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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

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Safe - Chapter Three

AO3

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HAHA, I finished it. FINALLY.

I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to complete, but with presentations and tests, my schoolwork has pretty much been kicking my ass and forcing me to be unable to write or push it back (as you guys on my Tumblr know). Add that with my fucked up sleep schedule and it's only worse! But, it's okay because this chapter is finished so I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Good, maybe bad news how you see it, this story will only have four chapters! After Safe is finished, I’m going to taking a week-long break to work on other stories (specifically my Potter Siblings one, Harry and Ron have been fighting the troll for weeks) and do some more live blogging more episodes before I start on my WTFock @ Hogwarts AU. So, now that is out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

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His body was tired.

His mind was tired.

His hands were tired.

Sander was exhausted.

His heart was screaming at him, two conflicting thoughts resounding through his body like the beat of a drum, not the good kind, but the loud and obnoxious kind. One of his thoughts was urging him to go to sleep. His entire body screamed in exhaustion, in being tired, having worked all night, trying to drown his sadness into the worn paper of his sketchbook, sketching the same face over and over again until his hand physically hurt.

But, the second thought, the one that had been present, lingering in the background, was now a renewed melody in the front of his mind, now that Sander had slammed into him in the lobby of his apartment complex. Robbe. Robbe and his doe-eyes and his single earring and his dimples. Part of Sander wanted to go out and find Robbe and explain, but he knew that Robbe was crushed, that Sander had been the one to do that, and…

Sander locked the door behind him, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. He tossed the bag with his cold groceries in the fridge and he placed the bag that needed to be sorted into cabinets on the kitchen counter and, somehow, he made it to the couch, collapsing down on the cushions, his body shutting down and forcing him into a restless sleep.

Even as his body forced him into sleep, his mind kept waking him up, pulling him in and out of sleep.

He remembered waking up to send Robbe a message, to see if he was okay, and he barely managed to hit send on the third and final message before he was slipping into his dreams again, dreaming of Robbe and his doe-eyes and his burgundy beanie and his infinite universes. He woke up to the sound of the front door opening, the image of Robbe slipping from his fingers, the voices of Amber and a man whispering to one another, but it wasn’t Estelle or a woman with brown hair so he turned around, going back to sleep. He woke up to pillows being put under his head, someone moving him so he could spread out, covering him with a blanket, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and he mumbled out something before he was gone again, blinking in and out of sleep like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he woke up, for real this time, the loss of the Robbe in his dreams evident when he awoke, clutching his own leather jacket like a lifeline, the blanket on his shoulders weighed down on him and the soft light of the morning (or the evening?) was filtering through the crack in the curtains and Val was curled up in the armchair, his head resting against the back of the chair, his ash-blond hair spilling over his shoulders and sleeping peacefully.

Sander sat up, panic filling his system. He shoved off the blanket and dropped his leather jacket on the bed and moved through the house. He searched the bedroom and the bathroom and the closets, searching but never finding her, Estelle. Val found him, peering into the closet in his spare-bedroom-turned-art-studio and letting him know he was there, letting out a yawn. “Sorry man, I didn’t realize that you had woken up. I must’ve fallen asleep myself.”

Sander swallowed. “How long was I out?”

Val checked his watch. “A day. I was coming to bring you your jacket and I realized I didn’t know where you lived so Amber let me in. When we saw that you were passed out, I knew that something was wrong. You don’t seem like yourself and I was worried about you.”

“You should’ve woken me up,” Sander mumbled.

“No, I shouldn’t have. You didn’t look good at the party, Sander. Hell, you left without your jacket and without saying goodbye! Who knows how cold it was driving back here on your motorcycle without at least some form of protection from the cold?” Val spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. He was raising his voice, like he always did when he was passionate and concerned, and Sander didn’t know what to do, running a hand through his hair, his anxiety running high. “Look, I know that there’s something going on with you and you know that I’m always able to know. But, you cannot carry the world on your shoulders, okay? You’ll just end up hurting yourself and the people around you.”

“I know,” Sander whispered, thinking of how many times he had parroted the same words to Camille, his baby sister, who used to walk around with the same thoughts in her head.

“You know that you can talk to me, right?”

Sander nodded his head.

“So, what’s going on?”

