Chapter Twenty-Five
Robin
“I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of Robin’s mouth, the moment they were back in Banyan’s homey log cabin, shut in a side room to ‘talk.’ “Don’t be mad.”
Bo’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off whatever it was he had been about to say. He stared at Robin while Robin shoved his hands in his pockets, shifted his weight, did everything he could not to fidget or look away.
“I’m not mad,” Bo said at last.
“Yes, you are. You’ve been quiet and haven’t said ‘fuck’ in, like, half an hour.” Hadn’t told Robin nothing was wrong, either, when he’d asked to talk alone, left Zyr and Everil in the living room.
“Fuck’s sake, Robin,” Bo started, then cut himself off again. “I was fucking worried. I’m still fucking worried.”
“I’m fine,” Robin insisted. “We both are.”
“And how was I going to know that?” Bo asked, sharp and far enough from his habitual ‘I’m irritated’ tone that Robin bit back his immediate reply. “The last time you went AWOL—”
This time, Bo cut himself off by rubbing his face with both hands. And Robin, he stood stock still and quiet, his very best Everil impersonation. He waited for Bo to continue, to say something, say anything, to break the silence.
Nothing. Just Bo breathing deeply into his palms, then into Robin’s neck when Robin stepped in and tentatively wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
Bo hugged like a fucking bear unlike the awkward stork pats Robin managed. He held on, too, still without talking. Robin took the hint.
“Last time, I was eighteen and furious and got a speeding ticket,” Robin said, as gently as he knew how.
“You disappeared for fifteen fucking hours and left your goddamn phone at the house,” Bo shot back, which would’ve been more effective if the words weren’t muffled by Robin’s shoulder. “After storming out and lying to us about where you were going. Because I messed up.”
Robin had been an asshole, then. Angry at everything and everyone. Pissed that Bo had forgotten they were going to a hockey game that night because Jan didn’t do hockey games the day after chemo. Pissed because forgetting the hockey game was the same as forgetting him, and he’d spiraled.
“You didn’t mess up,” he said at last, leaning back to flick Bo’s cheek, earning himself a scowl and some space between them. “That was all me. And if it hadn’t have happened, it might’ve been a long time before I agreed to see a therapist. It sucked, but it worked out. Right?”
“Yeah. Yes. I know.”
“I don’t think you’re going to forget about me.” Sometimes he worried about Bo dying in those old places he visited. And when Bo had to bailed on plans, yeah, it hurt. But that was different from forgetting.
They had talked about this.
“You don’t usually go off grid without giving me a detailed itinerary and directions.” Bo flicked him in the arm as retaliation, the asshole, but his eyes weren’t red or watery, so that was good. “You going to tell me what happened?”
Robin hesitated. Bo wouldn’t give a shit about magical fucking—he wasn’t a hypocrite the way Robin could be—but the drugging and dubious coherency, that would be a problem. “Will you accept reassurance that no one got hurt or scarred for life and that Zyr’s great so don’t glare at him?”
“Did he fucking do something?”
“No.” Which, kind of a lie. But also not. “I just don’t want to talk about it past that. Ward was up, and then we got word we could go talk to the only pre-convergence unseelie left. The one who wrote one of those books. I forgot to send let you know I was fine first, then the meeting happened.”
“But you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. “I’m okay. And am maybe dating a dragon.”
“The fuck?” Bo glanced past him to the door, like he could stare into the sitting room. “Zyr?”
“No, Bo, the other dragon. But you— Are we good?” Robin asked. “This is the part where you tell me we’re okay.”
He should’ve expected the fucking hug, even more bear-ish than the last, and the little shake that came with it before Bo stepped back.
“Fuck, yeah, yes, we’re good. We’re good, okay? I won’t ask about the ward and I’ll tell Ever we’re chill before you two tell us what the fuck the unseelie said. Deal?”
“Deal.” And Robin wasn’t quite able to keep the relief from his voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. “It’s okay if you tell Everil everything. About why you were upset. Just so you know. If you haven’t already.”
Bo huffed out a rough laugh, his crooked half-smile wry. “Thanks. He’ll keep worrying otherwise.”
Bo glanced to the door again, gaze going slightly distant for a moment. The way it did, sometimes, since he’d bonded Everil. And that…
Robin had been planning to ask Everil, not Bo. Asking Bo about fae shit felt … weird. Really weird, after all the years of avoiding the topic since Bo showed up on Jan’s doorstep.
Probably that was why he should talk to Bo about it. Get over that shit, too.
“Does bonding change how you think?” Robin asked, apropos nothing outside of his own head.
