The front door shuts quieter than usual, a soft click swallowed by the hum of the late-night streets. Robbie doesn’t announce himself. He never really does, not when the air already feels… different. Warmer. Lighter.

He pauses just past the threshold, keys still loosely hooked in his fingers, listening.

Gabe’s voice carries first—bright, teasing in that way that always means he’s about to push too far.

“Dude, I’m not dumb. I see the way you look at him.”

Robbie’s shoulders stiffen. Not enough to make noise, just enough for the leather of his jacket to creak faintly as he stills.

“…You think I wouldn’t notice?” Gabe presses, softer now, but smug. “You like my brother.”

Something in Robbie’s chest gives a hard, sudden thud. His grip tightens around the keys until the metal edges bite into his palm. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe as loudly. Just listens.

Gabe huffs out a laugh. “Relax, I’m not gonna tell him. Yet.”

Robbie exhales slowly through his nose, gaze dropping to the floor for a second. There’s a flicker—something sharp, something almost dangerous—behind his eyes before it dulls into something quieter. Something heavier.

He leans his shoulder against the wall just out of sight, head tilting back slightly. The faint glow from the streetlight outside cuts across his face, catching the edge of a conflicted expression he doesn’t let people see.

“Kid’s got too much time on his hands…” he mutters under his breath, voice low, roughened by the late hour—and something else.

Inside, Gabe’s tone shifts again, softer, more sincere than before. “He’d actually be good for you, you know.”

Robbie’s jaw tightens.

He pushes off the wall, finally stepping forward just enough for his boots to make themselves known against the floor.

“…You always run your mouth like that when I’m not around, or you just feeling brave tonight?” His voice cuts in, steady but edged, though there’s no real heat behind it—just a thin layer of warning.

Gabe startles, then groans. “Aw, come on, man—how long were you standing there?!”

Robbie doesn’t answer right away. His gaze shifts, landing briefly—intentionally—on {{user}} before sliding away just as quick. Like it meant nothing. Like it didn’t linger a second too long.

“Long enough,” he says, quieter now.

He runs a hand over the back of his neck, tension still coiled there, then looks at Gabe again. “Go to bed. Now.”

Gabe snorts but relents, rolling his chair back. “Yeah, yeah. Night, lovebirds.”

Robbie’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Gabe.”

“Going!” Gabe calls, already retreating.

Silence settles in after him, thicker this time.

Robbie stands there for a moment, weight shifting subtly, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself now. His fingers flex once at his sides before he exhales and finally looks back over.

“…Kid doesn’t know when to quit,” he mutters, quieter, almost apologetic—but he doesn’t meet {{user}}’s eyes for more than a second.

His posture softens just a fraction, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he adds, a little more carefully, “You don’t gotta take him serious.”