"Right?"

"So," he shifts, angling his body towards yours. "You're probably not meeting the love of your life next week."

"That's a little bleak, Carter."

"I'm being realistic," he corrects. "It's not going to happen to me either."

When you don't seem to catch his drift, he changes tactics, gesturing vaguely. "Five years from now, what will your life look like?"

"I finish training. Become an attending," you frown.

"You work more."

"I make more money."

"You work more."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, I get it."

"No, seriously." His voice stays even. "You become an attending. You buy a house. Then what?"

"I-I don't know," You admit.

"You start dating?"

You shrug. "I'd like to."

"But will you?" He presses.

At his insistence, you try and envision a world in which you suddenly morph into a social butterfly, and manage to find your dream man on your one day off a week. "I don't know," you finally admit. "Look - where are you going with this?"

"My point is..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "You want kids. I want kids."

You stare at him, before letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. "And you think we should just... have a baby together."

"I think it's worth talking about."

"You don't even know me."

He shakes his head. "I know enough."

"No, you don't. I-I mean, how would we finish our residencies? Look after an entire human? We're not even together!"

John takes each question in his stride. "Loads of doctors have kids during residency. Mark Greene had his daughter in med school, and he's fine-"

He's also divorced and sees his daughter twice a month, but you don't interrupt.

"-I could cut back on my hours and watch them. I have some inheritance, and you could have a good maternity leave too. And not being together almost makes it easier, don't you think? Just two friends, raising a kid. No complications, y'know? No messy divorce that'll scar the kid for life, no break-ups."

You hate to say it, but he's making some good points.

But it's such a huge decision to make.

Sensing your uncertainty, he reaches for your hand. "If you don't want to, that's fine as well. M'not gonna get mad at you for choosing. But if you do want to... I'm all in."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Just give me a call when you've made your mind up, and we can go from there."

*****

John doesn't hear from you for almost a week, and he has to pretend that it's not driving him stir crazy.

Each time his phone goes, each time his pager bleeps, he lunges for it - in the hopes that it'll finally be you.

He's all but given up hope of hearing from you tonight when his cell rings. Instinctively, he grabs it, answering immediately. "Hello?"

What follows is the sweetest six words he's ever heard in his life.

"Looks like we're having a baby."

A/N: this is entirely self-indulgent and was definitely supposed to be wayyy shorter and lighter, but then I just kept adding things and this came out. sorry if some paragraphs are too long but the 1000 block limit is a pain in the ass. the moments are not in chronological order! hope you’ll enjoy!

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND HIS WILD HIGH SCHOOL DAYS

Dinner is usually one of the few moments of the day when neither of you touches your phones. It’s an unspoken habit that settled early into your relationship: no television humming in the background, no scrolling through emails, or social media. Just the two of you sitting across from each other, talking about your day over whatever you had managed to throw together right after your study session, given that Robby is more often than not needed at the hospital well beyond the end of his shift.

Which is why now he looks back and forth from his plate to you with mild curiosity, because you keep glancing down at your screen between bites, your brows pinched together as message after message clog the group chat you have with your friends from university.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He speaks after swallowing a piece of chicken and some peas.

You hum distractedly.

“Everything okay?” 

You finally look up with wide eyes, as though you’d forgotten he was even there, then immediately lock your phone and abandon it on the table with a tired sigh. “Maybe.”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Wanna tell me about it?”

You prop your chin in your hand. “There’s this local politician who’s supposed to give a speech at an economics conference tomorrow, and half the university wants him gone before he even sets foot there.” You wave your fork around. “For obvious reasons, of course.”

Robby smiles faintly. “That bad, huh?”

You stab at a tomato with an affirmative hum. “So now nobody knows if classes are actually happening because there are rumors there is going to be a big protest outside the main building, and our group chat has been exploding for the last hour. Some professors are saying lessons will go ahead, but most of my classmates are convinced campus is going to be inaccessible, so my friends are trying to figure out whether we’re joining the protest or just waiting to see what happens.”

Instead of answering, Robby lets out a quiet snort into his glass, causing your narrowed eyes to land on him.

“What?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing, sweetheart.”

“Michael.” You purse your lips in what resembles a pout.

“It’s just... you kids haven’t changed much.”

You grin. “Oh? Enlighten me then, old man.”

He points his fork at you, “Careful,” but then shakes his head, amused at your palms raised in mock surrendering, before leaning back in his chair.

“When I was in high school, we’d organize sit-ins whenever we wanted to protest for something, which… was pretty fucking often.” A tired laugh escapes his chest.

“Sit-ins?”

“Oh, baby.” His smiles softens. “We didn’t just skip class. We’d occupy the school.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You what?”

“We’d stay inside the building. Overnight, sometimes.”

“Michael.” 

“I’m serious.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.

You stare at him in silence, waiting for him to tell you he was just kidding, but that never comes. “How?”

“I honestly can’t tell you. Somehow somebody always knew how to get the doors open after everyone had gone home.” He shrugs innocently, betrayed by the smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t ask me who.”

“You definitely know who.” You squint your eyes at him.

His head bobs side to side vaguely. “Eh, I might.” Your lips press into a thin line in a poor attempt to hide your grin.

“It turned into a whole production at some point.” Robby adds, now with both elbows leaning onto the table. “There was always a guitar, food…” His eyes stare emptily at his glass before an amused grin brightens his face. “Someone managed to drag a television into the school once.”

“A television?”

“I still don’t know where it came from.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, not really convinced.

“And then there was David, our student representative.” Robby rubs his beard, already smiling.

“What did David do?”

“Every single protest he’d climb onto the roof with a megaphone.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, the roof?”

“Like a fucking mountain goat.” He nods.

“Why?”

“To make speeches.” He shrugs as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, okay, that’s—”

“And mock teachers.”

You nearly choke on your water. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yes, he’d spend ages doing impressions. The principal, the vice principal…” He shakes his head lightly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Our chemistry teacher had this incredibly dramatic way of calling attendance, and David copied him so perfectly even Mr. Greene was in tears.”

“So the teachers just…”

“They were standing below yelling at him to come down.”

“Hm.” You tilt your head slightly, observing him with a smirk. “And where were you in the middle of this chaos, Mr. Robinavitch?”

He scoffs. “On the roof with him, of course.”

“I genuinely can’t picture this.” His eyebrows quirk up in confusion. “You want to tell me that you, the incredibly respected, grumpy emergency physician of the PTMC,” you point your finger at him, almost accusingly. “Spent your high school years sleeping on classroom floors and encouraging rooftop performances?”

“Well, I never said I encouraged them.” He shrugs defensively.

“Oh, you absolutely did.”

“I was there as… emotional support.” You nod sarcastically. “And I clapped.”

“You clapped.” You repeat skeptically.

“Hey,” he points his index finger at you. “There’s nothing bad in being politically engaged.”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts. “No, baby, you were just a menace.”

His expression is so earnest it only makes you cackle harder. “If being a menace means being an active citizen then yes, your Honor.” He dramatically opens his arms. “I’m guilty.”

“Oh, shut up.” You affectionately throw your bunched napkin at him, but it only ends up falling sadly on the table between your glasses before it can even reach his chest. “You and your buddies just wanted an excuse to skip classes.”

“What a time.” He nods at some point, staring absently at the window behind you with his arms crossed, lost in the reminiscence of the good ol’ times. “But David made some very compelling arguments when he wasn’t busy leading chants.”

That’s when you decide to reach across the table and wiggle your fingers for his hand, still grinning. “I love hearing you talk about your teenage years, especially if it involves stories of how you used to be a little troublemaker.”

“Hey now, little lady, I was a good boy.” He corrects you, his fingers immediately intertwining with yours.

“You occupied schools.” Robby presses his lips together, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

“For democracy.”

That finally earns him a snort, your eyes following him as he gets up and gathers the empty plates before you can stand, brushing away your automatic attempt to help with a gentle, “I’ve got it, baby.”

As he walks back to retrieve the rest, though, Robby pauses long enough near your chair to press a lingering kiss on your head.

“I’m glad you care enough to show up for the things you believe in.” His thumb brushes your temple before cupping your face. “The world needs people who stay engaged now more than ever. Just…” His smile softens at the edges, and it transforms his whole expression, gentle and patient as ever. “Promise me you’ll keep your eyes open, okay? Crowds change very quickly, and protests can sometimes turn violent. I’d like to see my sweet girl at the hospital only when I forget to bring lunch. Okay?”

You promptly wrap your hands around his wrists, leaving a peck on the soft skin. “Promise.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead, before taking the glasses with him. “And text me if plans change.”

“I always do.” You roll your eyes playfully, getting up as well so you can put the leftovers in the fridge.

He smiles to himself as he opens the water to rinse the dishes. 

“You’ve trained me well.” You add jokingly.

From the sink, you hear his quiet laugh.

“I’d argue it’s the other way around, angel.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY WHO STILL CARRIES CASH AROUND

It takes you a surprisingly long time to realize that Robby never lets you pay when you’re together. The first few dates, you assume he’s just trying to be a gentleman and make a good impression. By the fifth time, you’re reaching for your wallet before the check even lands on the table, but his hand never fails to find your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

“Michael,” You reprimand him jokingly, even if you feel a little uncomfortable sting at the foreign feeling that comes with being spoiled without an ulterior motive. “You got it last time.”

“And?” He raises his eyebrow at you.

“It’s my turn.”

Robby simply smile, but not mockingly, like a man his age would normally do in front of young stubbornness. “We’re not keeping score.”

At first, you fight him on it every single time. You insist on splitting the bill, you try to beat him to the register—one time you even excuse yourself to the restroom just so you can secretly pay before he has the chance. It never works. No matter how determined you are, he always manages to get there first, smiling to himself as though he’d expected nothing less from you. Whether it’s coffee before your lectures, movie tickets or groceries, his wallet is already out before the cashier even tells you the total.

The only exception he ever makes is when he’s not there, if you’re grabbing lunch with your friends after class, or stopping by a coffee shop to study. But every single time, he makes sure to remind you that his card is saved on your phone, casually telling you to use it if you need anything. The first time it happens you recoil like he’s grown a second head. Robby earns more than enough to be comfortable, you know that, but the thought of spending his money without him even being there opens a hollow pit behind your ribs.

You never do and Robby notices it immediately. See, he is always infuriatingly perceptive when it comes to you, and after months of watching you hesitate every time the subject comes up, he finally sits you down one evening and, with all the patience only reserved for you, explains something you’d never thought about before. For most of his adult life, there simply wasn’t anyone to take care of. He worked impossible hours, built a career he was proud of, paid his mortgage, put money aside every month because that’s what responsible adults do, and then… that was it. There wasn’t a wife to give flowers to after a rough week, nor children asking for new shoes or ridiculous birthday presents. His paychecks came in, his bills went out, and whatever was left quietly accumulated in a savings account because there wasn’t much else to do with it. Loving you changes that in ways you don’t think he even realized it would, because now there is a beautiful girl texting him that she’d done well on an exam and wants pizza for dinner to celebrate; a girlfriend whose face lights up over something as simple as him buying her favorite pastries on the way home after a night shift.

Insisting on paying for your meals, replacing the headphones you’d complained about for months without saying a word beforehand, making sure you never have to check your bank account before ordering dessert—none of it is about proving a point or making you feel indebted to him. It’s simply the way Robby loves. He belongs to a generation that tends to show love through practical things, and your heart doesn’t waste a second to remind you that every time he moves to walk on the side of the pavement closest to traffic, or when he checks whether you’ve got enough gas before handing your car keys back. Somehow he also notices dumb, insignificant things before you do, such as your shampoo running low. Because that’s what it all is about: looking after you, which comes as instinctive as breathing for him.

Taking care of people has been the center of his entire life for decades. Before you, that was put to good use almost exclusively for his patients. Now, for the first time, he has someone waiting for him at home, someone he gets to fuss over in ways he’d quietly wished for without ever having the courage to admit it to himself.

“Sweetheart, you’re missing the point.” He reaches for your hands where they’re nervously fidgeting in your lap, threading his fingers through yours. “I know you can take care of yourself. Believe me, that’s never been in question. But looking after you makes me happy. It’s just—that’s what loving somebody is, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s making you soup when you’re sick, and listening to you vent after a rough day at university. Sometimes it’s making sure you can walk into a bookstore without worrying whether you should save money for something else instead of that book you really wanted. Let me give you that, please.”

It doesn’t mean that guilt doesn’t claw at your chest every time you use his card; or that you don’t shift your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot whenever you offer to pay and he gently shakes his head with that amused lift of his lips. But if making sure you are looked after is one of the many ways Robby says he loves you, then learning to accept it is one of the ways you say it back.

The first time you actually catch a glimpse of how naturally that instinct lives inside him happens on one of Robby’s rare days off. Rare, at least, until you came along. Since then, he’s become surprisingly good at protecting his peace, because for the first time in a very long while, there’s a life waiting for him outside of the ED.

He picks you up outside campus just after your last lecture, smiling the moment he spots you walking through the gates with your heavy backpack slipping off one shoulder.

“Hey, pretty girl.” You barely have time to close the car door before he’s leaning across the center console to steal a kiss. “I thought we’d stop for groceries on the way home,” Robby continues, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling away. “I’m cooking tonight.”

By the time you reach the checkout, he has started packing the bags with quick efficiency, making it look so easy: heavy things on the bottom, bread at the top, eggs tucked safely into a corner. Nothing like the erratic, messy way you pack your own stuff while still having people behind you huffing impatiently.

You reach for your phone the moment the cashier announces the total, but before you can even unlock it, a pair of warm hands settles on your hips.

“I’ve got it, honey.” 

The touch is gentle, barely enough to guide you half a step to the side, but you go without thinking, never failing to feel a little dizzy whenever his big hands find their way on your body. Robby reaches then for his pocket and… pulls out a folded stack of dollar notes.

The cashier doesn’t bat an eyelid as he counts them with practiced ease before accepting the change, slipping the few coins back into a small pouch. You watch the entire exchange astonished, then as he hoists the two grocery bags into one hand with a quiet groan, the other reaching for your back while glancing over at you with that easy smile you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with on your second date.

“Ready to go?”

You can only nod.

The walk to the car is unusually quiet. He is too busy rearranging the bags in the trunk to notice, but once he lowers the hatch with a solid thunk, you are throwing yourself at him as he turns, arms around his neck and lips crashing into his. The force of it makes him laugh in surprise, yet his own arms instinctively circle your waist, keeping you securely anchored to him.

