Because I have, predictably, once again hit the max links per post limit on my main bsd masterpost. If you feel like something else should be added to this list, please let me know!
BSD wiki
Mayoi wiki
BSD-bibliophile
BSD updates countdown // alt.
Archive of official art
Megathread of art by Harukawa
Megathread of anime art
Merch archive 1
Merch archive 2
Merch archive 3
Official art scans
Merch release fan tracker // alt.
Website for manga volume raws, dvd ripoffs, op/ed albums and basically everything
@/akutagawaprize, Tumblr archive of official content through 2015–2020
@/clocktower-order, Tumblr archive of official content through 2024–
@/popopretty’s blog for misc translations through 2017–2023
Masterpost of literature works referenced in the bsd franchise
My AKOT7K fics are now also available at AO3! All my other fics (mostly Tolkien) are there as well!
Same fic names and username if you want to search yourself!
Characters with written/upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon, Baelor Targaryen, Raymun Fossoway, Daeron Targaryen, Maekar Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen, Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard, Aerion Targaryen, Ser Dunkan the Tall
About me: Angel... She/Her... Mother of two boys... 30s... ♉️ taurus sun, ♌️ leo rising, ♍️ virgo moon. (yeah that checks out)... painter & illustrator (barely holding it together) gamer, fighting for my life in thesis era, joel miller brainrot...
casual writer in my free time — english isn’t my first language, hope you enjoy being here💋
📚: completed
📝: one shot
📖: ongoing
🖤: Dark
❤️🩹: Angst
🩷: Fluff
🧡: rom-com
❤️🔥: +18, smut, MDNI
❔: in progress
📌 Little Bird in a Cage ➛ (Javier Peña x F!Reader) 📚🩷❤️🩹❤️🔥 my very first fic, kinda silly
📌 The Heart of Rome ➛ (Marcus Acacius x OC!Princess) 📚 ❤️🩹🩷❤️🔥
📌 Amor Meus Aeternus ➛ (Marcus Acacius x Ofc) 📚🩷❤️🩹❤️🔥🧡
📌 Peccatum Dulce ➛ (Marcus Acacius x F!Reader) - 📝🖤❤️🔥
📌 Make Him Dislike Love You ➛ (Harry Castillo x F!Reader) 📚🩷❤️🩹❤️🔥🧡
📌 The Ex Education ➛ (Ex Husband!Harry Castillo x Ex Wife!Reader) 📖 🩷❤️🩹❤️🔥🧡
📌 Two Wrongs, One Right ➛ (Joel Miller x Immune F!Reader) 📖 🩷❤️🩹❤️🔥
pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x graphic designer!afab!reader
w/c: 8.3K words
summary: You're learning how to live without him (kinda). Robby is learning what that actually means.
warnings/tags: age gap (I imagined r around 27, but I didn't specify. Robby was her first serious relationship, though), jealousy, angst, longing, language, depression, therapy.
A/N: I really hope you enjoy this part! I won't lie, I was a little nervous while writing it because I kept second-guessing where the story was going. Let me know what you think, and whether you'd ever like to see an alternative ending! (I found the Robby pics on pinterest, so credits to the owners) + Thank you @lavenderhaze967 for proofreading!
He used to wake up wishing he felt nothing. Wishing he was surrounded by darkness, by emptiness. Wishing for something close to... death.
Now he wakes up checking his phone.
He checks it on the way to the Pitt, at work between cases, even when he goes to the bathroom after washing his hands. He checks it while eating, while listening to Jack, and before going to sleep. Sometimes he even wakes up in the middle of the night, turns the TV volume down a little, and checks it again.
It has become a habit he can't seem to break. Maybe even an obsession.
He almost answered the same night he received your message, but never came that close again. He doesn't even open the keyboard anymore.
But that night?
He must have picked up his phone a dozen times. His thumb hovered over the reply button until the screen dimmed. He unlocked it again and stared at the words until they became blurry.
He knew you hadn't actually gone home with someone else. He knew exactly why you'd said it. You wanted him to picture it. To wonder. To hurt.
The worst part was that it worked anyway.
He thought about what he could possibly say. There wasn't an answer that didn't sound like a lie. Or an excuse. Or the kind of desperate confession that came too late. He came so close to begging when he finally understood how deeply he'd hurt you.
But in the end, he locked the phone and reached for a bottle instead.
One drink became another, then another, until thinking became impossible. The next morning he woke up with a splitting headache, still dressed, his phone lying exactly where he'd left it beneath his pillow.
So, for the first time in more than a decade, he called off work.
He had never done that. Not from exhaustion, not after thirty-hour shifts, not even when he probably should have. But that morning there was no chance he could walk into the Pitt and trust his own hands.
So yes, he can feel it. He feels it every fücking day of his life.
*
Jack notices before Robby realizes he's been caught.
It's after a chest tube. One of those shifts where the department hasn't stopped moving for nearly six hours. A three-car pileup on the interstate had flooded the Pitt with patients all at once: broken ribs, collapsed lungs, a shattered femur, enough blood to make the trauma bays feel too small. Robby had called Jack in early, and even then they'd barely managed to stay ahead.
By the time the last patient was stable, his scrubs were streaked with dried blood and antiseptic. His shoulders ached.
He steps into the ambulance bay, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tries to catch a full breath. The cool air does little to clear his head. For a second, he remembers you.
You always knew the difference between a busy day and a bad one. On the bad days, you never asked questions first. You'd just come up behind him, work the tension out of his shoulders with your thumbs while he pretended to complain, then wrap your arms around his waist and stay there for a minute without saying a word.
Somehow, you always knew exactly where it hurt.
Maybe you had a gift. Or maybe you just cared.
Robby spent so much of his life expecting people not to that he'd mistaken being loved for being understood.
His phone vibrates.
Not a message, an email.
He knows that before he even looks.
Still, he unlocks it. Still, his thumb opens the same conversation. Still nothing has changed.