Sander swallowed, looking over at his friend standing in his art room, his old childhood friend that had seen every single ugly side of Sander and had stayed with him, that was willing to accept him back into his life with open arms even after Sander had stepped away, following Britt’s wishes. And, Sander found that he couldn’t keep this from him, that he didn’t want to. “You have to promise not to tell Amber, okay?” Sander whispered and Val nodded his head. “I haven’t gotten a chance to tell my mom and that’s a face-to-face conversation that you need to have, you know?”

Val nodded again. “I understand, Sander.”

“There’s a girl… that’s been stalking me…”

And, so, Sander told him. He told Val about the messages that Estelle had sent, about the ones that were simply asking about his day and about the others which involved pictures or words that were inappropriate to send to someone you didn’t know. He told Val about how he and Camille had been headed to see a movie, to hang out before she went on her vacation, and returned because Sander forgot something, only to find the girl stalking him in her living room. How he managed to get a restraining order. How he saw her knocking on doors the other day.

“Have you told anyone?” Val spoke up. They had moved into the kitchen. Sometime in the past twenty-four hours, Val had been in here, taking some things out of boxes and organizing them around. Val knew how particular Sander was, so he vaguely where Sander liked things. He had set up the coffee ingredients, the ones that Sander had just been fishing out of the box to put them back, next to the coffee maker. When Sander didn’t answer, Val continued, “About her knocking on doors?”

“I told my landlord, but I haven’t told the police yet,” Sander admitted.

“Why not?”

“They can’t arrest her for anything,” Sander replied. “All she did was knock on some doors. And, besides, if I went to them and they go question her, she would know for sure that I live in this apartment complex and all she’ll end up doing is coming back.”

Val nodded his head, understanding. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” He glanced over at Sander. “Is that why you ran from the party? Because you thought she was there?”

“No,” Sander replied. “I left for a different reason.” His friend’s eyes got narrow, staring at him with a confused glare, silently telling him to spill it. “Okay, okay… before I realized that she had found out that I lived in this apartment complex, I was seeing somebody.”

The mere thought of Robbe was enough to make Sander smile. But, the image was quickly drowned, taken over by the words that he had sent to him, his mind’s own conjured image of a broken Robbe, sad and defeated all because of him. His smile disappeared and Sander bit down on his lip, the pain briefly batting away the words that flooded in his mind.

You’re toxic.

“Who were you seeing?”

Sander swallowed. “His name is Robbe. And, he came over to the apartment a few times…”

Val nodded his head. “Well, you seemed really happy for a second there,” Val noted, looking grim. “Did you guys have a bad breakup? If I had known, I wouldn’t have been all over Soph. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sander interrupted, shaking his head. “No, it’s not that. I promise.” There was a look of relief that crossed over Val’s face before it was replaced with one of concern. But, he didn’t have to ask this time for Sander to continue, “After I realized that she had found me, I had cut it off. I really like him, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting hurt because of me.” Val opened his mouth to respond, but Sander didn’t let him talk, adding, “But, he doesn’t want anything to do with me now. He saw me kissing that girl, Laura, and he ran out of the club.”

“How do you know he saw you?” Val questioned.

Sander sent him a look.

“What? It’s a valid question!”

It was, but Sander didn’t want to admit it. “Why else would he go running from the club and leave all of his friends behind with no idea where he went?” Val seemed to nod his head, leaning against the counter. “And, besides, it’s all my fault that he got hurt.”

“Hey, you had no idea that he would’ve been in that club,” Val interrupted.

“I should’ve.”

“Sander,” Val spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. “Stop putting so the blame on yourself! It is not your fault.”

“But, it is my fault.”

“How so?”

“I got too comfortable,” Sander admitted, feeling the tears prick his eyes.

He was unable to look up at Val, certain that there was an exasperated look in his eyes. “Sander, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you being comfortable.” He took a step forward, closer to Sander, but he still refused to meet his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with that.

“I got too comfortable, Val,” Sander started. He felt Val move to interrupt, but he shook his head, silently telling him not to. “No, it’s true. I got too comfortable and I wasn’t thinking. I thought that I had lost her because of the restraining order and moving away. But, I didn’t. She showed up, here, knocking on doors, and I almost put someone in danger because I got too comfortable.”

Val let out a sigh. “Sander, look at me.” Sander raised his eyes to meet Val’s blue ones. “It’s not your fault that this girl has attached herself to you. But, you don’t need to punish yourself for something that you can’t control.” Sander wanted to believe him, but he couldn’t. “Does Robbe make you happy?”

