#Robbe did some skating while Sander snapped pictures of his boyfriend | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bijvoorbeeldja · 4 years

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Jealous!Sander prompt from @msmesasha <3

.......

Sander never wanted to be apart from Robbe ever again. Ever.

When the quarantine ban was lifted in Antwerp, he ran -- RAN --to Robbe’s flat and hadn’t left since. That was two weeks ago. He wouldn’t let the boy out of his sight, out of his grasp since then. Even when Robbe gently extracted himself from Sander’s clutches to go to the bathroom or get a drink, Sander felt like he couldn’t breathe properly until he came back, sliding into the warm bed again and tucking himself back into Sander’s arms.

The first few hours, the first few days, had been like a dream. Feeling Robbe again, touching him, it was everything he needed to survive, and too much, all at once. Grabbing Robbe in a rib-crushing hug when he finally reached his door, he felt tears pool in his eyes and then, he was sobbing. He’d been so lost, so agonizingly empty without him. Robbe hugged him tighter, pulling him to his room, then to his bed.

There, he’d held Sander, crying with him as they reveled in the emotion of finally, finally being together again. When Sander was emptied of tears, he let his hands softly but urgently wander all over Robbe’s skin, trying to re-memorize him, re-learn what he’d been missing for those months.

When he felt Robbe’s breathe turn shallow, his eyes closed in bliss, he kissed him. And they hadn’t stopped. They’d pulled each other into warm showers, fell asleep with legs intertwined, and fed each other meals, always keeping a hold on each other. They were both so terrified of being separated again.

Luckily, Robbe’s mom had left for a few days to check-in on extended family that she’d been kept from during the quarantine, so Sander and Robbe had the flat to themselves. They’d filled the halls with the sounds of their long-restrained pleasure, every surface of the flat with their needy, flushed skin. After the first time since being separated, they’d both felt sore. But so good. They couldn’t get enough. So they barely left Robbe’s bed. And Sander had been fine with that.

But soon, the real world was pulling them back. Sander’s parents were checking in and Robbe’s friends were messaging him incessantly, wanting to get together. Knowing how much they’d missed being apart, the broerrrs had given the boys a few days to be together alone. But now, they were getting restless.

“Sander?” Robbe hummed quietly, massaging his fingers through Sander’s hair, which had grown back, the tresses mostly dark now.

“Yes, dear Robin?” Sander had whispered back, smiling, but still with his eyes closed. “You ready for another round?”

Robbe blushed, sliding his fingers down to trace the smirk lines on Sander’s face.

“Mhhm, always” he whined softly, tempted by the boy’s deep, sultry tone and tanned skin. “But I wanted to know if you’d be up for some fresh air.”

“Nuh-uh,” Sander said, shaking his head firmly and snuggling back into Robbe. “I’m perfect right here. You’re the only air I need.”

Robbe smiled at him, so beyond-words happy to be with his boyfriend again. The love of his life.

“I know, it’s perfect here, just us,” Robbe whispered back. “But I think you should check in with your parents, and....it’s just...the boys.”

Sander’s eyes opened and he lifted his head off the pillow. “The boys?”

“Yeah,” Robbe said carefully. “They wanted to meet up, just to catch up a little, say hi.”

Sander was groaning, flopping back on the pillow. “No, no,” he whined. “I don’t want to share you. I only just got you back.”

Robbe caressed Sander’s arm, pulling him in closer.

“I promise, I’m never letting you go, Sander,” Robbe said, reassuring him. “If there’s another quarantine, we’re sticking together. And if there’s not, we still are. Maybe we could even talk about….getting a place. Together. Just the two of us.”

Sander bit back a wide smile, hastily smothering Robbe with deep kisses.

“I know you’re just saying that to get me to leave the house,” Sander said, hovering over him, causing Robbe’s breath to hitch. “And it’s obviously working. But don’t think I’m not going to revisit this living together idea.”