The kiss is warm and eager, with too much fervor and tongue for a supermarket parking lot, but Robby doesn’t mind one bit as he melts into you without a second thought, barely able to contain a grin against your lips. When you finally pull back, beautiful and breathless, Robby touches your forehead with his.

“I’m definitely not complaining here,” he murmurs, his smile stupidly big. “But what prompted the sudden makeout session?”

“You still pay with cash.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, definitely not expecting that answer.

“Yes?” His voice is hesitant.

“That’s fucking hot.”

For a beat, he just blinks, before laughing so hard he has to duck his head against your shoulder.

A happy sigh escapes him, almost relieved. “I’ve spent weeks looking for good wrinkle smoothing creams to make myself look more attractive,” he shakes his head at his own ridiculousness. “But turns out all I needed was a couple of bucks in my pocket.”

You roll your eyes at him, shifting back on your heels so you don’t put all your weight on his poor back. 

“And the little coin pouch, let’s not forget about that.”

A dramatic groan tears out of his throat, head thrown back and all. “You noticed the coin pouch?”

You nod, humming. “Very… vintage.” Your lips press once again to his before you make your way to the passenger side with Robby promptly at your heels. “And you don’t need all those products on your skin to be attractive, Mikey.” You turn at last, pleased to have his body pressed so close to yours you can comfortably kiss his cheek. “You know I love your handsome face, especially the wrinkles and white hair.”

“Damn right I do.” His brown eyes briefly fall on your mouth, before his chin tips down enough for his nose to brush your ear. “Think that was pretty fucking clear after the mess you made all over it last weekend.” He whispers, your neck going hot as your core throbs at the mere memory of that night.

You go to bite his shoulder, but Robby is faster, already tickling your sides. You squeal, trying your best to twist away from him, but your body is trapped between his strong frame and the car, his arm hooked firmly around your waist. 

“Michael!”

“This is what bad girls get when they don’t respect their elders, sweetheart.” He is laughing with you.

“Oh, fuck off Mic—no no no, not the waist!” Still shrieking and with tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, you eventually give up trying to escape and settle for poking at the middle of his chest instead, sagging completely against him the moment his fingers finally give you a break. His palms drift softly up and down your back, soothing the last of your giggle as he smirks down at you.

“Can’t believe I’ve just been tickled by a man who still carries cash around.” You mumble, still out of breath.

His brows shoot up mockingly. “Don’t sound so staggered, baby. Someone told me it’s fucking hot.”

With your cheeks flaming hot, you decide to shift your focus on the front of his jacket instead, smoothing the fabric you wrinkled while trying to escape his tickling attack. 

Robby observes you for a moment with mirth dancing in his eyes. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“I’m just a little confused.” You shrug. “I mean, you have used cards before.”

“Yeah,” Robby’s thumb lazily stroke your waist. “But what if the reader suddenly goes down?”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Baby, when has that ever happened realistically?”

His hands pause just long enough to think about it, the crease between his brows deepening in thought. “During medical school.”

You stare at him for a long second. “Michael, that was in the nineties...”

He gives one small shrug, completely unmoved by the objection, and instead reaches to cup your face. “It’s still a perfectly reasonable concern.”

Your shoulders shake with a chuckle, kissing him once, quickly, right on the mouth.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I like knowing I’ve got backup.” He corrects in a flash, automatically chasing your lips for another kiss.

“Hm, adorable.” 

Robby sighs with all the long-suffering dignity he can muster. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not, handsome.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND THE WEATHER

Once Robby turns the engine off, he leans forward enough to glance through the windshield at Lake Erie shimmering beneath the unforgiving sun, only to let out a sigh deep enough to make you peek at him from the passenger seat.

“It’s thirty degrees.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “It’s July, Mike.”

“Thanks for the reminder, sweetheart.” He answers flatly, opening his car door and almost recoiling at the wave of scorching heat touching his skin.

“So?”

“So this isn’t normal.”

You chuckle as you get out of the car as well, having already heard the spiel he’s going to throw himself into.

“When I was a kid summers weren’t trying to kill you.” He gestures vaguely toward the sky, reaching into the trunk for the beach umbrella.

“You’re sounding very middle-aged.” Your comment is punctuated by a grin as you appear at his side.

“I know you often forget it with the way I fold you in half every night, but I am fifty-three, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at his salacious wink, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he lifts the cooler with one hand, the folded umbrella hooked beneath his arm before the two of you make your way across the sand.

“Back then,” he continues. “The evenings cooled down so you could open the windows and actually breathe.”

“Mhm.”

“You had to bring a jacket at night.”

“Yeah?”

“The sky was blue.”

You finally look up at him. “It still is.”

“It used to be a clear blue sky.” He shakes his head. “Now it looks like dirty dishwater most of the time.”

You dissolve into laughter, letting the man grumble until you finally find a nice, not really crowded spot to spread your towels out. Robby is still muttering something about climate change and how people used to survive without air conditioning when you crouch beside him while he wrestles with the big beach umbrella he personally bought a few weeks ago after you had expressed your wish to go to the beach.

“Need help?”

He glances up immediately. “No, baby.”

“You sure?” Your eyebrow lifts skeptically. “You look like you’re losing.”

“I’ve got it.” He mumbles, but you lean in anyway. Before your fingers can even reach the fabric, Robby gently nudges your wrist away. “Go cool off.”

“What?”

He nods toward the lake. “You’re going to melt standing here with me. Go for a swim while I finish setting this bastard up.” His brows furrow at the pole.

“What about you?” Your shoulders sag worryingly.

“Eh, I’ll survive.”

“You’ve spent the last twenty minutes complaining that your sweat has sweat.” You retort with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“I’ll just keep complaining later.” He shrugs easily.

Worry still lingers somewhere in the back of your mind; the heat is unbearable, and the last thing you want is for him to spend another twenty minutes standing in the blazing sun wrestling with this thing. Still, you know that once Robby decides he’s made up his mind, arguing only makes him dig his heels in deeper. He has never been particularly good at admitting when he’s pushing himself too far, so with one last skeptical look in his direction, you reach to remove your sundress. But before you can even touch the light fabric, Robby catches your wrist, finally looking up at you.

“Don’t go too far.”

“I won’t.” You lean down with a sigh, brushing a quick kiss on his cheek. “And you don’t stay too long here, I can help you set it up later.”

He shakes his head and simply turns back to the stubborn slipcover with the same concentration he puts into inserting chest tubes as you turn and make your way toward the shoreline.

When you come back, with water still dripping lazily from your features, Robby is in the middle of removing his polo.

“... at least you didn’t walk outside feeling like you’d opened a fucking oven—” His little angry soliloquy dies on his tongue the moment he turns around.

You slowly come to a stop in front of him, the corners of your mouth curling upward just barely as you notice his eyes falling directly on your bikini.

“What?”

His eyes flick up to yours for the shortest of seconds before betraying him completely by wandering back down again. “Nothing.”

You fold your arms, definitely pleased with his reaction, and that only accentuates the gentle curve of your breasts, the shape of your nipples hard to ignore because of the sudden change in temperature. His eyes solemnly follow the movement, before noticing the tiny droplet sliding down your shoulder and disappearing in your cleavage.

“Weren’t you busy giving your annual lecture about how summers were better in the twentieth century?”

Your teasing voice is what gets him back to reality. He smiles to himself, finally looking you in the eye. “Yeah, and then my girlfriend got out of the water looking like a goddess.”

You shake your head but still giggle at his cheesiness, and Robby reaches for you before you have a chance to step away, his hands settling around your hips with familiar ease once he takes a seat on his own beach towel.

“C’mere.”

You let him pull you between his knees, the movement bringing you close enough that he can tip his head back and press an adoring kiss on your hipbone, just above the hem of your bikini.

Your fingers leisurely comb his hair. “What are you doing?” You murmur.

“Worshipping the goddess.” He mutters back without actually moving his mouth away from your damp skin.

Heat creeps up all the way to your neck, a quiet titter escaping your lips as your fingertips idly massage his scalp. Lazy, reverent kisses are peppered across your lower abdomen, his salt-and-pepper beard tickling your skin with every small brush of his lips until a pleasant shiver works its way up your spine. There is something so effortlessly adoring about the gesture that you stop pretending you want him to quit.

One of his hands eventually slips into your beach bag just beside the towel, emerging with the bottle of sunscreen he had personally packed up yesterday night, and gives it a little shake.

He pats the space between his legs without a single word, but you tilt your head at him. “I’m still wet, it’ll slide off.” 

His hands stills at once, realizing you are right. “Alright, just five more minutes then.”

“Deal.”

You decide to sit beside him on your own towel, staying tucked comfortably against his side while the sun takes care of the last traces of water on your body. Robby has slipped on his own sunglasses, one arm lazily hooked behind you while the bottle of sunscreen sits forgotten beside his thigh. Every now and then he brushes the back of his hand over your arm, checking if your skin is still too damp.

A few yards away, an inflatable flamingo bobs happily across the shoreline after escaping from somebody’s beach setup for what has to be the third time that afternoon.

“There he goes again.” 

You perk up, eyes immediately finding the same poor man who is jogging after it. Again. “Did you see him too before?”

Robby hums, his sunglasses having slipped halfway down his nose as he follows the wave carrying the flamingo further away. The man makes one final heroic dive, but misses by inches. You both suck in a sympathetic breath.

“He waited too long.” your boyfriend murmurs, still watching the unfolding disaster. “Once it turned sideways he should’ve just cut it off.”

You tilt your face toward him, mirthful. “Listen to yourself.”

His chin tips enough for him to look at you over the rim of his sunglasses. “What?”

“You sound like—I don’t know, one of those dads who always have an opinion about what strangers are doing.”

A smile tugs lazily at one corner of his mouth. “I’m just sayin’,” he gestures vaguely toward the water. “The flamingo doesn’t know where it’s going, it only follows the wind, so just go where it’s going to end up.”

You stare at him for a second before chuckling at his serious analysis. “Have you genuinely been thinking about this?”

“Long enough to become invested.”

Right on cue, a little girl—probably not older than eight—runs straight past the poor man and into the water and scoops the flamingo without breaking stride. She marches back toward her family like she’s just completed a military operation, leaving the man to contemplate the horizon with both hands on his hips.

Robby clicks his tongue.

“Ouch.” You murmur, leaning further into his shoulder to hide your face and laugh freely against his skin.

“See? She anticipated.” Robby watches the defeated father make his way back to his towel, shaking his head to himself. “He’s never living that down.”

“I mean, of course.” You grin. “If I’d been his wife, I’d have brought it up at every family gathering for the next twenty years.”

He nudges your knee lightly with his own. “You’re so cruel, baby.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows shoot up in mock offense. “I’m funny—no, matter of fact, I’m the funniest person you know! I’m always making you laugh.”

“Mh.” His mouth twitches. “The line’s thinner than you think.”

You scoff jokingly, ready to move your towel away for good measure, but your shoulders deflate instantly as Robby’s arm travels between your knees, his fingers finding your thigh to absently trace slow circles. His gaze wanders from the water to the families scattered along the shoreline. He has a habit of settling into silence like this, never making it feel awkward, and as much as you love talking, you’ve grown to cherish these little peaceful moments in which you simply get to exist together.

Leaning more comfortably against his side, you bask in the breeze rolling in off the water that pleasantly caresses your warm skin. Around you, the beach hums with the lazy rhythm of the early afternoon. A couple not really distant to you has a portable speaker playing the local news just loud enough to drift across the sand, a group of children is digging an elaborate moat around a sandcastle that’s almost certainly going to lose the battle against the tide, and every few minutes a seagull swoops low enough to make somebody yelp for their sandwich. 

“Why don’t you go take a swim, Mike? You’ve been under the sun for too long.” You mumble with your temple pressed to his arm.

“After sunscreen.” His lips press a peck on your forehead and you wrap your arms around his, dragging it closer to your chest before closing your eyes in contentment.

That’s when a little boy races past your towels with an ice cream twice the size of his hand. Two seconds later, you open your eyes just in time to watch it slip from the cone and land upside down in the sand.

You and Robby wince at the same time.

“He looks devastated, oh my God, Michael.” You coo sadly his name as if your boyfriend could do something about it, the kid now walking to his mother with a big, trembling pout.

“I’d be crushed too, sweetheart.”

Your eyes look up at him. “Really? Doctor Robby would cry over a vanilla cone?”

“Angel,” he doesn’t even hesitate. “At the beach? On a day like this?” He turns towards the boy, sitting on his towel with his little arms folded to his chest while his father tries to comfort him. “I’d probably have a moment too.”

You chuckle under your breath. “You’re so adorable, honey.”

“Occupational hazard.”  

“Mhh, don’t think emergency medicine is what did that to you.”

He only answers with a smile, lightly running the back of his fingers over your leg. “There we go,” he announces quietly, more to himself than to you. “Finally dry enough.” You also glance down at your body before rubbing your other leg with your fingertips, but he’s already reaching for the sunscreen, giving it another little shake.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

You promptly shift between his legs, removing the strings from around your neck so Robby can take care of your whole back without obstructions. His hand settles briefly at your waist to steady you as you adjust, smiling privately to himself.

“Good girl.” He murmurs while squirting a generous amount of lotion into his palm, warming it between both hands.

A shiver runs down your back at his low voice directly in your ear, his touch warm and soft as he spreads the sunscreen across your shoulders with slow, careful movements. He’s impossibly thorough; you’ve already accepted that there is no point pretending you’ll be done in less than two minutes. He always treats your body with something bordering on reverent respect, never taking for granted that he gets to care for it. His broad hands pause at every freckle, never wandering too impatiently but instead pausing like they are learning you all over again with every little stroke.

Robby makes sure he doesn’t even miss the tops of your shoulders and the little spot just beneath the strap digging into your spine that you somehow always manage to forget.

“Turn your head a little.” His thumb lingers on your shoulder blade enough to smooth away the last white streak. His fingertips spread the sunscreen right on your nape, and a moment later, you feel his lips brush the sensitive patch of skin just behind your ear. It tickles enough to make you squirm.

“Michael!” You gasp in surprise, trying to duck away.

“What? I’m multitasking.” You don’t need to turn around to know his lips are probably stretched into a smug grin.

“Alright, time to lie down.”

