Chapter Text
Robert’s phone started screaming and vibrating against the cold hard floor. His brain, ever helpful, cycled through its usual morning options: first wake-up alarm, bomb, second wake-up alarm, Shroud’s busted out of prison… Again, before his eyes actually focused enough to recognize the glow of a notification.
Z-TEAM After Hours
The unread message count for the group chat just kept going up. Beef snored on his dog bed on the floor beside him, limp on his back, all four paws relaxed in the air. Robert pushed himself upright and thumbed open the chat.
FLAMBAE: @corpsehusband
wake up
i have a question
PRISM: it’s never just a question
FLAMBAE: robert
robert
answer your phone before i break into your sad excuse of an apartment
Robert rubbed at his face, working away the last bits of sleep from his eyes.
ROBERT: I’m awake.
Unfortunately.
Three dots popped up on the screen before more text followed.
FLAMBAE: ok good
do you
or do you not
still sleep on your couch
Robert glanced across the studio.
It wasn’t luxury, but compared to the plastic chair he used to crash in back when “sleep” meant collapsing wherever he landed, this thing was practically decadent. Long enough for him to stretch out diagonally if he didn’t mind his feet going numb, and soft enough that it didn’t feel like punishment. Still not a bed, but closer than he’d had in years, back when he lived as Mecha Man almost full time, real rest wasn't even an afterthought. He’d drag himself home, mech suit still cooling, and drop until his body gave out. No routine, no care for himself, no thought beyond making it through the next crisis. His eyes flicked down to Beef, sprawled blissfully on the perfectly sized, orthopedically approved dog bed on the floor beside the couch. He typed with the expression of a man bracing for impact.
ROBERT: Yes.
The reactions hit the chat like a minor earthquake.
PRISM: LMAOOOOO
MALEVOLA: The dog has a bed.
The human does not.
WATERBOY: y-you don’t even have a futon??
PUNCH UP: bro my gym has better sleep arrangements
SONAR: Fascinating. A living case study in self-neglect.
INVISIGAL: wait wait
Beef gets deluxe memory foam but Robbie gets scoliosis??
INVISIGAL: priorities king
MANDY: …Robert…
Tap tap tap.
ROBERT: The couch is fine.
PRISM: that’s what hostages say
FLAMBAE: that’s it.
everyone shut up.
i’m fixing this.
COUPÉ: Fixing it how.
FLAMBAE: i’m kidnapping him and we’re going thrifting
bed. couch. furniture that doesn’t look like a “government safehouse”
Tap tap tap.
ROBERT: I already have a couch.
MANDY: You have one couch. I’ve seen what happens to it when everyone comes over. There’s not enough sitting space for everyone.
PRISM: more seating means more house parties
INVISIGAL: more seating means i can actually sprawl properly
SONAR: I will bring books for his empty shelves.
ROBERT: I don’t have shelves.
SONAR: Exactly.
The chat scrolled even faster.
PRISM: post-thrift furniture drop tonight?
everyone bring one thing that doesn’t suck??
PUNCH UP: I call dibs on TV stand
And a TV of course
MALEVOLA: I’m claiming a bar cart.
INVISIGAL: i got lighting
MANDY: I’ll bring real pillows and a comforter. For the bed you are going to let us install.
Robert rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Beef,” he said, “if I turn my phone off forever, you’ll still love me, right?” Almost as if in response, Beef happily thumped his tail in his sleep.
ROBERT: This is unnecessary. I sleep fine.
FLAMBAE: you’re not allowed to be more emotionally stunted than sonars finance hero
SONAR: Willem Vanderstenk is not emotionally stunted
Three dots popped up on the screen as Sonar continued to type before Flambae beat him to it.
FLAMBAE: shutting this down before we all suffer
and too late bitch
i’m outside
Robert blinked.
Then he got up, padded across the room, and pushed the curtain aside.
Down on the street sat Chad’s car, half on the curb, hazard lights blinking in a slow uneven rhythm. The off-white paint had faded into a patchy, tired shade, and the body showed dents and scuffs of years that hadn’t been all too kind. It still held the low, wedge-shaped stance of an old MR2, compact and unmistakably sporty in a way that only made its condition all too noticeable. All in all, it looked like it had seen far better days, and the fact that it continued to run at all bordered on a minor miracle. Chad casually leaned against the narrow front fender with his phone in hand. He wore a loosely fitted button-down with the top three buttons undone, revealing a warm stretch of his tanned chest. The shirt was tucked neatly into black trousers that fit him with deliberate precision, a clean belt holding the look together. His dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Sunglasses hung from his shirt, shifting slightly when he breathed. He glanced up, caught sight of Robert in the window, and flashed a grin.
