Summary: On his sabbatical, Robby makes a stop in a middle of nowhere town with more history than what it looks. Or Robby tracks down an old ghost.
WC: 4.6k
Tags: ex’s, Jack’s little sister, implied age gap, reader was in her 20s when they first dated, now is late 20s-30s, their relationship is and was more than legal, best friends sister, angst, vet inaccuracies, rushed ending, might be a little OC, very lightly proof read. Let me know if I missed anything!
(Masterlist)
Robby didn’t really know why he took the last exit on the highway or why he took the last turn on an old dirt road that shouldn’t have led anywhere- except that it did.
The bar looked like it had been left out to rot. Rust chewed through the metal siding, and the neon Open sign flickered like it was reconsidering the offer. But outside, people leaned against the walls, laughing like nothing had changed.
A man with graying hair pulled a woman into his side- his wife, probably. She tipped her head up, smiling, and kissed his cheek like it was second nature.
Robby looked away.
Maybe, in another life, that could’ve been him. Maybe if he played his cards differently..
He cut the engine of his motorcycle and shoved the keys into his pocket. The heat wrapped around him instantly, thick and suffocating. His leather jacket clung to his back, damp already.
At least Jack couldn’t give him shit about not wearing protection.
He had heard enough about the helmet.
This was supposed to be his sabbatical. Time away from the hospital. Space to breathe.
Not this.
Not driving miles out of his way just to haunt old ghosts.
He was a glutton for punishment.
The old floorboards groaned under his boots as he stepped inside. For a second, it felt like he had walked straight into the past.
Same green bar stools. Same busted mechanical bull he had fallen off of one too many times. The pool table looked worse for wear, but it was still standing.
He had told himself he had come for the nostalgia. Maybe a beer or two.
He didn’t believe that now.
The walls by the booths were covered in old photographs- some faded from age. Moments frozen in time.
His eyes roamed over them, searching.
There you were.
Wedged between him and Jack in one of the booths, grinning at something he couldn’t remember anymore.
His chest tightened.
God. He’d aged more than he realized. The last few years had carved into him. And Jack-
Yeah. Of course, Jack still looked the same.
Must be genetic.
“Hey, stranger.”
The voice came from behind him pulling something deep in his chest he had ignored for years.
Robby stilled.
What was he expecting? He was practically begging to run into you. This was your town.
Then he exhaled, slow, and looked over his shoulder.
There you were.
Not a memory or a photo he had stalked on Facebook.
Real.
Older, yeah, but not in a way that took anything. If anything, it settled into you. Made you steadier. Not the wild girl he remembered from a few summers back.
His gaze lingered a second longer than he meant it to.
“...Hey,” he said.
Something in his expression softened, the tension easing just a fraction as he took you in.
“It’s been a while.”
Understatement of the decade.
His eyes flickered briefly to the bar, then back to you. He hadn’t exactly planned to see you. I mean he had hoped but didn’t plan this far.
“I didn’t know you were still around here.”
Then he said, a little more honest and less guarded.
“You look… good.” And he meant it, even if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
“I always look good, Robinavitch.” you laughed. Easy, like no time had passed at all.
It caught him off guard.
Not the words. Those sounded exactly like you.
It knocked something loose in him. Something that had been wound up tight for the past ten years.
Robby let out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting before he could stop it.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “You always do.”
His hand dragged over the back of his neck, a habit he hadn’t managed to break.
“Didn’t think this place would still be standing,” he added, nodding vaguely around the bar.
A deflection.
A bad one.
Because his eyes flickered back to you almost immediately. It was like you were the only part of this place that mattered.
His jaw tightened just slightly, like he caught himself doing it.
He knew you’d catch it too.
‘I was passing through,” he said.
Real estate convincing, Robinavitch.
“...Figured I’d stop in.”
You watch him for a second. Those eyes, he’d never really been able to keep anything from you. Not then. Not now.
Your gaze traced the small changes in his face. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the greys in his beard. Still stubborn Michael.
“That’s what you’re going with?”
“Yep.” He cringed at himself.
