you're just a phone call away (g)
Duuuuude. I really need to get down to studying for the Very Important Exams that are round the corner. Which doesn't explain why I spent the whole day writing. I wrote a lot of original stuff (it wasn't particularly good writing, but hey! it was writing!) and then a vague idea of this suddenly came into my mind. I'm not really pleased with it, but still.
Title: you're just a phone call away
Author: bittereternity
Pairing: Barney/Robin
Rating: G
Words: 1,286
Summary: They spend the night listening to each other breathe.
Notes: Spoilers for The Rough Patch. Also, Barney's POV was extremely exhausting for me to write, so all con-crit is most welcome.
They break up and he stops eating. It’s simple. Just like that.
They break up and he stops feeling the compulsion to eat all the time. The signs are subtle but he realizes this nonetheless. He notices the extra food in his fridge, and a quick glance at his credit card bill shows exorbitant investments in chicken wings the past few weeks. He doesn’t fail to notice the slight feeling of constriction around the waist of his trousers or the slight flab that he’s acquired.
But then they break up. They break up with each other because they’re not happy or satisfied or because this isn’t what a relationship is supposed to feel like or something else that he doesn’t even want to figure out.
The point is: they break up. And he stops eating.
The first night he goes to McLarens’ after the break-up, the journey is uneventful. He stares out at the passing city and barely realizes when the cab-driver tells him that he’s reached.
His step falters for a moment before he enters the bar. He straightens his tie and readjusts his collar and looks down for just a second before entering.
He’s never been through this before. The aftermath for him is leaving the girl when she’s in the shower; he doesn’t know how to face this and be okay. He takes a deep breath and puts one step forward.
Daddy’s home.
There’s a story behind every girl, James used to say, and if you’re lucky, it will get you into her pants.
He doesn’t go straight to their usual place when he enters. Instead, he makes his way to the bar, ignoring the few blondes checking out his suit, and asks for scotch.
Ted’s waving him over, he can see from the corner of his eye. He raises his glass and tries to meet his eyes and smirk but they don’t understand. They keep waving him over, so he smiles and points at the blonde next to him and they all nod understandingly.
He doesn’t spare the girl a second glance.
Their signs between them are subtle at first.
She looks down when he enters.
They don’t meet each others’ eyes when he sits down and when there’s a lull in the conversation, they instantaneously turn towards each other before hurriedly turning away.
He doesn’t ignore the slight look of hurt on her face when he checks out a hot girl’s ass. He can’t ignore his own guilt, either.
They fall apart in moments. Just like that.
She calls him that night. She calls him while he’s laying alone in bed, staring at the TV that’s brightening up the whole room. He doesn’t have to look at the name to know who’s calling.
He picks up the phone and spends almost a minute listening to her breathe.
“Barney?” she says finally. Her voice is soft and vulnerable and there’s a slight tremor to it; he can tell that she’s been crying.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t know what to tell her anymore. A break-up doesn’t cancel out one and a half year worth of feelings and love. A break-up doesn’t cancel out their identity in each others’ lives.
“I just…” she trails off and takes a deep breath.
“Yeah.”
“I should hang up.” Her voice holds a unique determination and she sniffs loudly. But she doesn’t hang up; he can hear her breathe on the other side. He can feel her crying silently, biting her lip so as to be silent.
He doesn’t hang up either.
It’s him who calls her the next night.
She picks up on the second ring, as if she’d known that he would call her long before he actually does.
“Robin?” he asks tentatively. He doesn’t know how to do this. The aftermath scares him more than he would care to admit. It feels like they’re strangers across the sea; for every step they move upward, they slide two steps downward.
“What are you doing?” he asks slowly. This should be a safe conversation starter, he figures.
“Nothing,” he can feel her shrug over the phone. “I just spent the last fifteen minutes deciding if I wanted butterscotch or alcohol for dinner.”
He smiles slightly. At least that much has remained the same.
“Hey, Robin?” he asks softly, and continues before he loses his nerve and hangs up. “I miss you.”
He can hear her sigh over the phone. “I miss you too, Swarley,” she says, and her voice is trembling and it reminds him of the days that happened an eternity ago when they were just friends and that used to be enough.