“Oh, I’m serious about that, Driesen,” Robbe said, meeting Sander’s gaze intensely. “It’s about time we’re roommates don’t you think? I already have all your t-shirts anyway.”

Sander laughed. “That’s true. And you look hot in them. Really, really hot.”

“Oh, really?” Robbe said, teasing him with a wink.

At this, Sander leaned down to Robbe’s neck, caressing it with whisper-light breaths, then a trail of increasingly-eager kisses.

“Okay, okay. I guess I’ve got a few more minutes,” Robbe said, but it was lost in the sound of deep hums of pleasure rising from Sander’s throat.

……..

Finally out of bed, dressed, and out of the house, Robbe and Sander walked with intertwined fingers to the skatepark.

Robbe had showered while Sander checked in with his parents, assuring him that yes, he was safe, yes, he was eating, yes he was taking his meds, and yes, he would say hi to Robbe for them. He’d said goodbye with enough time to towel-dry Robbe into another makeout session on the bed. When they’d finally untangled themselves, flushed and breathless, they got dressed and headed out.

Sander still wasn’t thrilled about the idea of meeting up with the broerrrs. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jens, Aaron, and Moyo. He did. They were his friends now, too. But even after weeks, he still hadn’t had enough of Robbe. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough. But he loved him, and he wanted him to see his friends, to skate again, to resume some semblance of normality. So he’d brought along his camera and his sketchbook, promising to keep himself entertained while the boys caught up and skated the quarantine-dust off their boards.

When they got to the park, they were early, so they sat thigh to thigh on a bench, whispering sweet nothings to each other, still lost in their own world, even in public.

“The lovebirds! You’re alive!” From across the park, the boys approached them, looking relieved to see the two out in the world again.

“We thought we were going to have to come and stage an intervention,” Jens said, laughing. “We weren’t sure you guys were going to come up for air.”

“So cyber sex just didn’t cut it, eh?” Aaron said, and Robbe glared at him.

“Hey, we’re just kidding, aren’t we?” Jens said, slapping Aaron firmly on the shoulder. “We really missed you guys.”

The boys exchanged hugs, and Sander noticed with a small tug of irritation that Jens’ hug with Robbe lasted a bit longer than made him comfortable. But he tried to push the thought aside. They had always been close. ...So close, Sander’s brain reminded him, that Robbe had even had feelings for Jens at one point. Ugh. He groaned to himself and looked at his watch, counting the minutes until he could have Robbe to himself again, selfishly consuming him...pleasuring his body into absolute oblivion…

“So let’s skate, yeah?” Moyo said, snapping his attention back to the group. He swallowed, trying to calm his untamed thoughts. “You gonna join us, Jack Frost?”

Sander smirked, pulling out his camera and holding it up. “Nope, I got some school assignments I gotta catch up on. I’ll try to get some cute ones of you, though.”

Moyo winked at him, and Sander laughed.

“You gonna be okay?” Robbe asked Sander gently, turning to him and squeezing his hand tightly. The boys were looking on, waiting for Robbe to join them.

Sander grabbed Robbe’s cheeks, kissing him hard, passionately, as he heard the boys cat-call at them. He ignored it, letting his tongue slide along Robbe’s lips and his hand wander to the hem of Robbe’s shirt. Pulling away gently, Robbe held his waist lightly before returning a small, tender peck.

“I’ll just be over there, okay?” he reassured Sander, smiling. “You know I won't be able to stay away for long.”

“You better not,” Sander whined, finally releasing Robbe from his grasp. He watched the boys retreat to the ramps and took a deep breath. He just had to keep himself busy for a little while. Then he could get back to making his lusty daydreams about Robbe a reality.

……

He’d taken quite a few pictures already, a lot of the graffiti near the skate park, a lot of the sculptures at the neighboring museums. Then he’d wandered back to watch Robbe skate, idly snapping photos of him he’d gush over later.