You held his gaze for a second longer, then huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head.
“You gonna stand there all night or-” you cut yourself off, rolling your eyes lightly and holding an accusing hand up. “You know what? You’re making this awkward.”
You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable. He didn’t know if you felt pity for him or if you just liked making this worse. Probably the latter knowing you.
“Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“They still let you buy here after all your fake ID attempts?”
“Gotta respect the determined.”
Robby shook out his shoulders and let out a breath as soon as you turned your back to him. Be cool. He followed you to the bar and took the stool next to yours.
You ordered two beers. Something with a strange name and worse taste. It didn’t matter though; the cold bottle made his clammy hands cool off.
“What’re you doing here, Michael?” You asked. “Last time I saw you, you were peeling out of here like a bat out of hell. Something about ‘we can’t do this; you’re just a kid.’”
It didn’t sound great when you said it like that. I mean you were just a kid. Jack’s little sister. God that sounds worse. You had been young, he’ll admit. Freshly out of college and about to start vet school with your whole life ahead of you. Robby had been an attending at the time in his 40s. A more than inappropriate age gap between you. You hadn’t ever seemed to care though. He remembers the ways you’d welcome him when he showed up at your family’s front door. In the swimsuit, dripping wet. In the hallway while your brother helped set the table. Fuck, in the laundry room.
Your hand snapping in front of his face pulls him from his thoughts. He jumps slightly then immediately tries to cover it.
“Yeah, I remember,” He murmurs and takes a pull from the cheap beer. Yeasty and bitter, a horrible combination.
“I know Jack didn’t send you. My brother meddles, but he’s not quiet about it.”
You had him there. Jack couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. A part of him always thought Jack knew what he was doing with his best friend's little sister. That didn’t make him feel better about it.
Robby picked at the label on his quickly warming beer can. “I’m on sabbatical. I was driving in a random direction and saw the turn off for the town.”
“Right,” You scoff, not looking the least bit convinced. You take a swig of the beer. Robby’s eyes trace the way your throat moves as you swallow. “You just happened to end up here.”
Robby tears the mushy label into tiny pieces, letting the silence sit where it wanted to.
You take another sip; you eye him over the rim of the bottle this time.
“You always were terrible at lying,” you added, almost lightly.
“Wasn’t trying that hard.”
You hum at that. He always had that undeniable charm when he wanted to, that’s what attracted you to him in the first place. You know, besides the trouble of chasing something you knew you couldn’t have.
You set the bottle down, turning a little more towards him on the stool.
“No,” you said, quieter now. “You never did.”
Robby’s fingers stilled on his pieces of soggy label. You knew how that was going to land, but you had said it anyways.
He chewed on the side of his cheek, like he was mulling over his next words. He tipped his own bottle back and took another drink, buying himself time that didn’t really help. When he lowered it, his doe eyes found yours again- steadier this time, but not untouched.
“You working out here?” he asked.
It wasn’t what he was about to say.
You knew it.
He knew you knew it.
But it was better he didn’t voice it.
“Yeah,” you nodded, turning the bottle slowly between your hands. “Took over the small clinic in town when Doc passed. Mostly farm calls, some emergency stuff when the ranchers get desperate enough.”
He nodded once; this was exactly where he always pictured you. Some small vet clinic in the middle of nowhere. Helping people out. The city life wasn’t really ever your speed.
“You always liked fixing things.”
“Animals don’t argue,” you said, a little dry. “They don’t pretend they’re fine when they’re not. Makes the job easier.”
It landed softer than it sounded. His mouth twitched again, but there wasn’t any humor in it.
“Yeah,” he said. “Can see the appeal.”
Silence settled over you- not empty, just… full.
You tapped your fingers lightly against the wood countertop, thinking, then added:
“Had a colt come in last week. Bad leg. Owner waited too long to bring him in- classic case of rancher stubbornness.”
Robby’s eyes shifted to you, more focused now.
“Did it?”
You shook your head once, rolling your lips together in that way you always did when you were thinking too hard.
“Sounds about right.”