Sander blinked. “Huh?”

“Does Robbe make you happy?” Val repeated. Sander didn’t reply right away, his mind conjuring images of Robbe in his bed, his arms and legs wrapped around Sander like a koala, and the warm fuzzy feeling, so foreign and new filling up his entire body. And, Val spoke up, only partially obliterating the image, “You might as well go ahead and say yes because I already know the answer.”

“Yes,” Sander replied, laughing lightly.

“See? Was that so hard?” Val replied.

“No,” Sander replied. “But, that doesn’t change anything.” Val raised an eyebrow. “Robbe, he still ran out of the club.” He glanced at his phone, which Val had brought it. There were notifications from Amber and Sophie and his mom (and Britt, he rolled his eyes), but Robbe’s name wasn’t on the screen. “He still hasn’t responded to my texts.”

“But, he’s worth fighting for, right?” Val spoke up. “Sander, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look like this… Actually, I don’t think I have. Whoever he is, he makes you happy and you deserve it.” He reached out, patting Sander’s shoulder. “You want him. You owe it to yourself to try and make this right.”

Sander nodded his head. “I missed you, Val.”

“I missed you too,” Val replied. “Oh, by the way, I posted on your Instagram while you were asleep because I saw that some people were commenting where you were on old photos. It was just a photo of boxes with the caption ‘unpacking’. You can check it if you want to.” Sander pulled up his Instagram account, finding the photo in question. “I’m glad I decided not to go with a window setting, but I didn’t want to post something like that without your permission.”

“Thank you,” Sander replied. “Wait, you follow me?”

Val rolled his eyes. “Of course, I do.”

#brenna writes #safe: an unattainable spin-off #safe: sander’s pov #sander driesen pov #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #sobbe #rosander #sander x robbe #wtfock #wtfam #wtfock fic #my fic #unattainable fic related #sobbe fic #rosander fic #three out of four chapters completed

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annonymannonym · 3 years

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We are the future , You and I , 100% forever in every universe!

#I’ll never get over this moment like ever:’))))#gonna live in my heart forever #their pov their story 🥺#the way they look at each other with so much admiration and love #they are soo soft and soo in love my heart is bursting #they are so perfectly made for one another <33 #love them so much and I’m gonna miss them lots #but they are happy now forever in elk universum 🥺💕#wtfock #q #mine:#my edits #robbe x sander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #wtfam

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if-music-be-the-food-of-love · 2 years

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Distractions, a Sander birthday story

It was loud, so fucking loud. The high scratches and shrill tones of the horrifically bad techno music assaulted Sander’s ears, and the bass reverberated through his body, bouncing off of the walls and the floor, off of the sweaty, drunk bodies around him. The neon lights of the club flashed and swung around as more and more people joined the press of dancers.

At the raised bar, Sander lifted his third, or was it his fourth, scotch to his lips and tried not to lose sight of a mop of wild dark curls, flopping around wildly, as their owner bounced more than danced to the beat, his arms over his head, a line of smooth skin peeking out above his belt. Sander had been staring at him for nearly ten minutes. Everything about the man was his type: early twenties, slender with strong shoulders, a confident demeanor with a ready, easy going smile, and a face carved from marble that lit up the room when he smiled. He was designed for Sander, but unfortunately, this was not a gay club. He’d asked Senne to help him get drunk, and this is where they’d ended up. He wasn’t about to approach some poor straight guy hanging out with his friends, no matter how attractive he was.

Watching would have to suffice. Mr. Gorgeous was easy to keep track of, as one of his friends was strikingly tall. Sander had, in fact, noticed him first, sticking out over the crowd, but his eyes had caught on the man at his side. They’d been laughing together, the shorter one reaching up to yell in his ear before they both bent over with giggles. Sander’s eyes had nearly fallen out of his head, and he hadn’t been able to tear them away since.

He was perfectly fine being a silent observer this time. It didn’t matter really. He wasn’t here to socialize or pick anyone up. He was here to forget, to get so drunk that he’d forget about tomorrow, maybe sleep all day. That was his goal, though he wouldn’t turn down a good view while he was at it–hence the staring.

