#a certain amount of truth to it too—because he DID leave the party visibly freaked out! and i think it'd be perfectly believable for her

[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 37

The Stars Look Very Different

Social Media AU

previous chapter

tag list: @yellowballoon @cleocc @ijzermanora @boldlydeepestcupcake @pduwd @notallthereyall @gingerhead007 @groeneweiden @nyttvera @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @curiouskopf @engelkeijsers @xiaomailab @honeyandsinn @lauren-bk @saraben00 @tailsbeth @boysrunaway @howlingsaturn @menamesniall

took a little longer than expected. sorry for any mistakes!

~^~

Robbe’s head had stopped spinning, now that he’d spent a while sitting down, and he almost mourned the loss of the haze. It had helped him in forgetting, for a little while, when everything was fuzzy around the edges. The spinning left an ache in its wake, and regret was slowly beginning to creep in. Robbe could hold his alcohol, and his stomach, at least, hadn’t been unsettled. But his throat and eyes felt dry and prickly and his hands held an irritating tremor. He wished he’d thought to buy a bottle of water. He didn’t have any money. He wished his phone hadn’t died so he would at least have some music. He didn’t have any earphones.

He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, swallowing, wincing at the scratchiness of his throat. He sat with his coat tucked tightly around himself and his knees drawn up, forearms resting on them and hands dangling in the gap. He sat and closed his eyes and breathed and wanted to forget.

It was impossible. He hated it.

He drew his hands up and pressed the knuckles of his thumbs hard to his forehead, in a useless attempt to stave off his thoughts. He wished he had stayed at the party and drunk more, or smoked something. He wished he had never gone. He wanted to do something that would quiet his mind and set his heart racing instead. He didn’t even want to move.

The light pounding overhead also wasn’t helping his headache.

Overhead…in the gallery?

The pounding did, in fact, sound an awful lot like footsteps.

Or maybe it was just his head.

“Robbe!”

That seemed a little too loud to be in his head, but it had to be, because there was simply no other way. There was no way that what he was hearing was real. He didn’t want it to be.

There was no way Sander was really here.

“Robbe!”

The footsteps were definitely getting closer.

Robbe’s eyes went wide. He drew his knees to his chest. He sucked in his breath and held it. He was fine. He was imagining it. Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be found in here. Sander wouldn’t put in that much energy. He didn’t want to see Robbe at all.

Why would he waste his time looking for him in a maze?

“Fuck, Robbe, are you here?”

They were on the same level now, definitely. Robbe slowly climbed to his feet.

“Robbe, please.”

The footsteps picked up again from where they had paused in the entrance, likely, and quickly grew closer. Robbe internally cursed and slinked farther into the maze. It didn’t matter if he was only imagining it. He was used to running from his own head.

And if it was real, then hiding was even more necessary.

Because why should he let Sander anywhere near him now?

Hadn’t it already been enough?

The footsteps paused, but Robbe barely noticed, simply kept going.

“Robbe, I can hear you.”

Robbe stilled. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the wall next to him, thinking, hating his thoughts. His heart was throbbing. There was no way he could escape without leaving it to bleed out on the floor. He hated this, hated how weak he felt, hated how easy Sander made it, how he could bring him to nothing with just the sound of his voice and the knowledge of his proximity. Robbe couldn’t even see him and still he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have been the one hiding. Cowering. Aching. He should have been the righteous one, angry, defiant, uncaring. It should have been Sander running from him, with his tail between his legs. It should have been Sander glued to the wall, holding his breath, as if preparing for a lash to the back.

Robbe should have been chasing him down. It shouldn’t have come to this.

Why had it come to this?

~^~

Sander’s hands trembled. His heart raced. His ears strained. He’d heard Robbe, he had, he was certain of it, especially when the noise stopped after he’d called him out. He knew he would be here. He should have known right away.

It was strange, for Sander, to walk through the many pieces of art and not see any of them. To scan his eyes around and take nothing in. To find it unimportant. His muse was absent, and that was enough to leave the vibrant setting colourless. There was no beauty when his heart wasn’t with it. There was no point.