You clicked your tongue and shoved the frustrations away.
“For what?” you asked.
Robby made a low sound in his throat. Like he was pulling the truth from somewhere deep in his chest.
“For… things people think will fix themselves.”
He was skirting around the answer. But it was something.
You watched him for a second, like you were deciding how much he could take before he ran off with his tail tucked between his legs.
“Do they?” you murmur then clear your throat. ‘Do they ever fix themselves?”
His jaw clenched, just slightly.
“No.”
The word sat between you. Uncomfortable and honest. But you both knew it was the truth.
You let out a small breath, leaning back a fraction on the stool.
“Yeah,” you tap the edge of the glass. “Funny how that works.”
You took turns looking at each other. Both thinking the other didn’t know. Until your eyes finally caught. This moment felt different.
Less careful.
More aware.
Like if either of you leaned in a little more, something real might actually come out. You can’t play your strange game of cat and mouse anymore if it came out.
So, neither of you did.
Instead, you nudge your empty bottle with your finger.
‘You want another-”
“Listen-”
Your phone buzzed against the bar.
Then again.
You knew better to ignore a phone call this late. You flipped it over, eyes scanning the screen- your posture shifted instantly. Subtle, but there. Focused and in work mode.
Robby noticed.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
You were already sliding off the stool.
“Yeah,” you nodded, already running through the medications in your med bag. “Just- give me a second.”
You stepped a few feet away, immediately answering.
Robby watched you, his eyebrows crinkling in the middle and his shoulders setting in the way they did before a trauma came in.
Your expression tightened, not in panic. Dialed in.
“How long?” you say into the phone, “No, don’t pull. I’m on my way. Just keep her calm, I’ll be there in twenty.”
You hung up and turned back towards him, already halfway between here and the ranch on the other side of town.
“Sorry,” you said, tucking your phone into you back pocket. “Emergency.”
Robby straightened. “Everything okay?”
“Cows in labor. Not progressing,” you said, like this was something normal he should understand. Because this was normal for you. He was a people doctor not a cow doctor. “If I don’t get out there, we’re gonna lose one or both.”
There was no hesitation. No softness that he was used to with you.
Just clarity.
A purpose.
You weren’t the kid who was trying to find her way anymore.
He watched you, something shifting behind his eyes.
“Right, yeah of course.”
You reached for your keys, then paused- just briefly- looking back at him.
“I-” you stopped yourself, this was a stupid idea, and you knew it. “You want to assist on a calf birth?”
You weren’t expecting him to say yes. Just like you weren’t expecting him to grab his jacket and hop into the passenger seat of your old truck.
The truck rattled to a stop outside an old barn in a wash of dust. You were out before the engine fully died.
“Gloves are in the back,” you called over your shoulder, already moving.
Robby grabbed the bag without thinking, falling into step behind you. The air was different out here. It sat heavy in his lungs. Thick, quiet, sharp, and distinctly animal. In another situation you would have made fun of the way his nose scrunched out. Then said some witty remark about how the smell of cow shit was “money.”
An older man waved from the open barn, worry written all over him.
“We got her in the pen doc, she’s been like this for an hour,” he said, his voice thick with worry. These cows were the ranchers’ livelihoods. A dead cow wasn’t a good cow, and a dead cow meant the families around here were going to be short money in the winter.
“You did the right thing calling,” you cut in, not unkindly, already snapping gloves on. He led you around the side of the barn to a small fenced in pen.
The cow was down on her side, side heaving, a low, strained sound pulling from her every few seconds.
Robby slowed, taking it in.
It was different from the trauma room.
Same urgency.
You dropped to your knees in the dirt beside the animal like it was second nature, one hand coming to rest firm against her flank.
“Hey, mama,” you murmured, “Docs here. I brought a friend too.”
Robby had seen you many times when you were younger- laughing, pushing, pulling him into things he knew better than getting involved in.
He’d never seen this version.
“Okay,” you said more to yourself than anyone else. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
You glanced back at him briefly.
“Hold the bag open.”
He moved without hesitation. Of course he did. If you said jump, he’d ask how high.
You worked quickly, efficiently- checking, assessing, your movements sure in a way that didn’t leave space for doubt.
“Calves not positioned right,” you said, turning to the rancher. “That’s why she’s not progressing.”
Robby nodded, even though you weren’t talking to him.
“What do you need?”
The question came out automatically.
Like muscle memory.
You didn’t look up. You knew he’d give you whatever you needed at that moment.
“Just stay with me,” you said. “And don’t let her thrash. She’s going to try to move. She’s not like the pregnant woman you see in the ER, her instinct isn’t to let us help her. She’s a bottle-fed baby though, so a little bit of pressure might keep her where we want her.”
He stepped closer, bracing carefully, one hand steadying where you directed.
The cow shifted under him, a sudden jolt of movement that would’ve thrown someone less prepared.
Robby adjusted instantly.
“Good,” you said, quick, focused.
Not praise.
Acknowledgement.
It was like he was a med student again.
His attention snapped back to you.
Your hands were steady. Precise. No wasted movement.
Talking softly to the animal between instructions, like you’d done this a hundred times.
Probably had.
“Easy,” you murmured again, working. “Mikey, wanna catch a calf?”
Hell, yeah he wanted to catch a calf.
“Okay,” you said sharply. You directed him to the hind of the cow. “Grab the hind leg just above the fetlock. You’re going to pull downward on the contractions.”
Robby followed your lead without question, adjusting where you told him, holding where he needed to.
And then it shifted.
The resistance gave.
The calf came free in a rush of motion and sound, hitting the ground with a heavy, living weight.
For a second, everything went still.
Then the calf moved.
Small. Unsteady. Breathing.
The farmer let out a sound that was half relief, half disbelief.
You didn’t celebrate. Not yet.
You were already moving, checking, clearing, making sure everything was right- efficient, calm, completely in control.
Only when you were satisfied did something in your shoulder finally ease.
Robby exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding it.
His gaze stayed on you.
Not the scene.
You.
There was dirt on your hands, your clothes, some strange goo on your shirt- and none of it took away from what he was seeing.
If anything, it made it clearer.
“Damn,” he said quietly.
It slipped out before he could dress it up into something lighter.
You glanced at him, a flicker of something crossing your face.
“Yeah,” you said, like it was just another night. “She’ll be alright. And it's a healthy baby boy.”
Robby felt his cheeks heat, a breath of something like a laugh leaving him.
‘That’s not what I meant.”
You held his gaze for a second longer this time.
You didn’t look away.
Neither did he.
The truck was quieter on the way back.
No rush this time. Just the low hum of the engine and the occasional rattle when you hit a rough patch on the road.
Robby leaned back in the seat, forearms braced on his thighs, hands still faintly stained despite the quick rinse at the pump.
He hadn’t said much since you left the barn.
Your hands rested loose on the wheel, steady. Comfortable in the quiet. Comfortable in yourself.
It wasn’t something he remembered.
Or maybe it was.
Just… not like this. You had always been cute and fun, but you had become this brilliant, beautiful woman.
“You’re good,” he said softly into the quiet of the car.
You glanced at him briefly, then back to the road.
‘Yeah,” you said. “I am.”
Just a fact. That did something to him.
“Wasn’t a compliment,” he added after a second. “Just… an observation.”
You huffed lightly through your nose but didn’t argue it.
“Still counts.”
The corner of his mouth pulled faint.
The road stretched out in front of you. Empty and dark. He watched your hands on the wheel for a second. He checked your finger for a ring. Nope, no ring or tan line. That made him feel a little giddy.
“Didn’t think you’d want to come do the dirty work.” you said after a while.
He shifted in his seat.
‘Would it be wrong if I said I just wanted to spend more time with you?”
“Yes… I’m surprised you stayed.”
“Didn’t seem like the thing you walk out on.”
That was a safe answer after he had emotionally vomited right before.
You let both sit.
“You used to… you would have walked years ago.”
Robby played with the hem of his shirt.
