Chapter Text
Natasha likes to say Bob and Yelena are too codependent. Ever since she picked up the word in Psych 101, she throws it around as if it means anything to them. Maybe she’s right. After a seventeen-year-old-delinquent-menace Yelena pulled fifteen-year-old-meth-addict Bob out of the streets and into Aleksei’s living room, they had become inseparable. When Yelena went to college, Bob skipped a grade to join his sister immediately. When Yelena decided to go into medical school, Bob joined a Master’s program just to stay in the same city.
When Yelena drops out of med school not even a year in, Bob is stuck. He tries to talk his sisters into reason, but both of them are adamant about him finishing his degree. Natasha says it’s a good opportunity to start living independently. Yelena says it’s a great time for Bob to find a girlfriend.
“Or boyfriend,” she adds after a moment. “I’m not judging.”
Natasha laughs from where she’s directing her friends to move Yelena’s boxes into the UHaul. “Bisexual and perpetually single is a waste, Robert.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bob grumbles.
He’s been perfectly content with being an introvert occasionally dragged out by his sisters for nearly a decade now. That way he doesn’t have to deal with people himself, and his sisters get to keep an eye on his more… erratic habits.
Yelena hoists her PC monitor into her arms, swatting away Bob’s attempt to help her.
“I’m serious, Bob,” she says. “You’ll do great! I’m only moving like, an hour away and Bucky is right here.”
Bucky somehow hears her through the floor.
“I’m too expensive to be a babysitter, Lena!”
Someone shushes him loudly.
“How am I even supposed to afford rent without you?” Bob asks, though it’s mostly hypothetical. He’s pretty sure their rundown three bed two bath townhouse is owned by Natasha’s “definitely not a slumlord” friend. There’s no way they would be paying 800$ per person monthly rent without some strings being pulled.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Yelena hums brightly. “I’ve got it covered.”
The Sunday after Yelena moves out, some asshole’s incessant knocking shocks Bob out of a rather nice dream. For a second, Bob wonders if it's the cops- then he checks his messages and sees Yelena’s texts.
white widow owo 1:13 AM
btw bob, your new roommate’s getting there tomorrow
white widow owo 1:19 AM
bob?
A missed call at 9 AM. Bob sighs and heads to the door where the guy has finally stopped knocking like he wants to break the door down.
He opens it hesitantly. A tall, bearded man stands on Bob’s doorstep with a bashed up suitcase in one hand and a massive scowl on his face. His short dirty blond hair looks like someone carefully ruffled it for a selfie, and his sharp, pale eyes narrow in on Bob.
Oh no , Bob thinks vaguely. He never does well with the hot jock types.
“Uh, hello?”
“Thank fuck,” the man swears immediately. “Are you Bobby?”
“It’s Bob, actually,” Bob says. “Who are you?”
The man raises his eyebrows at him, as if to say are you fucking joking ?
“John Walker. Can I come in?” he says after a moment.
“Oh, uh.” Bob blinks. He realizes he’s blocking the door and scoots to the side. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Walker- John- whatever he’s supposed to call him- almost shoves past him with his luggage in hand. Bob shrinks against the wall.
What an ass, he thinks. Watching John from the corner of his eye, Bob starts typing out a response to Yelena.
me 9:41 AM
why’s he so big
me 9:42 AM
and mean :(
The read receipts come immediately. A moment later, Bob’s phone rings, and he fumbles for a moment before picking it up.
“I can’t believe I trusted you,” Bob mutters into his phone without preamble. “He’s kinda an asshole.”
Over the line, Yelena laughs. “Eh, he’ll grow on you, Bob. Walker’s got a mean mug but Bucky tolerates him, so he can’t be that bad.”
Bob doubts Bucky would care if John Walker murdered a person in front of his face, as long as Walker respected his personal space and cleaned up the crime scene. Case in point: he lets Bob stay over even when he’s having a violent episode.
“I guess,” he says instead of voicing his concerns.
“And he’ll be going to uni with you! He has a car, so I asked him to drive both of you to campus every morning.”
“He’s in college?” Bob asks doubtfully. John had looked like he was several years older than Bob, and Bob’s not even saying that maliciously.
“Yeah, he’s starting late. Military I think?”
“Oh, okay.”
So maybe that’s how he knows Bucky? Every question answered just raises ten more, but Bob knows better than to ask Yelena about them. She tends to focus on only the things she cares about. Like Bob’s therapy schedule.
As if on cue, Yelena asks, “So have you been going to see Dr. Harkness? Your next appointment is tomorrow right?”
