𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐁𖣠𝐘 . [Rinney]

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ( . . . 𝟕 )

Two years later, New York still sucked ass. Robin was sure of it. But maybe it was more tolerable, considering how he was still dating the love of his life who happened to be the ultimate hero, who also happened to be the best seller at the moment. Sometimes, he would stop by some shops and gaze at the shelves, filled with black spiders and black masks with extremely huge white eyes - or comics where he collaborates with Iron Man, which Finney had accidentally started when he confirmed that he did, indeed, know him.

Or - or there would be small, little statues where he stood like a spider; like he was teetering on the edge of a narrow surface, like these times where he had finished saving a bunch of frightened people and, despite being absolutely knackered, made time for his boyfriend, and talked and talked in front of the running water that clung to pebbles for dear life above them, until Finney's mouth was tired of talking, to bring him to his apartment and collapse on the bed. (Griffin was always away, doing "God knows what", according to Finn).

Usually, he'd want to spend time with him outside of school, but his job kept him occupied.

You heard that right. Not Finney's job, but Robin's.

Billy had taken work more seriously, and suddenly Robin had too when he heard the bill for their apartment was coming soon. (Apparently, his College wasn't exactly paying for them.) Billy had then told him: "dude, if you ain't getting at least a part-time job, we're going to be homeless."

So, he decided to get his ass moving and Vance had told him about the shop he was thinking of opening, dangling the key between his fingers. Being two years older, Vance had everything worked out, speaking of how his uncle is also a tattoo artist on the other side of America and grew up with a road already built for him, as he was also a tattoo lover.

On that evening, Robin knocked on the place Vance had told him about, the one he thought about transforming radically to make it look 'badass' enough to make people carve the most jaw-breaking tattoo in their flesh.

The building itself wasn't bad. It was small, but too small to live in. It looked old, but it was obvious that Vance had been working on it. Vance had opened the door looking pissed, eyebrows raised and eyes half-lidded, as if he was woken up from a nap. Not to sound dramatic, but Robin couldn't think that the blonde could look even more pissed when he saw his face; but he could. And he did.

Robin opened his mouth, but Vance ahead him. "No." And slammed the door shut with a loud click.

As he heard the steps fading away from the other side of the wall, Robin looked around himself in utter confusion (as the moment was rather embarrassing) and threw his arms in the air. "What the fuck?" He muttered under his breath. "Come on, dude - open up, you piece of shit!" He got no response whatsoever, so he banged against the wooden door with his fists. "I swear to whatever God you believe in I'm going to absolutely break this door."

It worked, because Vance's bright blue eyes were visible through the blurry glass square of the door. He raised an eyebrow, and Robin inhaled deeply, waiting for his anger to simmer down. "Please, man. I - look, I want to work with you on this thing. I'll even help you fix all this... stuff. My uncle builds stuff. And fixes. I'm good. I thought we were friends."

"You broke my nose in eighth grade."

"We were in high school, wh - what are you pretending?"

"We're not friends, Robin. Go away."

"We drew naked women on the school's walls together two years ago - we - come on!"