Robert let out a long drawn out breath knowing there was no backing out.
With the AC long past its prime, Chad had the windows down. Warm, smog-heavy LA air moved through the little cabin as a playlist rumbled from the worn speakers. Robert buckled his seatbelt and watched the city crawl by. He’d pulled on a soft, washed-out t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
“Stop thinking about invoices,” Chad said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You look like you’re doing taxes in your head.”
“I’m doing math”.
“Same thing,” Chad said. “What’s the equation?”
“Rent,” Robert said. “Price of a bed. Price of a couch. Grocery budget. Cost of Beef’s premium chow.”
“The dog deserves it,” Chad said without missing a beat. “And anyway, we’re going to thrift stores, not Neiman Marcus.”
“Earlier you said bed and couch,” Robert pointed out. “You realize your car can’t even handle a mattress?”
Chad snorted. “We’re scouting first. Picking stuff out. Then Punch Up said Royd’ll swing by with his truck. Guy can deadlift your clunky ass robo suit, we’re fine.”
Robert blinked. “You coordinated a furniture heist before you even got me to agree?”
“It’s called having vision Bobby, also, the group chat did most of the coordination. I just came up with all the wonderful ideas, you’re welcome.”
Robert’s gaze dropped, involuntary, to Chad’s right hand on the gearshift. The missing ring and pinky were obvious in daylight, the skin smooth and healed where his plasma blade had ended them years ago.
That old, long forgotten guilt jabbed him in the chest.
Chad caught him looking and wiggled the hand. “You break it, you buy the furniture,” he said. “That’s how that works, right?”
Robert dragged his attention back to the road. “I don’t think that’s the legal standard.”
The first thrift store was in a strip mall between a laundromat and a pawn shop. Inside, it smelled like dust, old books, and the ghost of a thousand scented candles.
“Rule one,” Chad stated as they stepped in. “Nothing that smells like mildew or divorce.”
“That’s most of it,”
“Rule two, no glass tables. You attract chaos and I don’t feel like cleaning up any of your messes today.”
Robert looked around. Furniture crowded one corner, couches in every shade of brown and beige, saggy armchairs, and chipped coffee tables. A twin mattress leaned against the wall, springs visibly poking through.
Chad’s nose crinkled as he visibly cringed even looking at it. “Absolutely not,” he said on instinct.
“I’m not picky.”
“Yeah, and that’s why the dog has better housing than you,” Chad shot back. “We’re fixing that.”
Robert automatically gravitated toward a plain metal frame and the least offensive mattress while Chad vetoed three in a row. “This one squeaks like a horror movie….This one dips in the middle. You’ll wake up concussed in a mattress canyon… And this one just fucking smells like it was baptized in axe body spray.”
They finally settled on a simple, sturdy-looking bed frame and a full-size mattress that passed the sniff test and didn’t try to eat Robert alive when he laid on it. It wasn’t fancy, but when he sat up, his back didn’t immediately complain.
“It’s fine,” he said.
Chad eyed him. “That sounded dangerously close to ‘actually okay.’”
Robert ignored him, doing the math again in his head. The number stung his wallet, but it was survivable.
They found the second couch in the next store over. This place was brighter, more curated with second hand goods that all matched a similar vibe. A bell chimed over the door as people entered and exited and a large fan rattled overhead. Against the back wall, half hidden behind a loveseat, sat it. A deep moss-green couch, soft-looking cushions, slightly rounded arms. Not brand-new, but not shredded. Just the right amount of lived-in.
The brunette sat and the couch welcomed him like it had been waiting. He let his weight settle, shoulders tipping back. It was different from the couch at home, this one felt like it expected to be used. Like you were supposed to fall asleep on it occasionally, or have friends over, or sit there reading one of Janelle’s recommended romantasy books. He could see it in his living room without trying too hard: facing the original couch, coffee table between them, making the space feel like somewhere meaningful conversations happened.