As he shot back the last of his drink, the lights flashed bright white for a second and then the music slowed, disorienting him. When his gaze returned to the curly haired man, he almost fell out of his chair. The man had stopped dancing and was looking directly at him, full-on staring. Their eyes met, and a shock of intense heat cut through him like lightning, rooting him to his chair. Flustered, Sander set down his glass and watched as the tall friend ruffled the man’s hair while another nudged his shoulder with a hand. He fended both off without breaking eye contact, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

Keep Reading on Ao3

Thank you anon, @wtfotteli @earthlingiriseyes for your ideas. Hopefully you can recognize which parts are yours! Thank you Caitlin @thenerd10 💕💕

#wtfock #sobbe #wtfam #happy birthday my muse #sander pov my beloved #this fic is so out of my comfort zone #please read the tags #it's hurt/comfort and I went pretty dark with anon's suggestion #(i needed to make it believable. hopefully it worked)#sander Driesen #robbe ijzermans

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chibifatou · 3 years

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SANDER DRIESEN

sander’s pov series (pt.1, pt.2, pt.3)

#wtfock #sander driesen #myedits #these are the scenes when the camera follows sander or focused on him so it looks like from his pov #idk if that makes sense

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nyttvera · 4 years

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robbe ijzermans: seizoen 3 —> zaterdag 12 oktober 2019

#wtfock #wtfam #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #happy one year to robbe pov!#i've never in my life missed a pov like this #*my gifs #*mine #wtfockedit #skamremakesedit #bye im just gonna rewatch clip per clip and cry <3

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hopelessromanticvirgo · 3 years

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Sincerely, Always Yours

Chapter 34

Chapter 33

Chapter 35

#light screen mode text messages are from Sander’s pov #also guys I know they seem ‘fine’ now but I swear I will have them talk about it in two chapters #I just couldn’t put it here because I already made future chapter and I will make them talk about how they both hurt each other okay?#wtfock #wtfam #sobbe #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #robbe x sander #social media au #sincerely always yours

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years

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Check Ignition: Sander Schmander

By popular request (*cough* everyone on ao3 and @art3misjade), here is Sander's perspective on events

This segment falls right before Chapter Four of Check Ignition

Sander Driesen was drunk. Honest-to-god, shitfaced drunk. And for the first time in forever, too—he’d laid off the stuff since his treatment plan made it difficult to handle, and since he wanted the meds to actually work. But tonight, he thought, I’ve earned this. Everyone else was drinking. It would be weird if he didn’t participate when his own boyfriend was halfway through his fifth cup of punch.

Fake boyfriend. That was a whole thing.

Now, he lay on the stairs leading upward to the boys’ dormitories. Hopefully those stairs. He didn’t make a habit of visiting the common rooms of other houses, and the layouts tended to differ from one another.

“Sorry,” he croaked to everyone who shimmied their way through. “My bad. Deepest apologies.”

This was why he needed Britt, he thought, to reign in this kind of impulse. Granted, she was the only one who knew about everything else thus far, but he wasn’t going to tell Robbe all that, not when it was already hard enough existing in a magical world with a mundane illness. He wanted to hold onto this last little dream.

Midnight was fast approaching and the bustle downstairs had yet to dispel. Sander tried to move his arms and found them unresponsive. Or rather, he could move them, but it required too much effort to be worth it. He slumped back. More people flooded up the stairs to sleep off whatever terrible concoction was in that punch bowl.

“Robbe has such stupid ideas, I swear,” said Moyo, cresting the staircase. Sander perked up at the sound of Robbe’s name. Probably Moyo. Sander struggled to think through the names of Robbe’s friends—he had them listed in his bedroom for continuity purposes.

He recognized Jens easily enough, because Jens was wherever Robbe was. And Sander watched Robbe a lot. Sander held his breath, as if being quiet could prevent them from seeing him sprawled across their path.

“Shut up,” Jens shot back.

The third boy with them—Alex? Adam?—pitched in, “It’s not Robbe’s fault you don’t get any.”

“He’s throwing away the chance of a lifetime.”

“Shut the fuck up. You sound like an incel.”

“But like, why do they kiss so much? It’s not like you have—” Moyo stopped short as he tripped over Sander’s leg. Despite their somewhat rational conversation, they weren’t any more sober than Sander himself. “Shit, speak of the devil.”

Jens leaned down to Sander’s eye level. “You alright?”

“Never better,” Sander slurred. It came out more like a groan.