Even though he’d rather be at home alone with Robbe right now, he liked watching the boy from a distance, taking time to notice more things about him that he loved. Now that his hair was longer, it blew around his face as he skated, the waves tangling until Robbe brushed a hand to smooth them back. It made Sander melt. He watched him concentrate hard on a certain maneuver, breaking out into a laugh when he lost control of the board and nearly collided with Aaron. It made his heart ache how much he loved that boy.

His lens settled briefly on Jens as he attempted a trickier move. When he nailed it, Jens whooped, raising his hands in celebration as he ran towards his friends. Robbe smiled, lifted his hand for a high-five, to which Jens grabbed Robbe around the waist and spun him around, cheering. Robbe laughed, playfully shoving Jens when he set him back on the ground.

Sander felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he lowered his camera to glare at Jens. Okay, he thought, that was not necessary. But he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He was getting worked up over nothing.

He scanned through a few of the photos he’d taken before lifting the lens back up again to find Robbe. His sweet Robbe. He watched as he sailed up and down the pipes, earning cheers from his friends. He loved watching him like this. So focused, so strong, so...hot.

He kept snapping as Robbe kicked his board up with his foot, catching his breath as he ran another hand through his hair. Jens smiled at him, reaching over to tug on his loose strands, clearly making a joke about how long his hair had gotten since he’d last seen him.

Now, Sander was hyper-aware of every single move Jens made, watching him with slitted eyes as Robbe laughed and swatted his hand away. Jens then took a few more jabs at Robbe, a playful near-tickle. When Robbe turned to get away, Jens launched at him, tossing him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

Sander stood, fuming now. Was there a reason Jens couldn’t stop touching his boyfriend? Before he could storm over to them, he watched as Robbe struggled desperately against Jens, who finally set him back on the ground. Immediately, Robbe straightened his clothes and turned to him, trying to meet his gaze with an apologetic stare. Sander just glared. Robbe mumbled something to Jens before running over to Sander, abandoning his board with the boys.

When Robbe reached him, he grabbed Sander’s elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Robbe pleaded. “I know Jens is being a little much right now. He’s just...we’re friends, okay, and we haven’t seen each other in a long time. He’s just messing around. He does this.”

“Does what? Feels up my boyfriend?” Sander spit out. “Why do I have to be here, watching him grope you right in front of me? He’s obviously flirting with you, and it’s torture.”

Robbe frowned, squeezing Sander’s arm tighter.

“Sander,” he said firmly. “You know it’s not like that. Jens is with Lucas. We’ve just missed each other, okay? He’s my friend, and he just gets like this sometimes. He’s just messing around.”

Sander didn’t answer. He just looked away with a clenched jaw.

“Hey,” Robbe pleaded gently, cupping a hand to Sander’s jaw. “Hey.” He gently turned Sander’s head so he was meeting his gaze again. “Please don’t worry about this, Sander. I love you more than anything. You know that. I am in love with you. I mean, I figured you knew that from the things I’ve been doing in the shower...”

Sander’s face softened, cheeks flushed, and he leaned into Robbe’s hand.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being stupid. It’s just—”

“It’s not stupid,” Robbe said, rubbing a thumb across Sander’s cheek. “You’re not stupid. I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings. I will tell Jens to calm down. He isn’t trying to upset you.”

“You’re right,” Sander said, nodding. “I know. I love you. I know I’m being selfish. I just want you to myself.”

Robbe bit back a smile, pulling Sander in close as he leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“I’m all yours,” he purred, causing goosebumps to erupt along Sander’s spine. “Every part of me.”

He nipped at the flesh of Sander’s neck. “My arms.” Another tug with his lips. “My legs.” He was kissing a bruise into Sander’s neck now. “My lips.”

A low groan escaped Sander’s throat.

“My hands,” Robbe whispered slowly, seductively, his lips hovered over Sander’s skin.

“Uhm,” Sander managed to croak. “Can we leave now? I’m going insane.”