“Good night,” he almost whispers into the phone.
Neither one hangs up.
The nighttime phone calls slowly become a tradition.
They call as if out of an unprecedented impulse. As far as conversation goes, they don’t progress at all.
But they make it a point to call every night. They always alternate and don’t talk about anything except for the random declarations of things between them that they no longer have.
Then they spend the night listening to each other breathe.
The moments of their bliss come in flashes.
He remembers the way he used to stroke her hair when they would lie in bed after sex and how she would force him to have orange juice with breakfast. It’s healthy, she always used to say. He remembers the way her mouth would part when she combed her hair.
The point is: he remembers the little things that made him feel like he was a human being with feelings that went beyond his penis. He remembers the feelings that restored his faith in himself.
He isn’t ready to let go of that. At least, not yet.
In retrospect, she’s the one who starts everything all over again.
It happens over one of their phone calls.
“Barney?” she asks like a little child who’s scared of her dad saying no, “will you come over?”
He’s never really known how to say no to her, so he silently puts on his coat, takes his keys and leaves. It’s spontaneous, and he’s already halfway there before he has time to think about any of it.
In retrospect, he should’ve seen this coming a long time ago.
They set the future in motion; bare hands feeling each others’ skin and his hand is so, so cool against her cheek and lips crashing together with the ferocity of desperation.
When he kisses her, she still tastes the same.
He pushes her on to the couch but she already has her eyes closed and her fingers are fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Just like riding a bike, he thinks, and the familiarity doesn’t help at all.
They break each others’ hearts in slow motion; through a series of moments cascading towards them at an undeterminable speed.
He’s powerless to stop it, so he goes with the flow.
They don’t talk about that night with anyone. Not even with each other.
It’s an element of secret that he wants in his life; just one perfect moment when everything could be forgotten and nothing would be falling apart.
He will meet her at the bar the next day and maybe; just maybe, he will sit next to her. Maybe they will talk about something neutral like work or food and maybe they will laugh. Maybe one day, they’ll laugh about being awkward and go back to being friends. Or, maybe, one day they will realize the mistake and kiss each other under mistletoe or in a deserted hospital room.
Today, he thinks, they’re just two people with broken hearts and something bittersweet to hold on to.
Maybe they’ll be fine.
End.
Title: you're just a phone call away
Author: bittereternity
Pairing: Barney/Robin
Rating: G
Words: 1,286
Summary: They spend the night listening to each other breathe.
Notes: Spoilers for The Rough Patch. Also, Barney's POV was extremely exhausting for me to write, so all con-crit is most welcome.
They break up and he stops eating. It’s simple. Just like that.
They break up and he stops feeling the compulsion to eat all the time. The signs are subtle but he realizes this nonetheless. He notices the extra food in his fridge, and a quick glance at his credit card bill shows exorbitant investments in chicken wings the past few weeks. He doesn’t fail to notice the slight feeling of constriction around the waist of his trousers or the slight flab that he’s acquired.
But then they break up. They break up with each other because they’re not happy or satisfied or because this isn’t what a relationship is supposed to feel like or something else that he doesn’t even want to figure out.
The point is: they break up. And he stops eating.
The first night he goes to McLarens’ after the break-up, the journey is uneventful. He stares out at the passing city and barely realizes when the cab-driver tells him that he’s reached.
His step falters for a moment before he enters the bar. He straightens his tie and readjusts his collar and looks down for just a second before entering.
He’s never been through this before. The aftermath for him is leaving the girl when she’s in the shower; he doesn’t know how to face this and be okay. He takes a deep breath and puts one step forward.
Daddy’s home.
There’s a story behind every girl, James used to say, and if you’re lucky, it will get you into her pants.
He doesn’t go straight to their usual place when he enters. Instead, he makes his way to the bar, ignoring the few blondes checking out his suit, and asks for scotch.
Ted’s waving him over, he can see from the corner of his eye. He raises his glass and tries to meet his eyes and smirk but they don’t understand. They keep waving him over, so he smiles and points at the blonde next to him and they all nod understandingly.
He doesn’t spare the girl a second glance.
Their signs between them are subtle at first.
She looks down when he enters.
