𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𖣠 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊? [Rinney]

V: Only you darling, only you

IMPORTANT: sorry for the long wait. this was supposed to be the last chapter but it turned out to be way too long, so I had to divide it. The next part will be published shortly. (:

Notes:Robin dressed in black &. dark colors lives in my mind rent free

"I told you to stop with these fights, Rob."

Finney sighed, kneeled on the dirty floor of the bathroom in front of Robin, disinfecting his bloody knuckles with a plain, light blue handkerchief. Robin watched the blood rushing out, dwindling, and seep in the soft material, smudging it. He sunk against the wall.

"He started it,"

"Stop sulking like a child." Finney glanced up at him, pushing the tissue harder, making Robin wince.

"Ow, ow— I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He gasped once Finney reeled back, satisfied. "But - what am I without doing this? I live for this,"

Finney's gaze set on his, sighing sharply. He dropped both of his hands. "You're just Robin. And I'd like you better if you stopped starting stuff,"

"But they—"

"I know what they said," his eyes shift to something mirthless, his voice quiet as if restraining a sob. "And I'm used to it. Please, don't break your knuckles just for this. It's pointless."

Sometimes, looking back at it, Robin wished Finney would have valued himself more. He was definitely worth all the blood, and fights, the yells and the wounds. It might have been one year ago, even more, but he doesn't regret any of it. Because Finn was worth every single ruptured bone. But as of now, Robin would still take a fight for him.

A beat of silence passed, Finn's eyes back on healing the wound. Robin winced in pain as he snorted. "I think my limb might be broken."

Flyers of the incoming party cleared that mist that has been floating around in his mind since the hungover. He hasn't thought much about it, but he knew that he'd be grilled on with questions (mostly by Billy) if he didn't come. He used to love these, even when Bruce wasn't even close to being his friend, and he never happened to miss one. It was always the same drill: enter, get some shots, vomit with some girl holding up his hair, pass out (optional), and get back home with either an uber or stay at Bruce's. Either way - merrily and cheerful.

He hasn't been doing any of that for an eternity. A part of him doesn't miss it. It was unhealthy and it was the main reason that brought him to fight with Finney most of the time. The other part of him, well — missed it more than he should. Or maybe he just missed the feeling, and not even the bitter taste that would linger in his throat, scraping at the walls.

When he told Bruce that he would be there, he was pretty staggered despite inviting him. He blinked a few times and pursued his lips. "Well that's..." he trailed off. "well — alright. It's in one week exactly. Hey, you think you can bring something? I know your uncle has lots of Mexican brands. Even a cheap one. People there don't really realize, nor they care."