Chad dropped down beside him, the cushion dipping, their knees almost touching.
“Well?” he asked.
Robert cleared his throat. “It’s…comfortable.”
Chad’s mouth quirked. “Is that your idea of a rave review?”
Robert reached for the price tag, winced, and did rapid mental calculations. “Nope,” he said. “Too much. I can’t.”
“Hold up,” Chad said, catching the tag between thumb and forefinger. “Pretty sure there’s a color sticker thing here.” He twisted to flag down the clerk, a much older woman wearing a floral dress. “Hey,” he called. “The green tag deal still on?”
“Half off,” she called back in a cheery, sing-songy voice. “Weekend sale.”
Chad turned the tag so Robert could see the sticker and the new number hurt significantly less.
“You flirted with her before we came in, didn’t you,” Robert deadpanned.
“There is zero proof of that,” Chad said, all wounded innocence. “Also she’s like sixty dude. I just told her we’re buying furniture for a depressed ex-hero who sleeps on his couch and she took pity. I didn’t even need to flash her some more chest.”
Robert stared at him.
“What? Leaning into the narrative gets results. Don’t be such a little bitch and accept it.”
Robert looked around, suddenly feeling like he was invading someone else’s life. A version where friends schemed to make sure he wasn’t living an isolated lonely life in a bunker and that caused the ball of something in his chest to tighten. “Okay,” he said quietly.
Chad blinked. “Okay?”
“We’ll take it,” Robert said.
Chad’s grin lit up his whole face. “There he is.”
They added a battered but solid coffee table, a narrow bookshelf, a couple of cheap framed prints that Prism would probably rearrange anyway, and after an argument down an aisle of housewares a set of decent plates.
“You can’t serve actual food on paper plates forever,” Chad said, stacking ceramic ones into the cart. “It makes the food taste like sadness.”
“I serve takeout.”
“Yeah, give the takeout some dignity.”
The logistics turned into a small circus. Royd showed up with his truck, an older, beat-up pickup with a meticulously clean bed and a toolbox bolted behind the cab. The man himself unfolded out of the driver’s seat like a transformer ready to engage, very tall, very broad, black hair tied back at the nape of his neck, polo stretched across his shoulders, orange wristbands snug at each wrist. The black ink of a tattoo curled over his right forearm when he waved. “Robert!” he boomed, grin wide and uncomplicated. “Heard you finally letting people bully you into buying a bed.”
“Morning, Royd. Or afternoon. Time lost all meaning somewhere around mattress number five.”
Royd laughed, big and warm. “Wait till you see the bolt patterns on some of the frames they tried to sell me last week. Crimes against engineering.”
He clapped a hand on Robert’s shoulder hard enough to jostle him, then turned to Chad. “Alright, Flambae, where’s my cargo?”
“Back here,” Chad said, jerking a thumb toward the store. “Try not to crush the couch.”
Between Royd’s ridiculous strength and complete lack of complaint, they loaded the bed frame, mattress, couch, and coffee table into the truck bed with practiced ease. Royd adjusted straps and tie-downs with the care of a man securing something far more valuable than thrift store finds. “That’s not going anywhere,” he said, checking one last knot.
By the time they’d wrestled the bed frame into the small bedroom alcove and set the mattress on top, Robert’s shoulders ached in a way that felt almost…good. Physical strain instead of mental. Royd held one end of the frame easily with one hand while tightening a bolt with the other, reading the instructions once and then doing the rest from memory. “These brackets are trash,” he muttered. “Next time you’ve got a day off, I’ll design you a better joint.”
“Next time?” Robert said.
Royd straightened, wiping his hands on his pants. “Yeah, man. You’re getting a nightstand at some point. Can’t keep your glasses on the floor forever. That’s a trip hazard and an insult to optics.”
“I don’t have-” He started, then remembered the reading glasses tucked in a drawer he almost never used though he should. “…Right.”
He clapped Robert on the shoulder again, gentler this time. “Text me if any of this starts creaking wrong. I’ll swing by. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve patched your infrastructure.”
Robert stood in the doorway and looked at the new reality presented to him, a bed. An actual real bed. Against a wall that had, until now, held nothing up against it or on it. The mattress wasn’t fancy, the frame was basic, and the comforter would have to wait until Mandy arrived, but it was there.