You stretch out on your towel with an exaggerated sigh, adjusting your bikini so you don’t accidentally flash anyone while Robby reaches for your ankle first and draws your leg comfortably across his thigh.

“You know I could have done this myself?” You throw him a smirk, propping yourself up on one elbow as you put your sunglasses on with your other hand.

“Oh, I know.” He doesn’t even look up, his hands sliding carefully from your calf to your right knee. “That’s why you almost got sunburned last August when you came here with your friends.”

“That happened only once.” You roll your eyes. “I’m still in my twenties.”

“And?” He lifts an eyebrow as he regards you with barely concealed amusement, gently lifting your foot.

“And my skin can handle a little sun.” You shrug dismissively.

Robby snorts quietly, moving on the other side for your left leg. “You know ultraviolet radiation has never stopped to ask anyone how old they are?”

Your shoulders shake at his unexpected answer. “Mh, so no ID check first?”

“I’m afraid not.” He chuckles. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”

“The annual convention of sunlight?”

“Exactly.” You grin to yourself, watching him finish with your other leg in silence before he gives your butt an affectionate squeeze.

“There,” Robby says with pride written all over his face. “Protected.”

After an hour spent intertwined in the water just like those corny couples you used to roll your eyes at from behind your sunglasses, the complaints have mysteriously stopped. Robby is now stretched out beneath the shade, his Moscot Billik sunglasses perched on his nose and one arm folded beneath his head.

See, he has spent so many years believing that standing still was a luxury he hadn’t earned. Every free day carried the uncomfortable feeling that there was somewhere else he should be, someone else who needed him more, another problem he could solve. Rest always came with cruel whispers that somebody else was still carrying the same weight while he sat at home with nothing to do.

And look at him now, spending entire afternoon stretched out beneath a beach umbrella with salt still drying on his skin, one hand absently wandering over your waist and his eyelids growing heavy to the rhythmic sound of the waves meeting the foreshore. The corners of his mouth are softened into that drowsy little smile he only ever wears when he’s truly at peace, and in that moment, you can’t help wondering whether he’d forgotten how beautiful ordinary days could be until they slipped through his fingers.

Or perhaps he’d simply forgotten that he, too, was allowed to stop running for a while.

You turn your head to properly face him.

“You seem pretty relaxed.”

“I am.” He mumbles sleepily.

“Thought this weather was inhumane.”

“Still is.”

“But I don’t hear you complaining anymore.”

“I’m conserving energy to do it later.”

You burst into an involuntary giggle, causing his mouth to automatically twist up at the sweet sound.

“I’ll admit,” he starts after a moment, giving your hip a light squeeze. “It’s become marginally more tolerable.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows shoot up curiously. “What changed?”

This time Robby does turn his head toward you, lowering his sunglasses just enough to meet your eyes.

“I remembered I get to spend a whole day looking at my beautiful girl in a skimpy bikini.” 

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his shameless smugness.

“Cheesy.” You mumble without a single trace of annoyance in your voice. “So now the weather’s okay?” You try again.

“Fuck, no.” He scoffs. “The world is still burning.” His fingers lightly tap the skin of your hip, before he leans over to kiss your nose. “But the company is excellent.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY WHO ACCIDENTALLY ADOPTS YOUR FRIENDS

Robby has learned to recognize the signs of your exhaustion during exam season from nothing more than the way your texts become shorter as the afternoon wears on, and how you eventually stop replying altogether because you’ve become so absorbed in your notes that the rest of the world ceases to exist.

That evening is no different. The campus library is overflowing with students trying to survive finals week. Every table is occupied, every outlet claimed by somebody’s laptop charger, and every available surface is buried beneath color-coded notes and enough empty coffee cups to suggest that nobody in that building has slept in days.

Your own table isn’t much better, with Emma’s highlighting the same paragraph for what has to be the fifth time while muttering under her breath. Chloe has abandoned any attempt at good posture, practically folded over her laptop with her cheek squished against her palm and her bloodshot red eyes fighting to stay open. Even Maya, who usually keeps the rest of you on track, has been staring blankly at the same page of her textbook as if the information will magically appear in her brain. 

Your phone vibrates beside your notebook just as you are trying to decipher the chicken scratch your past self wrote, along with a series of abbreviations that seemed like an excellent idea at the time but now are only wasting precious minutes.

The smile that appears on your face is tired but relieved nonetheless.

Have you eaten today? ❤️

You unlock your phone beneath the table.

Kind of

Robby’s reply comes almost instantly.

Kind of isn’t an answer

I had a sandwich

At lunch

A few seconds pass before another message appears.

What are you doing for dinner?

You glance around the table. Emma has started rubbing at her temples, and Chloe is muttering about searching for a restaurant on her phone.

We’ll probably order takeout and eat in the hallway, we still have a lot to revise and idk how late we’ll be here

The three dots appear and disappear for a couple of times.

I’ll come get you.

You frown at the screen.

??

All of you

A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it, causing Maya to briefly glance up.

Michael there are four of us

My suv has five seats 👍

You bite your lip, definitely tempted.

We’d be invading your house

This time, the screen lights up with an incoming call and a selfie of you two kissing that you took when you went on a short trip to New York last month.

Emma immediately looks up from her notes and sees your screen. “Oh,” she whispers.

“Not a word.” You point your finger at her as you slip out of your chair. She mimes zipping her lips but you are too far away to notice the knowing grin she exchanges with the others.

Once you are standing in the hallway just outside the library entrance, you answer.

“Hey.”

“Hi, baby.” The warmth in his voice makes your shoulders relax instantly.

In the background, you hear the dull thud of a knife against a chopping board and the faint clatter of pans.

“Are you cooking?”

“I was about to.”

You almost sigh forlornly at the sole thought of a warm homemade meal cooked by your boyfriend. “What are you making?” 

“Haven’t decided yet. I was waiting to hear what my girl felt like eating.”

It’s pathetic how your heart gives a ridiculous little squeeze. “Michael…”

“Hm?”

“I told you, we’ll just order something here.”

“You need something with actual nutritional value, not some greasy pizza from a hole-in-the-wall with questionable hygiene.”

You gasp. “Pizza has carbs, protein, dairy, and vegetables if you order them—don’t you dare slander one of mankind’s greatest culinary achievements.” Your expression quickly softens into something far too teasing. “And weren’t you the one eating takeout every night until last year?”

You are meet with silence. It lasts only a couple of seconds, but it’s enough for your stomach to tighten. The smile slowly fades from your face as a dozen of possibilities rush through your mind. You just reminded him of one of the worst periods of his life. God, why are you like this? Why do you always blurt out the first thing that comes to mind? Why can’t you think before you speak for once? Why—

“Well,” Robby sighs theatrically. “I am a doctor. Clearly I’m the gold standard when it comes to taking care of myself.” 

The dry sarcasm catches you so off guard that a loud laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, but you are hastily clapping a hand over your mouth the moment a student stepping out of the library throws you an outraged look.

“I’ll come get you.” Robby exclaims out of the blue.

You lean against the wall, lowering your voice. “We’re going to be at it for hours.”

“That’s fine.” You can imagine him shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s not like I sleep in the living room.”

“But we’re going to be loud.”

“And? I have a dining room because people are supposed to sit in it, and it has a door that can be closed. Just like our bedroom. Which is at the very end of the first floor.” He reminds you gently.

Our bedroom.

There has never been a conversation where the room had stopped belonging only to him, no milestone, or dramatic declaration. One day you left a spare sweater in his closet and suddenly you had a drawer completely yours, the bathroom cabinet on the right filled with your skincare products, and your favorite mug permanently stored in his kitchen.

“I spent twelve hours at the hospital, I promise your friends aren’t louder than a trauma bay.”

“That’s exactly why we can’t come, you need to rest.” You frown, worried.

“But I am resting, baby—”

“No Michael, you are planning to cook for four stressed college students.”

“I’m planning to cook for my girlfriend,” he corrects gently. “And her friends, who are welcomed to tag along.”

Your eyelids flutter shut tiredly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” His voice softens into a murmur. “But I want to.”

Robby lets the silence settle comfortably before clearing his throat, clearly concerned. “I don’t like the thought of you sitting in that library until midnight eating cold takeout and calling it dinner.”

“‘S not the first time.” You mumble, shyly looking at your shoes.

“I know. What’s that thing you say? It’s a canon event for every student?” He smiles at your little chuckle. “But I’m here and I have a big house and water boiling for pasta. I’d rather know you’ve had a proper meal and somewhere quiet where you can just focus on studying instead of worrying about possible creeps or thieves if you doze off at some point.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the device.

“The campus is almost forty minutes away from your house.” You counter weakly.

“Okay? I’ll drive everyone home afterwards.”

“Michael!” It comes out as a protest.

“I mean it, I don’t mind.” You hear a cupboard door open and close. “And if they’re too tired, there’s a guest room.” You blink. “And an air mattress in the basement.” He adds with such effortless certainty that it’s obvious he doesn’t see what the fuss is about.

You sigh, rubbing your sore eyes.

“What is it, my love?” 

You chuckle quietly, shaking your head even though he can’t see you.

“You’re impossible, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He hums. “So… are you going to let me feed you?” 

You look back through the glass door into the library. Maya is trying to stretch the stiffness out of her shoulders, while Chloe has given up entirely and is now using her textbook as a pillow. Emma is still fighting through, but the circles under her eyes are terrifyingly dark and deep.

“Let me ask the girls first.”

“I’ll leave in ten minutes.”

Your eyes squint at the certainty in his tone. “You already assumed I’d say yes?”

“I know my girl.” The clinking sound of his keys resound in the background. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

“Drive safely, Mike.”

When you walk back inside, three expectant faces are already waiting for you.

“Was that Doctor Dreamboat?” Emma’s eyebrows wiggle up and down, making you roll your eyes at her.

“Maybe.” You sit down, slipping your phone into your hoodie pocket and trying very hard to look unaffected.

“What?” You ask once you notice all three staring at you with different degrees of amusement.

Chloe lets out a snort from across the table. “Oh please, don’t even try that. You’ve been smiling like an idiot since you got up to answer his call.”

“Are those little pink hearts I see in her eyes?” Maya teases, leaning forward on her elbows.

Your neck burns slightly at their silly teases.

“Did he call to wish you goodnight?” Emma inquires, folding her arms on the table. 

You frown in confusion. “It’s not even nine.”

“Yeah, but nursing homes have curfews.” A tired sigh escapes your nostrils at her not-so-quiet laugh as Maya lightly smacks her arm followed by a whispered stop it.

“Actually,” you sit a little bit straighter. “He called because he wanted to invite us over.”

The three of them sober up in an instant, blinking at you almost in unison.

“Us?” Chloe points at herself.

You nod, extremely pleased by their surprised reaction. “He said he’s making dinner, so we should all go to his place instead of ordering takeout here. Apparently he’d rather know we’ve eaten something warm and healthy before spending another five hours staring at textbooks.”

Emma slowly closes her laptop.

“I’m sorry,” she breaks the stunned silence. “Your sugar daddy wants to cook dinner for the four of us because we’re desperate college students?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname she has been using for him since you told them he is way older than you. “Yes,” you smile. “He even offered us his dining room to study.” You look her dead in the eye. “And don’t call him that in front of him.”

You scrunch your nose. You don’t even know if he is aware of what it means.

Maya slams her book shut. “I’m getting my backpack.”

Robby’s SUV is pulled up to the curb outside the library, hazards blinking lazily while he stands beside the open trunk, and one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The moment he spots you walking down the steps, his face softens into a smile.

“There she is.”

You can’t help grinning back at him, your feet quickening on their own accord as you cross the last few feet between you. Four days of being practically locked away buried in textbooks suddenly feel a lot longer when Robby is waiting at the other end. As soon as you are within reach, he leans down to kiss you hello, one hand finding your waist while the other cradles your cheek with that familiar gentleness you’ve missed an embarrassing amount.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

“How are you?” You ask immediately, already massaging his shoulders.

“I’m good.” The subtle sigh doesn’t escape you but now it’s not the time nor the place to pry. “You look tired.” His eyebrows furrow as his thumb mindlessly strokes the apple of your cheek.

“Try exhausted.” Robby’s wrinkle between his brows deepens at your weak chuckle.

“Mh, I figured.” His fingers linger on you for a second too long to feel like mere habit, before reluctantly letting you go. His attention finally turns to the three girls standing a respectful distance behind you.

“So,” he starts with an easy smile, extending his hand toward the closest one. “You must be Emma.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting him to know her name, before quickly scurrying to shake his hand. “I am.”

“Chloe?” He points at your blonde friend.

“Exactly!” She replies with a pleased smile.

“And Maya.” 

She nods. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Robinavitch.”

That makes him wave a hand dismissively with a loud chuckle as he reaches for your backpack to put in the trunk.

“The pleasure is all mine, ladies, but Robby is just fine.” He asks for her backpack next and her eyes go comically wide.

“Oh no, I can’t let you—”

“You’ve been carrying these around campus since this morning.” He lifts it into the car as though it weighs nothing. “Humor an old man.”

The girls exchange an amused look at that.

“You don’t look old.” Chloe says ultimately.

Another deep laugh escapes him. “I appreciate that.”

“Don’t look that old.” You cough jokingly, squealing in delight when a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist from behind.

“I cooked you dinner, sweetheart.” He looks down at you with his eyes squinted, the same way they do when he forgets his glasses.

“And?” You rise your eyebrows at him innocently.

“And this is the thanks I get?” 

A grin brightens your face, and unable to resist, you steal a quick kiss before he opens the passenger door for you with a shake of his head.

By the time everyone has settled into the car, the awkwardness you’d half dreaded has disappeared almost completely.

“So,” he pulls away from the curb. “Which exam has everybody so miserable?”

“Biostatistics.” Chloe groans from the back seat, her head tipping back to the headrest. 

Robby winces sympathetically. 

“Biostatistics.” He repeats gravely, the single word carrying enough shared suffering to make all four of you smile. “I haven’t had to think about statistics in…” He huffs, head bobbing left to right as he does the math in his head. “Good Lord.”

A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “About thirty years.”

Emma’s head dramatically falls forward. “Please don’t say that.”

He glances at her in the rear-view mirror, still grinning. “Why not?”

“Because it makes the rest of us feel like we should still be in elementary school.”

That earns another laugh from him.

“Which doesn’t sound that bad right now.” Maya adds, exhaustion bleeding out of her words as she looks out of the window with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t control the calendar.” He shrugs apologetically.