Moyo approached to help Jens move Sander from the center of the stairs. They sat him up against the railing on his left side, which was not any more comfortable than the steps digging into his back. Jens was still in full Quidditch uniform (even the chest padding!), Moyo sported a Hufflepuff tie over a t-shirt and jeans, and Adam-or-whoever stood at a quiet distance in a pair of burgundy pajama pants and his Quidditch robes. Sander would have made note to write these in on his list—a good indicator of personality.

Too bad he didn’t have the sense to do so.

“Can’t handle your alcohol, huh?” Moyo asked. He didn’t seem very threatening, though the question was definitely a taunt. Sander’s brain felt like vanilla pudding. Moyo turned to the boys. “Should we wake Robbe?”

“Yes,” said Sander. Oh, hell yes. Robbe. He liked Robbe so much.

The story itself was long and antiquated, a love-at-first-sight kind of deal for Sander. He couldn’t think of one version where he wasn’t the bad guy. He went on a double-date with Britt and her friend, expecting one of Noor’s usual yuppies to show up and bore the whole table with pointless conversation. Then it was Robbe.

Do you ever just see someone, really see them, and—how could he phrase it—know? Or think you know. All things considered, it wasn’t the best sign in terms of his condition.

He had to walk all the way into the next town over to call his psychiatrist, only to realize there wasn’t much to tell her. Hey, I’m infatuated with this guy that my girlfriend’s friend is dating. What should I do? She’d give him some common-sense answer like, Break up with your girlfriend, which he didn’t want to do until he knew what he was feeling would last. So he said, These side effects are nasty, and she reevaluated his dose of Lexapro.

“Let the virgin sleep,” said Moyo.

Sander pitched forward to grab Moyo by the arm. “No, wake him up.”

Because the thing was, time passed, and the feelings didn’t fade. Britt could tell he wasn’t present anymore and said nothing. Maybe she thought it was the Depakote that his psychiatrist added to the cocktail when the antidepressant dangled him on the edge of hypomania. She was a good person. It really wasn’t fair when he told her it was over via owl, and it really wasn’t fair when he seized his opportunity to kiss Robbe in the astronomy tower. The argument in question was not so bad. He conflated it for an excuse to leave her.

“Where’s Robbe?” said Sander. “I have to see him.”

“He’s asleep, downstairs. We gave him a blanket and everything.” Jens passed over his own cup of water. “Drink this.”

“I have to see him,” Sander repeated.

“Yeah, you have to go to sleep. He’s going to be here tomorrow.”

“It won’t be the same tomorrow.”

The whole relationship wasn’t even meant to be a thing. It was a cheap kiss, really, in the astronomy tower. Sander just wanted to know what it would feel like, and he thought it might serve Robbe too, so he did it. Robbe’s appearance the next day was the most unexpected, thrilling twist he could have dreamed of. Except, in a dream, it wouldn’t be fake.

Robbe never missed a chance to restate that it was fake. That wasn’t the best sign, either.

“Aaron, don’t just stand there,” said Jens. “Help me out. Grab his arms, will you?”

“Aaron.” Sander tested out the name. “But you’re Adam!”

“How much have you had?” Aaron grabbed Sander’s arms and lifted. The boys got Sander up two stairs before deciding he was too heavy. They sat him back against the wall.

“Try again,” Jens instructed.

The second try went about as well as the first.

Jens crouched to Sander’s eye level. “Look, is there someone else we can get for you? Or are you cool with sleeping here?” He had to hold Sander’s shoulders in his hands to keep Sander from pitching forward and rolling all the way back downstairs.

“We can’t leave our friend’s boyfriend here!” said Aaron.

“Fake boyfriend,” Moyo added.

Sander groaned. Yes, remind him of that! It was fake! He knew it already! If his psychiatrist could see him now, she’d say—alright, she’d say that he wasn’t allowed to drink on his overly specific medication regimen. But if that weren’t a factor, she’d say some more common-sense things like, “Tell Robbe how you feel. Tell his friends, if you want.”

Fuck, he missed her. He could seek out the phone booth sometime this week and tell her all about it. She loved hearing from him.

“There’s no one,” he slurred. “I’m okay.”

“Fine, there’s us, then,” said Jens. He hefted one of Sander’s arms over his shoulder. “Moyo, take three.”

