#i'm sure everyone's getting frustrated at my random ficlets but i get inspiration and i must write

[ravenbrenna09]

masterpiece - snippet

I caved and decided to just post it since I’m probably not going to be posting Sobbe-related stuff for a bit. 

everyone blame @fehmyn​ for glasses!Sander because look at him:

Like why.

...

Thursday was not Robbe’s day. 

Thursday was, by far, Robbe’s longest and physically draining day. While his first class of the day didn’t start until a little before 12:00, his day wouldn’t end until about 23:00 which was when the library closed down, and he was freed from his job so he could go home. To add to his torture of a long day, (which is really his own fault for taking Amber’s shift so she could be picked up by her mother on her way home from work), his classes on Thursdays were particularly draining, filled with dry teachers that talked to the board and ignored any and all questions. 

Letting out a sigh, Robbe turned to his introductory essay which was pulled up in another tab of the computer in front of him. The head of the department didn’t care about them working on homework, as long as their other jobs were done first, and Robbe had already put up the remaining books in the library, straightened up the desks where the student workers sat, and filed away a stack or two of files for one of his superiors. 

Now, that all of his librarian work was done, at least until someone returned a book to the circulation counter and he would go off in search of its rightful spot, Robbe could focus on this essay, or a story, that his writing teacher had assigned as an “introduction” to their mindset as writers. And, the topic that had been chosen by his other 25 classmates was soulmates. 

He let out a breath of air, burying his face in his hands.

Robbe hated soulmates. 

Or, rather, he hated the idea of soulmates. 

As a kid, Robbe would sit and watch his mother doodle on her skin with her favorite pen, watch the curve of her letters, her small doodles of flowers, appear on the exact same spot on his father’s hand. His parents would smile at each other, love in their eyes, and tease each other when the other got a stain on their hand because it affected both of them. 

To little six-year-old Robbe, soulmates were everything that he had to offer and he thought that he didn’t have one because doodles never appeared on his skin. His mother had giggled at him, informing him that his soulmate’s doodles wouldn’t appear until after he reached puberty. Little Robbe had been confused as to why he had to wait, he now knew that the changing hormones and chemicals in the body at puberty that caused the connection to show fully, but no one, not even people researching and studying soulmates, could pinpoint how soulmates are chosen or when. 

To present-day, eighteen-year-old Robbe, soulmates were crap. 

His parents had been soulmates, had fallen in love, and got married, having Robbe shortly after. For the first eight years of Robbe’s life, his parents had been happily in love with one another. His father loved being home, loved cuddling his wife on the couch, to the point that Robbe would call them disgusting and throw a pillow at them and they would laugh. Then, his parents started fighting about little things, small minuscule details that shouldn’t matter. As the years went on, the fights got worse, louder and louder until Robbe couldn’t sleep at night anymore, sneaking out of his house and going to his best friend’s house to crash. Then, his father left them alone, found another woman who made him happier, and his mother spiraled, leaving Robbe caught in between, trying to help her.

His parents were soulmates and they had fallen out of love. 

If the one person that you were destined to be with was supposed to leave you anyways, what was the point of having the ability to connect with them on a physical level?

Letting out a sigh, Robbe reached out, typing angrily. Soulmates are fucking stupid.

“Woah there,” Zoë teased, walking up with a cup of coffee in her hand. 

Zoë was a barista and one of Robbe’s roommates. At the beginning of the year, Robbe had moved into the three-bedroom flatshare with her and a senior, Milan, because Robbe was not going to live with his dad, not after what he did to his mom, not with him and his new girlfriend. It was a minor miracle that the two of them had been so willing and that his father had been so understanding. His father wanted him to live in the dorms, but it was too expensive for Robbe. He was barely surviving month-to-month as it was and living in the dorms would be almost double the cost. 

“What’s wrong?” Zoë questioned. 

“What isn’t wrong?” Robbe questioned. “Of all the topics my writing class had to pick for our introductory assignment, they picked soulmates.” Zoë scrunched up her nose, understanding. “And, I can’t think of anything to write other than soulmates are fucking stupid.” As if she didn’t believe him, he turned the screen towards her and she stood on her toes to look, letting out a light breath through her nose. He let out a sigh, straightening the computer back. “Think that will get me full points?”

“I doubt it.” Zoë laughed. “Here, it’s from Chloë.”

“Again?” Robbe questioned. Chloë was a barista at the café, who had a crush on Robbe so obvious that even he could see it, which was saying something. When it came to realizing people having feelings for him, he didn’t have the best track record. Despite the fact that Robbe had several relationships, almost all of them had been as a result of the other person making the first move. “How many times have you told her that she’s not my type?” 

