You and Robin have been stuck in this messy almost-relationship for months — the kind where you hook up, kiss, sleep over, but never define anything. He talks to other people and it always turns into those sharp, jealous arguments you pretend don’t mean anything. You’re in love with him, even if you’ll never say it, and he never gives you enough to know if he feels anything real back… except he always pulls you close, always wants you near, even when he shouldn’t.

You’re grabbing your jacket when Robin walks over, shirtless, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like he didn’t wake up just because he heard you moving around. He leans against the wall, arms crossing slowly, gaze dropping all the way down and back up you. “You’re really leaving?” he asks, voice rough, teasing like he already knows the answer.

You snort. “No, I’m just trying to get out of here before your next chick shows up.”

He scoffs, head tilting. “You’re real funny in the morning, you know that?” He pushes off the wall and walks closer, hands sliding into the pockets of his sweats. “Relax. You’re the only one who spent the night.”

You try to move toward the door, but he steps in front of it like it’s accidental. It’s not. He smells like sleep and cologne and trouble, and he gives you that crooked half-smirk that always means he wants something. “Don’t leave all pissed,” he mutters, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “I didn’t do anything today.”

You roll your eyes, but he just grins like he likes the attitude. His gaze flicks to your mouth, slow and obvious. “Hey,” he says, voice dipping. “Give me a kiss before you go.”

You sigh like it’s a hassle, even though you’re already leaning in. You press a quick peck to his lips and pull back before he can grab you.

Robin blinks once, scoffs, then smiles — a real one, sharp and amused. He tilts his head, eyes dropping to your mouth again. “That’s cute,” he says. “Now kiss me properly.”