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its-okay-i-guess · 4 years ago

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this is just a little scene to test out this idea I had a while back and see if I’d actually like to write it and if anyone would like to read it, so please let me know what you think!!

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Robbe stuffs his phone back in the pocket of his slacks and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s only been playing this game for a little over a week and he’s losing. He hadn’t expected this outcome; Noor was only supposed to be playing along. Instead, she seeks Robbe out even in private, she texts him at any hour of the day, and while it’s sweet and he likes Noor, it isn’t what he prepared himself for. It’s a bit overwhelming.

Everything is a bit overwhelming.

He almost wants to change, or at least ditch the blazer, but before he can make up his mind the door opens behind him. He turns around just in time for Noor to pop her head in, and she smiles wide when their gazes catch. She takes a moment to take him in, and Robbe just stands and watches back and does his best not to twitch in discomfort. He’s not a child anymore, and he’s done this plenty of times. Always with perfect composure.

Now would be a terrible time to break.

He fits on a smile as Noor makes her way over to him and runs a hand down the front of his blazer. “Good, you’re already dressed,” she praises, smoothing out a crease. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you,” Robbe says, swaying forward and accepting her quick kiss. “Not as stunning as you, though.”

Noor grins, and Robbe thinks to check what she’s actually wearing. She does look stunning, he assumes. Theoretically, he knows the way the deep-red dress hugs her frame makes a nice picture. Noor always looks beautiful. Robbe isn’t lying when he compliments her.

He isn’t supposed to be lying to Noor about anything. They’re supposed to be on the same page.

He might have been mistaken, somewhere amidst their agreement. Somewhere along the line, at the very least, he must have missed some kind of memo.

“Noor, uh.” He averts his gaze, then allows it to flit back, softening and warming his expression to turn his words into a gentle suggestion. “We don’t have to worry about publicity tonight, okay? I want you to be able to have fun.”

Noor’s brow furrows. “Isn’t this weekend all about the publicity?”

Robbe hesitates, because she’s right and he wishes she wasn’t. He knows exactly what is expected of him tonight, but they have their own say in the matter. If Noor doesn’t want to be glued to his side, she has no real obligation to be. As long as they’re seen once, twice, together in the bar and together by the bedrooms, everyone would eat it up. Playing everything up isn’t a necessity at the moment. Robbe has been hoping for such a break.

“Yeah, but, it’s also for us to enjoy,” he tries.

“And I’ll enjoy it with you.” Noor adjusts his collar again, raising her brows. She laughs then at his hesitant look and links their hands together to begin tugging him towards the door. “Come on, stop fretting. I won’t do anything I don’t want to.”

Robbe wishes he could say the same so easily.

Instead he mostly keeps his mouth shut as he traipses down through the hotel after Noor, letting her lead him to the bar on the main floor. It’s easy to spot his parents, once they’re there, standing at one of the tables surrounded by stares and whispers. The attention of the room shifts to him and Noor as they enter, and Robbe forces himself not to duck away from it. In truth, it’s not the attention or his parents that he notices first.

It’s Sander.

He’s standing at the table next to Robbe’s mother, talking animatedly as he leans his arms on the wood, dressed in a jacket and shirt of his own. A jacket, shirt and jeans. His shirt isn’t even a shirt, but some kind of silky patterned blouse, his jacket is beige and too baggy, and his jeans are plain black and too tight, and he looks stunning.

So annoying.

Robbe lets the frustrated breath out through his nose, ignoring the heat under his collar as Noor leads them right over. It doesn’t help that Sander is the first to notice them, turning his head at the right moment and stopping mid-speech to smile. He doesn’t look at Noor at all, but he moves his gaze over Robbe in one long sweep, flitting slowly back up to his eyes.

Robbe raises a brow, unimpressed. Sander merely lifts his drink in greeting and lets his smile slip into a smirk.

Noor greets his parents enthusiastically, squeezing his dad’s hand and giving his mother a hug. She even grants Sander a kiss on the cheek, which he reciprocates with his eyes still settled on Robbe. He doesn’t take them away until Noor is tucking herself back into Robbe’s side, and then he glances at the space between them—or rather the lack of—before dropping his gaze entirely. He focuses instead on his drink, which he lifts and takes a long slug of. Robbe finds himself watching the parting of his lips, the tilt of his head, the slope of his throat. Then Sander looks at him looking and he snaps his gaze away.

“Don’t you two look lovely,” his mother teases, smiling at him and Noor.

Robbe rolls his eyes good-naturedly and lays his arm over Noor’s shoulders as she laughs and wraps her arm around his waist. “Don’t we always,” he retorts, in the same wistful tone.