That was how he’d felt, these past two weeks, after placing his heart in Robbe’s hands and running in the opposite direction.

He had been so stupid. So careless. He had made a mistake he wasn’t sure he could ever repay. He’d hurt Robbe under the guise of protecting him, when in truth he’d been protecting himself.

He’d left Robbe in the worst possible way, and he wasn’t about to do it again.

“I’m not going anywhere until I see you, Robbe. Please, just let me know you’re okay,” he begged, fruitlessly, knowing Robbe would never give in, would never give himself up, was too strong for it. It was one of the many reasons Sander loved him as much as he did.

It was odd, creeping through the space on his own when he wasn’t fueled by adrenaline, but worry, though love was still thread through both. He couldn’t take in the copious amounts of graffiti, either, not even the constellation piece he’d come to adore so much that he’d recreated it. He didn’t even see any of it. All his attention was focused on the pathway ahead of him, on the gaps branching off, looking for any hint or clue, any reassurance. He knew Robbe was here. He’d known as soon as he’d stumbled off his bike and grappled at the door to find the lock had already been picked and left open. It had been reassuring, the thought that Robbe was at least coherent enough to perform such a task, and it was worrying, because that meant he was entirely sober enough to remember how much he hated Sander.

He should have just given Jens and Lucas the address. He should have trusted them to make sure Robbe was safe and kept on his path of leaving the other boy alone. It must have been what Robbe would have preferred, by now.

No, Sander thought. You need to at least give him this. He’s here because of you. He deserves better. He has always deserved better.

Determination should have been enough.

And it was enough to find him.

Sander simply had to round the corner, and there he was.

Determination was not enough to tamp down the abrupt, overwhelming fear that overcame him.

“Robbe,” he said, and it was nothing more than a choked breath to the boy’s back, but it was enough. Robbe straightened, spine unfurling to give him his full height even as he remained pressed to the wall. He did not turn to Sander. His head didn’t even seem to consider it. He remained staring in the opposite direction, hand pressed to the wall, unmoving. Sander steeled himself, ignoring the rapid race of his pulse, and took a few steps forward, then on, around Robbe until he could stand in front of him. Finally face to face.

His breath caught. He was unsure what he had expected, but he found himself surprised to see Robbe so unchanged and entirely unfamiliar.

His eyes were still the same sweet brown. His lips were still soft and mildly chapped. His hair was still the same unruly mess of curls. His jacket was still the same familiar brown. He looked tired. His doe eyes were dull, complete with bags underneath, and his cheeks seemed hollow, his lips downturned. This wasn’t so unfamiliar. This was conceivable.

What gave Sander pause was the entire absence of emotion.

There were many times Robbe had looked at him, when he’d still seemed mysterious, and Sander had struggled to figure out what he was feeling. Robbe kept his heart safely tucked away in his chest, not visible to everyone, and Sander had gotten used to searching for more subtle signs.

But never, in any of their encounters thus far, had Sander ever looked at Robbe and deemed him cold.

Now, that seemed to have changed.

Sander deserved it. He knew he did.

It tore what was left of his heart to shreds.

“Robbe,” he repeated, equally as cracked, when their eyes finally met. He made the mistake, then, of reaching out.

Robbe flinched away before taking three entire steps back. “Don’t.”

His voice was almost as broken as Sander’s, barely more than a croak. But it was likely weakened by alcohol and disuse. Sander didn’t let himself believe that it was a glimpse of the emotion seeping through, because then he would let himself hope. Because whether it be hurt or mere anger, it meant, in some way, that Robbe hadn’t stopped caring.

“Sorry,” Sander whispered. Robbe was no longer looking at him, but a point over his shoulder. Sander leaned forward in preparation to take a step, and Robbe took another one back. Sander rooted himself to his spot. “Robbe, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

Cold.

Sander swallowed, licked his lips, tried to choose his words carefully. “Lucas texted me. You freaked them out, when you disappeared and they couldn’t find you. Lucas just asked me if I knew where you would be.”