Can you feel it?
"You okay?"
Robby doesn't jump. He should have. Instead, he simply locks the phone and slips it into his pocket.
"Just peachy."
"You know," Jack says, "I've watched you unlock that phone at least twenty times today."
"So?"
"So you're lying."
Robby crosses his arms over his chest and drops his gaze to the concrete beneath his feet. It's an old habit, one Jack learned to recognize years ago.
"I've got patients."
"So do I." Jack sighs. "You gonna answer her?"
For half a second, Robby's first instinct is to play dumb.
Who?
He could ask it... pretend he has no idea what Jack is talking about. But it wouldn't work. Jack has known him too long for that.
"There isn't anything to answer. It's just a message."
Jack doesn't argue, like he'd expected that answer.
He just nods toward the doors, and they head back inside.
The department swallows them immediately: monitors, a trauma pager going off somewhere down the hall, Langdon and King making their way to a patient together. The usual chaos.
They stop at the nurses' station, where Dana is buried in charting, too focused to pay them any attention.
For a minute, neither of them says anything. Robby pretends to study the patient board, following the names across the screen without actually reading them. Jack watches him long enough to know it's an act.
"Okay." Another beat. "Then why haven't you deleted it?"
Robby's jaw tightens. "I don't know."
"Liar."
Robby lets out a dry laugh that doesn't sound anything like amusement. "I've never seen you this interested in my personal life."
"I'm not."
Jack folds his arms. "I'm interested in the fact that one text message has managed to get under your skin more than any patient, lawsuit, or attending ever has. More than Janey and even Collins."
Robby doesn't say anything. He doesn't even flinch when Heather is brought up.
Can you feel it?
He glances once toward where Dana had been a moment ago, finding the space empty now, as if she'd stepped away without him noticing. Then he looks back at the patient board, and the names blur into each other.
"I don't know, man," he says finally, quieter than before. "I am the one who ended it."
The words hang there a second longer than they should. He did. And it's supposed to be the right choice. The good, honorable choice. He's doing her a favor after everything she's done for him.
Robby swallows.
It's the closest thing to an admission Jack is going to get.
For now.
"Alright."
He pushes off the counter, and Robby thinks it's over.
"Still in therapy?"
It isn't.
"Yes." He went there three times in the last two weeks. Three times he'd sat in a chair and avoided talking about you directly… like keeping your name unspoken made it easier to stay in control of what he was actually feeling.
"Good," Jack says, like it's the most normal thing in the world, as if it isn't something Robby has to actively choose every week just to keep himself from slipping. "Then I'm not gonna give you my opinion."
He pauses.
"Hmm."
"What? I'll keep it to myself."
Robby almost laughs at that.
Jack has never been particularly good at keeping anything to himself. He made it very clear how he felt when he called him "dumb as fück" for breaking up with you.
They move toward the locker rooms before either of them has to think too hard about anything else.
It's one of the rare days they're on shift together. Jack is pulling a double to cover for Al-Hashimi; her kid is sick again, last-minute call-out.
Robby changes on autopilot, like his body knows what to do even if the rest of him is somewhere else entirely.
It's that familiar work-state where everything personal gets filed away for later.
And it almost works. He almost feels normal.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Almost.
"You know," Jack says, glancing sideways at him, "I saw her yesterday."
Something in Robby shifts... small, immediate. A tightening in his chest he refuses to name, refuses to let settle into anything as vulnerable as anticipation. It stays contained, buried before it can surface or, worse, explode.
He doesn't let it reach his face.
But Jack didn't even say your name.
He didn't have to.
"I saw her yesterday," Jack repeats, carefully, like he's making sure Robby actually hears him this time.
Robby's hand twitches at his side before he can stop it. An old reflex, almost unconscious.... the urge to reach for his phone, to check it again even though there's nothing new there. Just the same message he's already memorized.
But he doesn't move. He stops himself and keeps his voice even.
"What do you mean, you saw her?"
Jack glances at him.
"Outside work. She was with Santos."
That makes no sense.
Why would you hang out with Santos?
"Santos?"
"Yeah." Jack shrugs, like it's nothing. "She's been around her a lot lately. Whitaker too. Don't read into it."
Robby's jaw tightens anyway.
"I'm not reading into anything."
"Sure."
A beat.
"How…" Robby starts, then stops, recalibrating. His voice comes out more controlled the second time. "How did it happen? How did they even properly meet her?"
Jack adjusts his pace beside him, like they're still just talking about schedules and not something else entirely.
"She came by on your day off after she got her stitches removed," he says. "Brought food for everyone. Day shift and night shift."
His shoulders rise and fall.
"You know how she is. She stayed and talked to people. She thanked them and..."
A pause.
"She kind of… won them over," Jack continues. "Park too. He was here for an amputation consultation and still ended up almost laughing. She offered him a cookie like it was the most normal thing in the world."
Something in Robby tightens at that.
Park. She actually got through Park.
"Don't read into that either."
He huffs under his breath, almost amused, but it doesn't land.
"I'm not."
Jack doesn't push it.
He just keeps walking, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor, while changing the subject. But Robby stops listening.
Because something has already taken shape in his head, and it drowns out whatever Jack is saying.
You... not where he left you, outside his world. But inside it.
And he doesn't know what to do with that. Because in his head, it was never meant to work like this.
When you were together, he always assumed, without ever saying it out loud, that you'd remain on the edge of his work life forever. Close enough to hear about it, but never truly part of it. Kept away from the parts of his world that made him feel like a failure… the parts that left him wondering whether he existed as anything other than a doctor.
Not because he'd made a conscious decision. It was simply how he'd always lived.
Compartmentalized and contained.
Work stayed here, you stayed somewhere else.
It was easier that way. Cleaner. As if keeping the two apart meant neither could poison the other.
So when it ended, you were outside of it and he was inside.