“No,” Chloe teases with a small smirk. “But you can stop reminding us how long you’ve been an adult.”

Robby hums under his breath. “I wish someone had stopped reminding me.”

“Really?” Emma blurts out. “You seem pretty comfortable with it.”

“Oh, I am now.”

“You say that,” you add, reaching over to straighten the collar of his jacket where the seatbelt has folded it awkwardly. “But every morning you make at least one comment about your back.”

“My back has earned the right to complain.”

“And your knees.” You keep going on unhelpfully. 

“They’re particular vocal before coffee.” He sighs, entertaining the girls. “But I’ve made peace with the fact that I own orthopedic pillows and have opinions about lawn fertilizer.”

“Lawn fertilizer?” Chloe asks confused.

“I have a lawn.” Robby shrugs easily. 

“That’s…” She shakes her head, amusement permanently carved onto her lips. “One of the most adult sentences I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s fair.” He nods. “I’ve reached an age where I’m no longer interested in pretending I don’t get excited when the hardware store puts mulch on sale.”

The back seat dissolves into another round of laughter and you look at Robby with a grateful smile, fully melting into the passenger seat.

The light turns red just as Maya is in the middle of venting about her microbiology professor, who somehow managed to cram the last six chapters into a single lecture. Robby slows the car to a stop, nodding along every now and then as his hand reaches across the center console and settles over yours where it’s resting on your thigh. His thumb brushes lazily across your knuckles, a gesture so instinctive that neither of you think about the three girls in the back seat observing with poorly concealed enthusiasm. You simply turn your hand over and let your fingers curl between his.

“... and then she had the nerve to say that they won’t be on the exam, but we all know she’s going to put at least four questions about those chapters.”

Robby lets out an amused huff. “They always say that.”

“See?” She exclaims, turning toward the other two girls. “I told you, you have to be a special kind of asshole to teach at university.”

The light turns green, and Robby gives your hand one last squeeze before moving it back to the gearshift.

The sudden silence behind you lasts exactly five more seconds.

“So…” Emma clears her throat.

You glance over your shoulder at the strange quiet that follows, finding your friends already staring at the two of you with a smirk.

“What?”

Chloe slowly lifts a finger, pointing first at you, then at Robby.

“Mama y papa.”

Your face falls. “Chloe.”

Maya has already buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking so hard with laughter that she is struggling to catch her breath.

“It’s a TikTok audio.” Emma explains, maybe taking pity on you.

“I know that audio.” You squint your eyes at her, the tips of your ears tingling with hot embarrassment.

“C’mon.” She drags the word out, gesturing helplessly between the two of you. “Look at you,” she points at Robby’s hand. “You straighten his collar every five minutes like you’ve been married for twenty years.”

“Oh my God.” You mumble mortified, sinking further into the car seat. Beside you, Robby is still trying to catch up. 

“... Is this because of the hand?” He glances down at your joined fingers as though only realizing he had reached for you again in the first place.

“Yes!” Your friends exclaim in perfect unison.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips. “Oh.” 

Then, lifting your hand for good measure, he brushes a sweet kiss across your knuckles before settling it back on your tight, his palm lingering there for a second longer.

“Well,” he squeezes your knee. “She is my girl.”

The back seat absolutely loses it.

“See?” Emma throws her head back against the headrest with the loudest groan possible. “He keeps saying shit like that!”

You hide your burning face against Robby’s shoulder as he comes to a stop at another traffic light, utterly incapable of looking any of your friends in the eye. Beneath you, you can feel the quiet rumble of his laughter, still thoroughly confused. Even so, his lips press a gentle kiss right over your eyebrow, letting his cheek come to rest against the top of your head, extremely pleased to have you so close.

“I feel like I’m missing something.” He mumbles as your friends keep talking animatedly.

“You are.”

“Hm.” He smiles to himself, briefly glancing at the girls in the mirror. “Whatever it is, I hope you’re still hungry.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND GEN Z SLANG

It’s a slow Friday evening, and you’re standing on a chair because Robby refuses to buy a step stool any time soon, not when he can effortlessly reach the highest places in his beautiful home. He is currently wiping down the kitchen counter, yet he can’t help glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure you aren’t about to fall.

“I can feel your eyes on my ass.” You eventually speak, stretching to shove the last new serving bowl you bought that afternoon together onto the top shelf.

“Just making sure you don’t break your neck.”

“I’m used to climb onto chairs.” 

“And gravity has never once cared.”

You huff a laugh and nudge the cabinet shut, rolling your eyes at the little sigh of relief echoing behind you when you finally climb down, before carrying the empty cardboard box towards the recycling bin.

“Now that I think about it, it would be a very embarrassing obituary.”

Robby reaches past you to take it from your hands without even asking, flattening it with practiced ease before dropping it into the bin.

“And an unnecessary one, too.” He dusts his hands together. “You know, one of these days you’re going to let me put things on the high shelves without complaining.”

“And rob you of the joy of watching me climb on furniture?” He simply shakes his head with a small smile as he goes back to rinse the rag. You take that chance to wander by his side, now watching him start sorting through the spice rack.

“So,” he starts as you steal a grape from the bowl he’d washed earlier. “How was your day?”

You shrug. “Pretty normal. Emma called before I showered, though.”

“Oh?”

“You remember Sophia?”

He pauses for a moment, frowning as he tries to put the name to a face. “From high school?” Robby eventually asks, turning to look at you for confirmation as he slowly puts on his readers. “Chloe’s childhood best friend who humiliated her at prom?”

“Yep.” 

He hums, eyes fixed on the little house-shaped jars. “What happened?”

You lean against the counter with your hip, pursing your lips. “Well… apparently her fiancé’s been cheating on her for months with her cousin, Mia.”

Robby’s eyebrows jump up in surprise, before shooting you a careful glance. “Oh, that’s…” He doesn’t dare finishing the sentence, waiting for what you have to say next.

“I know.” You lift a hand before he can continue. “I know, that’s horrible.”

“I feel like there’s a but…” He squints playfully.

“I’m just going to say that karma finally clocked in.” You throw your palms up, shrugging innocently as you turn back around and start fidgeting with a jar of paprika.

Robby blinks. “I’m sorry?”

You glance back at him. “What?”

“What does that mean?”

You frown, genuinely confused. “What?”

“The karma and the clock—”

You scrunch your nose at him, bewildered. “You don’t know what’s karma?”

“No, I—” He huffs out a laugh bordering on exasperation. “Yes, sweetheart, I know what karma is. I just don’t understand what you said.”

“Karma clocked in.” You repeat deadpan.

“Yeah, that.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen suddenly. “Oh, that’s like… you know,” you wave a hand vaguely. “When karma finally hits someone.”

He considers that for a second. “So… why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because that’s not how people say it.”

“People as in your generation?” He asks with an amused twist of his lips.

You squint your eyes at him but Robby simply lets out a thoughtful hum, going back to his task.

“I swear every month your generation collectively decides the English language needs updating.”

“Hey, it keeps things interesting!” You quickly retort defensively. “And every generation has its cringey slang, so why don’t you take a chill pill, dude?” You deepen your voice into an exaggerated imitation of someone who is supposed to be twice your age.

And now you suddenly feel like your dad when he is convinced he just said something incredibly cool.

At that, Robby completely abandons his little jars to sneak a strong arm around your waist, his free hand immediately going for your sides as you squirm and laugh in his hold.

“Did you just call me ‘dude’, little lady?” 

“Michael! Stop for fuck’s sake!” You throw your head back against his shoulder, your eyes prickling with unshed tears.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will.” He smiles down at you as you keep laughing hysterically.

“Sorry, sorry—baby! You are baby!” You manage to wheeze out, and thankfully Robby seems to be satisfied with it as he hums and eventually his fingers still altogether.

“Fuck.” You sniffle, still chuckling at the phantom feeling of his hand moving quickly and nimbly on your skin. “Damn me and the day I told you I was ticklish.”

“I would’ve found out eventually.” He shrugs, pressing a kiss on your forehead before focusing back on the spices.

Your fingers wipe the few small tears that spilled on your cheeks. “I’ll make you a glossary, by the way.”

He nods with all the seriousness he can muster. “I think I might actually need one.”

Your lips part as if you want to add something else, but your eyes suddenly fall on the oregano he’s just placed. “Oh my God this is so cute, I love this shade of purple.”

Robby sends you a fond smile.

“Anyway,” you slip the jar back into its place after tracing the little details on the house-shaped container with a careful finger. “Back to Sophia, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, but she was awful, Michael. She walked around like the world owed her something while looking like the Temu version of Regina George. But meaner.” You suddenly turn towards him, frowning. “Am I a bad person?”

Robby leaves the rosemary alone to look at you, eyes wide and mouth parted.

“She was a what?” He exclaims, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before quickly adding, “God, no baby, no. Of course you’re not a bad person. After everything you’ve told me about her, I don’t think I’d lose much sleep over her getting a taste of her own medicine if I were you.” Robby shakes his head disappointed. “I still can’t believe what she did to Chloe on your first school trip.”

His arms are back around your hips, guiding you into the warmth of his chest. “You’re so good, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel for someone who spent years making your life miserable.” He gives a small shrug. “Sooner or later our choices catch up with us, and something bad happening to her doesn’t erase what she did to you or to Chloe.”

“Why are you always right?” Your finger wander absently beneath the collar of his half-zip sweater, playing lazily with the dark hair scattered across his chest. The movement earns you a contented hum, your arms winding around his neck and drawing him down into a slow kiss that’s more tongue than lips for a quiet evening that was supposed to be dedicated to re-organizing the kitchen.

He smiles into it. “Not always.” You only answer by letting your mouth drift to the side of his jaw, your lips brushing the warm flesh of his neck before leaving a playful little bite just below his ear.

Robby’s head falls back with a soft moan. “Baby?”

“Hm?” You mumble against his skin, busy filling his jaw with little pecks.

His hand slides up your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “Who’s Regina George?”

The way your body instantly goes rigid against his has Robby’s heart fall to his feet. Did he say something wrong?

You emerge from his neck looking scarily serious. “What did you just say?”

“I—I asked who Regina George is.”

“Michael.”

“... Yes?”

“You know…” You try again, nodding in encouragement. “Regina George.”

He frowns apologetically. “Was she a friend of Sophia?”

“From Mean Girls.” Your voice overlaps his, horrified.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as he desperately searches his memory for something, anything. But he can only give you a small, almost tentative shake of his head.

“I… don’t think I know what that is.”

You stare at him as though he’s just admitted he’s never loved you. “What do you mean? You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”

He shrugs, genuinely baffled by your reaction. 

“Oh my God, you’re serious.” Your lips part in surprise. “How?”

Robby lets out a quiet laugh at the sheer terror in your voice. “You know I don’t really keep up with new stuff.”

Your gasp is so loud it almost hurts your throat. “It came out in 2004!”

He sputters. “I was thirty-one, sweetheart.”

“So?”

“I was working.” He eases back until his back meets the counter, bringing you with him. “I spent most of that year in scrubs. If I wasn’t at the hospital, I was asleep. If I wasn’t asleep, I was trying to remember whether I’d already eaten that day.”

Your mouth opens and closes, not really knowing how to answer to that when you know very well he was probably too exhausted to make his own bed, let alone keep up with pop culture. Still, he never even heard of it.

“So ‘on Wednesday we wear pink’ doesn’t ring any bell?”

A slow shake of his head.

“‘Get in, loser, we’re going shopping’?”

“Nope.”

“‘She doesn’t even go here’?” You try one last, desperate time.

“I’m afraid not.” He chuckles quietly at your mounting disbelief.

Your hand comes dramatically to your chest. “Michael,” you start gravely. “I don’t know if this relationship can survive.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but instead of arguing, he decides to take on a far more effective approach by leaning down and pressing his lips to your cheek first.

“I can’t believe you’ve been living among society without seeing Mean Girls.” You shake your head, truly disappointed. “How the hell have you never even heard about it? You spend all day surrounded by people in their twenties—doesn’t Javadi have a TikTok account?”

“Hm,” his lips linger there for another moment before slowly making their way to your jaw. “I think I’ve managed surprisingly well until now.” His words are nothing short of a low murmur on your skin.

You scoff, undeterred. “You’ve been culturally deprived.”

“Baby, I had sixty-hour work weeks at best.” His mouth travels down to your collarbone. “I was a little busy.”

Despite your best efforts to maintain your scandalized facade, your resolve starts slipping embarrassingly fast. The wrinkle between your brows is stubbornly persisting, yet it becomes considerably harder when his smile brushes against the swell of your breast, pulling a soft gasp out of you.

“So,” he murmurs as he finally comes up to look at you, his mouth twisted into a smirk now that he has you all pliant in his hold. “Am I about to be educated?”

Your eyes widen imperceptibly. “You’ll actually watch it?”

“If it matters this much to my girl…” His thumb strokes the curve of your waist. “I’d say it’s worth finding out who this Regina George is.”

Robby has one arm around your shoulders, his hand resting against your upper arm while the other reaches into the bowl of popcorn balanced on his thigh every now and then. He has never looked more relaxed, with you stretched on his modular sofa and tucked against his side beneath the throw blanket, your cheeks pressed to his chest and one arm looped lazily around his waist.

The movie has barely been on for ten minutes but you have already glanced at Robby a total of six times. It’s not your fault you are curious, your eyes drifting automatically to him whenever an iconic scene comes up, waiting to catch his reaction as you wonder whether he’ll laugh at the same joke you did the first time you watched it.

The seventh time your gaze lingers a little too long, and Robby doesn’t bother hiding his amusement.

“Sweetheart.” He starts without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Hm?”

“If you keep looking at me with those pretty eyes of yours I’m going to kiss you and then I’m definitely going to miss the movie.”

“Just making sure you pay attention.” You cuddle closer, giving the side of his sweater a little squeeze.

“Oh I am, as a matter of fact I’m tryin’ to figure out why everybody is so terrified of that blonde girl.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Give it a few minutes.”

Robby barely moves for the next few minutes, settling a little deeper into the cushions and drawing you with him until your head slips more comfortably beneath his chin. His thumb resumes its lazy circles against your arm while he watches the movie with surprising concentration. He’s really invested, not just politely watching because it’s one of your favorite movies, or half-listening while thinking about tomorrow’s shift.

“So this one is Gretchen.” He suddenly points at the television.

“Mhm.”

“And the blonde one is Karen.”

“Correct.”