“So why didn’t you tell him?”

Sander thought it probably wouldn’t work in his favour to tell Robbe that he’d been wondering the same thing. “I needed to see you myself. To know you were okay.”

Robbe scoffed, and then he was the one taking a step forward. Not, Sander knew, in an aching desire to be closer, but in a short burst of anger. “You wanted to know I was okay? You want to pretend you care about me now again, is that it?”

“Robbe, I never pretended to—“

“Don’t,” Robbe cut him off sharply. Sander noticed his chest was heaving, his breaths beginning to stutter. “Don’t lie to me anymore. They freaked you out, right? And you couldn’t stand the idea of being the bad guy, of feeling responsible, so you thought you’d play hero for them. As if they need you to prove anything. Well, bravo, Starman. Mission complete. You don’t need to worry.”

The words cut deep, as Sander assumed they were supposed to, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. It was clear, in fact, that Robbe probably thought they would glance off Sander entirely. That Sander didn’t care.

“I’m not lying. I’m not playing. I swear, Robbe. I am so sorry. But I didn’t lie about what you think. I didn’t lie about you.”

Robbe’s hands curled into his fists. His lips pursed tightly together.

He finally looked sad.

He looked, more than anything, like what he was. He was young, and small, and vulnerable, and scarred, and scared. Sander realised suddenly that he had always been all of those things—that the weight of the world on Robbe’s shoulder had never been placed there by Sander. He wasn’t holding it up for him. He wasn’t collapsing because of him.

But Sander had added to it, and he’d done so while thinking he was lessening the burden.

“Then what did you lie about, Sander? What did you mean? Why did you tell me that you…” Robbe trailed off, and Sander understood, with a pang, that he couldn’t say the word.

“I love you.”

Robbe’s eyes glistened. He slowly shook his head.

Sander chanced a step forward. Robbe remained where he was.

“I love you, Robbe,” Sander repeated, finding it easy. This wasn’t where he was lacking surety. He had known this long ago, he had known this before Robbe had known him, and he had never cast it in doubt. No matter what his mind told him, no matter what he let his parents believe, Sander knew this sole fact without a hint of doubt. The expanse and the strength of his feelings for Robbe could have never been fabricated, never a lie. Even Sander wasn’t capable of such artistry. “I meant it. I would never have said it if I didn’t. I meant it that day and long before that and I mean it now. I love you. I mean it.”

Robbe’s fists slowly unfurled. His lips had parted slightly, better to tremble, and Sander ached to brush his fingers over them and set them at ease beneath his own. He had always been better with touch. It was an artistic form much easier learnt than words.

But he knew there was a lingering bubble around Robbe that only a true explanation could hope to penetrate. He knew that it wasn’t easy, and he was going to have to learn fast.

“How do you expect me to believe you,” Robbe whispered, “when you said that only to suddenly act like I didn’t exist?”

Sander could answer that one. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have even known where to go. It killed me to do that, Robbe. It’s been killing me everyday.”

Robbe flitted his gaze aside, shaking his head and biting at his lip. It was strange to think Sander had already seen him cry and was now astonished at the possibility of tears. But the truth was, there was no one more expressive than Robbe, when he stopped hiding. There was nothing to stop every emotion from laying itself out on his face when he let it. When he gave in to it.

Sander found himself relieved that one of those times was now. It was dangerous, that relief.

He was letting himself hope.

“Then why…” Robbe started, trailed off, still shaking his head. “Sander, what happened? You asked me to forgive you. You begged me. You knew what you were doing.”

Sander nodded, ashamed. He’d know exactly what he was doing. Even before leaving Robbe’s arms that day in his appartment, he knew what he was doing. He knew he couldn’t come back.

But he couldn’t leave Robbe without telling him the truth. Without making sure he knew how Sander felt. He hadn’t thought about how much worse it would make things—how much more confusing it would be for Robbe. He’d thought, as it was clear to him, that it would be clear to the other boy as well. That he was doing this because he loved him. That it was never Robbe’s fault.

