A short and sweet prompt fill that I had sitting in my notes for a while.
Bipolar Sander + Robbe taking care of him.
—
It's noon when Robbe makes his way back into his room, quietly.
He places the tray filled with breakfast foods on the table just as Sander turns on his back, hazily blinking through sleep crusted eyes.
For a moment, Robbe is hypnotized. The sun rays hit Sander in all the right ways, making his face glow and his hair look angelic.
"Hey, cutie," Robbes voice is sweet and supple, like honey oozing from a fresh comb. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed and runs a hand through Sanders messy hair before sliding it down to caress his cheek.
Sander smiles, just barley, but Robbe can see it. Robbe can always see it.
It's Sanders first morning after a long week of laying in bed. Of barely eating or talking and moving.
Robbe knows Sander will get better in time, in his own time. But how do you stand and watch the one person you love look and feel so alone when they're not?
Last night, after a week of sleeping with a space between them, Robbe had realized he couldn't let Sander feel that way any more. He'd curled up behind him and kissed his neck, told him about his day and how he couldn't wait to make-burn croques tomorrow. He'd told him everything and nothing until Sander had turned and buried himself in Robbe's chest. Letting out quiet sobs and hiccups until it was quiet again.
I'm here, Robbe had said.
So when Robbe sees that tug of his lips, he knows things are getting better. One step at a time.
"You look good," he whispers, his thumb running over Sanders cheekbone. He doesn't ask if he's feeling better, that's the last thing he wants to ask because it's the last thing Sander needs to hear.
"Mm, no.. haven't showered in a week. You're a bad liar, Robbe." Sanders voice is scratchy and low, from not speaking and from crying himself out.
He coughs once then twice and Robbes smile fades. "Hey." His brows furrow as he helps Sander sit up slowly. Holding him firmly but not gently, he knows Sander isn't broken, he isn't fragile and doesn't need to be fixed, just needs time.
He hands him a glass of water and Sander takes it without hesitation. Downing most of the glass in one go, not realizing just how starved he was the past week.
Robbe switches the glass for a plate of eggs, placing it on Sanders lap. He grabs one of the forks and starts eating and then soon enough, so does Sander.
Robbe slows, watching as Sander eats. The way his hands move, his mouth, his throat and everything else. Robbe forgot just how much he missed the little things as he zones out.
"Robbe? Hey." Sander leans forward, a hand now cradling his lovers cheek and Robbe leans into it.
He has to, be hasn't felt that touch in what feels like forever and he thinks it's unfair for him to feel this way. To feel a little lost and cold when Sander is going through so much more but- but he's been alone too. So, so alone without his other half.
"I've missed you, Mr Driesen." He swallows the lump in his throat, forehead falling against Sanders smoothly.
Sanders at a loss for words. Sometimes, amidst his highs and lows, the chaos of emotions, he forgets the truest feeling. The feeling of being loved by Robbe, the man that has been there through and through. Who has stayed willingly, close, so so close, always close enough.
Sander brings his hands up, untrusting of his voice and cradles Robbe's face. Touching all over, his eyelids, bridge off his nose, lips and ears before pulling him closer, closer. Committing it all to his memory once again, to love even harder.
He leans forward, close, close, not touching yet. "I know, Mr IJzermans," he whispering over his lips. And then dry lips are touching warm ones; tender and warm, until they're one in the same.
Until they're a tangled mess of limbs under warm sheets, sated and overfilling with love and desire and the feeling of finally, finally being home again.
—
End. Would you guys be interested in more frequent updates? Let me know. 🖤