“And they’re all friends with Regina, right?”

“Uhh…” You consider the question with a grimace.

“They’re supposed to be friends.” Robby instantly corrects himself, smiling down at you over the rim of his glasses. “A friendship of convenience.”

“Yeah.” You exclaim, nodding along. “Let’s go with that.”

Five quiet minutes pass before his voice interrupts.

“Who’s Aaron again?”

“Michael!” You whine, sagging dramatically against his chest. “We just saw him.”

“Sorry, baby. I was looking at the teacher, can’t remember what’s her name.” He looks genuinely bothered by it, with the same deep furrow of his brows he gets whenever he recognizes a face in the grocery store but can’t quite figure it out from where, only to suddenly remember in the middle of a shift, because of course that was one of his patients!

“I swear I’ve seen her before.”

Rather than teasing him, you sigh with exaggerated resignation and pause the movie to retrieve your phone from the coffee table and look up the cast list, before handing it over. Robby adjusts his glasses a fraction lower on his nose, scrolling slowly as his lips unconsciously setting in concentration, and now you really want to kiss him and feel his body between your thighs, because why the hell does he look so hot with his old man mannerism?

His quiet ‘aha!’ makes his chest rumble under your cheek.

“30 Rock.”

Your head snaps up, your features scrunched in confusion. “You had time to watch a sitcom and not Mean Girls?”

“I’d watch the reruns at three in the morning when I couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs easily but his answer has you faltering. Because you know exactly what those nights looked like; an exhausted Robby, sitting alone in a dark apartment with the television on low, trying to make sense of everything he’d carried home from the hospital before another shift starts a few hours later.

Without really thinking about it, your hand finds its way back to the warmth of his stomach beneath the blanket while you draw one knee onto his lap, curling close until you are practically wrapped around him.

His gaze falls on you when you crane your neck to kiss his jaw. “What was that for, honey?” You shake your head with a small smile, this time leaning up to kiss his lips.

“Just keeping up with my daily kiss quota.”

Robby studies you for another second, as if he knows there’s something you are not saying out loud, but his arm just tightens around your shoulder, leading you back to nestle against him.

It’s when Regina kisses her ex-boyfriend in front of Cady at Chris’ Halloween party that Robby lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

“She’s exhausting.”

“That’s putting it nicely, but her character is still iconic.” You shrug, reaching for another handful of popcorn.

“I don’t understand why they just keep following everything she says.” 

“You don’t have to understand, you just have have to accept her.”

“I’m having a difficult time accepting Regina, sweetheart.” He looks down at you with a fond smile.

“You don’t have to accept her morally.” You correct this time.

“That’s for sure.”

“She was happier before.” The comment is so quiet you’re not even sure Robby meant to say it out loud.

“Who?”

“The brunette.” He gestures vaguely with his chin.

“Cady.” 

“Yeah.” His gaze never leaves the screen. “She’s obviously trying awfully hard to become somebody else. Give it enough time and she’s gonna turn into the very thing she hates about Regina.”

“You sure you’ve never seen this before?” You recoil a little, enough to blink up at him.

The right corner of his mouth lifts. “I work in an emergency department. I can usually figure people out faster than that.”

And when Gretchen starts crying in the bathroom, you’ve completely given up trying to predict his reactions.

“Oh.” He murmurs.

You glance up, and notice his brows have drawn together.

“She looks terrified.”

“You’re worried about Gretchen?” For the first time that night you temporarily leave the safety of his arms to properly look at him.

“Shouldn’t I be?” His beautiful brown eyes widen innocently and you feel the urgent need to hug him to your chest. The wrinkle between his brows appears almost immediately as his arms now lie uselessly beside him, his eyes looking at you before glancing back at the empty space beside him with betrayal written all over his face.

“I don’t know anyone who’s ever watched this movie and come away saying, ‘you know who I really felt for? Gretchen Wieners.’”

Robby frowns at you. “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised at your nod. “I thought that was where they were heading with her.”

“Hm.” You tuck yourself back beneath his arm, his chest unconsciously deflating at the feeling of your body pressed right back against his. “Well, she is insecure and she knows she’ll never be as popular as Regina yet still stays friends with her because being miserable but part of the Plastics still feels safer than being a nobody.” You pause abruptly, frowning at your own words.

“Damn. Now every time she comes on screen I’m going to feel bad for her instead of finding her annoying. Thank you, Doctor Robby.” You add sarcastically.

He sighs contentedly. “I suppose old habits die hard.”

Once the credits begin to roll, Robby is still sitting back with his thumb stroking your waist beneath the blanket.

“So?” You tip your head back.

He stays quiet for another few seconds, thoughtful enough that you wonder if he’s forgotten you even asked.

Eventually he looks down at you.

“I think they all seemed awfully lonely.” Your eyebrows quirk up. “And they’re horrible to each other.”

“But they’re also sixteen in the movie, right?” He adds gently, not as an excuse but as an observation. “I don’t think many people are particularly kind to themselves and others at that age.”

Your lips stretch into a small smile. “You really watched a completely different movie than I did.”

Robby simply reaches over, cupping your cheek with his free hand as the arm draped over your shoulders pulls you impossibly closer.

“Just couldn’t stop noticing the harsh reality.”

You lean into his palm, basking in the feeling of his thumb caressing your skin. “But…”

“But?” He encourages.

“Would you watch it again?” You give your eyelashes an extra little flutter.

A full smile slowly spread across his face. “With you?” You nod shyly, teeth catching your bottom lip. “I’d watch just about anything with you, sweetheart.”

You groan dramatically, dropping your forehead against his chest.

“That’s such an old man answer, so disgustingly sweet.”

His chuckle vibrates warmly beneath you as he kisses the top of your head, lingering there. “In my defense, I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t mind being disgustingly sweet. Not when I adore my girlfriend.”

Three days later, Robby stops right behind you in the breakfast aisle as you reach for your favorite brand of cereal. 

“I’ve been thinking…”

You look up from the two flavors you are inspecting. “Hm?”

“Is butter a carb?” 

You stare at him as the words reach your ears, before you finally understand the meaning behind them. “Oh my God.” You almost choke on your own saliva.

“I’ve been waiting all week to use that one.” 

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND ROMANCE

Dating Robby means discovering that romance, to him, isn’t reserved for special occasions. Before him, you’d almost convinced yourself that love was supposed to look like grand gesture on anniversaries and Valentine’s day only, but polite indifference sprinkled with the usual old arguments the rest of the time, because that’s what many people around you seemed to settle for.

He reaches for every door before you do, and if you’re walking together through campus after he picks you up from class, he makes sure to fall into step beside you with one hand resting lightly against the small of your back whenever the pavement gets crowded, quietly steering you around people without interrupting the conversation you’re having. And when you thank him for it, Robby only smiles and looks faintly confused, as though holding a door for the woman he loves is hardly something worth acknowledging.

It also isn’t unusual for you to wake up and sometimes find a bunch of wildflowers wrapped in brown paper from the florist close to your favorite coffee shop, because he’d walked past it while buying breakfast for the two of you after a rare night shift, seen them in the window, and found himself wondering how they’d look like sitting in the little ceramic vase on your windowsill.

What surprises you the most, though, is how often music becomes part of ordinary evenings. Robby always has something playing in the background, whether it’s one of his old jazz records while he cooks, Bruce Springsteen humming softly through the speakers as he folds laundry on a free Sunday evening, or Pearl Jam drifting through the garage.

Somewhere along the way, his music becomes yours. You learn the songs he always reaches for after difficult shifts, while he starts asking what you’re listening to on the way back from campus. Sometimes you steal one of his records, other times he hums one of Rihanna’s songs under his breath as he walks down the trauma bay, only to act oblivious once the youngest residents stop him with wide eyes, because there is no way Doctor Robby listens to Umbrella in his free time.

And then, for your first Valentine’s Day, you finally decide to do something about it.

He unwraps his gift with ridiculous care, peeling the tape back instead of tearing the paper. At first, his smile holds a hint of confusion. He turns the jewel case over in his hands once, twice, marginally acknowledging the handwritten track list on the back before looking up at you.

“You made me a CD?”

You suddenly feel a wave of self-consciousness burning through you. 

“I know it’s old-fashioned.” Your tense shoulders rise a little, but Robby’s smile widens.

“Old-fashioned?” He teases.

“A little.” You shrug and he lets out a soft, amused huff as his thumb runs slowly over the handwritten title on the front in blocky letters, before tracing the little hearts and cute colorful stickers you have attached all over the plastic case.

Then he finally flips it over, eagerly reaching for the glasses he keeps in one of his many pockets, and starts reading the list of songs. His expression changes completely. The first few titles are his favorites, the ones playing when the two of you are driving together, windows down and one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel as the other touches your thigh. A couple of old rock songs he’d introduced you to during the first months of your relationship follow right after; that Duran Duran song that reminds him of his chaotic summers; the Tears For Fears’ song that he never actually listened to fully because he had bought their records at a sketchy market stall that definitely sold counterfeit goods, but teenage Robby wanted it so badly that he couldn’t care less.

The playlist gradually changes then, just like his life did. Artists you play while you get ready, songs that make you tear up for times you could only recall with a kind of warmth that never fails to make your chest hurt. 

He smiles to himself, because he remembers every single moment attached to them. 

“You made this?” He asks quietly, reaching the last track only for his eyes to go back to the beginning and bask in each title all over again.

You hide your shyness with a sheepish chuckle. “I used to burn CDs all the time, but not nearly as romantically. Mostly for long car rides with my parents, and then for my first car. It was an old model and it didn’t have Bluetooth.”

“I was wondering how you managed to make one.”

“I still have an external disc buried somewhere in a drawer.” You shrug vaguely, as if it’s not a big deal.

“You know,” Robby goes back to study the case. “The last time somebody made me a mixtape, it was in college.”

“Really?”

He slowly nods his head at the memory. “It was a cassette. My roommate decided I needed better taste in music.”

“Did you?” Your eyebrows lift playfully.

“Absolutely not.” You start laughing at his ridiculous answer and he soon joins you.

“We spent weeks waiting for songs to come on the radio. We’d be sitting in the apartment and all of a sudden he’d yell and then we’d hope the DJ wouldn’t talk over it.”

“And if he did?” You lean in, curious.

“You sighed dramatically and waited for that song to come on again.” He grins at your surprised expression. “Unfortunately Youtube still wasn’t a thing, angel.” His back sinks comfortably against the couch with a sigh. “Would have spared me days of waiting to catch that fucking Vanilla Ice’s song.” He grumps at last, to which you snigger, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend forced to listen over and over again to the same pop sensations his younger self despised with such a passion.

Robby’s eyes fall back again on the track list with a private smile, prompting you to look down at it as well as you cuddle into his side.

“I kept changing the order.” You mumble into his shoulder.

His eyes find you over the rim of his readers, glinting with a sparkle of glee. “You know I would’ve loved it even if the songs were completely random.”

You duck your head with a coy smile, your fingers worrying instantly at the sleeve of your sweater.

“I couldn’t just throw the songs together.” Your eyes stay on the case. “The first song is Stayin’ Alive for... well, obvious reasons. You told me your grandpa literally ruined the cassette with how much he listened to it, so it just felt right to start there. Then it sort of… follows you.”

Your voice shakes a little at the edges with all the doubts that have been haunting you since the moment you decided to go through with this idea. Will he like it? Are you overstepping? Will he laugh at it? Is this enough? Should you just buy him a perfume?

“There are the songs you’ve loved forever, the ones that have carved your teenage years, and the summer with your friends, your first apartment, your residency in New Orleans… and I kept thinking how strange it is that I know all those memories without having lived any of them.” You shake your head lightly. “But I guess they started feeling familiar to me too.”

Still unable to properly look at him, your cheeks burn under his undivided attention. “And then, little by little, the playlist changed. There are the songs we’ve claimed together.” You point out with a low, almost shy giggle at the thought of something meant just for the two of you. “The ones that we always end up singing when we’re stuck in traffic, the ones you pretend not to like until I catch you humming them while brushing your teeth—even if you always joke about me manipulating you into liking them.”

Your smile gradually morphs into a straight line as your teeth anxiously play with your bottom lip. “I don’t even know when that happened, I just realized one day that I couldn’t hear these songs anymore without thinking of you. And…” A slow huff escapes your nose, half frustrated with yourself because you can’t seem to find the right words. “I don’t know, I just wanted to give you something that… sounded like us.”

The room falls quiet with you, leaving Robby to sit there with his fingers curled loosely around the plastic case and his heart beating to the rhythm of a love he still can’t quite believe it’s finally his.

His gaze is settled on your face, or at least what he can see, because you are still looking at your knees as if admiring the most interesting thing in the world. 

Eventually, “You’re awfully quiet,” you murmur, trying to laugh it off. “‘M starting to think I’ve completely missed the mark.”

Your name comes out of his mouth barely above a whisper.

Another pause follows and this time you allow yourself to watch him from the corner of your eye. His throat bobs with an audible gulp, the faint smile on his lips trembling ever so slightly at the seams before his eyes flutter close, as if to collect himself. 

When the CD is placed safely on the coffee table in front of you, treated with the same utmost care he reserves for his old vinyl records, Robby makes sure to nudge it father away from the wrapping paper, just so it won’t slide off the edge.

His hands then find you. Warm fingers thread through yours, giving your palms a gentle squeeze before he tugs lightly.

“C’mere.” 

There isn’t a single universe in which you wouldn’t.

The cushion dips beneath your weight as you move closer, one of his arms slipping around your waist while the other comes up on your shoulder blades to guide you on his lap. Your bodies slot perfectly against each other as you tuck yourself beneath his chin, breathing in the clean scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the familiarity of something inherently his. 

His hand slides slowly up your neck, finally coming to a rest at the back of your head, his lips leaving a kiss right at the top.

“You have no idea—” Robby finally breaks the charged silence. His voice is rougher, and he has to clear his throat with a self-conscious chuckle. “You have no idea what you’ve just given me.”

It feels like his hand has directly sunk into your chest and squeezed your lungs, but it’s only when you hear a sniffle by your temple that you finally look up. The sight of his gentle eyes shining with unshed tears prompts you to instinctively reach for the hand resting on the back of your head, your fingers lacing together as you bring them to your mouth. The gesture makes him huff out an embarrassed laugh.

Robby studies your joined hands now resting on his belly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles with a tenderness that borders on reverence, before finally meeting your gaze.