“Soon, Driesen,” Robbe purred. “Soon.”

Sander groaned again, pulling back from Robbe’s tantalizing touch. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Robbe said to him with a quick raise of his eyebrows. He smirked at Sander and turned to head back to his board, but before he did, he made sure to casually and quickly wind a hand around Sander’s waist to his backside, squeezing there for a brief second before winking and walking away.

“Hey!” Sander called out before Robbe got too far. “Tell your boys to keep their hands to themselves. You’re mine.”

#wtfock #wtfock fanfic #sobbe fanfic #jealous!sander

203 notes · View notes

moonb-eam · 4 years

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I loved the skate park one shot you did with Robbe and Eliott! It was adorable 😍. I can actually picture Eliott and Sander being friends! Or brothers / cousins as I have seen others say in the wtfock tag. I would love to see a Sander/ Eliott fic of some kind as friends or family! Maybe Sander could go to Eliott and Lucas for advice cause he thinks he really messed up and he has no idea how to fix this! Or something? ... I love everything you write and I just want to see them interact! ❤️

okay, here’s the dealio, anon.

i have so many other prompts to fill but since i first saw this ask i kept thinking about it. it just wouldn’t let me go, because firstly, i had no idea that people were talking in the tags about eliott and sander being friends or cousins, which blew my damn mind what a Concept

but secondly, one of the main reasons i started posting skam france fan fiction was as a coping mechanism for shit that was going on in the show that made me angry and sad

this is all to say, i took the prompt and wrote 3.7k with it ✨

hope you like 🧡

He thinks about him, and the charcoal in his hand slips, a slow, even curve that goes jagged, a thick black line breaking his canvas in half.

He wants to knock the canvas to the ground. He wants to tear it to pieces. He wants to ignite it with a match.

The skin over his eye still pulls, the bruise along his cheekbone still stings.

Everything fucking hurts.

Sander drops his piece of charcoal down to the easel and turns away from the canvas, running his hands up the back of his head and scrubbing them through his hair, not caring that he’s getting black fingerprints stuck in the bleached strands.

He can’t even draw. That’s been taken away from him, too.

Not taken away. There’s a voice in his head, a voice that sounds like rocks against windows and cracking ice. This hasn’t been stolen from you, you lost it didn’t you, you lost him, you lost your heart, you lost your mind—

He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the far wall of the empty studio, leaning his forehead against cold glass, his body slumping forwards. He tries to take deep, even breaths, tries to find something to centre himself on, but when he closes his eyes all he sees is Robbe.

He dreamt about him last night, about the space at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone. He dreamt about pressing his face into that spot, surrounded by soft, warm skin and that clean cotton smell that’s always attached to Robbe’s clothes. He dreamt about feeling the vibrations of Robbe’s gentle laughter under his cheek, about Robbe running his hands through his hair and saying, Sander. I love you.

He woke up sweating, tangled in threadbare sheets, faced with the early-morning blackness of Antwerp. He’d wanted nothing more than to sink back into that dream, and to never leave it.

Being awake is a curse.

He takes another breath, pressing his forehead further into the glass and he’s listing off different shades of black in his head to try to find something to focus on, and it’s working, a bit.

pure black, onyx, eigengrau, xiketic

“Sander?”

He startles, knocking the side of his head against the wall as he stumbles back, whipping around to the studio doorway.

That French guy is standing there. The exchange student. The one with the annoyingly perfect blending technique.

Eliott, his brain supplies.

Eliott has one hand gripping onto the strap of his backpack and he’s staring at Sander with his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, then bites down on his lip, regretful, like he knows there’s only one possible answer to that question when you find someone collapsing into a wall in an empty studio on a Friday afternoon.

Sander blinks. “I didn’t think anybody would still be here,” he says flatly.