“Yeah,” he said. The truck rolled over a dip in the road, headlights catching the dust in the air. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
There it was. Small. Unprotected.
Your grip on the wheel shifted, not tense, but aware.
“By leaving?” you asked.
He grunted an agreement. “By not staying. There’s a difference.”
That was enough for you to pull the truck off the road and throw it in park. You turn fully in your seat towards him.
“For who?” it was a pointed question.
He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t have an answer ready this time.
“Both of us,” he settles on. It sounded like something he’d told himself to make himself feel better.
You nod once, slow. Rolling your lips together.
“Yeah,” you grumble. “That’s what you said then too.”
Robby leaned back, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
“I didn’t think-” he started, then stopped. Reworked it. “I didn’t trust it to not… I don’t know, mess things up for you.”
Your eyes pierce through the side of his face. “Or for you?”
He huffed quietly. Not having an answer.
“There it is.” You threw the truck back into drive and merged back onto the road.
“Both.”
He couldn’t let you think that. He had spent all those years letting you think that. He had spent years letting you be mad. In a way, you had the right to be.
The truck slowed as you neared the edge of town, lights starting to reappear in the distance.
“I didn’t need you to decide that for me,” you drawl. No anger this time. That’s what made his throat catch.
“I know.”
And he did. Now, at least.
You pulled the truck into the deserted parking lot of that old bar, right next to his motorcycle. Neither of you reach for the door, even long after you cut the engine.
“I came back for you.” It slipped out before he could stop it.
No build up.
No deflection.
Robby went still the second it left his mouth. He was waiting for it to hit something. Or break something.
Your body didn’t move, but something in your eyes did.
Not shock.
Not exactly.
Recognition… maybe.
You didn’t answer him or let him take it back.
Didn’t soften it.
Didn’t deflect it either.
You just sat there.
Robby waited.
A second too long.
Long enough for the silence to start getting to his head.
His jaw tightened, something closed off behind his eyes.
“Right,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He nodded once, like that settled it. Then dug his keys from his pocket. “Should’ve known.”
You turned your head towards him at that, the connections crossing too late- but he was already moving.
The door opened with a dull creak, the night air rushing in as he stepped out of the truck.
“Mikey-”
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t slam the door either- just shut it with a firm click. Like putting space between you could keep things contained in an old metal box.
He dragged a hand over the back of his neck as he crossed the lot, boots crunching against gravel, heading straight for his bike.
Fuck, you should have known he’d read it like that.
Of course, he’d leave before you could-
“Michael, wait.”
You were out of the truck now, door swinging shut behind you as you hurried after him.
He slowed.
Not enough to stop.
You caught up a few steps behind him.
“That’s not-” you started, breath catching slightly. ‘That’s not what that was.”
That got him to stop. He didn’t turn around, but he looked over his shoulder.
‘What?” he asked. Flat. controlled. But not unaffected.
“You not saying anything?” he added. “That’s… new.”
You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated- not at him. At the timing. At the universe.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say,” you shot back, stepping closer. “There’s a difference.”
He held your gaze now.
Fully turned towards you.
Searching your face like he was trying to decide if he believed that. Using his own words against him.
“Yeah,” he said after a second. “There is.”
But he didn’t move closer. He just stood there. Letting you control how this played out.
Just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to recalibrate something that hadn’t worked in years.
You close the distance instead. Not all the way. Just enough that it changed the air between you.
“That’s not what that was,” you said again. The front of your shirt brushed his.
Robby’s eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.
“Then what was it?” he asked.
There was less control in it now.
Less distance.
You hesitated.
And he saw it.
He always saw you.
“That’s the problem,” you blurt. “I don’t- I don’t have a clean answer for you.”
A tight laugh echoed from his chest.
“Yeah, that tracks.”
You let out a frustrated breath and reached for him before you could think better of it- your hand catching his. His gaze dropped to where your fingers were wrapped around his.
Too familiar.
Not familiar at all.
“I spent years being mad at you,” your voice was steadier than you felt. “That was easier.”
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“And now?”