Sander hums and draws Robbe’s attention back to him. “Actors,” he says lightly. His smile is teasing, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which bore into Robbe. “Always camera-ready.”

“This one even more so than me,” Noor agrees, pinching Robbe’s cheek as she grins at him. Robbe huffs a laugh and carefully moves his head away. Noor pays no attention, already roped back into conversation with his father.

“I was telling a few people about you earlier,” the man tells Noor. “There’s a friend or two of mine interested in meeting you to talk about upcoming projects. Why don’t you do a round with me so we can greet some people?”

It’s an act of kindness, Robbe’s sure, but also one of convenience. He’s sure his father would genuinely like to help Noor, but having her involved in some fancy new project, thanks to his guidance, would certainly be a bonus. Robbe’s grip tightens minutely on Noor with the sudden, irrational urge to keep and protect. Just because he isn’t quite as honestly invested doesn’t mean he doesn’t like her. He doesn’t want her to be used.

But Noor has already lit up, and she nods excitedly, giving Robbe’s hand a squeeze. “Of course.”

“While you do that, I’m going to say hi to the Stoffels,” his mother says.

Robbe perks up. “Jens is here?”

“No, just his mother and Lies.” When she sees Robbe deflate, she tuts. “You’ll be alright, Sander already bought you a drink. You’re big boys, you can keep each other company.”

His gaze flits back to Sander, mostly out of surprise, just in time for Sander to slide a tall glass across the table towards him. Robbe eyes it dubiously, wrapping his hand around it but not bothering to take a taste. He’s preoccupied with Noor squeezing his arm and twisting to press a kiss to his cheek before sliding entirely out of his grip.

“I’ll come back to save you soon,” she promises. Robbe thinks if she meant that, she wouldn’t be leaving him with Sander in the first place. But she’s already turning her back, following his father away, and his mother had disappeared instantly, and now it’s just Sander and him and an array of half-empty drinks.

Robbe finally lifts his own glass and takes a sniff.

Sander snorts, and Robbe looks to find him shaking his head. “Serious?” He raises a brow.

Robbe simply shrugs.

“You know, out of the two of us, you’re probably the one more likely to have drugs.”

Robbe flushes. “I didn’t think you drugged it,” he mumbles. “I’m just trying to figure out what it is. Besides, just because you didn’t spike it doesn’t mean no one else did.”

Sander shakes his head again, lips quirked in amusement. “I kept my eyes on it the whole time.”

“Why’d you get me a cocktail?”

“Because,” Sander shrugs. He doesn’t say anything else, and Robbe simply keeps staring at him. Eventually Sander wiggles his brows and nods at the drink. “It’s about time you try something new, Ijzermans.”

Something crawls up into Robbe’s throat and lodges there. He doesn’t have any retort. It sounds too much like a challenge, like it comes with a hidden meaning, and the knowing glint in Sander’s eye as he stares Robbe down only seems to confirm it. There’s suddenly a comfort to be found in the eyes on them, in the fact that even though they’re alone at the table, they aren’t alone. The surroundings, rather than making him itch, suddenly seem safe. It’s only private enough that they can speak without being overheard, but there are other tables all around them, a few feet away in each direction. Robbe can see Noor if he turns his head. He hears Mrs Stoffels’ distinctive laughter in the background as he eyes his drink, swirling the liquid around. It’s a deep, jewel-like blue, that fizzes slightly as he shakes it.

He glances back up at Sander. The other boy is simply staring at him, still with that faint amusement, brows raised expectantly. He nods at the drink once more.

Robbe brings it to his lips and takes a tentative sip. He’s aware of Sander’s eyes on him as a sharp, fruity taste explodes on his tongue, but he can’t quite keep his face under control. It screws up in displeasure, and Sander laughs abruptly, raising a hand to cover his mouth as his shoulders shake.

Robbe swallows the liquid and scowls at him. “What the fuck is this?”

“No idea,” Sander says idly. “Had something with ‘sea breeze’ in the name. Enjoy.” He raises his own beer in a toast, and Robbe’s scowl deepens as he leaves his glass back down on the table.

He drags one of the stools towards himself and climbs up, resting his elbows on the table. He’s still directly across from Sander, but he’s not looking at him. He focuses on his glass instead, tapping his fingers against it in a quick, tinkling rhythm until Sander huffs.

“What,” Robbe says flatly.

“Nothing.” There’s a pause, and then Sander huffs again. “I just find it funny.”

“What?” Robbe repeats, slightly more curious. He even raises his head to look at the younger boy again.