Moyo took the other arm. They dragged him up the rest of the way, bumping his head on every other stair. He felt like a snow globe in a tourist trap shop, all shaken up, no escape through the glass. Huh. Poetic. Where was Robbe?

“Wake up Robbe,” Sander requested. Jens and Moyo dropped him into the fourth bed in their room. Aaron, Jens, and Robbe lived here; Sander could deduce that from the eclectic assortment of things piled on every available surface. The blankets of the bed in which he lay were already rumpled, implying that someone else had slept here recently. He touched something sticky on the top sheet. Okay, maybe they didn’t sleep.

Jens looked back and forth between Moyo and Sander. “Why?” he asked.

There were plenty of replies Sander could give. We’re fake-dating, and I want it to be convincing.

We’re such good friends, and I want to tell him so.

I think he has my cell phone. Jens might not know what a cell phone was. Sander could never tell with those purebloods.

He and I have plans to smoke weed and throw rocks at pixies in the Forbidden Forest.

Sander said, “I misssssss him,” with the s pulled to the end of the world. Yeah, that would work, too.

“Um, okay,” said Jens. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Then he, Aaron, and Moyo started laughing, although Sander couldn’t tell just what they found so funny. Sander had an alarm on his cell phone to take his medication at eleven PM, since schedule was important to the efficacy of the active ingredients, or whatever it was his psychiatrist said when she adjusted his Lexapro to 15mg. It buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t have the pills. He was too tired, anyway. It wouldn’t matter if he skipped a dose or two; he’d done worse things than that with lesser consequences.

“You’re going to get Robbe, right?” he asked, and in a moment of clarity, he realized he was a needy boyfriend. He wasn’t a fan of needy Britt. You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Jens yanked the curtains shut across the fourth bed and bound them with a spell. “You’re drunk, go to sleep. We’ll get Robbe.” The boys began another fit of giggling.

It didn’t bother Sander at all. He stared at the arcing pillars that held up the bedcurtains and hummed a David Bowie song into the darkness. He was young and drunk and in love, and anything could happen. So what if Robbe thought their relationship was fake for now? In a matter of time, it would be real.

#sobbe fanfic #sobbe #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #wtfock #requested fic #sander POV #fake dating #Hogwarts au

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fatoudixon · 3 years

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I FUCKING MISS SANDER AND HIS OVER THE TOP ONE LINERS AND HIS SNOBBY ARTISTIC TAKES AND THE WAY HE JUST LIFTS UP MY WORLD WITH A SMILE OR HIM BEING GRUMPY. I MISS MY COMFORT CHARACTER AND I CAN’T BELIEVE A RACIST GOT SCREENTIME AND HE DIDN’T

#i know it’s not his season but EVERYONE would have preferred a shared pov between all the characters ( or the old mains ) than this fuckery #wtfock #wtfam #seeing a bw picture of him really isn’t good enough for me i’m sorry #sander driesen #roast españa all you want but even with joana being gone she was still so present social media wise #and covid isn’t the excuse because spain got hit way harder than most european countries #we saw him like 3 times and he spoke once??? how does that shit make sense #senne is the LI of the main from 2 season ago and even he has spoken and be seen more

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universe-n-3276 · 3 years

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That Burnt Out Spot

Bonus Chapter:

Four years later

AO3

#wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #wtfam #bff to enemies to lovers #photographer!sander #rockstar!robbe #Chapter 3 snippet #Sander POV #that burnt out spot

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ghosttotheparty · 4 years

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I’ve Been Waiting For You (And You’ve Been Coming To Me)

also on ao3

I’ve been waiting for you And you've been coming to me For such a long time now For such a long time now

Sander knew it was ridiculous.

That he had seen this boy, this beautiful boy, a total of two times before now.

Once, under the moonlight, white masks covering both their faces. The boy hadn’t seen Sander, nor his camera, under the roof of the warehouse, hadn’t noticed Sander watching him, Sander’s face hidden behind the mask and under the hood of his jacket, hidden by the camera when he held it up to snap a picture of him.

There was a moment, as Sander watched him, where it felt like Sander’s heart slowed to a stop, where it felt like all the blood in his veins stopped moving, a chill went down his arms and back, where his lungs let out a sharp breath like a sigh and a gasp, where his face softened, and he forgot about everything except the boy in front of him. It felt like a realization, like a moment of familiarity, a feeling like he’s finally come home after years wandering the universe, looking.