Eliott shrugs. “Yeah, well.” He gestures vaguely to the hallway behind him. “I had to finish some stuff and I needed lots of space for it…” Then he grins, bouncing on the spot. “And anyway I have to wait for Lucas. He’s coming here from the train station.”

Right. Lucas. The famous boyfriend back in Paris.

His name is Lucas, Sander heard him gushing to Greta one day in class, excitedly scrolling through the camera roll on his phone. He’s a science student, still in Lycée. He’s amazing. He’s so smart and funny, and he’s so thoughtful, but he doesn’t always let people know that.

Out of curiosity, Sander had craned his neck forward to see the screen of Eliott’s phone. And yeah, not bad. Cute. Really cute, actually, with wide, clear eyes and a full, teasing smile. But, personally, Sander has always preferred brown eyes over blue.

“Right,” he says to Eliott, and he doesn’t know what else to do, so he walks back to his easel, taking his canvas down and propping it up in the corner of the room reserved for unfinished works.

There’s the sound of a phone going off and Sander turns towards it, heart soaring, but he sees Eliott pulling his phone out of his pocket and he’s smiling down at the screen, rapidly typing out a reply, and Sander's heart sinks back down to the bottom of the ocean. He crouches to the ground and gathers his charcoal back into its box, securing it with an elastic band, his face burning.

What was he even expecting? Why would Robbe message him when he knows, he knows Robbe saw Britt’s Instagram post, and he heard Robbe was at that party which means he saw them together and he must hate him but that was what Sander wanted, wasn’t it?

“Hey. Sander.”

Sander glances up from where he’s packing his bag and Eliott is staring back at him, tapping his phone against his chest.

“I don’t want to be…prying. But you, uh, you seem like you’re having a hard time right now. So, if you want to talk about it, we can. Talk about it. And if you don’t want to, then…we don’t have to.”

Eliott is fumbling through this speech, giving it in stops and starts of heavily-accented English but he holds Sander’s eyes the entire time, and Sander has always respected straightforward people, but more than anything else, he’s struck by the care colouring Eliott’s words into soft pastels across the harsh white of the studio, the concern painted clearly across his face in shades Sander had forgotten existed.

He really doesn’t know the last time someone worried about him.

Apart from Robbe.

This is why, while Sander’s first instinct would normally be to make a lame joke or change the subject completely, instead he sits back on his heels, takes a deep breath and asks, “Did you ever…hurt anyone?”

Eliott tilts his head. “Because you tried too hard not to?”

“No. Because you meant to.”

Now there’s something dawning behind Eliott’s eyes, something that looks a bit like reluctant understanding. Or, perhaps, undesirable understanding.

Eliott asks, “Does this have something to do with that boy? The one that came at the end of class.”

For all that Sander’s brain has thought of nothing but Robbe, Robbe, Robbe for weeks, it’s nearly impossible for him to say his name aloud. “Yeah. Robbe.”

He doesn’t think he deserves to say it. The word is too sweet on his tongue. It tastes too much like the last time he said it, when Robbe was swaying towards him on his bar stool and flashes of blue and purple light were playing tag across his face and he was so beautiful, so delicate and so mesmerizing and somehow, impossibly, he was Sander’s.

He was.

Eliott sighs, and leans against the doorframe, his backpack sliding down his arm to the floor.

“It never works the way you think it will.”

Sander’s head snaps up. Eliott is staring at a spot just over his shoulder. There’s a faint line between his eyebrows.

“At one point,” Eliott says at length, “I didn’t think I could ever have what I have with Lucas. I didn’t think that sort of thing was meant for someone like me.”

“That sort of thing.” Sander echoes dubiously.

Eliott’s eyes snap over to him. “Love.” He says simply. “Being in love. Being loved. Without any, uh…” He waves a hand out, searching for the word. “Inconditionnel.”

“Unconditional.” Sander nods. “Yeah. It’s similar in English.” He sees a loose thread in the knee of his jeans and he tugs at it, tearing a hole open at the seam. He’s hoping Eliott will keep going, will give him something solid to latch onto, but he seems to be waiting Sander out now, like he knows Sander’s only given him the prologue to the story.