Except you didn't stay outside after all.
You're there anyway. And somehow, that hurts more.
Most of them probably don't even know you were ever with him.
They like you because you're… you.
Even Park. That part twists something lower in his chest.
Of course you'd get through to him. Of course you'd sit in front of someone like that and make it easy, make it human, make it... normal.
Robby looks ahead, jaw tightening once before easing again, like he's trying to physically undo the thought.
For a moment, he doesn't speak.
Then, quieter to himself:
"I'm not reading into it."
But even he can hear how it doesn't hold any weight anymore.
*
He almost cancels.
He sits in his car for ten minutes, engine off, hands resting on the wheel, thinking about nothing and everything at once.
Then he goes in anyway.
"You're distracted today."
"I'm fine," he says again, but it's weak. His fingers curl slightly into his palm, like he can physically keep himself from slipping.
"How's the breakup been sitting with you this week?"
He breathes in through his nose. Too slow. Controlled in a way that takes effort.
"I made the right decision."
"That wasn't my question, Robby."
He presses a hand down to his knee instantly... like the pressure will quiet whatever's building. God, he thought he's better at this.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he says, but it comes out sharper than he meant.
"I want you to answer the question. If you can, of course."
"I'm not-" He stops, swallowing whatever he had in mind and starts again, quieter. "I'm not going to keep going over it."
The silence stretches.
Then- "What comes up when you think about it?"
"I don't feel guilty."
The response's immediate. Too immediate. Like if he says it fast enough it won't turn into anything else.
She doesn't react.
Just waits.
And that waiting does something worse than pressure, it gives him space to hear himself.
His shoulders drop a fraction before he catches it, like his body is betraying him without permission.
"I feel responsible," he says instead, quieter.
"For what?"
"For how it ended."
For hurting you.
"I was protecting her," he says, but it comes out rough, like it scraped on the way up. Like he needs to convince himself it's true.
"From what?"
That question is so simple, yet it feels like it rips something open inside him.
There's a moment where he can feel the words sitting behind his teeth, pushing forward whether he wants it or not.
"Me."
Jennifer doesn't react, and that somehow makes it worse.
Because they both know it isn't just an answer to this question.
It's something he's been carrying for longer than he wants to admit.... something he's just finally said out loud.
He looks down at his hands, like if he stares at them long enough, they'll feel like someone else's.
His chest feels tight again, like something pressing inward from the inside.
The thought comes anyway, unwanted but familiar.
He breaks things.
Not in theory or in vague, distant ways.
People.
Relationships.
Everything and everyone that gets too close for too long.
It doesn't happen all at once, it never does. It just… wears down quietly, until there's nothing left that holds.
And the worst part is he knows the pattern well enough now to see it coming before it finishes.
You would've been next.
Not because he doesn't love you.
Because he does.
Too much.
Enough to know what happens when he stays close long enough for it to matter on that level. He's not worth it.
He chose distance because staying would've meant waiting for the moment he ruined you too. He couldn't bear the thought of it, of seeing you like that... of you looking at him like he'd finally become exactly what he was afraid of being.
And now that he's said it, it doesn't feel like a justification anymore.
It's just a fact he's been avoiding naming for a long time.
Something in him has always felt like it doesn't stay contained. Like it spreads. Quiet, slow, inevitable. Like cancer. And people eventually step back before it gets worse.
He swallows, jaw tightening.
He couldn't let it reach you. Not like that...
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
But maybe he already waited too long anyway.
By the time he reaches home, he barely makes it past the entrance door as he leans into the wall, shaking, then sinks to the floor. His legs just stop working and his breathing turns uneven almost immediately, like his body forgets how to regulate itself.
He breaks into sobbing before he can even fully register it, his hand going to his neck, gripping his necklace like it's the only thing left to anchor him.
And right before he starts praying, all he can think is how much he misses holding you.
*
He doesn't even look away from the ceiling as he reaches over and silences it. For a moment, the apartment settles into silence.
Well, almost. The television murmurs softly in the background, left on sometime during the night as usual.
He sits up slowly and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes until the sting eases.
And for a while, he stays where he is, elbows on his knees, listening to the television fill the empty apartment with voices he isn't hearing.
Eventually, habit takes over.
He reaches for his phone.
Nothing.
No messages. No missed calls. No notifications, just an email reminding him to distribute a petition.
He almost laughs as he opens your conversation.
I'm really sorry.
Too late.
I'm not with Noelle.
Not enough.
I still love you.
Selfish.
He locks the phone.
*
The Pitt smells exactly the same, and Dana is already arguing with someone on the phone before he's even finished clocking in, waiting for Shen.
Whitaker walks past, barely balancing four coffees, and flashes him a quick smile.
"Morning, Dr. Robby."
"Morning."
Santos laughs down the hall as Dr. King nearly trips over her own feet.
Normal.
The department never stopped moving.
Somehow, he did.
*
The first few hours fly the way they always do.
He intubates, explains, reassures, documents.
His hands never hesitate.
It’s his mind that does.
Twice, he reaches for his phone between patients before remembering there won't be anything new there.
It's been almost three months. There is never going to be anything new.
By noon, he's angry at himself for still noticing.
*
"...I'm telling you, she cheated."
"She did not. You just lost after you tried to cheat."
"I only adjusted my position because-"
Whitaker snorts. "That's literally cheating."
Robby doesn't look up from the chart he's working on.
The conversation barely registers at first. Whitaker and Santos always bicker over something, and somewhere along the way, he'd grown fond of it.
Of them.
"I'm serious, though."
"I haven't laughed that hard in weeks"
"I knew she'd fit in."
Robby stops writing when he hears Dana.
"Fit in?"
Whitaker laughs.
"I still can't believe she got Park to order that drink."
"He actually ordered two."
"No."
Robby looks up just in time to catch Dana shaking her head.
No, they're talking about someone else, he tells himself.