“I love it.” The hand on your waist guides you back to him, his lips moving against your forehead. “I love you.”

It’s impossible to keep your mouth at bay as it stretches into a big, pleased smile that leaves your cheeks hurting. 

“Love you too, Mike.” A delight little wiggle rakes through you while your body presses more insistently against his. “But you haven’t even listened to it yet.” Your words slur together under his gentle attention, unable to quite contain the warmth blooming behind your ribs.

“Don’t need to, I already know it.”

You eventually tip your head back just enough to look at his handsome face. “You should at least make sure I didn’t accidentally burn over forty minutes of static.”

That earns you a quiet chuckle, the sound vibrating deeply beneath your chin. “It would still be the most precious gift I’ve ever gotten.” 

Coyly grinning, you smooth the front of his sweater where your hand had unconsciously gathered the fabric.

“Now you have something for your car player.” Robby cups your cheek with the urgent need to see you, his thumb accustomed to caressing the skin under your eye. “So when you’re driving home after one of those draining shifts,” your voice lowers with quiet respect. “You won’t have to listen to the radio playing all that ‘shitty noise’.” You directly quote him with a smile.

His eyes roll playfully at that, by now resigned at your endless teasing about something he had unconsciously mumbled under his breath one day, exasperated at the umpteenth song with repetitive lyrics and massive use of auto-tune.

Maybe he is really turning into a boomer, he had to give that to Santos.

“And maybe the drive home won’t feel quite so long.”

The tenderness of his lips meeting yours makes your breath hitch, the fingers on his chest curling into the heavy fabric that covers it.

“I spent a long time driving home to an empty house.” His forehead comes to rest gently against yours. “Some nights I’d just leave the radio off. Now I find myself sitting at traffic lights hoping they stay red a little longer just to hear you talk about your day.”

Your throat tightens.

“Michael.” A watery laughs escapes you.

His smile turns bashful. “And you’ve somehow managed to put all of that into something I get to keep.”

Robby leans in before you can answer, kissing you the way he always does: slowly enough to make you feel like you’re the only person worthy of his time. His palm never leaves your face, guiding you unhurriedly as his tongue slips between your parted lips, his other hand tightening ever so slightly around your waist, as if affection alone never quite feels enough without the physical reassurance of you being really there, with him.

When the kiss finally breaks, your chest is heaving and your eyes are stinging.

“I don’t think you’ve ever going to understand how loved you make me feel.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND PICTURES

You have over two thousands pictures in your camera roll, and it actually makes perfect sense: your phone is a scrapbook of every coffee that looked particularly pretty, every sunset over Pittsburgh, of blurry photos of your friends and screenshots of messages you’ll never look at again but feel the need to keep because “who knows”. And then there are lectures slides that you couldn’t be bothered to copy down, recipes, receipts, outfits you considered cute but never actually bought. 

Your gallery is a timeline of your life, even of those moments that could appear apparently insignificant.

Robby’s phone is… well, a phone.

He uses it to call you on his way home from work when you can’t come over, answer texts from the hospital and from Jack, and check the weather before leaving the house. Occasionally, he’d search for the answer to a crossword clue that’s been bothering him for days. If you have him take a picture of something, he’ll happily put on his readers and use his index finger to take a few shots. But the moment you’ve sent it to yourself, he’s just as happy to delete it from his own gallery because, as far as he’s concerned, you’ve got the picture now.

Which is why he only has ten photos.

Ten.

Four of them are of you.

The first is from one of the very first afternoons you spent at his house. You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room rug wearing one of his old university sweatshirts, completely absorbed in a round of Cribbage after he ate you out on his couch until you made a mess on the cushions. You had never felt so mortified in your whole life, but Robby made sure you couldn’t have the time to wallow in self-pity as he grabbed your thighs with a broken groan and buried his face back in your cunt, making sure to leave a big beard burn that would remind you of how good he made you feel that day every time your legs met. And he came in his pants like a fucking teenager, your embarrassment dissolving the moment he looked up at you with his face covered in your slick and slowly licked his lips with a satisfied hum, before announcing you both needed to change now.

Your eyebrows are drawn together in concentration in the picture, one sock bunched at your ankle and your expression still a little dazed.

The second is from the beach, taken on a random Thursday just before going away. You’d thrown your oversized linen shirt over your bikini and walked back to the lake to take one last look at the sunset, the water caressing your skin just past your knees. It’s definitely not one of those aesthetically pleasing pictures one’d find on Pinterest, but the fact that Robby even thought about freezing that moment in time forever makes the photo priceless.

The third catches you asleep in the passenger seat after he’d picked you up from campus. Your backpack is at your feet, your headphone still around your neck as you’re curled toward his side of the car, exhausted after a day full of lectures. You remember waking up a few minutes after he parked in his driveway, your apologies promptly shut down by his lips covering your face in loving kisses. You never realized Robby had quietly entertained himself by reaching for his phone while waiting for you to wake up, because to him you had looked so peaceful that he wanted to be able to look at it whenever something took a bad turn at the hospital. A reminder of what was waiting for him at home.

The fourth is almost completely blurred. You’re laughing too hard for the camera to focus while trying to steal a handful of fries from his plate instead of eating your own. Most people would’ve deleted it immediately, but Robby kept it because, every time he sees it, he can still hear your laugh.

The fifth picture is the one he uses as both his wallpaper and lock screen; it exists solely because Robby looks down at his phone one day, and frowns thoughtfully at it, hit with the sudden realization that he can change his wallpaper to a picture of you now. The request alone is enough to leave you flustered—he announced it so bluntly, no beating around the bush, just him wanting to have you there every time he reaches for his phone. The fact that you don’t actually have a single picture together somehow makes it even worse, your heart already halfway melted before you’ve even opened the camera. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to convince him that, if he insists on replacing the default wallpaper with a picture of you, then you might as well be in it together.

However, what should have taken less than a minute somehow turns into nearly half an hour, because Robby keeps blinking at the wrong moments, or looking at the camera with that oddly solemn expression people his age seem to reserve for the lens. Every time you insist he needs to relax, he grows even more serious, which only makes you laugh harder. Soon you’re both laughing too much to hold the phone steady, the gallery slowly filling with blurry attempts and cropped foreheads.

Your favorite is the one where you turn at the last second to kiss his cheek, his smile unmistakably soft but real. Robby dismisses it almost immediately though, because half of your face disappears against his. He wants to see you.

The one you eventually settle on happens entirely by accident, neither of you paying attention anymore—not when his fingers are playfully poking your sides to make you squeak, and your lips end up on his after every shot. It’s imperfect in every possible way: you’re tucked against his side on the couch, still laughing over something you’d probably forget the next day. Robby isn’t even looking at the camera, his brown eyes completely focused on you as his mouth is twisted into that familiar smile that belongs to the walls of your home. You both happen to glance back at the phone only when your thumb taps the shutter.

The light is uneven, and your shirts are all wrinkly, as if you just had a play fight that both of you refused to lose. Robby doesn’t consider taking another. And now, every time his phone lights up, it’s the memory of spending his afternoon accomplishing absolutely nothing, except laughing with the woman he loves until his cheeks hurt, that makes him smile.

The remaining pictures are four different version of the group photo McKay insisted on taking after spending the whole shift explicitly hinting at a free round of drinks offered by Whitaker for his birthday. She probably refused to accept no for an answer, already holding her phone up while Dana stood beside her with her arms folded, informing Robby that after years of avoiding every staff picture, he was absolutely staying put for this one. His smile in the picture has the unmistakable look of a man who chosen to surrender with dignity.

And then there’s a screenshot. Of a comment section of Facebook.

You eventually discover he has absolutely no idea why it’s there. Apparently, your boyfriend has the masochist habit of checking the comments under medical articles, already knowing a bunch of people following Dr. Google’s advice are going to ruin his day with their presumptuous confidence about topics they don’t even know how to pronounce.

He probably pressed the wrong buttons and accidentally took a screenshot, only to completely forget about its existence. That somehow makes it even more endearing.

But at the end of the day, what really gets to you is not how few pictures he has, but how carefully chosen they seem without him even realizing it. Robby simply doesn’t think to take his phone out very often, he’s always been the sort of person who experiences things while they’re happening. Most moments pass exactly as they should, lived once and stored somewhere in memory.

The ones he photographs are different. He already knows he’s going to miss them one day, and somewhere along the way, you’d quietly become the centre of those moments. Knowing that means infinitely more than owning two thousands pictures of you.

OLD MAN!ROBBY WHOSE BACK IS ALWAYS HURTING

Although Robby’s back has you immediately check on him whenever he bends down to pick something up, waiting to see whether he’ll straighten back up or pause with both hands planted on his hips, it never stops him from doing the heavy lifting. Boxes, suitcases, cases of bottled water... Even the ridiculously heavy bookshelf you bought because it was too cute. It becomes a running joke between you: he carries, you worry, he tells you he’s fine, you remind him that he will groan about his joints getting out of bed in the morning.

But most of the time, his pain comes from an entirely different reason than simply helping you out.

To celebrate the end of your exams, you find a little Italian restaurant tucked away downtown, share a bottle of wine over a delicious dinner, and wander aimlessly through the neighborhood afterwards with your fingers intertwined, stopping every few minutes because you love watching people’s life unfolding from their windows. Sometimes you throw an instinctive comment about their decor, and Mikey, that lamp would look amazing in our living room that leaves Robby smiling helplessly at the fact that you have come to consider his house your home, his stomach somersaulting at the prospect of decorating a place you own together.

By the time you get back to his, you’re both pleasantly buzzed from the wine, still laughing over the elderly couple celebrating forty years of marriage who sent you dessert.

“They thought we were father and daughter.” He shakes his head trying not to smile, the waiter’s red cheeks still ingrained in his mind as he approached you with a sheepish smile, knowing very well from the kisses you had shared throughout dinner and the way you looked at each other that you were far from being related.

“Ohh c’mon,” you rub your eye, careless of the mascara you had applied mere hours before. “They were so kind, and what was I supposed to do? Give the tiramisu back?”

Robby shakes his head, fumbling with his keys when you slip your arms around his waist from behind, your cheek squished against his back.

“I was thinking—”

His lips lift faintly. “Dangerous.”

You promptly pinch his side. “I’m serious.” Your arms tighten briefly around him. “I like this.”

He glances down. “My shirt.”

“Uh-uh.”

“My belt?”

You giggle. “You, silly.”

At that he turns around in your arms, smiling with quiet curiosity. “What about me?”

You stare up at him with dreamy, unguarded eyes, glinting under the moonlight with a mischievous sparkle accentuated by the little amount of liquid courage you had sipped almost an hour ago.

“I like that you’re big.”

“Big?”

“Mhm.” You sigh. “Tall, broad…” Your palms caress their way down to his stomach, passing by his shoulders and chest first, ultimately giving the soft pudge a gentle pat. “And I like this.” The words are punctuated by a breathy moan that you don’t even notice, but Robby feels it in his bones as if your lips were pressed right by his ear. “Drives me fucking crazy every time, Mikey.”

The next silent seconds are enough for his ego to slowly swell, prompting him to bend, slip one arm behind your knees and the other around your back, before hoisting you clean off the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“Michael!” Your eyes widen in shock.

“Need to keep it down, angel. People are sleeping at this hour.” He’s already chuckling at your little squeal, carefully pushing the door open.

“You’ve had wine!”

“Hm, so have you.” 

“I’m not the one lifting another human being!”

Robby completely ignores your words as he adjusts you more comfortably over his shoulder before climbing the stairs with infuriatingly steady steps.

“Oh my God, Mike, your poor back.” It sounds close to a whine, your body now slack in his strong hold. 

“My back is fine, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean fine? It has medical records!” Robby starts laughing so hard he has to stop halfway up the way, the fingers around the back of your thighs tightening instinctively while the other hand grips the banister until he is calm enough to proceed.

You feel him shake under you, pulling another little shriek to erupt from your throat as your hands tighten on the back of his shirt. “See!”

“Sweetheart, when did I ever let you fall?”

“Eh, you’re almost sixty.”

“Oh.” His mirth ceases at once, voice lowering into what should be a threatening baritone, but the raucous tilt only has your thighs squeezing together at the feeling of your panties getting wetter after this cute display of strength from your boyfriend. “That was a grave mistake, angel.”

“You sound like an old wooden staircase in the morning.” Your giggle turns into a gasp as his palm comes into contact with the bare skin of your thigh.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake dating someone this disrespectful.”

“No.” The word is dragged out, whiny and pouty. “Just telling the truth.”

Robby sputters. “How’s that even remotely the truth, huh baby? I’m barely in my fifties.”

“‘S the same thing.” You slur out eventually, now feeling a little bit dizzy from the upside down position.

“It’s not, little lady.” He smacks your asscheek this time, his lips stretching into a smug grin as you wiggle cutely on his shoulder, your breath hitching just right.

A deep, dramatic exhale escapes your nostrils. “Alright, but I’m serious Mike, put me down before you end up with a herniated disc trying to impress me.” You’re back at giggling too hard for the warning to sound particularly convincing, your hands already rubbing slow circles over the broad expanse of his back as if you could somehow prevent the inevitable.

Robby allows himself to bask in the feeling of your soft palms on him for a moment longer, before resuming his ascent to the first floor. “I’m just carrying my girlfriend, not moving a piano.”

You’re both laughing too hard to continue the argument, and by the time he reaches the bedroom, Robby sets you carefully over the sheets, quickly climbing between your thighs to hover above you, his hands cupping your cheeks.

“There.” His lips plant themselves on your forehead. “Happy?”

Your eyes appreciatively rake along his torso, your arms finally setting around his neck to bring him closer. “Definitely.” The tips of your noses playfully brush against each other, but before you can even think about tearing his shirt open, Robby goes rigid over you, his expression twisting into a tiny grimace. You gasp dramatically.

“I knew it!” You reach up to smooth the hair that’s fallen onto his forehead, trying very hard to look serious despite the endeared smile pulling at your lips. “Aw, my poor baby. C’mere.”

Robby gladly takes your hand and helps you guide him down until he’s lying on his back without arguing—mostly because the moment he stretches out across the mattress, you climb on top of him, his hands finding their rightfully place on your hips.

The smile you give him is so sweet it makes his heart ache, but before he can start singing praises about how pretty and sweet you are, it sharpens into a mischievous grin.