“You look like you’re seeing a ghost,” Chad said, leaning in the hall with a water bottle, ponytail a little messy from the humidity.
“I haven’t had one of these since…” Robert started, then trailed off…Before the coma is what he wanted to say but didn’t feel ready to talk about. He cleared his throat. “College,” he lied.
Chad watched him for a moment, then nodded like he’d heard the part Robert hadn’t said anyway. “Well,” he said. “We’re upgrading you from couch goblin to bed goblin. Try not to cry about it.”
Robert let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “No promises.”
In the living room, the de-bunkification process continued.
Royd carried the couch up the stairs like it was nothing, taking the heavy end without complaint and joking the entire time. “Man, this is way better than server racks,” he said, maneuvering the frame through the doorway. “If it falls, you just get a bruise. You drop a million-credit cooling unit, you cry.”
“Thanks, Royd,” Robert said, and meant it more than the two words could carry.
Royd flashed another big, warm grin. “Anytime. And hey,” he glanced around the room, taking in the beginnings of the new layout, “this is good. You deserve nice things, Robert. Try not to run away from it.”
Then he was gone, the sound of his heavy boots fading down the stairwell. When they stepped back, the room looked wider, balanced, more like a place people might stay. Robert felt that same strange vertigo, standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite see.
“You good?” Chad asked, shoulder brushing his briefly.
Robert looked at the two couches, the table, and the faint beams of sunlight catching over them. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I…think I could be.”
By the time the sun dipped low and the sky washed orange over the hills, the apartment was ready. Messages began pouring into the group chat.
PRISM: ok freaks we’re on our way
reminder: no spandex allowed
INVISIGAL: i literally don’t own a bra that isn’t a sports bra but ok
MANDY: I’m bringing dinner rolls, pillows, and a comforter.
MALEVOLA: I have acquired an ethically questionable but aesthetically pleasing bar cart.
PUNCH UP: Royd and I got the tv from the pawn shop next to the thrift store
it works. mostly. only like two dead pixels
SONAR: I am bringing a curated selection of books.
COUPÉ: I’m bringing cookware that doesn’t look like it survived a war.
WATERBOY: I-I got some fairy lights and a succulents set… i-if you don’t like them I can-
INVISIGAL: i got the real lights
rgb strip.
Robert set his phone down and surveyed the room again. For the first time in a long time, Robert couldn’t categorize what he felt. Not relief. Not dread. Something else. A knock shook the door.
“Come in,” he called.
Alice arrived first, as if she’d been waiting in the hallway for a cue. She wore a pleated olive skirt that swung around her legs with each step, paired with a fitted gray crop top covered in looping text. Knee-high black boots and soft white socks added a little extra height. Her hair was still split pink and turquoise, but now it formed a dense, bouncing halo of tight curls, a full, coily fro that moved with her. In one arm she carried a tote bag with something large slightly sticking out. “Alright, show me your emotional growth, Bobby,” she said, breezing past him.
She stopped dead two steps in.
“Oh,” she said, lowering her sunglasses. “Okay, this is…actually cute?”
Robert folded his arms. “You sound surprised.”
“Because I am,” she said cheerfully. She turned in a slow circle, taking it in. “Two couches? A rug? Chad, you did it.”
Chad stepped out of the kitchen where he’d been pretending to reorganize the cabinet. Sometime between lifting furniture and now, he’d pulled his hair tie out, his dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, slightly damp from a quick shower he’d taken at Robert’s insistence so he didn’t drip sweat all on the new couch. He’d changed into clean blue jeans and a loose dark red t-shirt that showed his collarbone.
“Team effort,” he said. “I just bullied him into saying yes.”
Alice dropped her tote on the table and kissed him on the cheek. “Bless your chaotic little heart.”
Next came Colm, in a faded fight gym hoodie and joggers, carrying a flat screen like it was no heavier than a pizza box. Royd ducked through the doorway behind him, balancing a TV stand like it weighed nothing. Janelle slipped in quietly in crisp black jeans, a charcoal blouse, ankle boots, and a box of cookware, immediately making her way to the kitchen while Colm loudly joked. “Delivery for the saddest apartment in LA!”
“It’s upgrading,” Robert said, stepping aside as they maneuvered the stand into place opposite the couches.
“Big improvement, buddy,” Royd said, looking around with open approval. “Wow. This is like…actual adult territory.”
