Insomniac

Chapter 3: Home Pt. 1

How long had it been since him and Sean had last properly hung out?

Robin peaks over from his food station in the kitchen, setting down a bag of cheese as he does so. Jack sits on the sofa, legs curled up next to him and his back to Robin, staring at the TV. They were watching Game of Thrones, or they were supposed to be, but Jack was suspiciously still and quiet. Considering how spacey he had been lately (especially after the incident at the hospital) Robin wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't paying attention at all.

With a sigh, Robin goes back to the sandwiches.

That was the problem now, wasn't it? However long it's been, it's been way too long. But with Jack like this, well... He supposed that, in the end, it meant he'd have to make these last few days the best days he possibly could. Especially since it would do them both some good to just relax and not think.

He swirls the mustard in a yellow circle, not really for any reason at all, and sets the other piece of bread on top. Then he moves on to make another one, a half this time for Sean whose medicine had been messing with his appetite.

And that would have to start with making their sandwiches right.

"Hey, you wanted turkey right?" When there's no answer, though, he frowns but doesn't immediately move. "Sean?" When there's no answer again he sets down the sandwich meat and rounds the small counter. Definitely spacing out again... "Jack, hey. You hear me bud?"

"Huh?" Surprise laces Jack's voice as he twists or at least tries to twist around. Instead, halfway through, he winces and doubles over. Instinctively grabbing a pillow, he jolts his legs up to trap it between his chest and thighs while his journal falls way onto the sofa cushion. (To help with the pain, Robin remembers vaguely, or that's what the doctor had said.) "Fuck."

"Sorry." Robin sits down on the opposite end of the couch - just on the arm - apologetic smile tugging at his lips. "Didn't mean to make you turn like that."

After a few breaths, Jack uncurls a little and looks back at Robin (this time without turning). His fingers twirl a still-attached piece of thread between them as he speaks. "It's fine. Not like you were the one to break 'em. Fucking bastard." A sharp snap and Jack breaks off that thread from the pillow still against his chest. He plays with it between his fingers, wrapping it around and around and around, gaze never leaving it as he favors it over eye contact with Robin.

"Hey," Robin starts, swinging his legs around so that he was sitting on the couch proper. Maybe this wasn't the best time, but he couldn't let it lie now. Jack was coiling the thread around his finger, tight enough that it whitened the skin that it choked, while glaring at no one in particular. Maybe he'd get snapped at (odd, for Jack, but a possibility nonetheless), but to leave him like this without even trying to ask if he was okay felt wrong. Was wrong. "Are you-"

But even as he speaks he only manages to get a couple of words out before he's cut off. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

"You're-"

"I'm sure. Let's just drop it, okay? I'm fine."

It's definitely a dismissal, and quite frankly it wasn't that unexpected, but something about it doesn't sit right with Robin. Maybe it was the tone of voice, or the way he wouldn't quite look at him, but it unsettles him in ways he never thought one of his best friends ever would. Besides, if anything, he wouldn't word it like that. Wouldn't be so harsh with it enough that it would sting a little. "Sean-"

"Anyways, why we're you trying to get my attention earlier?"

"Uhm." He flounders, not expecting the sudden change in topic, and takes a second to collect his thoughts. This was going nowhere, and he didn't want to end up in an argument. "I wanted to know what you wanted on your sandwich." So he guessed he'd just have to let it lie for now.