0
( first chapter is super boring ughh. it will get better i promise.)
Once you use something better, something out of the box, you won't be happy with what you had before anymore. You'll be given lots of love and attention, making every inch of you feel worthy. There is just something different and captivating about this new feeling that once you embrace it, you can't let it be taken away from you so easily.
But that's what happened.
As much as Robin wanted to hold the love tighter and win it over, it was brutally snatched from him, and he didn't even try to fight back.
At the start of November (November 3rd, to be precise), Robin had to eventually learn how to live without someone he had perfectly lived without until eighth grade.
That cold day, Finn's nose and cheeks were red. His chestnut locks were speckled with snowflakes, and his slender frame sbristled despite being swathed in an endless blue scarf, his arms tightly pressed against his sides. Robin usually remembered it clearly, because he loved taking in every detail — sometimes, he would try to reach out and hug him to warm him up, but with no success. He would just withdraw, keeping his thoughts for himself and swallowing his heart back in its place.
But that day — he didn't remember that day because of Finney's tinted cheeks. He remembered it because that was when his heart was suddenly squeezed and splattered and shattered on the ground after being carefully carried around everywhere. It felt like Finney's nails sunk in it, scratching it the best way he could to leave the deepest of marks that would not soon be forgotten.
"Grow up, Robin." Finney pushed him, making him step backwards, which he didn't even realize back then. "Seriously. Get your issues fixed." He spat, clenching his teeth and sneering, directly looking into Robin's eyes with despise and loathe that he never thought he could have in his guts.
And it hurt so bad that for the first time he marked long-lasting absences at school.
⸝⸝ ・Can we go back? ⸝⸝﹒✦
a RINNEY fanfict ( angst ; romance ) .
BY :
• WP: kalidovas
• AO3: constelliars.
I
The sudden heap of books being messily thrown next to Robin's seat could be nothing but Vance's doing. He frowned, looking up from his own stuff, visibly concerned and slightly bleary.
"Vance," Robin spoke first, obtaining a hum in exchange. "This is history class."
"Yeah." The blondie sat on his chair, sliding down, and looked up at Robin, shrugging. "I know."
It's not like he had anything against Vance's presence (unlike in middle school). He was actually kind of grateful to have him by his side. Seeing the spot always empty next to him in history class made him sigh: a part of him always hoped he'd come so he wouldn't be bored. The other part of him wanted to skip with him.
And the other part again got used to it in the past few months.
It's been a while since he ditched.
"Stop looking at me like that," Vance suddenly spoke up, crossing his arms behind his head, getting sprawled as if he was lying on his house's couch. "I came here because I had nothing better to do."
Robin's frown just deepened more in a state of confusion. "Class is better than smoking weed?"
The blondie groaned. "Such a dick. I came here to check on you, stupid. Get the hint."
Robin didn't blink once or twice, but thrice. He rubbed his forehead slightly, accidentally sliding his forest green bandana more to the right. "Watch your mouth." He spoke up because that was the only thing that his brain could process at the moment: the insults and their fast replies of self-defense. "But - err... why? I don't certainly need your concern."
Vance side-eyed him, eyes sharpening to send him an electrifying glare. Just when he sneers, the teacher calls Robin's name from across the classroom.
And Robin just wanted to rip Vance's smug smile off, along with the words he silently mouthed: 'I told you. '
As the bell rang, Robin came to only one conclusion: Vance was better off out there, smoking God-knows-what than sitting next to him. Or even in his same classroom.
Robin used to love the way the duo got kicked out of the classroom, or just maddening every single teacher that happened to have them both at the same time: it was hilarious. That was what made School more suitable for his taste.
And there - it just felt like he jumped back in middle school, where Vance was too loud and noisy. And he just couldn't stand it.
But maybe he was the problem.
"Arellano," the history teacher called, her bangs hiding her eyebrows. "Thank you for waiting after class."
Robin didn't answer. Or better said, he did, by pressing his lips in a white thin line and a small nod, which Mrs. Harrington didn't even notice as she collected and shuffled a few sheets. She's always been quite a perfectionist.
"So," she spoke again, clearing her throat and leaning against the desk. "Your grades."
Robin was caught off guard by the sudden jump: grades. Of course, it would have been grades — he's not blind. And the worst is that he knew how Mrs. Harrington did not give a flying fuck.
Robin tugged at the strap of his backpack, biting the inside of his cheek.
"They went so down. Just all of a sudden. There must be a reason under it." Don't ask why — don't ask why, please. "Why?"
Robin let out a sharp sigh, and shrugged, mentally slapping his forehead. "I don't... know?"
"You need to find a way to get them back up, Arellano. You were doing pretty well. You've been attending classes since the start. Well, you've been skipping some because of your absences, which is actually also unusual..." She shook her head as if to say 'never mind', knowing that she might've hit a spot. But she quickly changed idea. "These have been going on for a while. Since last year. Before Christmas break."