Sander puckers his lips, then shrugs. “How hard you try to pretend you don’t like me. How hard you try to pretend you do like her.” He nods at something behind Robbe.

Robbe doesn’t have to look to know he’s talking about Noor. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Okay,” Sander rolls his eyes. When Robbe doesn’t respond, Sander gives him a dry look. “Come on, Robbe. I’m giving you a freebie.”

There’s no freedom in what Sander is implying, but Robbe doesn’t bother pointing that out, because it would be too close to admitting Sander is right. Instead he simply stays silent, which is almost as bad.

“You need to stop living your whole life like you’re in front of a camera,” Sander tells him. His tone seems to have softened slightly, and Robbe allows a glance through his lashes to see if his expression matches. It does. Sander’s gently frowning as he takes a sip of his drink. “It sounds fucking exhausting.”

Robbe blinks. It is exhausting, but he hadn’t thought Sander would be the one to point such a thing out. He hadn’t thought Sander would make such a genuine observation in the first place. Even with all those looks, Robbe hadn’t realised how much Sander has actually been watching.

He takes a little sip of his own drink to delay responding and finds it isn’t as bad the second time, so he takes another. Then he makes a quiet admission. “I prefer being behind the camera.”

It doesn’t seem to be the response Sander was expecting, but he also doesn’t look too surprised. “You want to produce like your dad?”

“Not really. I mean actually being behind the camera. Filming itself. Maybe directing. Editing. I don’t know.” He takes another drink and then licks his lips, ignoring how Sander tracks each movement. “I like making things look good and I like creating and watching, but not when it’s myself. It’s never my decision to act.”

This does draw out Sander’s surprise. “Your dad makes you?”

“No,” Robbe quickly denies, shaking his head. “He just asks, and I never know how to say no. Or he asked the first time, and now it’s just how it goes. It’s not like I hate it, it just—sorry, it doesn’t matter.” He remembers who he’s talking to and cuts himself off. It’s not that he’s admitting anything bad, or even that Sander isn’t someone he should be admitting it too��he doesn’t think Sander would betray him to his father, even though that’s who Sander’s working for and the only reason he’s even here. It’s not that he’s being too honest and Sander is untrustworthy; he’s being just honest enough that he might keep going. That’s where the danger creeps in.

This becomes clear when Sander shakes his head and places his hand over Robbe’s, mindless or reckless or both. Sander doesn’t seem to notice the fire that sparks from the touch, setting every inch of Robbe’s skin alight.

“It does matter,” Sander argues, and now he appears unbearably soft. It’s a far cry from his usual aloof, confident persona, but somehow Robbe feels no surprise at the glimpse of tenderness. “I’m sure if you talked to your dad, he’d understand. He’d probably even help you get wherever you actually want to go. He didn’t need to take me on, but he’s understanding.”

Robbe bites back a scoff, but he can’t quite contain the little burst of anger that makes him snatch his hand away. It startles Sander so much, he feels slightly apologetic. “You don’t know anything, Sander.”

Sander purses his lips. The gentle expression has mostly dissipated, but there’s still some lingering determination. Robbe feels a faint thrum of heat in his stomach under Sander’s heavy stare. “Maybe not,” he acquiesces. “But I know it’s not enough to not hate something. You should be allowed to want something. And you deserve whatever that is.”

There’s that lump in his throat again. Sander seems so sincere that Robbe feels shy. It’s ridiculous how much sway Sander has over him when they barely know each other. Robbe can’t figure out what it is, only that there’s an undeniable tug in his gut when he’s in Sander’s orbit, urging him to get closer. Alongside it, there are the warning signals that blare in his head, alarms that tell him he’s in front of a fire or at the edge of a cliff. Pushed too far, he’ll burn and tumble.

“Robbe,” Sander urges, drawing his attention back. Even darkened, his eyes are so green. “You deserve whatever you want out of your life. Direct it on your own.”

That might be the problem—having Robbe in control. He’d always thought his life was for the universe to play with, guided by various twisted strings of fate, split into infinite versions. He’s beginning to dislike the thought. All the happenings that are out of his control are the ones that scare him, that cause real harm. His mother’s illness, his parents’ split, his own fame. Sander Driesen.

He’s beginning to think Sander might be the scariest thing.

It’s terrifying, the intent with which he’s watching Robbe now, scarier than being in front of a camera has ever been. At least there, he can act. It’s Sander who strips him bare. It’s terrifying and liberating.

Robbe takes another sip of the drink Sander had bought him, and finds the fifth time is easier again. It loosens the lump in his throat enough for him to meet Sander’s eye and say, “Maybe I will.”

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