Oh. There you are. You’re what I’ve been waiting for.

It hardly hurt when he watched the boy kiss Noor, the girl he knew from school, the girl that was friends with Sander’s girlfriend (who was far from his mind). It still disappointed him, still made his heart drop just a little, though the butterflies still fluttered like they were trying to escape him.

The next time, in the skate park, a group of teenage boys walking past.

A whim, a wild hope, that maybe the boy with the pretty eyes and the brown hair, could be one of them, and Sander glanced up.

And there he was.

Looked at Sander.

And how beautiful he was.

In the same jacket he wore the night Sander first saw him, with his fluffy hair around his head like a halo, looking lonely even with the boys he walked with. Sander had looked at him as he walked past, thinking that this could maybe be his last chance to see him, his last chance to look at this nameless boy, and he caught the boy glancing back at him.

That was all it was.

Just a glance.

But it was all that was on Sander’s mind for days after. Days and days, rushing through his mind like a film, like a gif, like it was all that existed in his world, in his universe. He’d done messy sketches of it, but ended up erasing it so many times the paper ripped under the rubber, or he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it to the bin in the corner of his room, or he ripped it up, the angles, the lashes, the shine in his eyes, just not right.

Just a glance.

But in the light, Sander caught the brown of his eyes, caught the shine of them against the sun, caught the curiosity that overtook the loneliness, just for that short second.

And in that moment, Sander was okay.

He looked different in the sun than he did the moon. The light wasn’t as pale, though it was a cloudy day.

There was a gentleness about him, a softness that Sander could only just see. A gentleness hidden behind the intense exterior of a disguise. It hurt Sander’s heart to see it, this disguise that the boy was hiding behind. The disguise was in the way he walked, his hand stuffed into his pockets, just a step behind his friends, in the way all three of them spoke as the boy glanced to Sander, the way none of them noticed the pained, sad look on his face.

The look that might have disappeared when he looked at Sander.

For just a second.

Like he felt it too.

That was when Sander decided that was it.

He would do whatever he had to.

Go over any obstacle, break any locks, shatter any barrier, to get home.

So he did.

And he found himself in a beach house, surrounded by friends of Britt’s, friends of Noor’s, friends of his in a way, though he barely knew any of them.

Except, of course, the boy with the brown jacket.

He’d had something planned to say to him, had something he wanted, needed, to say.

He doesn’t remember what it was.

It was probably something flirty, something bold, something that would have caught him off guard, that would have made him smile.

But he forgot everything he was supposed to say when he showed up, when he and Sander made eye contact through the window, just a few seconds between the moment and when he walked through the door, a few seconds for Sander to try to calm his heart down, to make something up, to have a script in his head so he didn’t just stare blankly at him, awestruck and starry-eyed.

So he talked.

And it did manage to make him smile, a crooked, confused smile, a quiet “Huh?” that made Sander burst out laughing.

His voice.

It fit him.

A quiet, low voice that matched his eyes, that made Sander’s heart fill with butterflies. He did his best to hide it, to disguise how shaken he was, to pretend he was fine, to be casual and friendly, like every cell in his body wasn’t screaming finally.

“Sander, by the way.”

“Robbe.”

Robbe.

Robbe. Robbe. Robbe.

It was like the name was stuck in Sander’s head, like a song he didn’t know all the lyrics to, an unfinished melody, and he had to make sure not to say it, not to let it out as he made conversation with the boy, Robbe, on their way to get groceries.

He had to make sure not to let his hands shake as he grabbed food from the shelves, as he made Robbe laugh with his mime impression.

And he hoped, he prayed, his face wasn’t flushed bright pink as he talked to him, and he twirled him around on the shopping cart, as he looked into his eyes, and as Robbe looked back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

If he’s completely honest, Sander forgot about Britt.

She didn’t exist in those moments, the moments where Sander was with Robbe, in the kitchen as Sander told him about his masterful croques, the moment where Robbe kneeled to the ground to get a pan and looked up at Sander, twirling the pan in his hand, a small smile in his eyes like he was proud, the moment where they turned the stove on together, Sander’s curled fingers pressed against the side of Robbe’s hand, and they both looked at each other, smiling just because. (Robbe’s smile was beautiful. It put sunsets and fields of flowers to shame. Robbe’s smile lived rent-free in Sander’s head.)