You shook your head. “Now, you show up out of nowhere and say something like that and-” you huffed, grip tightening just a fraction. “I don’t know where to put it.”
Robby stepped closer then.
Careful.
He was giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
“I didn’t come back to make it harder,” he said.
Your grip on his hand loosened before you let go- only to catch on the front of his shirt instead.
“Feels like you did,” you murmured.
His hand came up, hesitated, then settled lightly at your side. Asking without saying anything.
You didn’t step back. Didn’t step forward either. Just stayed.
You could feel the heat rising from his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. If you tried hard enough you could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
Close enough that it would’ve been easy-
Too easy-
Your eyes flickered up to his.
Then down.
Then back again.
Robby’s breath ghosted over your lips, his forehead dipping forward- stopping just short of you.
He remembered, even now, how to hold that line.
“Tell me to leave,” he whispered.
Your fingers tightened in his shirt instead.
Robby’s breath cough like that was all the permission he was going to get.
He pulled away just a fraction to search your eyes.
Then his hand shifted at your side, firmer now, and he closed the distance.
Your lips met his, and for a moment everything seemed to drop out- the road, the bar behind you, the years between.
The kiss wasn’t soft.
It couldn’t be.
There was too much behind it for that.
Your hand caressed over his chest and across his neck to his jaw, pulling him closer before you could stop yourself, and he responded immediately. He’d been waiting for it.
Like this was muscle memory.
That was the problem.
It felt familiar.
Too familiar.
Like something that hadn’t ever fully let go.
Robby’s grip shifted, almost pulling you in further-
And then he stopped.
Not all at once.
But enough.
The kiss broke slower than it had started, like neither of you were quite committed to ending it.
Your forehead hovered close to his, breathing uneven.
Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t know how to.
Robby placed a kiss on your forehead, savoring the moment.
“Yeah,” he murmured under his breath.
Not regret.
Not satisfaction.
Something in between.
Your fingers let go of his jaw but didn’t drop away completely.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” you said quietly.
He nodded.
“I know.”
Neither of you moved.
Still too close.
Still there.
And somehow… not where you were before.
J. Abbot:
Heard you assisted in child birth last night? Should I be concerned?👀
Loving @modmad 's lux comic, and was inspired to draw up his fun lill outfits (I made up the beach outfit, thought it would be cute to draw him in lol)
Based on: "you’re so pretty. it’s actually unfair. i’m mad at you now." from @bookished's fic prompts found here.
A/N: um, only drink if you're over 21 I guess? Or do as you please, I'm not the government ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Pairing: Ilia Malinin x drunk!reader
Word count: 1,864
*~*~*~*
Someone was pounding at the door, although how you could hear that was a mystery.
The loud choruses of “party in the USA!” rang across the room, almost drowning out the pulsing bass of the speakers by the fireplace. You recognized one of the shouting voices as your own, raising your arms as you danced, which you only regretted a second later when you felt a splash of vodka cran slip out of the red solo cup you were holding.
You brought your arm down to examine the red trail with a giggle, still bopping your head to the beat.
“You good?” someone—Kira from Business Finance class?—yelled next to you. You looked up at her, struggling to keep her dark hair and brown eyes in one as the edges of her figure oscillated into a body double.
“Yes! Just got a spill, give me a sec!” you grinned.
You separated yourself from the jumping crowd of girls, slipping past a couple making out on one side of the entrance to the living room, and headed towards the small kitchen. The walls held a spice cabinet and a printed-out picture of Gordon Ramsey pressing two pieces of bread on a man’s ears. The wooden cabinet rattled as the song changed into “Tití Me Preguntó.” But the deserted kitchen was considerably quieter, giving you a chance to finally catch your breath.
The pounding was still there, but it couldn’t possibly be the front door.
Within the silence of the kitchen, you realized that it was your own pulse, loud and steady as the blood rushed through your ears. You swayed and reached for the doorway with your free hand, closing your eyes tightly. Darkness flooded your vision, but even in the absence of the dim party lights, you could see traces of the light swirling in your eyelids.