Confident and stunning and better than he ever dared to dream, you reach for the zip on the side of your dress, slowly pulling it down as your eyes stay firmly fixed on his. The moment it reaches the end, you are taking the hem and pulling the snug fabric off of you, abandoning it somewhere on the ground. His hands are already on your chest, greedily pawing at the swell of your breasts still covered by the cute lingerie you chose tonight, knowing very well the effect it’d have on his poor heart.

“Can you take care of these, baby?” Your fingers play with the hem of your panties, before letting it snap back against your skin. With a grunt, Robby is channeling all his strength into his arms, reducing your underwear to a sad little piece of ruined fabric.

It would be easier for him to just rip the bra off as well—that way he’d be able to finally get your nipples in his mouth. But you beat him to it, slowly unhooking the offending piece of lingerie and letting it fall on the floor with a wink.

Looking down at his flustered face, you lean in for another kiss that leaves him completely breathless and yearning for more. His hands sneak down from your waist to your hips, pushing them forward. You gasp at the sudden stimulation against your core as your palms make their way up to his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Off.” You whine against his mouth, and who is Robby to deny you? He lets out an amused huff as he hastily removes the fabric, leaving it to lie sadly under him, too distracted by the feeling of your hands feeling up his arms.

His heavy, shaky breath pulls a giggle out of you.

“Wanna make you feel good, angel. Please.”

If his face wasn’t already full with your tits, he would have probably taken you right there. Most of the time it’s him who leads, making you come until you are shaking and whimpering from overstimulation, his pants still untouched but his erection painful and straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. Yet he’s not satisfied until he has you pliant and wet for him, coaxing orgasm after orgasm with his sweet encouragements that from another man would have probably sounded extremely condescending. With Robby, it’s too easy to lose yourself in him, knowing that he will always be there with open arms, ready to catch you.

Your kisses travel under his ear, allowing you to bask in the little gasps falling freely from his lips as his cock twitches behind you.

“Yeah?” His needy moan is muffled by your hungry lips. With his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, Robby tentatively thrusts up, huffing in protest when your hand firmly grabs his jaw.

“Control yourself, Doctor.”

“Please, sweetheart. Jus’ use me.” Robby’s breath hitches when your palms finally press on his pecs, your hips adjusting just slightly with you finally straightening up, looking down at him like a goddess with her loyal devotee, so lovely with your pretty grin and your sparkling eyes and—

Your wet folds land directly on the generous swell of his belly.

When you fooled around for the first time, Robby insisted his body was that of a man who had stopped taking care of himself. It took a lot of kisses and whispered reassurances for him to finally reach for the hem of his shirt, his movements devoid of that sharp confidence you had come to associate with him, as though bracing for disgust. When the fabric disappeared over his head, leaving him sitting in front of you with his gaze fixed on the mattress, you had taken your time to admire him. His chest and arms spoke of the strength that came from decades of pushing gurneys through crowded hallways, and his stomach rounded gently beneath his ribs. It was the kind of body shaped by years of skipped meals followed by hurried, processed ones grabbed between shifts, and exhaustion winning over gym memberships. His shoulders are still broad enough to make you feel impossibly secure when he hugs you, even if time had softened his muscles. But none of it ever struck you as something that needed apologizing for. If anything, that night you made sure to show him just how much it turned you on. Robby had never once hesitated again.

“Shit.” His breath matches the fast pace of your chest, heaving as you smile blissfully at him with your eyelids fluttering close as soon as your hips start rocking back and forth on his tummy. His cock aches at the sight, his jaw clenching at the cute sounds falling from your parted lips while he idly pinches and flicks your nipples.

“Michael.” You gasp, your clit throbbing once you pick up the pace.

“There we go. Keep moving for me... Just like that. So fucking perfect with your little clit rubbing all over me. Let me see how wet you are, sweet girl.” Two of his fingers are reaching down, gently parting your folds and moaning at the mess he finds there. His thumb briefly strokes your nub, the sensation of his finger gliding so easily over it pulling a pathetic whimper out of you.

“Fuck, I knew it. Good girl.”

A low grunt escapes his chest as your nails inevitably end up sinking into his skin, shivering at the sole thought that his body will bear your claim under his scrubs. Despite the light sting, his eyes blown out with lust never stray away from you, taking in the gorgeous sight of the same beautiful breasts he’d cover in kisses and drool when nightmares turn too realistic now bouncing rhythmically with the sensuous movement of your hips. Your lips part around lewd, breathy moans as your head falls back at each brush of your swollen nub against his flesh, your cunt warm at your orgasm approaching, fast.

“That’s it, lovely. C’mon, jus’ a little more.” Your hips cutely twitch at his coos.

“Feels so good, Mike…” And with a particular electrifying graze of his thumbs over your abused nipples, you whimper, making a mess on his belly. Your body falls against his, your hips stuttering through your intense orgasm as you hug Robby close, gasping into his neck.

“Fuck—fucking hell.” He growls at the wet trail you left on the dark, coarse hair covering his torso once you recover enough to straighten up, further spreading your legs to inspect your mess. His face is red, a bit sweaty, his flushed chest heaving as if he is the one who just came.

Robby stares up at you with something akin to reverence, his heart beating far too fast than usual. “I love you so much, thank you, thank you, my love.” He blurts out with his fingers still kneading your chest.

Your smile is tired but sated, your forehead glistening after working yourself up but Robby thinks you have never looked more radiant.

The moment you lazily crawl toward the other side of the bed, his body suddenly feels cold. You lie on your back and spread your legs for him.

“I love you too, baby.” You turn your face enough to look at him in the eye. “But now I need to feel you inside.”

A giggle claws out of your throat at they way Robby’s eyes light up in excitement, enjoying the sight of the ever grumpy and firm attending clumsily following your beckoning finger. His throat bobs visibly when his gaze meets your adorable little grin, your hands gently leading his strong body by his wrists until he positions himself between your thighs. His cheeks blush violently under the scrutiny of your lustful eyes, your tongue delicately peeking out as they languidly trace down his dark happy trail, until they reach the big bulge still hidden by his black pants. His cock must be hard and aching by now, the sole thought of his flushed tip shining with precum making you salivate.

Pressing your foreheads together, Robby kisses the tip of your nose, traveling down to your lips until his smile stretches too wide to kiss your properly. You shiver at his soft hands moving down to your thighs, his eyes finally meeting your glistening pussy. “So needy for me, my angel. Are you thinking about my cock? Look at her, all pretty and swollen for me.”

Robby lazily moves his mouth along the wet insides of your thighs, pulling a sigh out of you when he sucks on the sensitive skin. Finally, he takes a lick at your folds, always so careful. The taste of your slick makes him groan lowly into his chest, the vibrations a pleasant stimulation against your core as Robby eats you out like a delicacy. The sight of your hole eagerly waiting for him has the thought of filling you up with his cum and watching it drip out immediately resurfacing, a glint of possessiveness stirring hot in his belly.

His lips take your clit between them, sucking at a steady speed before letting his tongue playfully flick it until he has you whimpering loudly for him. Your hand shoots down, grasping his short hair and pulling as the other travels up to your tit, squeezing and kneading the soft skin under his hungry gaze.

“Feeling good, baby, hm?” He looks at you expectantly with his cheek resting on your thigh, waiting eagerly for your praise, his fingers leisurely caressing your hood.

“So good. Keep going, please, Mikey.” You sigh, and Robby is only a man. He quickly goes back to lavish your clit with his mouth. His eyelids slowly flutter close at the taste, a small, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

“Yes, yes!” A sharp gasp shamelessly echoes in the bedroom as his tongue slowly thrusts inside, his face grinding against your pussy just to further coat himself in your essence. 

At some point, you’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t notice how two of his fingers replace the appendage inside you. Robby knows by now how much your body can take, how beautifully you open up to his large size.

There’s no use fighting the desperate sounds threatening to come out as his fingers fuck into you at an even pace, taking care to curl them just right to hit that spot that always makes your eyes roll back. All you can do is squirm helplessly on the wrinkly sheets, one hand gripping the pillow under your head the moment he starts to nurse on your clit again.

“Fuck—yes baby, yes!” Robby increases the pace with each thrust, his dark gaze intensely locked on your fucked out expression.

“Oh my God, oh my God—another.” You whine. “Add another, Mike!” He immediately obeys, as eager as you.

“Love watching your pretty pussy cry for me.” He mumbles, his breath heavy and his fingers thrusting steadily. “C’mon, come for me, baby girl. Make your old man proud.”

You squeeze so hard around him it almost borders on painful, and with your back beautifully arching up, your thighs start shaking as your climax finally hits you. Robby tries to fuck you through it, hoping to make you come once again before giving you a break, but your grip on his digits is too tight.

As much as you both wished for it to last longer, you are soon turning into jelly against the mattress, already sensitive from your first peak. Your cunt is still weakly pulsating as Robby plays with it some more, observing the wet mess with parted lips.

“Michael,” he instantly looks up at the sweet sound of his name. You lazily extend your arm towards him. “C’mere.”  

Robby quickly crawls back up wearing your arousal all over his beard like a badge of honor, swallowing back down a moan as you palm his erection through his pants, the muscles of his belly tensing in a poor attempt to not come all over your hand.

“Mike, your cock, please.”

“Stop talking or I’ll come right now.” His voice is rough, his hands rougher as he gropes your ass. Your fingers slowly unbutton his pants, allowing your other hand to slide inside and leisurely stroke his firm length. His hips twitch forward without his permission, the light stimulation enough for his forehead to fall pathetically against your shoulder.

“Wanna make you proud,” his breath is heavy and warm against your bare skin. “Take every inch of you inside my little pussy and come just like that, with your thick cock buried deep inside me.” His eyes shut close, a shiver running down his back at your dirty whispers. “And then feel your cum leak out of me all night long.”

The groan tearing out from his chest is painful. “Fucking hell, wanna give me a heart attack, princess, hm?”

Your hold around his cock falters just slight as you laugh at his words, and finally Robby feels like his body can work again, his fingers reaching down to lower his pants and boxers in a quick, messy pull. He refuses to withdraw from you, making you giggle at his eagerness as you watched your boyfriend clumsily kicks his legs around, enough to discard his bottoms somewhere on the bed.

“You’re so silly, Mike.” Your smile has his head spinning, and just like that he’s on you again, his hold on your thighs possessive. Robby’s lips twist up as well, the words on his tongue dissolving into a low moan at the sweet fingers wrapping back around his length. You bite your bottom lip at the sight of his perfect cock resting thick and hard in your palm, the tip flushed just like you had imagined, and the veins you’ve grown fond to tease with your tongue disappearing into the unkempt, dark hair Robby keeps at the base.

Gaping, you are already guiding him to your folds, your eyes rolling back at the electrifying feeling of the head dragging against your soaked folds, but Robby stops you shakily before you can take him inside.

“Wait!” His fingers squeeze your waist once. “Let me…” His light tug is enough for you to help him flip you around.

“This okay, princess? Need you like this tonight, please.”

“Of course, baby.” You smile back at him, spreading your knees enough for Robby to gasp at your cunt still so ready for him. His trembling fingers are back again on your hips, lifting them just right and allowing him to comfortably line the tip with your entrance.

As much as he loves having you pressed against his front, your eyes locked together and his mouth attached to your nipples as you cry out with every graze of his pubic hair against your clit, sometimes there is a particularly primal need that claws at his chest with a kind of ferocity that leaves Robby drooling at the mere idea of taking you from behind, the flesh of your ass jiggling and slapping against his hips while his hands guide you back on his cock over and over again.

“Fuck me.” He growls out, hastily rubbing a hand down his face as if the act alone could make him regain even a crumb of control over himself. The stretch is overwhelming, his teeth gritting against each other in a way that will probably hurt his gums tomorrow, but he needs to control himself, needs to keep his thrusts slow, or else he will hurt you.

But you are so tight, so warm, so wet, your mouth falling open for all your little squeals and whimpers to fill the bedroom...

He is not going to last.

You giggle through your heavy gasps when his breath stutters loudly, clenching around him before he slaps your asscheek as a warning. 

“Fuck, you’re so big.” You sigh with a devious grin. 

“Biggest you’ve ever taken, hm?” He pants with a little sheepish smile, already knowing the answer. 

“Mm-hmm.” You nod with no hesitation, resting on your elbows as you let your head tip forward. 

He doesn’t waste anymore time after all the suffering you put him through, and starts properly pumping his hips, immediately finding a rhythm that works for the both of you. 

“Oh Mike, you’re doing so good, baby.” You moan at the feeling of his palm seizing your breast from behind and squeezing the soft flesh with a groan of his own. 

He whimpers at the praise, his hips eagerly jerking forward for a brief moment. 

“Closer, honey. Need you closer.” You blindly reach back with one hand, grabbing the fingers around your hips to pull forward until he is fully lying on your back.

“Shit—s’ so fucking tight.” He slurs out. “Nice and deep, just like how you like it, right sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes. Feeling so full, Michael. Love it, love you.” What comes out of his mouth next is a mix of messy moans and muffled curses against your neck.

“C’mon, baby.” You cry out softly. “Fill me up.” 

“But—”

“Mike please! Use me, baby. Make me yours.”

“Fuck!” He growls out at last. “Fine!”

The pace Robby sets is brutal. Between his sharp thrusts and the way he yanks your hips to meet his, your boyfriend chases his high with complete abandon as the sloppy sounds of his cock pounding your wet cunt competes with the shameless thundering of the headboard hitting the wall.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard, baby girl. Fuck, fuck,” his chest rises and falls faster. “You’re taking it so good, so good my baby—oh shit—” His balls draw tight, and with a loud grunt, Robby spills inside you, still thrusting hard into your pussy. Once his cum starts spurting steadily inside, you sigh in delight, mumbling soft praises that have him moaning for more. 

His face falls onto your neck, body melting against yours as he rides out the last bits of his orgasm, shaking and mouthing at your skin while you try your best to rub his leg in comfort. Robby doesn’t know exactly how much time passes, but when his mind clears, he is still catching his breath, subtly grinding into you with a slow circle of his hips, even if oversensitivity makes his breath hitch pathetically.

“Sorry—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He mumbles between heavy exhales. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

It upsets you every time he apologizes for coming before you, as if it’s not something you take huge flattery for. You’re always encouraging him to take what he needs, genuinely loving when he uses you to make himself feel good. But your boyfriend is such a caring, loving gentleman and refuses to accept it, even when his focus has narrowed completely to the wet heat between your legs.