They don’t meet each others’ eyes when he sits down and when there’s a lull in the conversation, they instantaneously turn towards each other before hurriedly turning away.
He doesn’t ignore the slight look of hurt on her face when he checks out a hot girl’s ass. He can’t ignore his own guilt, either.
They fall apart in moments. Just like that.
She calls him that night. She calls him while he’s laying alone in bed, staring at the TV that’s brightening up the whole room. He doesn’t have to look at the name to know who’s calling.
He picks up the phone and spends almost a minute listening to her breathe.
“Barney?” she says finally. Her voice is soft and vulnerable and there’s a slight tremor to it; he can tell that she’s been crying.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t know what to tell her anymore. A break-up doesn’t cancel out one and a half year worth of feelings and love. A break-up doesn’t cancel out their identity in each others’ lives.
“I just…” she trails off and takes a deep breath.
“Yeah.”
“I should hang up.” Her voice holds a unique determination and she sniffs loudly. But she doesn’t hang up; he can hear her breathe on the other side. He can feel her crying silently, biting her lip so as to be silent.
He doesn’t hang up either.
It’s him who calls her the next night.
She picks up on the second ring, as if she’d known that he would call her long before he actually does.
“Robin?” he asks tentatively. He doesn’t know how to do this. The aftermath scares him more than he would care to admit. It feels like they’re strangers across the sea; for every step they move upward, they slide two steps downward.
“What are you doing?” he asks slowly. This should be a safe conversation starter, he figures.
“Nothing,” he can feel her shrug over the phone. “I just spent the last fifteen minutes deciding if I wanted butterscotch or alcohol for dinner.”
He smiles slightly. At least that much has remained the same.
“Hey, Robin?” he asks softly, and continues before he loses his nerve and hangs up. “I miss you.”
He can hear her sigh over the phone. “I miss you too, Swarley,” she says, and her voice is trembling and it reminds him of the days that happened an eternity ago when they were just friends and that used to be enough.
“Good night,” he almost whispers into the phone.
Neither one hangs up.
The nighttime phone calls slowly become a tradition.
They call as if out of an unprecedented impulse. As far as conversation goes, they don’t progress at all.
But they make it a point to call every night. They always alternate and don’t talk about anything except for the random declarations of things between them that they no longer have.
Then they spend the night listening to each other breathe.
The moments of their bliss come in flashes.
He remembers the way he used to stroke her hair when they would lie in bed after sex and how she would force him to have orange juice with breakfast. It’s healthy, she always used to say. He remembers the way her mouth would part when she combed her hair.
The point is: he remembers the little things that made him feel like he was a human being with feelings that went beyond his penis. He remembers the feelings that restored his faith in himself.
He isn’t ready to let go of that. At least, not yet.
In retrospect, she’s the one who starts everything all over again.
It happens over one of their phone calls.
“Barney?” she asks like a little child who’s scared of her dad saying no, “will you come over?”
He’s never really known how to say no to her, so he silently puts on his coat, takes his keys and leaves. It’s spontaneous, and he’s already halfway there before he has time to think about any of it.
In retrospect, he should’ve seen this coming a long time ago.
They set the future in motion; bare hands feeling each others’ skin and his hand is so, so cool against her cheek and lips crashing together with the ferocity of desperation.
When he kisses her, she still tastes the same.
He pushes her on to the couch but she already has her eyes closed and her fingers are fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Just like riding a bike, he thinks, and the familiarity doesn’t help at all.
They break each others’ hearts in slow motion; through a series of moments cascading towards them at an undeterminable speed.
He’s powerless to stop it, so he goes with the flow.
They don’t talk about that night with anyone. Not even with each other.
It’s an element of secret that he wants in his life; just one perfect moment when everything could be forgotten and nothing would be falling apart.
He will meet her at the bar the next day and maybe; just maybe, he will sit next to her. Maybe they will talk about something neutral like work or food and maybe they will laugh. Maybe one day, they’ll laugh about being awkward and go back to being friends. Or, maybe, one day they will realize the mistake and kiss each other under mistletoe or in a deserted hospital room.
Today, he thinks, they’re just two people with broken hearts and something bittersweet to hold on to.
Maybe they’ll be fine.
End.