Sander wants to tell him. And he doesn’t want to. Because saying it aloud will make it more real, in a way. It’s as if, as long as the words stay buried inside of him, there’s still a chance that this is a dream Sander will wake up from, and when he wakes up he’ll be a different version of himself. One who’s normal and can love and be loved like a normal person and won’t have a built-in self destruct button.

“I…” He keeps his eyes fixed on the hole in his jeans, pulls harder on the thread. “I hurt him. Because I needed him to hate me.”

Eliott’s voice is very soft when he asks, “Why?”

“Because being with me…it was ruining his life.” The words feel dramatic coming out and Sander drops the thread, falls back onto his ass and throws his arms out, palms flat. “I know how that sounds, but it’s true. He was so messed up from kissing me that he…he said shitty things. He said he thought I drugged him, as if I could ever—and then, then, we, one night we went out and we…” Without even realizing it, Sander’s hand has drifted up to his eye. He lowers his hands to his thighs, digging into the muscle there. “Something happened. Something that was really bad and he got hurt and I. I can’t see him hurt like that. Ever again.” He drops his head to his knee, eyes shut tightly. “From the moment he met me, his life went to shit. I was ruining him. I was.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his voice breaks on the last word and there’s something wet sliding down to the tip of his nose and he wipes it across his jeans, coughing to try and mask the sound.

God what a fucking mess Sander has made. He’s fucked with everything good in his life and now he’s crying in front of a French guy he barely knows and it’s all just…a fucking mess. There’s no way out.

“D’accord.” Eliott says quietly from his post at the door. Sander hears him shifting on the spot, then his phone buzzing in his pocket, and for a brief moment, Sander hates him. He hates his buzzing phone, hates how Eliott gets to wait for someone and Eliott gets to message someone and Eliott will get to kiss someone today, probably. Someone he loves. Someone who loves him. The jealousy is a violent flash of lightning that surges through him, makes his fingers tremble.

It makes him spit the rest out coldly, bitterly, pure black tar from between his teeth.

“We were victims of a hate crime.” He says. “These two guys, they saw us kissing and they beat the shit out of us, left us on the street. And do you know what I did? I abandoned him. When he really needed me. I got back together with my girlfriend. I stopped responding to his messages. I let him see that we’re back together.” He laughs and the sound hurts on its way out. “He must wish he never met me.”

He’s expecting Eliott to leave at this, to realize this is way more fucked up than he thought it would be when he first decided to play the caring classmate. Maybe he’ll shoot Sander a look of disgust for good measure. What he’s not expecting is for Eliott to take a step away from the wall, a step towards Sander, his face marred with worry.

“Wait. What the fuck. A hate crime? Did you report it to the police?”

It sucks the lightning storm out of Sander’s veins, that worry. His head drops down on his shoulders.

“It wouldn’t do anything.” He says. I can’t, he doesn’t say. I’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time before and it’s not good for me, he doesn’t say.

Eliott is shaking his head. “It would. Saying it out loud means it happened. It’s real.”

And fuck if Eliott isn’t tapped directly into Sander’s head. It makes him shiver.

“I’m so sorry.” Eliott says. “No one should ever have to experience that.”

Before Sander realizes what’s happening, Eliott is coming over, he’s kneeling down onto the floor in front of him and he’s pulling him into an awkward, long-armed hug, and he’s saying it again, “I’m so sorry.”

Out of every possibility Sander considered for this conversation, he didn’t imagine this.

It’s like his body can’t decide if it wants to pull away or fold in closer, locking up in indecision and leaving his arms hanging limply at his sides.

He hates that a relative stranger is comforting him like this, seeing him so broken and vulnerable, so laid bare, but at the same time it feels so fucking good to be held, to be looked after, that he doesn’t ever want the hug to end.