Bo blinked, startled from whatever it was he was feeling from his precious, perfect, flesh-eating princess of a bond. “What?”
“Like, I know you said that you feel each other’s emotions, but is that just it? You get drunk, he doesn’t kind of thing.”
“Fuck no, thank Summer, Winter, voids, and all that shit.” Bo laughed, running his hand through his hair.
“If I get hammered, he’ll feel my stupid giddiness.
One of us gets hurt, we’ll feel that they’re upset.
That kind of thing. We can sometimes… fuck, I don’t know, make something we’re both feeling more?
Means we have to actually, you know, fucking talk shit out instead of argue or shut down, but there’s worse things in the world than having a healthy line of communication, you know? ”
“Sure,” Robin said. “Look at you, using therapy phrases.”
“Fuck off,” Bo said with another smiling laugh. “Ever says that a bond is what its makers build it to be. We try to build it best we can. Prick.”
“Oh.” Which was a dumb response. So he made it worse. “Zyr asked me to bond with him. I said no. Got really pissed at him, actually. Then said no. But I’ve been thinking about it.”
He had been, was the thing. But he hadn’t realized how the possibility had been weighing on him, until he said it out loud. Bo stared at him, wide eyed.
“Holy shit,” Bo said. “Robin, what the fuck.”
Robin wasn’t sure why he’d expected Bo to be angry about the soul match thing–maybe because Robin had been, sort of—but he wasn’t. Bo’s reaction had been limited to surprise, curiosity, concern, and a very subtle comment about not minding Robin living a few more centuries.
Considering the guy had bonded within half a minute of meeting Everil, Robin seriously shouldn’t have been surprised. So. There was that. He’d just never figured Bo would be supportive of Robin roping his soul to a guy he just met.
Instead, Bo had asked what Robin’s soul felt like.
And Zyr’s. With genuine curiosity, the same as he had when Robin first started talking about his job, ages ago.
In turn, Robin learned that Everil calling him “sweet Bo” wasn’t because Bo was a sweet guy, but literally candy, soul-wise.
“Laugh it up,” Bo had said, with exaggerated irritation. “I fucking did.”
From there, they moved on to the other topic eating at Robin. Zyr’s House. His books. And some of what the lidérc had said, though not the nastiest bits. Bad enough that that shit was in Zyr’s head, now.
Good talk or not, Robin let out a sigh of relief when he and Zyr got back to their allotment, Banyan disappearing behind them.
Exhaustion hit, the sort that came after a long day of peopling, made him want to hole up somewhere dark. And Robin … leaned on Zyr’s shoulder, instead of away from him.
Yeah. Robin was fucked. Less so, if they were all going to die within the week. He’d prefer the long term, was the thing. No matter how sticky it got. Not with the warmth of Zyr’s lower back under his drifting hand, and a tail tip lingering along Robin’s calf.
“I’m so damn tired,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes, and to hell with the press of glasses to his forehead.
“It’s out of our hands for now, Treasure,” Zyr replied, quiet and calm. “You needn’t read until your eyes ache.”
“Now we get to play conspiracy theorists.” He dropped his hand into Zyr’s, fingers threaded together. “Without the big chatty party.”
“You’ll not hear a protest from me,” Zyr said, squeezing Robin’s fingers briefly. “I trust your discussion with the Summer King went well, at least?”
“Yeah. We needed to hash some things out but, yeah,” he said, eyes closing, to get the words out.
“He said I’ve got an allotment in Banyan.
That if we can’t stop Kesk and Veroni, or if we do but they live, or we’re wrong, you can have it.
Or share it. Whatever. So you can bring your hoard and not be murdered by the assholes in charge of where you live. ”
Zyr fell silent and still, except for the flick of his tail.
Okay, so, Robin might have fucked up. No lightning, and Zyr’s tail kept moving. But this stillness wasn’t what anyone would call a good sign. With Zyr, it meant he’d run away into his own head.
“You don’t have to,” Robin said, glad he sounded calmer than he felt.
“Bo said you might not. It’s just, if we save the world and you still die after, I’d…
probably not be able to do much except be really messed up about it.
So I asked, because I’m selfish, and you matter to me.
You don’t have to take it. Just know it’s there, if you want. Need. Whichever.”
His grip on Zyr’s unresponsive hand tightened, and he tilted his head to press his cheek against Zyr’s shoulder.
Don’t die unless you need to wasn’t going to leave his fucking lips. But Robin could think it very hard.
Slowly, the beithir loosened up, breathing in that way that said he was back from wherever he’d wandered off to. Robin waited, because he could be patient, and this felt like the moment to prove that.