Someone funny. Easy to be around. The kind of person who remembers everybody's names, who brought pastries because she wanted to thank the staff... who somehow managed to make even Park smile.
They have to.
"Everyone spent years trying to get that man to loosen up. And she does it in one evening."
Robby lowers his eyes to the chart again.
The station fills with quiet laughter as Santos mentions her nickname for you, and Robby's stomach twists before he understands why.
Nobody knows about you two.
Nobody is talking carefully... Nobody is choosing their words.
No one is avoiding your name or glancing his way to see if he is listening.
To them, you're just the new person everyone likes.
You're Jack's VIP.
You didn't tell them.
*
Later, he finds himself on the roof for the first time all shift. He's telling himself he just needs a break from all the crazy shit he's been doing all day. He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't even realize Jack joins him.
"They like her."
Robby jumps a little but keeps looking ahead.
"I know."
"You never wanted her here."
"No."
"Why?"
Robby lets out a slow breath.
"I thought..." He searches for the words. "She'd be happier away from all this."
He can feel Jack's eyes burning the back of his head, but he just can't turn around. His eyes burn.
"All this?"
"The hours, and the death, and the fücked up version of me that works here."
Silence.
Robby closes his eyes as Jack sighs.
"Shame nobody thought to ask her what she wants."
Robby isn't asleep.
The television is on, of course. A documentary he's already seen three times plays quietly in the background, more noise than entertainment.
He tells himself it's nothing as he opens Instagram.
He almost never uses it. He only downloaded it months ago so he could like your photos, your posts, the little campaigns you did for brands. He never comments or sends anything. He just scrolls and closes the app again.
He scrolls once.
Twice.
Then Javadi's story appears.
He hesitates.
He shouldn't care.
He definitely shouldn't be following any of his students or former students, anyway.
The first story is exactly what he'd expect.
Coffee.
Someone filming Santos trying -and failing- to explain baseball to Whitaker.
Laughter from somewhere behind the camera.
He almost skips the next one, but then it loads.
A shaky video. Victoria turns the phone toward herself before swinging it around the table.
"There she is!"
The camera lands on you.
You're already laughing at something Santos has just said, the kind of laugh that catches you completely off guard. It lights up your whole face before you even notice Victoria is filming.
"Oh my God, stop."
You lift your coffee cup to hide behind it, smiling anyway.
"You look adorable."
"I look exhausted."
"You always look exhausted."
"That's because I keep hanging out with a bunch of emergency physicians."
The table erupts in laughter, and someone tosses a sugar packet at you.
You throw it right back.
The story ends.
Robby watches it again.
Not because he's trying to catch the conversation.
Because you're laughing.
Really laughing.
Not the careful smile you gave him while he checked your stitches. This laugh is effortless.
It reaches your eyes and it lasts barely seven seconds.
He watches every single one.
The next story loads automatically.
A group photo: Javadi, Whitaker, Santos, King, McKay, and even Langdon.
We adopted her❤️
Before he realizes what he's doing, he's already screenshotting so he can zoom in.
You're sitting beside Santos, shoulders loose, your hair tucked behind one ear.
Your healed hand curls around a coffee mug.
You look… comfortable. Like you belong there.
His gaze lingers, and something catches his eye.
The hoodie.
For one absurd second, his heart stumbles.
You're wearing his sweatshirt.
No.
Not his. There is no stain on this one.
Yours.
The oversized green hoodie he'd bought because you kept stealing his until he finally gave up and bought you one of your own. Yet you still stole it.
"You realize this defeats the purpose, right?"
"Sure. Keep pretending you don't love it."
He smiles before he can stop himself.
And it's gone just as quickly.
He closes the story.
A few seconds later, he opens it again.
Coffee.
Santos.
You laughing.
The thought comes before he can stop it.
You look lighter. Not whole (at least yet).
He knows grief too well to mistake it for happiness.
The shadows beneath your eyes tell him that much.
But you're surviving. Without him.
He sets the phone beside him on the couch.
Only five seconds pass before he picks it up again.
His chest tightens.
You're not replacing him. You're just living.
He'd spent weeks telling himself this was the point.
Leave.
Break your heart now so you'd have a chance to build something better later.
Now he's watching it happen, and he should feel relieved.
Instead, he can't seem to get enough air into his lungs.
He jumps out of bed, phone still in his hand, and wanders into the kitchen.
He opens the refrigerator, stares inside for a long moment, then closes it again.
He has no idea why he came in there.
The apartment suddenly feels too big, and quiet, and empty.
He braces both hands against the counter.
Breathes in.
Out.
Again.
Just like Jennifer taught him.
But it doesn't help.
His phone vibrates.
For one impossible, ridiculous second, hope punches him square in the chest, and he reaches for it before he can stop himself.
Jack.
Can you come in a little earlier tomorrow?
Robby lets out a laugh: short and flat. Almost embarrassed.
"Good."
The word echoes through the apartment.
Good.
This is what he wanted… you surrounded by people who make you laugh, finding your place. Building a life for yourself.
Good.
So why does it feel like something inside him is being slowly pulled apart?
Before he tries to sleep again, he opens Instagram one last time.
But the stories have already expired.
Gone.
Just like that.
*
He almost turns around twice on the drive there.
The first time at a red light, and the second when he passes the exit.
Instead, he keeps driving.
By the time Jennifer opens the office door, he already looks tired.
"You made it."
He nods.
"Barely."
A small smile crosses Jennifer's face.
"It still counts."
For the first several minutes, they talk about work.
A teenager who coded. A difficult intubation. A family he couldn't save. Anti-vaxxers refusing treatment until it was almost too late.
It's easier. Medicine always is.
Jennifer lets him speak until the stories run out.
"How have you been sleeping?"
"Fine."
"You look tired."
"I picked up a few extra shifts. Helped the night team. But I'm sleeping."
He looks toward the window before speaking again.
"I've been thinking."