He knows. Of course he knows. You didn't even need to mention that period of time.
"We are in November right now. You started off better than last year, but now, all of a sudden..." She trailed off, just sighing and taking off her glasses to lay them on the pile of sheets she had set up moments earlier, which Robin followed with his gaze. He needed any movement to tug at — anything that would make him distracted. Even for a second. "I don't know what's happening with those... jumps in grades. But you need to get it fixed."
Clicking his tongue, Robin's brain immediately understood where this was going. Maybe he was blind. Maybe there was something wrong with him that concerned even Vance.
All he knows is that he doesn't seek help, nor does need it or concern from anyone.
He does remember when he was interested in grades again, however. Two years ago. Before the —
"Do you need a tutor, Robin?" The pronunciation of his name snapped him out of reality, making him realize that he was staring at the emptiness; somewhere over Mrs. Harrington's arm. That actually seemed to be the intention by the way she slightly lowered her head, her gaze searching for Robin's. "I could get you one."
"No, no, That's really unnecessary. I don't need any kind of help." The last part could've been taken for rude because of the harsh tone and the immediate response by someone who is just trying to offer you help. But he couldn't bear the idea of having to get his mind on studies. He's been trying - he truly has been. But he has given up.
"Everyone who struggles says that, but—"
"I'm not struggling." Robin gritted his teeth, his eyes sharpening and his expression edging towards a sneer. "I don't need help."
"Your grades prove otherwise." She didn't hesitate. "I have a tutor that might help you. I know that the boy from two years ago, Finney Blake, helped you a lot—"
Robin's eyes opened widely, alarmed, as his heart suddenly felt heavy as a brick, falling down to his stomach. "NO!" He yelled and shook his head, the teacher's face plummeting at the sudden burst, reeling back as if she had been slapped.
That name sounded like nails against a blackboard.
A beat of silence passed through the empty classroom as Robin glanced at his surroundings, breath shuddering. He swallowed what felt like a giant lump.
"I don't need... help."
With that, he sniffed and left the classroom, entering the empty halls and not looking back or closing the door behind him. The teacher tried to call out his name, but the thought didn't even cross his mind. He just kept walking — running away from his problems. An old habit of his that came rushing back to him.
He didn't want all of this care any longer. It didn't feel genuine.
Robin let out a forced chuckle: as if he remembered what genuine care felt like.
As he rubbed his eyes with the tip of his fingers, impatient to go home and sleep it off, he felt calm footsteps walking past him.
And time stopped for a moment when their gazes met.
Finney was there, side-eyeing him with the usual glare he wore around him, uncaring — looking at him as if he was a smarmy worm. it almost broke Robin's heart if it wasn't for the fact that he was grateful for that crumble of attention Finney wasn't even bothering giving him in the last few months.
His chestnut curls fell on his eyes, his stance straight and his hands in his hoodie's pockets with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked pissed, but that was nothing new for Robin.
He was probably the cause of it.
Because of that wistful feeling that kept attacking his chest, he felt the need to say something, but as usual, his chance got scrambled like a piece of paper and thrown away along with all the other times he wanted to reach out, but never did.
While Robin stumbled over his own feet, a million thoughts running wild in his head (such as what the fuck he was doing in School right now) when Finney passed by him, looking calm and collected and perfect as ever, he didn't even bother to look back. He just walked and entered the History class.
As he opened the door, Mrs. Harrington greeted him and thanked him for showing up.
Robin turned his head back, gaze stuck on the hollowness, brows slightly pulled together. He swallowed.
He thought he would've bursted them open with anger, thoughts filled with the nonsense that both Vance and Mrs. Harrington seem to have invented — but he actually had to push the doors open with his body weight as his legs were suddenly feeling weak.
The sensation of unease kept wafting in his veins, like little bugs gnawing at his insides. Goosebumps rose as his fingers stiffly scrubbed against one another, hiding in the depths of his jeans' pockets. That verbal exchange with Mrs. Harrington and her words hit his head like a brick, making him remember everything he tried to bury ages ago.
Frankly, it wasn't much of a big loss. It's not like he had made much of a path on that task. Actually, he had opted it out what seemed like ages ago.
The thing is... Robin didn't seek / or better said, required / help; and may God help those irking heads grasp it.
He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed as he walked out the school, walking on the red cement of the wretched entrance: a small, little path to the gate. The same ground where he used to break jaws and shove asses.
Just when his eyes opened again, his view was greeted by the ghastly but graceful silhouette of a girl, patiently waiting outside, short twin pigtails propped on her shoulders and neck swathed in a warm violet sweater.
Robin's natural reaction was to slightly sneer and quickly look away as soon as Donna noticed him walking towards her. She gave him a warm, bashful smile, dimples sinking on her red-tainted cheeks.
"Robin," she spoke, voice urgent.
But he didn't even bother to look at her as he passed by, avoiding her touch and her honey voice like oil on water.
She watched him go, surprised that he didn't purposely bump into her like he usually did.