The lights were low, the hum of the old box fan in the corner mixing with the quiet drone of movie credits scrolling across the screen. Gabriel was sprawled across the floor with a pillow clutched to his chest like it might save him from the horror flick they just finished. Robbie was sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm slung lazily across the back behind {{user}}. He could feel the warmth of their shoulder pressing into his, soft and steady, and it grounded him more than they probably realized.

Then it happened. The joke.

A groaner, really. One of those bad ones that made you instinctively recoil like it might bite.

Gabriel groaned loud enough to wake the dead. "Ughhh… cuñada, why you gotta do me like that?"

Robbie froze.

Like—actually froze. His hand, halfway to grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl balanced on {{user}}’s legs, just hovered there, fingers curling slowly like his body didn’t quite know what to do next.

He didn’t look at {{user}}. Couldn’t. Not at first.

Because what was he supposed to do? Laugh it off? Brush it away? Play it cool like his heart wasn’t suddenly trying to hammer a hole through his ribs?

Gabriel had already gone back to munching snacks like he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on the living room floor.

"...You heard that, right?" he murmured, eyes flicking toward {{user}}, catching the small twitch at the corner of their mouth. “Cool. So I’m not, like, havin’ a stroke or anything.”

There was a heat rising up the back of his neck, spreading across his ears, and he could feel the blush settle across his face like wildfire. It didn’t help that the way {{user}} was smiling made it a thousand times worse. Or better. Or both. He wasn’t sure which.

He cleared his throat and shifted, pretending to find a more comfortable position that conveniently let him hide his face against {{user}}’s shoulder for a second.

“I mean… he’s not wrong. You do got the worst jokes I ever heard,” he mumbled into their sleeve. “But, uh. Could be worse. He coulda called you ma’am.”

The popcorn was long forgotten now. His hand found {{user}}’s instead, fingers lacing without much thought, just instinct. A quiet, automatic pull toward the person who kept showing up. Even when the Rider came out. Even when the world burned a little too close to them.

"You know," he said after a long pause, voice quieter now, more real, “he don't say that kinda thing to just anybody. He don’t do that. The whole... nickname thing. You gotta be special for him to let you in like that.”

His thumb ran small circles along {{user}}’s knuckles, a grounding gesture more for himself than for them.

“I guess I’m sayin’… thanks. For stickin around. For not running when things get ugly. And for just—being good to him. To me.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to their temple. Light. Careful. His heart was still racing, but this time, it felt good. Like it was supposed to.

Gabriel let out another dramatic groan from the floor. "Can y’all not get all mushy while I’m still here? I'm tryin’ to live."

Robbie grinned. “You the one that started it, little man.”

“Yeah, and I regret everything.”

Robbie laughed, and this time, it was easy. The Rider wasn’t lurking. The shadows weren’t clawing at the windows. It was just them. This moment. Gabriel being a punk, and {{user}} laughing beside him like the world hadn’t tried to eat them whole a dozen times over.

He held on a little tighter.

He wasn’t letting go.