How much had you had? you thought. It couldn’t have been that much…right? The pre-game shots (just two), and the first vodka cran, maybe a couple of jell-o shots, maybe another actual shot (strong maybe), and the second vodka cran. Nothing unbelievably wild.
But the second you opened your eyes and watched what was supposed to be one single round table turn into two, you had to admit it. You were definitely drunk.
You stumbled to the table and set the red solo cup aside, letting it join more discarded cups, the heavy glass bottles with a mix of dark and clear liquids that were to blame for your current state, and some empty soda cans. With your hands gripping the edge of the table, you shut your eyes again and took a deep breath, feeling the rhythm of “Gas Pedal” drift further and further away, as if your senses were slowly getting numb. When had the songs changed? The minutes were passing by so quickly and so slowly at the same time.
“You’ve looked better,” someone said behind you. “And I rarely get the chance to say that.”
You turned around too fast, and the room spun, causing you to stumble back a bit. You hit the table behind you, hearing the liquor bottles clink against each other.
Ilia rushed forward, chuckling as he grabbed onto your forearms and steadied you.
“Wow, I thought you said it was going to be a chill girls' night,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“This is a chill girls’ night,” you said, laughing, trying not to slur your words together.
You’d always found it easy to read his emotions. After all, his expressive, bright blue eyes were the first thing you noticed when you met him two semesters ago in ECON 2302, then obviously confused at the aggregate supply and demand models on the projector screen. And right now, in the multi-colored twinkle lights running along the top of the kitchen cabinets, you could tell that he was both disbelieving of your words but also, thankfully, amused.
“Chill, uh-huh,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You have a funny definition for that… What’s this?”
He looked down, and you copied him, remembering that he was still holding on to your forearms. One of his hands released your right arm. Ilia examined the sticky, red residue and shook his head.
“Oops,” you giggled, trying to convince yourself that your heart was still pounding from the alcohol rather than the proximity between you. “I spilled, lol.”
“Did you really just say ‘lol’?”
“Ilia! You don’t say that? You gotta live a little, old man, be like the rest of us cool kids,” you said, sluggishly allowing your head to drop to your shoulder before it rolled back, and you closed your eyes again.
“Alright, alright, don’t go all limp on me yet,” Ilia sighed, guiding you over to the sink. “I could carry you back if you want, but it’s gonna be a lot harder if you’re dead weight.”
“Party pooper,” you whined, leaning against him. He rotated one of the faucet handles and held your arm over the sink.
“You do realize you’re the one who called me and asked me to pick you up, don’t you?” Ilia asked as the cool water ran down your arm, washing away most of the red streaks.
“I did?”
“Like ten minutes ago,” he grinned.
“Oh.”
His hand reached for the hand soap, pumping a small dollop of white foam onto his palm. Ilia shut the faucet off for a moment and gently rubbed the soap against the stubborn stains that had dried on your hand and forearm.
Your clean hand rested on the kitchen counter, helping you keep still as you watched him. Messy blond locks fell on his forehead and over his eyes, which were focusing intently on your arm. His cheeks were rosy, like he had sprinted in the cold November air to get to you, a few drops of sweat shining down his neck.
That couldn’t be it, though. Sure, he was being a very good friend for coming over to get you, but worried enough that he literally ran to you? No, you shook your head, who are you kidding?
“What?” Ilia smiled, catching you shaking your head. He turned the water on again and started rinsing away the soap.
“Nothing,” you blushed. The alcohol was clouding your thoughts, and you suddenly pulled your arm back and out of Ilia’s grasp. Small drops of water pooled on the tile below you. You turned around, spotting a kitchen towel hanging from the oven, and stumbled that way, keeping your back to Ilia.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he questioned, following behind you.
“Nothing,” you repeated, handing him the towel, still avoiding his gaze. What if he were just as good at reading your emotions? You hadn’t really considered that before.
“Liar,” he called you out.
“Can we just leave?” you groaned.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing, just drop it.”
“You were perfectly happy and drunk one second, and then you just shook me off. Something’s obviously wrong,” he insisted.