“Hm don’t worry, Mikey. I still need you though, you know?” You mewl, interrupting him as his lips part probably with another apologize ready on his tongue.

His cock weakly twitches inside of you at your cunt clenching on purpose, before a strangled groan abruptly rumbles in his chest.

“Shit.”

You eyes widen at the strain coloring his voice. “Oh my God, Michael! Are you okay?” You quickly try to rise on your shaky arms, but he is still lying on your back.

“Sorry, sorry—’s just a cramp.” He mumbles reluctantly, eyes squeezing shut at the sharp sting at the back of his left thigh.

“Can you move?” 

“Yes but—wait.” His arms are suddenly tightening around your waist, keeping you still. “It’s fine, I can still go.” You hear him swallow thickly. “Let me just—”

“Michael, no.” You whisper sadly, frowning at the possibility of him further hurting himself.

“I said it’s fine.” His answer comes sharper than he means it to. 

The next protest dies in his throat, though, as you feel him shake his head against your shoulder. The sting flares again, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. His grip around your waist loosens for a second before tightening all over again, like he’s trying to anchor himself to reality.

“Sorry, ‘m so sorry, sweetheart, I—” He suddenly bursts out laughing, the sound almost unnatural. There is no trace of humor in it, just a sharp taste of cold, bitter realization. “Fucking hell.”

It makes your stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Michael.” You call his name, now completely sobered up.

Robby’s answer doesn’t come as fast as usual. His fingers flex against your stomach before settling again.

“A cramp,” he clicks his tongue, forehead falling on your shoulder dejectedly. “A fucking cramp.”

“Baby, please—”

“No.” Another sardonic chuckle escapes him as he shakes his head. Slowly, you place a careful hand over the one on your belly.

“It can happen to anyone.” You whisper.

“I used—used to be...” His voice is far too distant for your liking. “I’m getting leg cramps while fucking my girlfriend.”

The animosity woven through the statement is like a punch to your guts. You can practically feel the poison spreading through his mind, turning one stupid, harmless moment into a monster that is gradually undoing months of therapy and late nights spent worshipping him.

His body goes still behind you, all you can hear now is his heavy breathing.

“It’s one thing after another lately.”

“Michael—”

“My knee hurts when it rains. My shoulder keeps locking up. I make noise every time I stand up like a fucking eighty-year-old with arthrosis.”

“Baby...” Your throat is closing on itself as you barely have any voice to whisper.

“I know what you’re gonna say.” He murmurs. “You’re gonna tell me it’s normal and that everybody gets old eventually and none of this matters because you love me.”

“Because it is true, I do love you.” You sniffle.

“What happens in ten years?”

You frown. “What?”

“What happens in ten years?” Robby repeats quietly. “Or twenty. What happens when all this gets worse?”

“I—”

“What happens when I can’t keep up with you anymore?” His words trip over each other, mumbled into your skin. “What happens when my knees get worse? Or my back gives out? Or I need help to stand up from the goddamn bed?”

“I can’t even get through one morning without something hurting.”

The quiet certainty in his voice hurts more than if he just shouted at you.

“You should be with someone younger,” he continues agitated. “Someone who can properly take care of you.” His hold tightens again in spite of the words coming out of his mouth, his own body fighting against his mind as if speaking them out loud could make the nightmare come true. “Not some… worn-down old man who can’t trust his own damn body anymore.”

Your eyes sting. “Stop.”

“One day I’m gonna be more work than I’m worth.”

The words land in your chest heavy enough that for a second you genuinely feel like you can’t breath. You spent months watching him get better—certainly, the healing process is never linear, and there are still days where Robby feels that gnawing guilt weighting like a brick on his chest, but he is still trying. And that of course reflected on your relationship as well: he stopped apologizing every time his shoulder protested after a long shift, he started laughing whenever you hid his reading glasses because he had once complained he couldn’t find them while they were sitting on top of his head. He accepted that needing you by his side didn’t make him any less of the man you’d fallen in love with.

You let yourself believe that the little voice in the back of his mind constantly measuring his worth by everything he could still do had finally started losing power over him.

And now, all of a sudden, it’s speaking again... louder than you’ve ever heard it in months.

When your arms resolutely push yourself up, his body tenses behind you.

“No.” The word comes out with pure panic latched on it, and your heart breaks all over again.

“I’m just—”

“Wait, wait.” He chokes out. “Don’t leave me.”

“I'm not leaving you, Michael.”

His body shudders.

He thinks you’re pulling away because you’ve had enough of hearing it. Because he’s ruining the moment.

Because he’s becoming too much.

“Oh, honey.” You try to shift again but his hold on your waist borders on painful. “I just want to see you, please? Please, my love, let me see you?”

For a long moment, Robby doesn’t know what to say but you can feel your words actually sinking into him as his body stiffens once again before gradually growing less rigid.

“Oh.” He mumbles.

You carefully untangle his arms from your body, enough to move into an upright position, and finally turning around to face him, still on your knees in front of him. When your eyes land on his face, your chest caves in, because the embarrassment in his voice was bad enough, but the fear in his beautiful eyes is way worse. Robby genuinely looks like some part of him expected to see disappointment on your face.

Instead, you reach for him, cupping his jaw with your shaky hands.

His gaze drops automatically.

“Hey.” You softly call out. “Can you look at me, please?”

“They barely work.” He mutters.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

“My eyes.”

Your shoulders sag. “Michael.”

His expression crumples. “I just want to take care of you.”

The confession comes out so roughly it sounds ripped directly from his heart.

He shakes his head, frustration creeping into his voice and eyes glistening with unshed years. “I want to be able to do things for you, but sometimes I can barely carry groceries when they’re too heavy without pulling a muscle. I want to know—no, I need to know that if something happens, I’ve got you.”

His gaze finally meets yours. “But lately it feels like you’re the one taking care of me.”

You slide closer until your knees are brushing his, your arms slipping around his neck before he can retreat any further into himself. His shoulders, which were locked so tightly it looked painful, sag beneath your hands as his forehead instantly finds the hollow space of your neck, his body knowing where safety is even when his mind is too clouded by fear to remember.

Neither of you says anything for what feels like a long time, the bedroom finally falling into a charged silence now that your sad pleas and his cruel words have stopped. Robby’s breathing is still uneven, warm against your skin, his lips pressed into a thin line and his hands spread across your back, holding on just a little too tightly, because letting go might allow every ugly thought he’s been swallowing to spill out like an uncontrollable river during a storm.

A few minutes ago your skin was being kissed by his laugh, your limbs intertwined in a way that neither of you could remember when one body ended and the other began. Now, Robby feels impossibly far away and for the first time, you genuinely find yourself not knowing how to guide him back to you.

“I’m sorry.” The words are barely more than a breath against you.

“No.”

“I’m always ruining ever—”

“Michael, please.” The loud desperation in your voice stops him at once.

You decide then to lean back just enough to cradle his face back in your palms before he can fully retract into his mind. Although he tries to resist at first, gaze fixed stubbornly somewhere on your collarbone, your thumbs softly stroke over the roughness of his beard, until, eventually, he lets you coax his chin up.

The sight of his damp lashes and his flushed cheeks steals the air from your lungs, but the image of the brown eyes you love so much now red around the edges and shining with pain feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

There is something so heartbreakingly ashamed in the way Robby looks at you that has your own vision blur instantly.

A tear slips before you can stop it. “Hearing you talk about yourself like—” Your voice wavers, forcing you to swallow around the knot lodged in your throat. “Like you’re some broken object ready to be thrown in the trash. Like you’re waiting for me to wake up one morning and decide you’re not worth loving anymore… Michael, why—”

Robby feels like the world just crumbled beneath his feet. His eyebrows draw together first, almost imperceptibly, before his mouth parts on a quiet breath. The shame is still there, but it gives way to something worse the moment he realizes you’re crying. Because of him.

His eyes dart frantically over your face, trying to work out when the first tear escaped him, when he missed it, how he let this happen. “I didn’t mean—”

Another tear follows the first, prompting one of your hands to forcefully brush at your own cheek in a poor attempt to collect yourself.

“But why would you say that?” Your voice barely above a broken whisper, filled with genuine confusion. “Why are you so cruel to yourself?”

Robby’s eyes shut close in something close to resignation. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” You sniffle tiredly but Robby stubbornly shakes his head. “You’re scared.”

His lips press together into a thin line, the miserable sob clawing at his throat still bouncing off the walls of his bedroom. 

“Yes.” He clears his throat, refusing to meet your gaze. “I’m scared that one day you’ll look at me and see what I see. You’ll realize…” His voice catches again. “Realize you could’ve—you could’ve someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage.”

This is the same man who makes you feel safe with a simple kiss on your forehead. The same man who hugged you tight to his chest and let you cry yourself to sleep after you bombed one of the most important exams, before waking you up with breakfast in bed and spending the rest of the weekend rotting in bed with you as long as you promised to get up on Monday and remember everything you’d worked hard for, because it won’t be a failed exam to define who you are and what you are capable of.

“But I don’t want someone else.” His eyes close. “I don’t want someone younger or—or who can carry every fucking grocery bag in the house without help. Why is it so fucking important, I don’t care!” You cry out.

Your thumbs stroke away the tears that have finally slipped free and disappeared into his beard.

“I want you, Michael.” Your own voice breaks completely. “I keep choosing you, every single day, and then you just sit here and tell me I’d be better off with someone else—”

The look of guilt on his face makes you choke on the next sob. 

“Sweetheart.” He reaches for you on instinct, both hands finding your face but his hold falters the faintest bit, almost hesitating, his thumbs hovering just shy of your cheeks as though he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch you anymore.

The panic that had been directed inward a moment ago shifts entirely. “Please, don’t cry, please baby, it breaks my heart. I didn’t—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I know.” You sob out.

“God, I’m so sorry, baby girl.” His breathing stutters, and as much as you hate seeing him like this, your shoulders slump with relief when his arms finally wrap around your waist, carefully pulling you into his chest.

One trembling hand eventually comes up to wipe away the salty droplets with the pads of his fingers. “I’m sorry.” His own cheek softly rests on your head, but before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, tugging it towards your lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize, I just—it hurt me, Mike. You’re hurting the man I love.” His eyes squeeze shut in regret. “I won’t let you do that.”

Robby lets out a shaky breath, now crying for a completely different reason.

“You’ve spent months teaching me to be kinder to myself.” A watery smile flickers across his face as your forehead comes to rest against his. “But now it’s your turn.”

The silence is not as frightening now. It’s just... tired.

Robby has you tucked against him, one palm moving slowly up and down your back without really thinking about it—a gesture that he doesn’t even know if it’s necessary to soothe you or himself. His heartbeat thankfully goes back to normal as you feel the tension gradually leaving his body beneath your hands. Every now and then his lips press small kisses into your hairline, as though he still can’t quite believe that you’re here, that you stayed.

Your own tears have also stopped, finally, leaving your eyes red and sore. The skin of his chest right where your face is buried is still damp.

“I know you’re right.” Robby’s quiet murmur gently breaks the stillness. “I know you are.”

A deep exhale escapes his parted lips, and when you pull back to look at him, the first thing you notice is his clear eyes. He looks more alert now.

Shaking his head once, Robby gives you a small, sheepish smile. “It’s just... sometimes that voice—it gets too loud.”

Your fingers gently comes up to smooth the hair back from his damp forehead, your eyes carefully tracing his features.

“Then you tell me.” He nods instantly. “Please. Let me help you carry it.”

“I’ll tell you, sweetheart.” Your nose brushes against his. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you.” He whispers.

“Promise?” You ask feebly.

“Promise.” Robby nods resolutely once more, cupping your cheeks to kiss you properly before resting his forehead against yours, sighing.

“God.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip trying to hide a grin, your chest feeling so much lighter now that your boyfriend is smiling again.

“What?”

Robby looks at you with that crooked, self-conscious smile of his. “Just... ‘M so pathetic—crying all over my girlfriend at my age.”

Your eyebrow lifts up. “You know,” you start, arms wrapping around his neck to get him closer. “For someone who just promised to be kinder to himself, you’re not off to a great start.”

Robby closes his eyes, his head tipping back as he groans tiredly.

“That took, what? Fifteen seconds?” You keep teasing, brushing the pads of your fingers beneath his eye to catch the last tear still clinging to his lashes. You tilt your head. “No, maybe twenty.”

Robby lets out a long, theatrical huff, dropping his forehead on your collarbone. “I was doing so well during those thirty seconds.”

The sheer sincerity in the complaint catches you completely off guard, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. Not even a second later Robby is joining you with a low chuckle of his own, the sound warm and quiet between the two of you.

It feels like finally coming up the water for air.

You play with the short hair on his nape, his eyes so full of fondness as he observes you.

“C’mere, angel.” He murmurs ultimately, even though there’s barely any space left between you. His hands squeeze your waist once, rubbing slow circles into your sides.

“Michael,” you smirk, drawing out his name with a playful tilt in your voice. “I’m already in your lap.”

“You know what I mean.” He whispers, his fingers softly squeezing your asscheek. “Humor me.”

Robby doesn’t have to repeat it twice, because you are eagerly leaning in the last inch. He meets you halfway, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the one around your waist keeps you firmly against him. The kiss you share is slow but intense, the soppy sounds of your tongue meeting renewing the flames of arousal in both of you. Robby groans quietly against your mouth when his cock gives a weak twitch under you, something he’s not really used to after coming once—not when he often needs a little medical help to fill his girl up.

It’s when he tucks his head under your chin that you feel your insides warming up, his lips slowly tracing your collarbones, only to reach your sternum and latch onto your nipple, his tongue lazily circling the turgid peak before the familiar feel of his suckling has your head fall back in bliss. Your squeaks only grow louder when his two of his fingers find your mouth, pressing on your tongue until they are nice and wet and ready to tease the neglected nub, their movements matching his tongue’s as a fresh wave of precum makes a mess on your thigh.

“Not so bad for an old man who already came once, huh?” You coo, thumbs gently stroking his bearded skin where your hands cradle his jaw. His heavy breath fans over your tits, his hazy eyes fluttering close at the feel of your bare pussy teasingly brushing his sensitive tip.

“Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me show you how much I need you.”

“Y—yeah, yes yes, please, sweet girl.”

And if this is the consequence of throwing his pretty girlfriend over his shoulder to impress her, Robby decides it’s probably worth hearing his back complain about it the morning after.

— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍 my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist