chapter 37
Fake Making-It
Social Media AU
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again, this was written quickly and isn’t proofread, so sorry about that!
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“Ready?” Sander asks.
Lucas, standing at his shoulder, simply shrugs, his hood drooping down over his forehead. He tucks his hands in his pockets and hugs his coat tighter around himself, and gives a pointed nod at the door.
Sander knocks.
He hears Lucas’s sharp breath behind him. He straightens his shoulders and walks into the apartment.
Robbe catches up to him and says, “Please don’t fight,” quietly, and Sander glances at him and feels his throat tighten.
They make it to the living area where Jens is sitting on the sofa. He’s slouched, looking exhausted, and he raises his head and tenses when he sees Sander. Then Lucas steps up behind him and pushes his hood down and attempts a smile, and Jens scoffs and stands up.
“Jens,” Robbe says sternly, as Jens makes to turn on his heel and stomp off out of sight. Jens stops but doesn’t turn back around to face them. Robbe moves to set a hand on his shoulder. “Just listen to them for a sec, okay? They said it’s important.”
Jens glares at his friend, but ultimately fails to resist. He looks around at Sander and Lucas briefly and then drops back into his previous seat.
Robbe hovers next to him before pointing awkwardly at the kitchen. “I’ll just go—“
“No,” Sander cuts him off. Robbe’s mouth snaps shut instantly, but so does his. Maybe it would be easier, to fix things for Jens and Lucas and then go. To not have to see the disbelief, disappointment, disgust on Robbe’s face. Maybe it would be easier, but Sander would always wonder. He’d never forgive himself for it. “It’s...we have to talk to you, too. Or I do.”
Robbe blinks, then glances at Jens, who was already staring pleadingly up at him. Robbe gingerly sits down next to him and gives a small nod, looking at Sander calmly.
Sander can’t look back. He licks his lips. Swallows. Tries to look at Jens and realizes he can’t do that either. Focuses on the space between them instead. He thinks, belatedly, that he should have found a way to do this that didn’t feel so formal and detached. “Lucas and I aren’t together.”
Jens rubs a hand over his face, and Sander thinks he hears him curse under his breath. It feels like an opening. A chance to say yes, we broke up, like their original plan, and go from there.
But it’s not the truth.
Sander looks over at Lucas, who is watching Jens with a completely distraught expression and only the vaguest glimmer of hope, and then says, “No. We were never together.”
Jens’s hand drops, and he blinks. Robbe simply stares at them, brow slowly furrowing together. He tilts his head, and Sander tries not to find it adorable, because this isn’t the time. “What do you mean?” Robbe asks carefully.
This is where it gets hard. “When—that first day we all met, at the cafe.” Sander turns his attention to Jens, who is now watching him intently. “When I said that thing about us sharing a bed, you assumed it meant we were together, and I just agreed with you, but it was a lie. Lucas and I, we’ve always been friends and nothing more.”
The room falls into silence. No one speaks, or moves, or gives any real reaction, and Sander’s heart picks up speed with every beat.
Robbe stares at them for a moment longer, and then shoots a look at Jens, who stares on blankly, as if he had just been slapped in the face. Then he turns back to Sander and hesitantly asks, “So you lied?”
Sander nods. Robbe looks at Lucas quizzically, who offers a nod of his own and a quiet, “He’s telling the truth now.”
Jens’s gaze snaps over to him, but his expression doesn’t shift. He just sits and looks, and Lucas shuffles on his feet as if he wants to step closer and then thinks better of it.
“Why,” Jens says bluntly. There isn’t entirely enough intonation to make it a question, but they know it has to be answered.
“I panicked,” Sander admits. “It just...came out, and then I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“Why, though?” Robbe asks curiously. “I mean, panic?”
Sander had thought—hoped—there might be some way out of this. He didn’t have to explain his messy reasoning, didn’t have to say why he messed up, only that he had. He could fix it without saying everything, without baring himself completely.
But Robbe is still so confused, and Jens is still blank-faced, and Lucas is still heartbroken.
It doesn’t matter about Sander. He deserves whatever he gets.
“I was jealous,” he says quietly.
Robbe glances between Jens and Lucas, and Sander can’t have him thinking that.
“Of Jens, yes, but not because of Lucas,” he corrects gently. “I didn’t actually notice that at all.”
“What, then?” Jens pushes, thoroughly unimpressed.
Sander squirms and keeps his attention on Robbe, who stares back at him with his wide, innocent, beautiful doe-eyes and makes the whole thing extra difficult. Sander spares another glance at Lucas, who gives him a tiny nod of encouragement, and then Sander panics but says it anyway.
“I thought that you liked him,” he tells Robbe. “You said it, ‘I love him’, just before I talked to him. And I know you didn’t mean it like that, but back then...I was so sure. I was convinced and I felt so stupid. Because I only ever even wanted this job because of you, Robbe. I only wanted the chance to meet you and get to know you and I felt so stupid when I realised you weren’t going to feel the same way about me. I had this crazy idea that if I just told you or tried to flirt with you you would shut me down instantly because of Jens, but if you got to know me as a friend while seeing what I was like as a boyfriend then maybe—it doesn’t matter. The point is that, I fucked up, and it was a lie, and Lucas didn’t do anything wrong.”
Robbe is totally still and silent—stunned. He stares at Sander in utter disbelief, and now Sander finds that he can’t look away. He has already splayed himself open for Robbe to see; there’s no point in hiding now. There’s nothing else for Robbe to find, no other secrets or regrets, not worse than what he has just admitted, at least.
Robbe is completely silent, but Jens scoffs, loud and angry.
“Lucas didn’t do anything wrong?” he demands.
Lucas flinches, shrinking back slightly behind Sander again, directing his gaze down to the floor.
Jens watches him and shakes his head. “Looks fairly guilty to me.”
“Jens,” Lucas says hoarsely.
“No,” Jens cuts him off, sharp. He has risen to his feet again, and he looks between Sander and Lucas incredulously. “What kind of bullshit is this?”
Robbe carefully grasps his sleeve and says, “Jens—“
Jens tugs out of his grip and focuses his stare on Sander. “How did you think that would work, huh? Do you know how many times you hurt him with this crap, all while, what? Trying to make him fall for you?” He gestures at Robbe. “Do you think that’s fucking fair?”
“Jens,” Robbe hisses, with a little more urgency, and Jens simply waves him off.
“I didn’t,” Sander tries, stops and starts again. “I knew that it didn’t make sense as soon as I’d done it, but then I didn’t know how to take it back. It was never my intention to hurt anyone.”
Robbe is gazing at him softly, and something in Sander overflows with hope, but Jens simply turns his gaze on Lucas. He has gone blank again, scarily so. It’s worse, Sander thinks, than his glare, which honestly isn’t all that menacing, because Sander has never believed Jens to be mean once in his life. But this, the dark nothingness that encompasses his expression, the silent anger and upset hidden in his features, works at pulling at each nerve and heartstring. Lucas still can’t quite look at him.
“He says you didn’t do anything wrong. But you went along with it,” Jens says. When Lucas doesn’t respond, he prompts, “Why?”
Lucas swallows, forcing himself to meet the other man’s gaze. “It made sense. Or, well, it didn’t, but I understand. It just—it seemed true, that it would have been difficult to explain, that Sander would have had to admit why he did it. I wanted to make him, but then before we could do anything, you had texted me. And you—you were just so sweet and unexpected and—“
“And you thought, what? This would be the perfect fucking joke?”
Lucas recoils like he’d been slapped. “No,” he breathes. “Jens, I—“
“Stop,” Jens says harshly. “Just, stop fucking lying to me. Did you really hate me that much? Or was it just so convenient, that you finally had a chance to make sure someone couldn’t walk all over you because you’d shit on them instead?”
“That’s not what happened,” Lucas says, sounding and looking close to tears. “I told you I never hated you, Jens. I could never hate you. I would never do that.”
“Why should I believe you?” Jens shouts. The room whips into silence once more, only broken by the shuddering breath Lucas takes, as if building himself up to say something more. He doesn’t get the chance as Jens speaks again, voice still slightly raised. “All I’ve done,” he says hoarsely, “everything you said, everything we talked about, how can I believe any of it? You’ve done nothing but lie to me since the day we met. After all the time I spent admiring you for how honest you seemed, how true to yourself. How much I liked you because it never felt like you were lying or playing me. And this whole time,” he cuts himself up with a humorless laugh, eyes glistening. “You’re just that fucking good at it, huh?”
Sander wants to interfere. He feels anger, indignation, roaring to life in his chest on Lucas’s behalf. But he has no idea what to say, and Lucas isn’t angry; tears have started to drip down his cheeks.
“No,” Lucas whispers. “I’m not. I never wanted any of that. All our conversations, when I kissed you—that wasn’t a lie. You have to believe me.”
Jens’s expression doesn’t change, and his voice is clear. “Give me one good reason.”
Lucas can’t. Sander sees it in the way his face instantly drops, and evidently, so does Jens. The musician shakes his head once, then abruptly turns away and disappears to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Robbe has risen to his feet and calls, “Jens.” It’s a testament to the tension in the room that Ssnder had almost forgotten he was there.
Even now, Sander can’t help but focus on Lucas, on his shaky breaths and watery eyes as he stares after Jens and then spins on his heel. Sander reaches out for his arm and misses, and Lucas speeds out of the apartment without a word.
Sander looks back at Robbe, meeting his gaze, and feels his own eyes prickle. He swallows, heart heavy, as Robbe does nothing but stare at him. Sander manages something apologetic, a purse of lips that can’t really be called a smile, and then he turns on his heel and chases after Lucas.
He catches him before he makes it outside. Lucas curses as Sander grabs his arm and wheels him around in the small entrance hall. “Lucas, stop, wait for me.”
“Why should I?” Lucas explodes. His cheeks are damp, but his expression is pure fury as he stabs a finger into Sander’s chest. “I’ve done nothing but wait for you and where the fuck has it gotten me? I did this for you and for what? What have you ever done for me? Huh?”
Sander’s breath gusts out of him. His shoulders slump. “Lucas,” he tries.
Lucas raises his brows, waiting. He still looks so angry, even with the visible hurt lurking underneath. When Sander doesn’t respond, he shakes his head and ignores another tear leaking out. “You really had no idea, this whole time. You just didn’t care.”
“That’s not true, I—you’re my best friend, Lucas,” Sander says, desperately. “Please.”
Lucas ignores him. “You know what really sucks? I didn’t even want the job. I came here for you in the first place. You wanted it, and you asked, and I followed you like I always do. I thought, at least I’ll be with Sander. And what really fucking sucks, is I regret that the most.”
Sander feels like he’s been punched. He can’t reach out, can’t do anything but stand and stare as Lucas harshly wipes his cheek, then walks out and leaves him there.
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Robbe tries Jens’s door, but it’s locked. When he calls out, he doesn’t get any answer. He sets his forehead against the door and takes a deep breath, hand still resting on the doorknob. His mind is running in circles. After a moment, he retreats back up the hall and stares at the front door.
He shouldn’t go. It will make things worse. He should stay and make sure Jens is alright, even if he’s sulking and locking him out right now. Jens will feel worse if Robbe just leaves him.
Sander’s words keep ringing in his head.
I was jealous.
I only ever even wanted this job because of you, Robbe.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.
Robbe could get answers. He could. He needs to. Jens, surely, will understand that. Eventually.
He runs out the door and down to the bottom floor.
The biggest fear is that he’s waited too long. He has no idea where to go. He doesn’t even know where Sander lives, so he can’t even figure out what direction they would have gone in. Then again, he doesn’t even know if they’ll have gone home. Chasing after him like this is stupid.
He’ll regret it if he doesn’t. He knows it.
He skids to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, just in time to watch Lucas leave and see Sander burying his face in his hands. There’s a sharp tug in Robbe’s heart at the sound that Sander lets out, something guttural and pained, hurt and frustration tangled into a messy groan. The fact that he isn’t going after Lucas gives Robbe a pretty good indication of why he’s upset.
He has to lick his lips and clear his throat before he manages to say, “Sander.”