Victor appeared in a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled and dark jeans, carrying a stack of hardcovers like a blessing and a threat. Malevola followed in biker shorts, an oversized black sweatshirt that said HELLFIRE GYM across the front, and sliders, pushing a bar cart full of bottles and mismatched glasses.
Herm showed up in khaki shorts, a blue polo, and sneakers, arms full of tiny potted succulents and a tangle of string lights, cheeks already pink from the excitement.
Courtney arrived late and loud. “Sup, losers,” she said, kicking the door shut behind her with one battered combat boot.
She wore ripped black jeans, an oversized band tee with a logo Robert didn’t recognize, and a cropped bomber jacket. A coil of LED strip lights hung around her shoulders like a high-tech scarf, and she had a cardboard box balanced on her hip.
“You’re dripping electricity.”
“Yeah, well, your vibe needed life support,” she said, brushing past him. “Where’s the power outlet situation?” She dumped the box on the table. It clinked.
“What’s in there?” Robert quirked a brow in suspicion.
She grinned. “Starter kit so you stop being a depressing nun in here.”
Inside were: a secondhand PS4, a stack of worn controllers, and a bunch of physical game cases.
Robert blinked. “…You brought me entertainment?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I brought me entertainment. You just live here.”
But there was a faint flush along her cheekbones as she untangled the LED strip, heading for the wall behind the TV.
“Comforter incoming!” Mandy called from the hallway.
When Robert opened the door again, there she stood, brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, glasses perched on her nose, light blue athletic tank, gray zip hoodie tied around her waist, leggings, and running shoes. Along with a laundry bag stuffed with pillows and bedding hanging from one hand, a paper bag of food from the other. “Hey,” she said, smile softening when she saw him. “You look less like death. That’s new.”
“Turns out fresh air is a thing.”
“Scandalous,” Mandy shifted the bedding bag at him. “Bedroom. Now.”
“You’re very bossy out of uniform too,” he muttered, taking it.
“It’s my brand,” she said, stepping in and looking around. Her eyes widened. “Oh. Robert. This looks-”
“Not like a crime scene?” he offered.
She laughed. “I was going to say ‘like someone lives here.’ But sure. No longer crime scene adjacent. We can work with that.”
The evening unfolded from there.
Mandy made the bed like it was a mission, smoothing the comforter (navy blue, simple, soft) with quick, competent hands. She fluffed two pillows, set them down, then stepped back. “There,” she said. “Now you have somewhere other than the couch to collapse.”
Robert stood in the doorway, feeling weirdly unsteady yet again. “You didn’t have to-”
“I did,” she said firmly. “That couch was supposed to be a stopgap.”
In the living room, Courtney and Herm fought over where to hang the fairy lights versus the LED strip. Alice mediated with the confidence of someone who considered herself the final authority on aesthetics. “RGB against that wall, fairy lights around the balcony door,” she decreed. “We’re doing cozy, not gamer dungeon.”
Courtney scoffed. “Disrespectful to the dungeon lifestyle, but fine.”
Victor lined up books on the new shelf with frightening precision. Robert recognized exactly zero of the titles.
Janelle unpacked pans and knives, installing them with silent approval. “This is less embarrassing,” she said when Robert thanked her.
The TV went up. The bar cart found a corner. Plants spread onto the balcony. Beef made his rounds, collecting scritches from everyone present.
Royd helped Colm tweak the angle of the TV stand, then disappeared onto the balcony with a screwdriver, coming back in with a satisfied nod. “Secured your railing bracket,” he said. “If someone leans on it, they won’t die. That’s my housewarming gift.”
“Very on-brand,” Robert said. “Thanks. You’ve done more than enough with helping get all of this up here.”
And through it all, Chad moved like a slow-burning sun, adjusting the plant near the window, sliding the coffee table an inch left so it lined with the rug, ferrying dishes, refilling cups, bickering with Courtney over which playlist deserved to live.
Everyone was dressed like themselves, not their hero personas, and somehow that made the whole thing feel more real…friends coming over and genuinely enjoying their time together. Robert hung at the edges, orbiting from conversation to conversation. Every time his eyes drifted to the couches, there was someone on them now.