It was a smaller stupid mistake amongst the larger one. Sander was realising stupid mistakes were his habit.

“What happened?” Robbe pressed. “What did I do wrong?”

“Not you,” Sander shook his head, rapid and vehement. This was what he hadn’t wanted. He’d thought Robbe would simply blame and hate Sander. “You didn’t do anything. It’s—it’s me. It’s what’s wrong with me.”

Robbe’s brow furrowed, and then he took a cautious step forward. Sander refused to now be the one to move away, but he shrunk slightly. Robbe’s shoulders slumped. “What do you mean? Why won’t you just tell me? It’s not fair—“

“I’m bipolar.”

Robbe’s lips snapped shut. Sander forced himself not to look away as he stared. “What?”

There was no backing out now. Sander swallowed, and managed to straighten his spine, and resisted the urge to reach out. Robbe’s touch would have helped, would have soothed him exponentially. Sander ached for it often, but never quite as much as he did now. Now, when he was entirely undeserving. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. Maybe I should have told you right away, but I–I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Robbe’s brows had knit together, his lips turned down in a frown. He reached a hand out then quickly dropped it back to his side. Sander’s body screamed. “You’re serious.”

Sander gave a small nod. He licked his lips at the realisation Robbe was still waiting—that he wasn’t going to demand answers or run away, but he was giving Sander time to explain on his own. Sander wasn’t sure where to start, but he supposed the best idea was to go from the beginning.

“I was only diagnosed this summer. Just before school. In July, I—I was feeling really good. I was so happy in myself. My art was flowing out of me. I had all these amazing ideas. I didn’t realise that I was starting to get annoying, that my parents, my friends thought I was being weird and I was just elated. I took a special interest in graffiti. I was seeing all these pieces around the city, and I thought, ‘I can do better than that’. So I tried to. I was going to do it on this big wall of an old warehouse, and I had a ladder and everything...and I fell. Not from that high, but it was just—it was so stupid. I broke my arm, and my hand. My parents didn’t really think anything of it, it was just ‘what were you thinking’ and ‘why didn’t you at least tell us’ and ‘you need to be more careful’. But I broke my hand. I suddenly couldn’t do the one thing I loved most, the one thing I had been spending all of my time on. And it felt like the end of the world. It was like, without even realising it, I’d only been getting out of bed to draw, and suddenly that reason was taken from me. I didn’t see the point anymore. It sounds ridiculous, I know, even I can see that now but at the time it—I think it was the last straw.”

Robbe, carefully, but without hesitance, reached out and took his hand. Sander’s breath hitches. Robbe gazed down at it as he ran his thumb over Sander’s knuckles, then the slight, barely-noticeable crook of his ring finger. He looked back up at Sander, and their eyes met, and Sander was suddenly—and relievingly—flooded with a familiar warmth.

“At first, it still seemed fine, from the outside. I didn’t have many friends, just Lucas and Noor, and they had their own lives and I wasn’t spending much time with them anyway. My hobby was gone. It was summer, I had nothing to do. It wasn’t concerning when I spent that first whole day in my bed. It was a little strange that I didn’t want to eat, but I was grumpy teenager sulking because he had messed up. Then after three days, it suddenly didn’t seem normal, and after a week, my mother was almost crying trying to get me to eat, and they forced me to go see someone. Then suddenly I had all this medication and a therapy appointment and everyone staring at me like I was pitiful. And I didn’t want it. It terrified me. I’d always known that I—that sometimes I had these thoughts that were darker than they should have been and that I got in these low moods but it was never…”

He lost his rhythm, his next breath shaking, and Robbe gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have family dinners on Wednesdays.”

It wasn’t a question. Sander shook his head anyway. “That’s when I have my sessions,” he mumbled.

Robbe’s jaw worked. His eyes were still flitting around. Sander watched his throat as he swallowed. “Why did you never just tell me that?”