"About her?"
His fingers twitch against his knee before he catches himself, but Jennifer notices.
"Whenever you are ready."
A quiet breath leaves him.
"Yes." He looks away. "Jack mentioned she's been around."
"The hospital?"
He nods.
"Around the day shift. People keep talking about her."
She doesn't ask him if he thinks it's intentionally because he's spoken about you quite a few times before.
Even though you sent that message that haunts him, Robby knows you are not a revengeful person.
"What do they say?"
"That she's funny. Kind." He lets out a sigh, eyebrows raising. "They like having her around."
Another moment of silence that Jennifer's careful not to interrupt.
Because she can see there's more.
Eventually, Robby looks at her and continues.
"It bothers me. I'm happy for her, yet it really bothers me."
"Two things can be true at once. They aren't mutually exclusive."
He nods. "I know."
"You wanted her to make friends and be happy, right?"
"Yes."
"To move on and continue her life…"
"Yes."
Jennifer studies him.
"And now she does."
He nods.
"So why does it bother you?"
They both know the answer to that. But somehow it's easier when someone else asks the question.
Easier to untangle the thoughts that have been circling in his head for weeks.
His gaze drops to the carpet as he drags a hand through his hair.
"Because..."
He swallows.
"I'm not in it."
Not in her life.
Silence settles between them, and Jennifer doesn't rush to fill it.
She lets him sit with the words… hear them outside his own head for the first time.
"I know how fücking selfish that sounds," he laugh humorlessly. "I just... I don't know how to deal with it."
"A few weeks ago," Jennifer says after a moment, "you told me you were protecting her."
He doesn't look up.
"You said she deserved better. That you made the right decision about her future."
He nods.
"But today..." She smiles gently. "You talked about how you feel."
He frowns.
"You didn't say you would've ruined her life or that you made the right decision."
His own words echo in his head.
I'm not in it.
I'm not in it.
I'm not in it.
He exhales slowly.
He hadn't even noticed.
Jennifer leans back in her chair.
"Something has changed."
He's breathless as he waits for her to continue.
"I think you're beginning to grieve the life you thought you'd have with her. The fact that you may never get to see who she becomes... while everyone else around you will."
That lands harder than he expects.
Because she's right.
He'd been so focused on surviving the breakup that he'd never stopped to think about everything that came after it.
Not calling you after work.
Not watching terrible television because you somehow made it entertaining with your reactions.
Not hearing you laugh from another room while he tried to guess what you'd decided to order for dinner.
The future he'd imagined had slipped away so quietly he almost hadn't noticed it.
"I miss her."
The words are barely audible.
Jennifer nods.
"I don't think..." His throat tightens. "I've actually said that before."
Another long silence settles between them. Then Jennifer asks,
"If she walked through that door right now, what would you do?"
He looks up.
He's heard versions of that question a hundred times before. It always sounded like a cliché.
Today, it doesn't.
He thinks for a long time before answering.
"I don't know."
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"I'd probably ask how her hand is."
Jennifer smiles back.
"I think you would."
He lets out a quiet breath.
"I'm pretty predictable sometimes."
"You’re doing great, Robby. Last questions."
He nods.
"When the relationship ended, who made the decision?"
His chest tightens.
"I did."
"Who decided what was best for her?"
"I did."
"Who decided she deserved someone else?"
Jennifer lets the silence linger.
"What decision did she get to make?"
He doesn't answer.
Because he already knows.
"None."
Jennifer doesn't tell him he was wrong. She never does. She never tells him exactly what to do or how he's supposed to feel.
"I wonder whether protecting someone and choosing for someone are always the same thing. Or maybe we actually protect ourselves."
He leaves quieter than he arrived.
Not shattered. Not relieved.
Just thinking.
I never gave her the chance to decide whether I was worth loving.
*
He gets home and, for the first time in weeks, does the most rational thing he can think of.
He calls Jack.
The phone barely rings once.
"You done pretending?"
Robby snorts.
"Hi to you too."
"Therapy?"
He nods to himself before remembering Jack can't see him.
"Yeah."
"How'd it go?"
Robby leans against the kitchen counter.
"It was..."
He searches for the right word.
"Different."
"Good different?"
"I don't know."
Jack chuckles softly.
"Sounds about right."
A moment passes.
"So?"
"So?"
"You gonna tell me what happened, or am I supposed to guess?"
Robby smiles despite himself.
"You guess."
Jack doesn't hesitate.
"You miss her."
Robby doesn't answer.
"Brother..."
"I thought she'd hate me."
The humor disappears from Jack's voice.
"What?"
"When we broke up."
Robby stares down at the mug he'd made out of habit but hasn't touched.
"I thought that eventually she'd realize..."
He trails off, shaking his head.
"...that I wasn't enough. That she'd wasted years on me."
Jack says nothing.
"So I ended it first."
A slow breath crackles through the speaker.
"I know."
Robby closes his eyes.
"I knew she'd move on."
He lets out a quiet laugh.
"I wanted her to."
"And?"
"I just..."
His voice falters.
"I never actually believed it would happen."
Silence stretches between them.
Then Jack speaks.
"You know what I think?"
Robby waits.
"That you decided what she'd deserve before she ever got to tell you what she wanted."
Robby rubs a hand over his face.
"You never gave her the chance to choose you. You decided she'd be happier without you."
"Yeah."
"But did she ever tell you, 'I don't choose you, Michael'? Did she ever say she wanted someone else?"
Robby presses his thumb against the bridge of his nose.
"I thought I was saving her. I was trying to protect her."
"I know."
Jack doesn't sound accusing.
"I know, I believe you."
Jack's voice softens.
"But maybe..."
He chooses his words carefully.
"...maybe you were also protecting yourself from the chance that one day she wouldn't choose you."
Robby's stomach turns.
Because it's close enough to what Jennifer had said that it doesn't feel like coincidence anymore.
"You're one of the smartest people I've ever met."
Robby groans.
"Don't."
"I'm serious. You can diagnose someone in seconds. You can make impossible decisions, have the best speeches. You'll fight like hell for complete strangers." Jack sighs. "But you didn't trust the woman that you love to make one decision for herself. Because you think you’re not worth it."
"You sound just like my therapist."
Eventually Jack laughs quietly.
"You know what she told me?"
"What?"
"She asked if we could still be friends."
Robby blinks.
"She was worried she'd lose me too."
Robby closes his eyes.
He'd been so focused on removing himself from your life that he'd never considered the people you'd come to love because of him.
Robby hesitates before deciding to tell him one more thing.
"She thinks I'm with Noelle Hastings again."
"What?"
"When she came to the Pitt, she saw Noelle hugging me." He exhales. "She thought we were together."
"And you didn't tell her she was wrong?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I thought it'd sound defensive."
Jack lets out a disbelieving laugh.
"Jesus Christ, Robby."
He doesn't argue.
"She thought you'd replaced her after a week."
The words knock the air from his lungs.
He hears your voice as clearly as if you were standing beside him.
I wish you and Noelle nothing but the best.
He'd heard the bitterness, anger, and the jealousy but not the heartbreak and the rejection underneath your tone.
Robby squeezes his eyes shut.
And every time I scratch my nails.
Down someone else's back, I hope you feel it.
Well, can you feel it?
He finally understands what you must've seen.
A man who said one thing and made every choice look like the opposite.
Who swore he was leaving to save you, then let you believe he'd replaced you a week later.
Mr. Duplicity…
"I don't know if she'll forgive you."
"...I know."
"But if she ever gives you another chance..."
Jack lets the silence linger.
"Don't decide for her."
Another pause.
"She's old enough to make her own choices."
After they hang up, Robby remains standing in the middle of his apartment, phone still in his hand.
For the first time since the breakup, he realizes what an apology would actually sound like.
Not:
I did what was best. I was trying to protect you.
Just
I'm sorry I decided for you.
*
Robby almost texts you.
He writes: I'm sorry. I wasn't with Noelle. I shouldn't have decided for you. Let’s talk, please.
But he deletes it immediately.
It sounds like he's correcting facts instead of acknowledging your pain.
He puts the phone down.
Five minutes later he picks it back up.
He opens your conversation.
Your last message still sits there.
Can you feel it?
Below it… He realizes something.
Every conversation since the breakup has been started by him.
Instructions.
Appointments.
Orders.
Every important decision has been his.
He ended it.
He decided it was best.
He decided what you needed.
He decided you shouldn't love him.
He decided you deserved someone else.
He decided.
He lets his phone down and goes to search for his notebook.
The one he bought because Jennifer told him he needed to write about how he felt.
He writes one sentence.
I was wrong.
He stares at it.
Then another.
I thought leaving was the kindest thing I could do. I never asked what you wanted.
His pen stops.
He keeps writing.
Page after page.
About Collins.
About his mother.
About Adamson.
About Jake.
About believing people are safer without him.
About thinking love eventually becomes another thing he ruins.
About how terrified he was of becoming your biggest regret.
He slowly tears every page out when he's done and the apartment falls silent again.
Impulsively, he grabs his phone, reopening your conversation.
I’m really, really sorry… Can we talk, please?
His thumb hovers.
He thinks about adding:
Only if you want.
But he decides against it.
No speeches.
No pressure.
No manipulation.
Just... this.
He presses send.
Then a few seconds later… Seen. And nothing else.
Robby sets the phone face down.
This time... he doesn't pick it back up.
He has to wait.
*
Six days pass.
Nothing.
Not a single reply.
Robby tells himself that's fair.
He'd asked.
You hadn't answered.
That was an answer too.
*
Work fills every hour.
An elderly man with sepsis and a teenager after a motorcycle crash.
Life continues exactly the way it always has.
Patients arrive and leave.
Some stay. Some don't.
Usually that's enough.
Usually medicine leaves very little room for anything else.
Not anymore.
*
"You look like shit."
Robby doesn't bother looking up.
"So do you."
Jack smirks.
"I've got an excuse."
"So do I."
Jack waits, but Robby never offers one.
*
Later, Dana catches him rereading the same CT report for the third time.
"Wrong patient."
He blinks.
"Right."
She gently slides the correct chart toward him.
"Coffee?"
"I'm fine."
She gives him a look that clearly says you're absolutely not, but thankfully lets it go.
*
Four days later.
12:17 p.m.
His phone vibrates, and he almost ignores it.
Almost.
When he sees your name, his heart stumbles.
One word.
Okay.
Nothing else.
He reads it once.
Then again and again, Enough times that the letters stop looking like a word.
His thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Thank you.
Delete.
Too much.
Are you free tomorrow?
Delete.
Too eager.
Too hopeful.
He stares at the screen for nearly a minute before typing again.
Wherever you're comfortable.
He reads it twice, then presses send before he can talk himself out of it.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Not the Pitt.
His reply is immediate.
Of course.
This time, the dots don't make him wait long.
Saturday, if you're free.
4 p.m.?
The park near you?
He doesn't realize he's smiling until his cheeks ache.
I'll be there.
He sets the phone down carefully, almost afraid that touching it again might somehow change the conversation.
A few minutes later, Langdon almost walks right into him.
He stops.
"What?"
Robby looks up.
"What?"
"You're smiling."
"Am I?"
Langdon nods once.
"I haven't seen that in a while."
Robby glances down at the coffee in his hands before waving him off.
"Must be a facial spasm."
Langdon snorts.
"Sure."
Robby takes another sip of his coffee.
The smile never quite leaves.
*
Saturday doesn't arrive fast enough.
Robby gets to the park twenty minutes early. Not because he thinks you'll leave if he's late. Sitting at home had simply become impossible.