Then Eliott is the one pulling away, planting his hands on Sander’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, in a rush, “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. But it really looked like you needed it.”

Sander stares at him. He thinks his mouth might be hanging open.

Eliott squeezes his shoulders. “You need to know: what happened to you wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything to cause it, and you did nothing to deserve it.” Eliott blinks and his own eyes are wet. Sander looks down to break his gaze, everything feeling to raw and too wrought for him to handle.

All he can say is, “Yeah. Well. Maybe.”

“And you should know,” Eliott continues, “that you’re not helping him by deciding he’s better off without you. You can’t decide for other people what will make them happy. You can’t decide what’s good for them.” He drops his hands from Sander’s shoulders, and falls back, mirroring Sander’s posture. “I tried that, with Lucas. I tried to push him away because I thought he would better off without having to deal with me. I thought he wouldn’t be able to handle what being with me is really like.”

Sander shifts on the spot, a bit uncomfortably, because there’s that feeling again. It’s like Eliott can see the inside of his head, can take the tangled web of his thoughts and unravel it to something tangible. Flawed and tragic, but true.

“I didn’t trust him.” Eliott says. “I underestimated him, which is something I did a lot in the beginning.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “But he keeps surprising me.”

“How could I ever fix this?” The words pour out of Sander in frustration, curling around his face like smoke. “I’ve fucked up too much. Too much to be forgiven.”

“Robbe may surprise you, too.”

Fuck.

The very idea of it, of seeing Robbe again, of explaining himself to him, of Robbe forgiving him.

The very idea of being able to hold him again.

It sets Sander afire from the inside out.

“You need to be completely honest with him.” Eliott says. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he slowly stands from his spot on the ground, brushing off the back of his jeans. “And with yourself. You need to show him how you feel but you also need to tell him. You need to make it right. For both of you.” Eliott bends down to retrieve his backpack. “And Sander…” He pauses. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I think you really need to report that attack. Together.”

Sander feels a bit like crying, and a bit like laughing, inappropriately enough. There’s too much happening inside of his head, there is always is, but it’s too much in a way that feels like being awake is necessary. It’s important.

“How did you do that?” Sander asks, staring up at Eliott. “How did you know exactly what to say to me? You don’t even know me.”

Eliott smiles, and it’s sweet and bitter. “Maybe, but I think we’re very similar, actually. I think we both try to…hm. Comportement autodestructeur.”

“Self-destructive.” Sander fills in automatically.

Eliott nods. “We are both like that, and it made us lose the best parts of ourselves. Lucas, he fought for me. He fought for us, and so we found each other again. I don’t want to imagine what it would be like for me if he hadn’t. I don’t want to imagine that for you either, if Robbe makes you feel the same way Lucas makes me feel. So. You have to fight for him. That is what I’m saying.”

Sander digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t mean to—”

“No.” He cuts Eliott off, pushing himself up from the ground. He’s shaky as he tries to stand. “No, it’s. You’re right. I know you are. It’s just a lot.” He takes a long, deep breath, and he’s listing off shades of brown in his head for something to focus on, something to keep him from crumpling back down to the ground.

chestnut, raw umber, taupe, wenge, robbe’s hair, robbe’s eyes

“Hey.” Eliott’s interrupting him again, driving a wedge in front of the runaway train of his mind. “How about you come with me? You can meet Lucas. Get a drink with us, and we can talk. He can give you advice on how to be brave.”

Eliott’s grinning as he says it, a look in his eyes like he’s kidding but he’s also not, and Sander knows he’s not, because he actually could use some pointers on being brave right about now, when all he’s wanted for the last week is to disappear from the face of the Earth. To do nothing but go to sleep.

It’s so much more difficult, being awake.

“Will he mind?” He asks, sliding the strap of his messenger bag onto his shoulder.

If anything, Eliott’s smiles grows wider. “Nope. He’s been saying for weeks that he wants to meet my Belgian friends.”