Sander’s head jerks up, and he quickly wipes a hand under his eye before blinking at Robbe. He flicks a glance at the door, and for a second, Robbe thinks he’ll simply run. Then he looks back at Robbe and questions, “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk.” Robbe hesitates, but Sander doesn’t shut him down. “I didn’t really get a chance to say anything, before.”
Sander’s lips curl in a sad smile. “Too much at once.”
Robbe hums, and wanders a little closer. Sander hasn’t moved since Robbe came down, and he freezes up even more now, but that’s better than a retreat. “Are you okay?”
He immediately feels ridiculous for asking. This isn’t really what he wants to say, but he has no idea what that would be, either. He just needs a little time to think. Sander seems to soften at the question, however, so maybe it is a good place to start.
“I don’t think it matters about me,” Sander says, looking down with a slight shake of his head. “It’s—I always do this. Anything good, I have to fuck it up.”
“That’s not true,” Robbe instantly denies, softer than he expected himself capable of. He closes some more of the distance between them, until his toes are within Sander’s eye-line and he looks up again.
It has brought them, maybe, a little too close. Having Sander within touching distance is a bit more than Robbe’s probably ready for. He can see Sander’s throat bob as he swallows.
“I never meant to tell you like that,” Sander says quietly. Pleading with Robbe to believe him. “I was trying to figure out how to do it. I was going to talk to you alone first. Last night, at the river...I really was going to tell you, but I didn’t want to ruin your night.” He blows out a breath. “And I chickened out. I wasn’t expecting…”
“Me either,” Robbe agrees, equally quiet. He debates whether to tell Sander or not. “Jens and I made a deal, that we wouldn’t leave each other alone. Or, well, that I wouldn’t leave him alone with Lucas and he wouldn’t leave me alone with you.” He puffs his cheeks and blows out a breath of his own as he shoves his hands in his pockets and scuffs his foot against the floor. “I feel a little responsible myself.”
Sander focuses solely on what Robbe expects him to. “Why didn’t you want to be alone with me?” He asks with genuine curiosity, eyebrows furrowed.
Robbe has to swallow a smile. He shrugs. “In case I’d do something stupid, maybe, or just because it might hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” Sander whispers. “I’m so sorry, Robbe.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
Robbe is surprised to find that this is the truth. He should be mad, he thinks. He should be shouting and cursing and slamming doors, as angry as Jens, at the fact that Sander has lied to him for so long. But it’s the explanation Robbe can’t get out of his mind. The testimony rather than the crime. Maybe it should make him more angry to think he had suffered all the hurt for nothing.
But all he feels is relief, and a tiny, insistent shred of hope.
Sander doesn’t look convinced. He looks just as heartbroken as before, in fact. Robbe hates how his voice cracks when he asks, “Why?”
Instead of answering, Robbe reaches up and cups his face, stroking his thumbs over his cheeks. Then he leans up and kisses him.
Sander makes a sound against his lips, a small noise of surprise that quickly slips into relief as he sets his hands on Robbe’s waist. Robbe tries, he does, to make it short and sweet. But it’s so easy, once Sander is kissing him back, to turn it into something more. To open up and let Sander in. To push and pull closer. To wind his fingers into the soft strands of Sander’s hair and hold on for dear life. Sander’s kissing him as if he thinks this is the only chance he’ll get, with a desperate abandon, a fierce passion and neediness that he had, of course, never displayed with Lucas.
Robbe should have known. He should have trusted in himself.
He allows himself this single moment to curse their mistakes before brushing it aside. It doesn’t matter what should or could have been.
What matters is that he has Sander now, in his arms and on his lips, and he’s never felt anything like it. He has never wanted anything more.
Sander breaks away from him carefully, slowly, dragging out the connection of their lips before he simply has to part and take a breath. But he leaves his forehead against Robbe’s, and moves his hands to Robbe’s back to hold him close, and he makes another choked noise when Robbe presses up and kisses his nose.
“You should probably know,” Robbe murmurs, “that I’ve been jealous now for much longer than you.”
Sander laughs, somewhat brokenly, but his smile is genuine and full as Robbe nuzzles his nose and grins as well. “That’s really good to know,” Sander whispers back.
Robbe hums questioningly and Sander hums affirmingly, then leans down and kisses Robbe first, this time.
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