“I didn’t know how,” Sander said, voice cracking, knowing it was a pathetic excuse. “I still didn’t know how to manage it myself. I hadn’t even started going to therapy before I met you. Everything felt different, wrong, when I came back to school. Nothing felt good anymore. And then there was you. And I still had the same, hopeless crush on you that I’ve had for almost a year.”

Robbe’s eyes widened, surprised, but Sander didn’t let him derail him, not now when he was finally getting the words out.

“And then suddenly you were showing interest in me too. And it was a distraction, and it was exciting, and it made me feel good. And at first I was so scared to feel that, because what if it was just like before, and I was just latching onto it and imagining things that weren’t there and I would take it too far?”

Robbe shook his head, softly, and now his expression had grown fearful. He dropped Sander’s hand. “So it—it wasn’t real?”

“No, Robbe, that’s not—“ Sander shook his head desperately, reaching out to grab both of Robbe’s hands, relieved when Robbe let him. “That’s not it. Nothing is better than you.”

It seemed to do the trick. Robbe softened enough to roll his eyes at hearing his own words turned on him. Then a lightbulb seemed to suddenly go off. “It was my fault. When I was talking about my mom...it made you run. Fuck, Sander, what did I say?”

Sander shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was stupid. I should never have left you like that. Robbe, I am so sorry. But I would never lie about loving you. You aren’t alone, Robbe. You don’t have to be.”

He inched himself closer, and Robbe gazed up at him with lingering doubt, eyes flickering all over his face in search of a lie. Sander carefully raised his hand to his face, cupping his cheek, but he went no further. He leaned his head down, just enough, and tried to convey his honesty, tried to portray his relief and the growing bubble of hope in his chest.

But Robbe didn’t kiss him. Instead he slid his hand to the back of Sander’s neck and drew their foreheads together, looking at him seriously.

“I love you,” he said simply. Sander’s breath left him in a rush and Robbe’s lips ticked up in a smile. “You didn’t let me say it back.”

Sander shook his head in disbelief. A smile was beginning to take over his own face, and he was desperate for Robbe to roll his eyes and kiss it away, as he usually would have done. Instead he gave the back of Sander’s neck a squeeze.

“And you aren’t too much,” he whispered, letting their lips brush just slightly, leaving Sander’s heart stuttering even as his hands steadied, all of his muscles sagging in relief. “But you’re more than enough.”

Sander clenched his eyes shut, then his jaw, and finally let himself relax as Robbe’s nose brushed against his before he closed the rest of the distance.

Sander could have collapsed under the wave of sudden emotion. He felt a bit like a puppet with his strings cut, the tension that had always held him still finally released. He held onto Robbe to make up for it, pressing close, drawing him in with the hand on his cheek and another on his waist. Robbe gripped his neck and sighed against his mouth, lips locking and molding and parting in tandem. Sander’s heart—his whole chest—his whole body—was on fire. He had missed this desperately. He had missed Robbe desperately. He couldn’t fathom, in this moment, ever having the strength to leave him.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “I missed you.”

“Good,” Robbe mumbled back. “Then you won’t be that stupid again.”

“Never,” Sander promised, sealing it with a kiss. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

Robbe hummed. “I already have a few ideas.”

They found themselves (momentarily) kissed-out, minutes or hours later, and had instead settled themselves against one of the many walls of the maze. They had remembered, in a brief break in which they’d detached themselves, to message Jens and Lucas, reassuring them they were both fine. (They’d done so with a selfie, their cheeks pressed together and a smile on their lips. Jens had had a few choice words for Robbe. Lucas had sent Sander six eye-rolling emojis, followed by a single heart.) The constellation art faced them as Robbe rested against Sander’s shoulder. Sander lay his head on Robbe’s, occasionally turning to press kisses to his hair.

“The stars look different like this, too,” Robbe mumbled, sounding half-asleep.

Sander gazed down at him, amused. “Like what?”

Robbe shrugged. “Happy.”

Sander’s heart filled with warmth as he dragged him into another kiss.