And then the moment where Sander moved past Robbe to turn up the radio, pressed his hands to his back even though he had plenty of space to get around him, let one hand trail across his back, taking up every fraction of a second he could.

Robbe smiled when Sander sang, when he moved his fingers in time with the music, when he acted like the dork he was, he didn’t roll his eyes, didn’t complain about “Bowie again?” He even swayed his shoulders, grinning at Sander, like he was dancing but wasn’t meaning to.

Robbe didn’t say much.

But he didn’t really have to.

Sander knew he felt it too.

He could feel Robbe’s eyes on him, as he sang and talked, felt Robbe’s eyes on him as he slid his tongue along the edge of the paper of the joint, and he tried not to let his self-consciousness show, even though it felt like his body could have exploded had he let it. He tried to hold himself upright, tried to look confident and secure, pretended he wasn’t screaming inside.

It was finally happening, he thought as he took a drag from the joint, as he smiled at Robbe. It all felt so natural, all felt so real. He knew it was silly, to be this head over heels for a boy he’d only met that morning, but he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t help the way he looked at Robbe, the way his eyes softened and smiled even though he was trying to act normal. He couldn’t help the way his heart sang as he held the sandwich up and Robbe took a tentative bite, the way he had to stop himself from giggling like a little girl when Robbe looked at him blankly as he chewed, like his mind was blank, like he was feeling exactly what Sander was feeling. He couldn’t help the way he wanted to just gaze at him for days, the way he wanted to curl his fingers into Robbe’s hair, wanted to kiss him until they were both breathless (even though Sander already felt a little breathless just seeing him).

He couldn’t help the way he startled when he heard Britt’s voice, the way he really just wanted to close the door in her face, to take Robbe and hide from her where she couldn’t find them, to forget about Britt completely. It wouldn’t hurt.

He tried telling Robbe, after Britt had kissed him, tried to tell him Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. This isn’t really real. He could see it in Robbe’s eyes, could see you the slightest bit of anguish, of disappointment, of pleading, even through his small, pained smile as Britt spoke to him. Sander apologised to him, looking at him with Britt’s cheek pressed to his.

The truth was, nothing Britt did, none of the touches, the kisses, ever felt even remotely close to what he felt when he shook Robbe’s hand, when their hands touched on the stove, when their fingers brushed as Sander passed him the joint. Nothing Britt did made Sander feel so electrified, made him feel like he was where he was supposed to be. Nothing she did made Sander feel so beautifully wrecked, so perfectly ruined.

Britt showed him something after they left Robbe in the kitchen.

Sander doesn’t remember what it was.

His head was too distracted, too consumed by the memory of Robbe’s smile, his eyes, the way his hand felt against Sander’s.

He felt at peace for the first time in a very long time. Like the planet was rotating again after years of standing stationary. He felt okay.

This is what he’d been waiting for all his life, what he’d been looking for.

This is where he was supposed to be, with this beautiful boy with his brown eyes.

Someday, he thought, he would kiss him. He would hold the side of his face, would brush his fingers over his jaw and cheek, over the side and back of his neck, before sliding them into his hair, where he would tighten his grip, would clench his fists in the soft curls, would pull and tug as Robbe slides his arms around Sander’s waist. He would probably smile against his mouth, might have to pause, pull his head back, their foreheads pressed together, just to smile, his eyes closed, feeling Robbe close. How blissful that would be.

Someday, he thought, he would draw him. Really draw him, with his face, and his eyes, and his smile lines, and the curls that fall across his forehead, not like the drawings he did of him with the while mask covering his face, not like the drawings he did that were just colour and shapes, just brushstrokes against paper, colours and shapes that he didn’t think through, colours and shapes that just felt right.

He knew no one else would look at them and think of them as portraits.

But they weren’t for anyone else.

And he did kind of like the idea of the art being his little secret. Paintings of his love.

He knew it was ridiculous.

But even so, it just felt right, it felt okay, it felt real.

For such a long time now For such a long time now

#so yeah #i think i just rly like sanders pov its fun #and ofc sander is a hopeless romantic and so am i #also art #and yes the lyrics are from a bowie song #its actually a cover of a neil young song #but yk #wtfock #wtfock fic #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #sander x robbe #sander and robbe #sobbe #sobbe fanfic

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