Spring (~10-15 °C) is such a fun time for people watching because there are some people who are wearing puffer jackets and some who are wearing shorts, sandals and t-shirts, and everything in between. And like yeah, I don't know how to dress for the weather either.
The factoid that after 30 years old people suddenly get more unhealhy is based on statistic fallacy and is false. Mumbo georg who got hit by every malady and lightning is a statistical exception and should have not been counted.
Guess who didn't realize they didn't publish this? Anyways, Robby and Langdon fight. Disclaimer, Robby says some insensitive things in this.
========
It was supposed to be a calm night in. They had been trying to reconnect some, slowly intertwine and learn to move past the dead vines. It was supposed to be dinner, some talking, just existing around one another again.
That's not what it ended up being.
In fact, at some point, the entire plant had gone up in flames, and Frank was having his nose rubbed in the ash.
Frank honestly didn't remember how the fight even begun. If that really mattered. All he could tell right now was an aching need to getout explain proveyourself on repeat over and over and over.
"How the fuck am I supposed to trust you again, Frank, huh? How am I meant to do that?" Robby put his hands on his chest, as if he was asking an actual question.
It only made him want to scoff. "Maybe by seeing all the work I'm doing? Actually listening to me or at least admin about my capabilities? You don't need to trust me as a person, man, but you have to trust me as a doctor."
Robby did actually scoff, a kind of incredulous thing that came across far too demeaning and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "No, actually I don't."
"We work together!"
"That doesn't mean I need to trust you, Langdon."
There was a new kind of edge, every time Robby said his name like that. Not like it was just what he was called anymore, it felt like a demotion.
Frank ran a hand over his hair, glancing away. "Okay, well, we need to be cordial."
Robby nearly chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm fine. Al-Hashimi got her whole- two attendings on days thing, just keep reporting to the other."
"That's not a long term solution, Robby!" Frank put his hands out in front of him, feeling a buried temper start to bang at his skull. "What do you want from me? I can prove myself however you want, I swear."
If it would get Robby to even look at him longer than thirty seconds, Frank would gut himself on top of Central.
Healthy? No. Not according to his therapist, but he needed Robby's approval still, desperately, and he knew he'd ever get it. It left him feeling like a dog chasing its own tail.
"I don't want anything from you."
"Then what do you need?" He pushed, breaking.
Robby raised his eyebrows, nearly looking at him. "What do I need? Nothing you can give, that's for sure."
"Oh my god, stop talking in riddles." Frank sat up, sat back some, tilting his head. "Just say it."
He regretted it faster than he thought he could.
"You have faced zero consequences for what you did, Langdon! None." Robby said it so fast, so stern, so honest. He genuinely believed nothing had happened, and Frank honestly wished he'd just been slapped. He took a breath, harnessing himself suddenly, clenching his jaw. "Nothing happened. You are fine."
"Do not act like you have any idea what kind of work it took to get here." Frank shook his head, tossing a hand up. "It wasn't easy for me, you know."
It was nights of sitting shaking in a room, feeling his stomach drop like a rachet with each decrease in his taper. It was relearning pain, pinned through his spine, riptide pulling him down and beckoning him to the seafloor.
It was staring his kids in their eyes, heart clogging up his throat, and saying he was so sorry but he couldn't pick them up.
"Shit, always making excuses. Always a fucking addict." Robby pressed a hand over his eyes before he seemed to register what he said, but it hit Frank straight in the chest like a sledgehammer carved from the Arctic herself.
Always a fucking addict.
It wasn't the gentle attempt at a mantra he was used to, a reminder that it was a conscious effort to stay sober, that it took work and want to keep that thing he worked so hard for. No, this was venomous. Spit at him in disgust of the very nature of what he was.
Robby wouldn't get over it. Not the betrayal, not the damn felony. No, Robby wasn't getting over that Frank having a crisis -- being an addict -- seemed to be a personal failing on him. On Frank. Hell, on Robby.
A bad reflection, more like. Molded over mirror.
"Wow." Frank huffed, stinging at the edges. "Um, okay. Fuck you, I guess, Jesus."
That's when it seemed to click, Robby sighing harshly and dropping his hand. "Hold on, that's not what I meant-"
"You said it though, didn't you?" Frank shook his head, wishing desperately for disbelief to hit him in the face. Wanting for this to have been horrifically unexpected, a splash of cold water that he never saw over the doorway.
Instead, he just felt resigned. He knew Robby was struggling to look past the beads on his wrist, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
He was quick to stand up, grabbing his backpack from the floor next to him. His escape plan was simple. Backpack here, jacket off the kitchen chair, shoes by the door. Straight shot.
Robby got up to follow him.
"Frank, seriously, wait a minute. Look, we can talk about that."
He didn't have to turn to hear the slight urgency, maybe forced, maybe real. He didn't have the energy to hear it, ears ringing with alarm, snatching his jacket just in time to see Robby reach for him.
"No don't- don't fucking touch me." Frank shrugged at the idea of a hand, almost batting at it.
Robby snapped back like Frank had hit him, and despite the quick run of excuses, all Frank could hear was that an apology wasn't amongst them.
Always a fucking addict.
He moved on to the entryway, Robby lingering with his jaw set, just staring. He didn't move after him this time, stubborn, just standing there with his arms now crossed, eyes following.
Watching. Like he tended to. Frank might as well have scars from where his gaze burned into him by this point. At work, at home, everywhere.
Frank pushed his feet into his shoes, deciding to fix the backs once he got outside and away from the sudden lack of oxygen. "I'll- see you on shift tomorrow, I guess."
He wanted to swear more. Wanted to tell him to fuck off again, wanted to hit him, wanted to cry. He decided on none of those, and the slightly less immature move of letting the door slam on his way out.
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
jimmyeatworldofficial
germansingergirl
areudirty
