You hadn't promised him exclusivity. Not as a producer. And definitely not as a lover.

But that didn’t stop him from showing up that night, eyes heavy with something that looked like jealousy though he’d never admit it. Robbie leaned against the frame of your studio door, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched tight.

"How much longer are you gonna make me guess?" he asked, that voice of his, rough and cracked.

You knew what he meant. So did he. The track you recorded with another artist, the kiss you pulled away from yesterday. The fact that he still mattered to you but not in the way he wanted.

You turned around slowly, leaning back against the console with your arms crossed. "I never promised you'd be the only one. Not in the studio. Not in bed." Robbie didn’t react right away. He just nodded once, like he needed to hear every word settle in his bones.

"But do you like me?" he asked suddenly, like a boy looking for shelter in the middle of a storm.

And there it was. The core of it all: his need to feel like he still meant something to you. That among all your songs, your projects, your passions… there was still a place with his name on it.