“Robbe,” Zoë laughed, reaching out to pat his head with a tone that says many times. “I think the only way she’s going to be convinced that you aren’t interested in her is if she finds you making out with a guy. Not that I can blame her. You are a cute boy. Whether you want to admit it or not.” Robbe rolled his eyes before spotting the purple writing on the back of her hand. Zoë caught his gaze and scoffed. “My soulmate’s latest ‘conquest’,” she remarked, pivoting the hand towards Robbe so he could see. 

Had a good time tonight was followed by a phone number, only the final digit was smudged. 

Robbe knew that he had a soulmate, of course, but his soulmate wasn’t the type of person who slept around a lot, or if they did, they didn’t have girls writing numbers on the back of their hand in hopes of a second round. 

On his sixteenth birthday, his best friend, Jens, had jokingly drawn a poor excuse of a birthday cake and sixteen candles on the back of his right hand (and Robbe will never admit to anyone how disappointed he was that it didn’t show up on Jens’ hand). Within an hour, as he sat in his biology class, his soulmate, whoever they were, had drawn an arrow to it and wrote awful, zero stars on booking.com before proceeding to draw a perfectly drawn cake, in pen, with the exact number on the candles, on the back of his left hand. The drawing looked perfect, meticulous, and every year, on that same day, another cake would appear on his hand with an additional candle.

Robbe had a soulmate. 

Even if he didn’t want one. 

Zoë let out a heavy sigh, pulling him back into the world of the present. “Every morning I wake up with a new number on my hand is another morning I question if you have the right idea,” she admitted, staring at her hand. “Soulmates are crap. I’m always half-tempted to call the number, tell her that he’s just going to find someone else, but what’s the point, right? Plus, it’s missing a digit.” 

“Save a woman from getting her hopes up, probably. But, don’t worry,” Robbe remarked. “I’m sure he’ll get his head out of his ass soon.” 

“Excuse me,” a voice remarked, over Zoë’s shoulder. 

The two of them pivoted to find that a blond-haired man was standing behind them. The man was stunning, absolutely breathtaking as though he had been carved from stone. There was a black-beanie resting lightly on his head, covering the strands of white-blonde hair that poked out from the edge, and he had a pair of bright green eyes that were partially hidden by the black-framed glasses perched on his nose. He was dressed in a pair of denim jeans, black converse, and a t-shirt with an artist that he didn’t recognize beneath his black hoodie. 

Robbe felt his breath catch in his throat. 

Looking like that in a hoodie, glasses, and a beanie was ridiculously unfair.

Especially to Robbe. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” he continued, pushing up his green bag further up his shoulder. “But, I need to check out this book for my art history class.” 

“Of course,” Robbe replied, his voice cracking a little. There was a knowing look on Zoë’s face, a familiar eyebrow raised that she generally reserved only for Milan, as she shuffled to the side, taking the coffee with her. The man stepped forward, placing the book on the edge of the counter, and Robbe took the book from him, eager to make sure their hands didn’t touch. “Sorry about that. Do you have your id?”

“Yeah, it’s in here somewhere,” the man replied, digging his wallet out of his bag. He found it, handing it over to Robbe, their fingers brushing ever so slightly, almost like it was on purpose. Robbe felt a jolt shoot up his hand as he took the id in his hands, switching to the electronic check-out system, typing in his student id number and scanning the book. A name popped up. Sander Driesen.

Once Robbe had deactivated the electric security in the spine, he placed his id on top of the cover and slid it across the counter, “Here you go.” Robbe kept his hand on the other side of the book, making sure to pull his own hand away before Sander reached out to grab the book. He took the book from the counter, grabbing his id from the top and slipping it into his pocket. “It’ll be due on the 17th of next month.”

Sander sent him a grin, a slightly confident, slightly wicked grin, like he somehow managed to know the effect that he was having on Robbe and his already jumbled mind, almost as much as Zoë did. “Thank you so much,” he remarked. He glanced towards Zoë, who was still hanging off to the side, and Robbe thought he saw Sander’s eyes flicker down to her hand, a flicker of recognition flashing through them, but then, Sander was smiling at her and saying to her, all confident and charming, “Sorry about interrupting your conversation.” 

“It’s completely okay,” Zoë replied. “I was about to leave anyway.”

Sander moved off, grinning at her, and Zoë handed Robbe his coffee, a knowing glint in her eye as she boosted herself up over the counter to press a kiss against his cheek. He shoved her away, wiping away the residue of her signature red lipstick, and Zoë ran out the door, giggling all the way and promising to save him some leftovers from dinner. Robbe let out a sigh, trying to return to his essay on stupid soulmates, but found his eyes looking for Sander, who had disappeared.