Alice perched on the arm of the couches, legs crossed, leaning into Colm as she laughed at something he said. Mandy sat with her back against the other, long legs stretched out, talking quietly with Janelle about workout regimens. Victor sprawled half on the floor, half against a cushion, one book open, another being used as a coaster.
Chad moved through the space like he belonged there. At one point, Robert ended up in the kitchen alone with him, washing plates that had seen more use tonight than in the last three months. The much taller man leaned against the counter, mug in hand, he’d chosen one of the new ones, a chipped black thing with a faded logo. His hair was still down, falling around his shoulders in uneven waves, without the ponytail, he looked softer somehow.
“You look less like you want to jump out the window,” Chad observed.
“I live on the third floor, I’d just sprain something.”
“Yeah, but you like dramatic exits.”
Robert rolled his eyes, rinsing a plate. “It’s…weird,” he admitted, the words surprising him. “Seeing this many people in here. Seeing…things.”
“Things?”
“Furniture,” Robert clarified. “Plants. A bed…”
He could feel Chad’s gaze on him, steady and unflinching.
“It freaking you out? On a scale of one to screaming in a parking lot.”
Robert set the plate on the drying rack. “I keep waiting for something to explode.”
“It kind of did,” Chad said. “In a good way.”
Robert huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that what this is? A good explosion?”
“Look, man,” Chad said, swinging his mug slightly. “You spent years throwing yourself at actual bombs in expensive tin cans. This,” he gestured vaguely around them, “is the first time I’ve seen you throw yourself at a down payment on a mattress.”
“I didn’t throw myself at anything,” Robert muttered. “You kidnapped me.”
“Tch. Semantics,” Chad said. “Point is, you let us do this. You let yourself have…more.”
The word landed heavier than it should have.
Robert stared at the sink for a moment. The sound of the party leaked in, Courtney shouting about how the LED colors made the room look “less crime scene investigation-y,” Alice cackling, Beef barking, Donna Summer from someone’s playlist.
What would I have to do
To get you to notice me too?
Do I stand in line?
One of a million admiring eyes…
“I don’t know what to do with more,” he said finally. In that quiet tone, not for the group, just for the man right next to him, and at this Chad didn’t laugh. Didn’t make a joke. He just let the silence sit for a beat.
Walk a tightrope, way up high
Write your name across the sky…
“Start by sleeping in the bed,” he said eventually. “On purpose. Not because you passed out doing paperwork and fell sideways or whatever the fuck else it is you do after work.”
Robert snorted. “I’ll…think about it.”
“Think faster. Tch. I didn’t drag a full mattress up your stairs just so your dog can steal it.”
I’m going crazy just to let you know
You’d be amazed how much I love you so…
They ate cheap takeout off real plates. Malevola mixed drinks. Alice commandeered the music and bullied everyone into at least one dance, dragging Mandy up from the couch, then Courtney, then even Janelle into a reluctant sway.
Courtney, buoyed by whiskey and RGB glow, flopped onto the couch at one point, her boots on the coffee table until Robert kicked them off.
“You did good, Robbie,” she said, eyes half-lidded, LED colors reflected in the dark ring of her pupils. “Ten out of ten less serial-killer-chic.”
“High praise,” he said dryly.
She shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”
But when she caught him glancing at the game console she’d brought, she smirked. “We’re playing something on that next time I come over,” she said. “You’re not allowed to work through your day off like a loser.”
Next time. Everyone kept peppering that phrase and it finally caught on something inside him and stayed.
Eventually, people drifted out.
Herm left early to go make sure his Grandma got her night time meds, with promises to come water the plants. Victor and Malevola portaled out still arguing about whether his latest “investment opportunity” was ethical or not. Janelle glided out with Colm. Alice hugged him on her way out, arms tight. “Don’t let these idiots bully you into hosting every week,” she said against his shoulder. “But also, I’m expecting a movie night. I’m bringing popcorn. Don’t be weird about it.”
Mandy lingered in the doorway for a moment, hoodie thrown on over her tank, strands that fell from her messy bun clung to her face with sweat from dancing. “Text me if the bed feels off,” she said. “I can help you find a better mattress later, if you want.”
“It’s fine,” he said.
She smiled. “You deserve better than ‘fine,’ Robert.”
Then she was gone, jogging down the hall to catch up with the others, the door clicking shut behind her. Royd waved on his way out, one hand on the doorframe, the other balancing a leftover takeout container. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Seriously. Proud of you. This is…good. Feels like a place you come back to. No more ‘minimalism’ for you.”
