Robby stood quiet for a while. He always was a pensive man, but he seemed for contemplative than usual. His eyebrows were knit together, eyes unfocused, and his book was closed.
He was thinking too hard.
Dennis was quick at notice, as usual, āAre you alright?ā In his voice, there was a note of worry.
The older man snapped out of his thoughts, glancing at Dennis and forcing a small, reassuring smile, āJust thinking too much.ā
Even so, Dennis was never convinced, no matter how many times Robby could say it. āYou seem moreā¦I donāt know, stressed than usual. Whatās wrong?ā
He shifted, moving onto his stomach so he could prop himself up on his elbows and look up at the man he loved.
Robby was quiet for a moment before he sighed, setting his book down on his nightstand. His hands shook, running through his own hair. The look on Dennisā face, etched with visible worry.
āItās just one of those nights- I guess I justā¦canāt stop thinking about death.ā
Dennis moved, sitting up, and sitting closer to Robby, rubbing his arm in a way he knew would comfort the man. He also knew Robby was prone to feeling like this, being trapped in his own head from time to time.
āYou need to relax. Youāre gonna give yourself a headache,ā his chest held that similar feeling again, the one he only felt around Robby.
And for once, as Robby laid his head against the soft material of Dennisā sweatshirt. He felt as if he belonged, the one place he wanted to be, where he was needed.
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