“Ilia,” you started, “it’s n—”
“Don’t say it again. You’re not even looking at me,” he muttered quietly.
You did look up at this. The combination of the liquor hindering your logic and the confusion on Ilia’s face was too much for you. How dare he be so adorably sad, even if it was justified, when you were the one whose heart would inevitably get broken once he wasn’t the guy to come pick you up from parties, once he had someone else to actually care for and worry about, once his cute smile wasn’t directed at you anymore.
“It’s just—it’s…ugh!” you exclaimed, surprising Ilia as you crossed your arms angrily. The truth tumbled out before you could stop it, “You’re so pretty. It’s actually unfair. I’m mad at you now.”
Your eyes widened, and you clapped a hand over your mouth. Ilia looked at you with a mixture of shock and…and what? Still confused? Worse, pity maybe?
“All I Do Is Win” echoed from the living room. There was a brief moment of silence when DJ Khalid sang, “Everybody hands go up!” A moment that felt like a torturous lifetime of awkward silence before, “And they stay there” resumed the music in the background.
“You think I’m pretty?” Ilia said slowly.
You swallowed, acutely aware of the thirst forming in your dehydrated throat.
“I—well, yes,” you admitted. No use in denying it now. Who knows, maybe the quicker you got it out, the quicker he would let you down, and you could move on. Drop out of college, sell all your things, move to Ireland, and live in a tiny cottage. Maybe you’d find a nice, old lady to teach you how to make wool and run a small knitting shop. Nothing too drastic.
“And it’s unfair, why, exactly?”
“Because, you know,” you trailed off, gesturing to the empty air. “I mean, it’s unfair because I have to put up with looking at your cute face and knowing…”
“Knowing what?”
“Knowing you don’t like me.”
Ilia stared, frowning.
“So, you’re mad at me?”
“Yup,” you confirmed, popping the ‘p’ at the end.
“You’re mad at me because you mistakenly think that I don’t find you cute as hell, too,” he said, though it was no longer a question.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. At least the room had stopped spinning now, perhaps some pity from the universe.
“I sure am, so just got ahead, you can take me out back and shoot—wait, what did you say?” You stopped, bringing your hands down.
“I said, ‘I don’t know why I ever copied your accounting homework’ because I thought you were supposed to be the smart one out of both of us,” Ilia smirked, stepping closer.
The stuffy air of the house threatened to close around you like a boa constrictor as you began sobering up, but Ilia’s presence shifted the energy into something else, something dangerously dream-like. You really hoped you weren’t already blacked out and dreaming.
“Did you know my roommates set a bet on when you would notice I like you?” Ilia asked, raising a hand to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch hesitantly, smiling, and shook your head. “Alex lost last week, Max was aiming for Thanksgiving.”
“At least Alex had faith in me,” you said, holding your breath as Ilia’s nose pressed against yours.
“Well, he also bet that you’d turn me down,” he confessed. “An extra five dollars if you said that I was nice but just not your type. I thought he’d be right.”
“And what do you think now?”
He didn’t reply, not really, but there was no doubt in your mind about his answer as he pressed his lips against yours, holding a slow kiss before he parted for a second, laughing.
“What?” you smiled, unable to tell what song was playing now over the sound of your heartbeat.
“You taste like vodka cranberry.”
“So?”
“That was Max’s other bet.”
“Hmm,” you hummed, “you’ll probably need to confirm that, just to be sure.”
Ilia nodded, grinning.
“It’s only fair,” he agreed before he kissed you again, planning to do whatever it took to verify the results of the bet.
Price aims for an even dozen kids. They don’t have to be all his. In fact, he doesn’t want them to be. He wants a baby from each of his boys growing inside of you at one point in your marriage. Letting them crawl into bed with you when you’re on the wrong side of drunk or after you’ve taken your sleep meds for the night, a Ghost baby then a Gaz baby then a Soap baby. He might even feel particularly inclined to let Nik have a chance or two when you’re tied up and blindfolded on your anniversary, unsure of why your husband feels heavier on top of you, or why his cock seems to be thicker and rubbing at you in all new places.