Friends.

Yeah. Sander thinks he could really use some friends right now.

Eliott and Sander are outside of the school’s entrance for only a few minutes, watching the sun set and sharing a cigarette, and then there’s a tiny blur crashing into Eliott from out of nowhere, latching its arms around his neck and climbing onto his back, nearly knocking Eliott over with the momentum.

Sander flicks the cigarette towards the ground, and watches with a small smile forming on his face, what feels like the first in a long, long time.

“Eliott!” The blur cries happily, and then he’s speaking in rapid-fire French, his metropolitan accent managing to sound lazy and rushed at the same time, his vowels melting together to form one long stream of exclamations.

Sander manages to catch something about a nightmarish train ride, a desperate need to eat something, and then, when his feet are back on the ground and Eliott has turned around to face him, I missed you so much. My love.

They kiss, and it’s slow, soft and intimate and Sander looks away, taking a drag off the cigarette. He checks his phone but the only notification is from Britt, telling him that he left a sweater at her place, and she doesn’t want to keep it but she also doesn’t want to bring it to him, so he’ll have to drop by to pick it up himself.

Sander sighs.

I’ll come by tomorrow, he replies. He wants to tell her she can just give it away, or throw it out, he doesn’t care, but he can guess that for her, it’s for closure. Something she can do to tell Sander that she’s over it, over him, and Sander doesn’t want to take that away from her.

He owes her that, at least.

“Hello.” Another heavily-accented voice is saying to him, cutting through his thoughts. His head snaps up and the boy/blur himself is standing in front of him, offering a hand to shake. Eliott is next to him, an arm draped across his shoulders. “I am Lucas.” He announces, like he’s the king of France declaring himself to a pauper, and Sander already likes him.

“Sander,” he says, shaking Lucas’s hand.

“Eliott says you are coming with us for drinks?”

Sander shrugs. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and smothers it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah.”

Lucas squints at him, biting down on his lip. Sander tilts his head to stare back at him, not sure what Lucas is looking for, if he’s measuring him up to determine if he’s worthy to be Eliott’s friend, or if he’s trying to extrapolate on the inner workings of his heart just from what’s written across his face. Sander wonders if Lucas can read wasteland somewhere along the lines of his forehead or in the hollows of his eyes. When Sander woke up this morning, that was all he could see when he looked in the mirror.

Lucas must find something satisfactory in his appraisal, because he’s nodding, and Eliott leans close to whisper something into his hair and Lucas smiles, something soft and sad, and he says, “Ah, oui. D’accord.” He slips out from Eliott’s arm and steps froward, gripping onto Sander’s wrist. “Come on. You will pick the bar and Eliott will pay for the drinks.”

Eliott makes an indignant, protesting noise at this, but Lucas waves him off.

“It’s an emergency, Eli! We have to get him vodka and make a plan.”

Sander is staring down at Lucas, feeling a bit like he’s being pulled into a tornado. “A plan for what?”

“For how you will fix it.” Lucas says, as if it’s obvious. Sander throws a look at Eliott over his shoulder, wondering just how much of Sander’s private life he’s shared, and Eliott shrugs like maybe he overstepped but he’s not sorry about it.

Lucas is practically yelling into his ear. “We need somewhere with good food and cheap alcohol.”

And Sander, who’s thinking about being brave, being honest, being vulnerable and being able to hear Robbe’s voice, to press his cheek to that spot at the base of his neck, he points down the street, towards the centre of town.

“That way,” he says.

“Good.” Lucas says. He reaches back for Eliott’s hand, pulling him along with them. “Let’s go.”

#asks #anon #also anon thank you so much for your kind words you’re so sweet!!! ily 💞💞💞💞#filed under #prompt fill #also filed under #fic tag #uhhh oh god #skam fr fanfic #elu fic #????#wtfock fic #robbe x sander fic #help????#cross-universe hoopla

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