“Thanks, Royd,” Robert said.
In the end, it was Chad who stayed the longest. When Robert came back from letting Beef out one last time, he found Chad standing in the middle of the room, turning slowly, taking it all in again.
“This place,” Chad said, “doesn’t suck anymore.”
“Don’t strain yourself with those compliments,” Robert said, leaning on the doorframe.
“I’m serious. It feels…lighter.”
Robert wasn’t sure if he meant the apartment or the air between them.
“You heading out?” Robert asked.
Chad nodded slowly. “Yeah. Prism’s circling the block so she doesn’t get ticketed. She’ll roast my ass in the chat if I make her wait too long.”
There was a beat where neither of them moved.
“Thanks,” Robert said finally. The word felt inadequate. “For today. For…everything.”
Chad shrugged one shoulder, but there was something softer at the edges of his mouth. “You gonna actually sleep in the bed?”
“I might try it,” Robert said. “See if it bites.”
“It better not, I’ll fight it.”
Robert huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “You against a mattress. I’d pay to see that.”
He stepped closer to walk him to the door. They ended up a little too close in the narrow hallway, shoulders brushing. Up close, Robert could see the faint line of a healing cut along Chad’s collarbone, the way his lashes cast small shadows under his eyes. How Chad’s hair fell loose around his face. He smelled like smoke, whiskey, cheap detergent, and something warm underneath all of it.
That ball of warmth under Robert’s sternum flared, sudden and sharp.
He had an image, uninvited but not completely unwelcome, of Chad sprawled on the couch, long legs stretched out, laughing, of him asleep there, Beef curled against his knees, of him sitting across from Robert, talking low in the lamplight when everyone else had gone. He tried his best to shut the door on that image as fast as it came.
Not now. Not this. Not when they were still stitching themselves together from the wreckage of everything that had come before.
“You okay?” Chad asked, head tilting, catching a flash of whatever had gone across his face.
“Just tired,” Robert said. “Long day of being bullied into self-care.”
Chad snorted. “Get used to it. Night, Bob Bob,” he said, and slipped out into the hallway.
The door shut with a soft click and the quiet that followed didn’t feel like the old kind. It wasn’t empty and instead it hummed, very faintly, with leftover laughter, the echo of voices, and the promise of next time.
Robert walked slowly back into the living room. On the corner of the coffee table, half-tucked under a coaster, sat a black hair tie, stretched slightly, one side faintly singed, like it had gotten too close to a flame one too many times.
Chad’s.
Robert picked it up.
It was warm from the room, a simple loop of elastic and fabric, small against his palm. He turned it over between his fingers, thumb tracing the roughened spot where the material had been scorched.
He could picture Chad tugging his hair back with it, wrist flexing, face tilted toward the mirror in Robert’s tiny bathroom. Could picture him snapping it off absentmindedly during the night, stuffing it in his pocket, then discarding it on the table without thinking.
Beef circled once on the rug and flopped down, sighing as Robert glanced toward the bedroom. For a second, he hesitated, muscles wanting to steer him toward the couch out of habit. His body knew that route by heart, lie down, one arm over his eyes, wake up stiff and half-rested.
He took a breath and made himself turn down the short hall instead where his bed waited. Comforter smooth. Pillows soft. It looked too clean, like a hotel room bed in a life that wasn’t his. Sitting on the edge, the mattress dipped just enough. He lay back fully, staring at the ceiling.
Robert exhaled.
The unfamiliar feeling under his ribs, warm, unsettled, edged with something that might, at some point, become hope, didn’t go away. He didn’t know what to call it. Didn’t know what he was supposed to do about the way Chad’s presence had felt, or how the room seemed to remember it even after he left. Didn’t know what it meant that a forgotten hair tie on his coffee table felt like a line that could be crossed or not, he just didn’t know, and for now, would have to be okay with not knowing.
But for the first time in a very long time, he let himself lie somewhere that wasn’t a couch, in a room that looked a little bit like it belonged to a person and not a ghost of a person. He turned onto his side, facing the doorway, the faint glow of the living room beyond. “Baby steps,” he murmured to no one and closed his eyes, slowly, letting the weight of the day drag him down into sleep.