Families sharing ice cream, dogs bark somewhere behind him, someone is playing guitar badly.
He wonders if you'll come.
You said you would. But then again... you had every reason not to.
His phone stays in his pocket.
He promised himself he wouldn't check the time every thirty seconds.
He fails anyway.
3:56.
3:58.
4:07.
Then
"Hi."
He turns. And for a second... he forgets how to breathe.
You're wearing jeans and an oversized sweater despite the warm afternoon, your sunglasses pushed up into your hair.
You look... healthy.
Still thinner than before. Still tired around the eyes.
But healthier than the last time he saw you.
He gets to his feet at once.
"Hi."
Neither of you moves.
No hug. Not even a handshake.
The distance between you suddenly feels enormous.
But you look at each other. You actually look at him after months.
"You came."
You almost smile.
"I wanted to know what you had to say."
He gestures toward the closest path.
"Do you want to walk?"
You nod once.
"Okay."
For the first several minutes, neither of you says a word.
You fall into step beside each other almost awkwardly, leaving enough space between you that neither of your arms accidentally brushes the other's.
The silence isn't comfortable.
It isn't hostile, either. It's careful.
As though one wrong word might send the whole conversation crashing down before it has the chance to begin.
Your footsteps fall out of rhythm, then back into it again.
Leaves rustle overhead. Cyclists pass every now and then, forcing one of you to step aside before drifting apart again without thinking.
The world carries on exactly as it always has.
"I almost didn't come."
"I know."
You glance at him.
"You do?"
He nods.
"I would've understood if you hadn't."
You let out a quiet breath.
"I don't think you would've."
For one instinctive moment, he almost reaches for you. His hand twitches at his side before he curls it into a fist.
But he doesn't get to comfort you from the pain he caused.
Instead, he slips both hands into his pockets and waits for you to speak when you're ready.
"I wanted to hate you," you admit with a small, humorless laugh. "God... I really tried."
"I know."
"No." You shake your head. "You don't."
Your voice trembles despite every effort to steady it.
"You have no idea how much I hated myself for not being able to just... switch it off."
You swallow.
"I kept thinking maybe if I slept with someone else..."
A bitter laugh escapes you.
"I didn't, obviously."
Your eyes stay fixed on the path.
"I think, in some twisted way, it would've been so much easier if you'd cheated on me."
The words surprise even you.
"If you'd just..."
You struggle to finish the sentence.
"...fallen out of love."
Your shoulders lift in a helpless shrug.
"I could've built a life around that."
Beside you, Robby lowers his head. His jaw tightens so hard you can see the muscle move.
"But instead..." Your voice softens. "You told me I deserved better."
A hollow laugh slips out.
"Do you know how awful that is?"
He closes his eyes for the briefest moment.
He did this to you. Made you wonder… made you suffer.
And for what?
"Every single day, I kept wondering what was so wrong with me that I wasn't even allowed to choose."
The breeze catches a strand of your hair, and you tuck it behind your ear with hands that still aren't completely steady.
Silence stretches between you.
Long enough that you wonder if he's going to answer at all.
"There was never anything wrong with you."
You stop walking.
He takes another step before realizing you've stopped, then turns back to face you.
"There was everything wrong with me."
You shake your head immediately.
"No."
He frowns.
"No?"
You meet his eyes for the first time since you'd arrived.
"No. That's what you believed."
He frowns.
"You keep talking like you're some kind of... poison. Like you'll ruin everyone who gets too close."
His gaze drops.
His gaze drops to the gravel beneath your feet.
Isn't he?
"And maybe you really believe that." You take another slow breath. "But you don't get to turn yourself into a monster just because it's easier than believing someone could love you."
He feels the words before he understands them.
They settle somewhere deep in his chest, in the place he'd spent years trying not to look.
"You loved me," he says quietly.
"I did." You don't hesitate. "Very much."
He watches you wrap your arms around yourself, fingertips disappearing beneath the sleeves of your sweater.
"You were my first serious relationship, Robby."
A small, sad smile flickers across your face.
The past tense hangs between you.
"I let my guard down with you. I wanted to fit into your world."
Your eyes drift toward the trees.
"Sometimes... it felt like you were ashamed of me."
His head lifts so quickly it almost startles you.
"I wasn't."
"I know." You meet his eyes again. "But that's how it felt."
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
Because his intentions don't erase what you lived through.
"I still..."
The words die before they reach your lips.
Your jaw tightens.
"I'm still trying to figure out what I feel."
He nods once.
"That's fair."
A couple walks past, laughing quietly to themselves. Neither of you notices until they're already gone.
"I know you loved me."
He listens carefully, trying not to think about the hole he feels in his stomach
"But I don't know if I can trust you."
"I know."
"I don't know if I ever will."
"I know."
He lets the silence settle before speaking again.
For once, he lets it exist.
"There is one thing I need you to know."
You wait.
"I wasn't with Noelle." His voice is steady. "I wasn't with anyone else during or after our relationship."
"Thanks for explaining, I believe you."
"I know that's not why we're here."
You nod. "It isn't."
"But I couldn't let you keep believing I'd replaced you."
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry."
His voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker toward yours for a second.
"For every decision I made for you. For keeping you outside the Pitt."
His eyes meet yours again.
"And for making you believe, even for a second, that you were easy to replace."
Your throat tightens.
"You asked me once what I was afraid of."
You wait.
"I think..."
He lets out a slow breath.
"I thought that if you stayed long enough… you'd wake up one morning and realize you were unhappy."
He laughs quietly at himself.
"That loving me would become the biggest mistake of your life."
His gaze drifts toward your sweater.
"The age difference. My job. The hours. My history. My depression..." He shrugs helplessly. "I kept adding reasons until I couldn't imagine you choosing me anymore."
He looks back at you before he continues. "That's not an excuse. I just want you to know where my head was."
His eyes shine.
"I hated myself so much that I became convinced you'd eventually hate me too."
Something cracks inside his chest. He sounds so lonely and lost. He can’t imagine what you must be thinking about him.
"I never thought that."
"I know."
"No." You take a step toward him before you even realize you're moving. "I really didn't, Michael."
Your eyes search his face.
"I chose you. And you were so easy to love."
He nods, tears gathering despite every effort to hold them back.
"I know that now."
A fragile smile touches his lips.
"Or I'm trying to."
He wipes quickly beneath one eye before the tear can fall.
"And I'm sorry it took losing you to believe it."
You stand there for a long time. Close enough that either of you could reach out. Neither of you does.
Eventually, you smile. It's small and sad, but real.
"I'm still angry with you."
"I figured."
"I might be angry for a long time."
"You've earned that."
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself.
"Don't get cocky."
He huffs a quiet laugh.
"I wasn't planning to."
"No?" You raise an eyebrow. "You broke up with me because you decided what was best for me without asking."
He sighs. For the first time, he truly tries to imagine the conversation with the roles reversed.
You looking him in the eye and deciding (for him) that he'd be happier without you. The thought twists something deep in his chest.
"Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?"
"I do now."
He gives you a small, almost hesitant smile.
"I'm glad you're doing better."
You look at him, but he doesn't answer right away.
"I tried to help. I know I couldn't, but I tried."
"You did. And you helped more than you know."
You look down at your hands.
"I heard you're seeing a therapist. Jack didn't tell me much."
"He wouldn't." A faint smile touches his face. "But... I'm really glad the two of you stayed friends."
"And I'm glad you're doing this."
He looks at you, almost surprised.
"So am I."
The words come more easily than he'd expected.
"I should've done it a long time ago."
Another moment of silence settles between you.
Then you take a slow breath.
"But I don't think we should get back together."
His smile disappears.
Not because he expected something different.vBecause hearing it still hurts like hell.
"Okay."
"But..."
He looks up.
"I also don't think today has to be goodbye."
His chest tightens.
"I don't want us to be strangers anymore."
"You don't?"
"I missed you." You let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "God... that sounds pathetic after everything that's happened."
"It doesn't."
You look away. "You were my best friend, Robby."
The words knock the air from his lungs.
He'd known it.
Somewhere, but hearing you say it out loud is something else entirely.
In so many ways that mattered, you'd been his too.
There were parts of himself only two people had ever truly seen.
You and Jack.
"And I just... I need to see whether the man standing here is the same man who left me before I can even think about dating you or simply being friends with you again."
He nods immediately.
"I understand."
"And I'm not promising anything."
"You don't have to." He lets out a slow breath. "I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."
For a while, you simply stand there.
The silence doesn't feel uncomfortable anymore.
Just... unfamiliar.
You glance toward the little café near the park entrance.
"I'm kind of thirsty."
He follows your gaze.
"You want tea?"
"I think..." A tiny smile finds its way onto your face. "Tea sounds safe."
He almost says, Let's go.
Almost. Instead, he catches himself.
"You tell me."
Your eyes lift to his and you hold his gaze for a long second before smiling.
"I hate that."
He blinks.
"What?"
"You're actually listening."
A quiet laugh escapes both of you.
"I came here fully prepared to argue with you."
"You still can."
"Oh, don't worry." Your smile grows just enough to reach your eyes. "I probably will."
You take a step toward the café before glancing back over your shoulder.
"But I think I'd rather have that tea first."
He falls into step beside you. Not ahead. Not behind. Beside.
Here are fanfics I truly enjoyed reading (multi-fandom)
Call Of Duty
Simon's girl has to leave for a few days by @softaestluv
Simon does a terrible job asking out his crush by @ghostedink
Johnny finds a job (and a bird) through Craigslist by @rosaries-and-thorns
Knight Simon expresses his affection through flowers by @kira-writes-stuff
Simon x Secretary!reader, if you need help, simply ask by @sheepispink
Ghost takes off his mask, does his girl run or stay by @beebymoonlight
Ghost's friend has a crush on a new guy who has scars by @rawme-price
Reader gives Simon the cold shoulder after he comes back, but... by @zendariii
Post headshot Johnny x neighbor reader by @drmonstersdungeon
John price gets his wife a wedding dress by @drmonstersdungeon
“I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus” by @ohclaire
Simon isn't as ugly as he thinks by @crashingcryptid
Johnny has a strong accent, and you love it by @ohclaire
In your eyes I saw a longing, while I longed to lift you up by @theorist-fox (this one is long and a masterpiece)
TF 141 think you betrayed them by @criminalamnesia
You show Simon you Halloween costume by @readwritealldayallnight
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife by @readwritealldayallnight
A woman picks Ghost and makes him hers by @partiallysame
The band Ghost
The secret chamber beneath the chapel by @askpapa-3
In a desperate attempt to seek out the third Papa’s counsel on an intimate matter a Sister of Sin slips into the confessional one night – only to be met by the voice of Papa Emeritus II instead (+18) by @writingjourney
Copia feels sad not to be papa anymore by @library-ghoulette
Swiss taking phantom under his wing by @ghoulseason
Vampire Copia (one of the greatest fics in this fandom) by @the-curator1
Copia befriends reader (Terzo's widow) (also one of the greatest fics of the fandom) by @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe
Top Gun
Bradley Bradshaw tries to remember you. A series by @beyondthesefourwalls
Stranger Things
Dustin thinks his sister is buying drugs from Eddie, the truth is far from that by @zodiyack
You left some tapes for Eddie to have after you’re gone (this one hurt) by @nepentheansea
Peaky Blinders
Your brothers believe and fear they can no longer put off having ‘the talk’ with you (this one has the funniest plot) by @theshelbyclan
Harry Potter
Remus Lupin x Slytherin!reader by @jamilelucato
My Tumblr TBR
You return after the 'blip'. Matt Murdock x f!reader by @foli-vora