Bob sighs. “Yes ma’am. I’m going to all my appointments and taking all my meds…”
What follows is a long tirade of chatter that Bob has gotten used to since he first began treatment. When they were in high school it used to be Natasha sneaking his meds into his lunches when he tried to skip them, and in college it was Yelena accompanying him to every single party he was invited to. They’ve become less protective over the years, though it seems like they’ll never shake the habit completely.
Bob turns mid-answer to Yelena and jumps at the sight of John leaning against the stair bannister. The blond raises an eyebrow at him.
“Yelena, I have to go. I’ll call you back, okay?”
He hands up and looks at the other man.
“Do you need anything?”
John holds up a giant wok.
“You’ve got anywhere I can put this?”
Where did that come from? Bob stares incredulously. He doesn’t even think the wok fits in John’s raggedy suitcase.
John raises another eyebrow at him.
“If your cabinets are full, you can just say so, buddy.”
“Not your buddy,” Bob responds automatically. He points at the cabinet under the sink. “That one should be empty.”
John gives Bob a weird look as he stashes his ridiculous wok under the cabinet.
Bob feels like he should be saying something. Asking questions. That’s what normal people do, right? Get to know their roommates?
He waits a second too long. By the time he’s figured out a neutral question (so what’s your major? or, do you cook?) John has already disappeared upstairs, door to the second bedroom slamming behind him.
Of course. Just like always. He’s so fucking useless.
Bob groans and buries his face in his palms. Whatever. He can live in silence for a couple years. If he has to avoid his new roommate like the plague, he’ll do it.
He retreats to his room after that, only stopping to make himself some tea before settling down in his bed, monitor blaring some random nature documentary in the background. John seems to finish unpacking within the hour, which isn’t too surprising- Bob doubts the suitcase he brought fit anything more than a handful of sweatpants.
The other door doesn’t creak open again, and Bob slowly begins to doze off. It’s not like he has any chores to do, and tomorrow’s both therapy day and a Monday, so he needs all the rest he can get. At least that’s how he justifies it. It’s definitely not the stress of having a stranger in his house.
Tonight, his dreams aren’t as nice as yesterday’s. Someone is yelling at him. Again. The voice is familiar, but he does not want to place it. Dream Bob covers his ears, and counts-
one, two, three, one, five, seven. a hundred and nine.
one. one one one one a thousand hundred eleven. zero.
zero zero zero zero-
He wakes up again.
Gasping, Bob flails out blindly for his phone. He tries to swipe the alarm off.
His phone’s screen is dark.
“What?” Bob mutters groggily. “Wh-”
“Bob? Bobby?” a gruff voice calls from his door. John knocks. “You in there?”
Oh shit. Right, he has a roommate now. A very awake roommate who’s very rudely waking Bob up at- eight thirty in the morning. He doesn’t even have class until ten.
“One second,” Bob calls out in response. He stumbles out of bed and glances at the mirror by his desk. He looks awful, hair a rat’s nest, with drool obviously matting his cheek. His clothes are the same as yesterday too, albeit with more wrinkles.
Shit, he thinks. Tries to rub off his face. John knocks at his door again. Pulling his shirt down, Bob cracks open the bedroom door.
“Hi,” he says awkwardly. John looks like he’s been up for hours. His hair looks wind-tousled, beads of sweat glinting on his forehead. The dark muscle shirt he’s wearing is living up to its name, plastered pretty tightly to the curve of John’s biceps.
Bob’s throat dries a little. He looks up to John’s eyes so he doesn’t get distracted.
“Um,” he says intelligently. “What’s up?”
“I’m heading out at nine fifteen.”
“... Have a good day then?”
John stares at him as if Bob is the stupidest person he’s ever known.
“Yelena asked me to take you to campus with me?”
“Oh,” Bob says. “Oh! Yeah I’ll be ready by then.”
John nods and backs away from the door. He disappears into the hallway bathroom. Bob groans and bangs his head against the doorframe.
Great start, Robert. Now he thinks you’re an idiot.
The shower runs slightly cold when Bob gets to it. He hisses when the spray finally goes hot, hurriedly scrubbing through his hair. Briefly, he mourns the loss of his 2 in 1 shampoo. It had survived two years of Yelena, only to mysteriously disappear and be replaced by a full set of fancy bathing amenities. Though he does admit that the strawberry shampoo and vanilla scented body wash smell exactly like his favorite milkshake.
He towels his hair dry and considers his wardrobe. With Yelena gone, that means half of his available sweatshirts are gone too. There’s a less rumpled Bears hoodie that he must’ve washed pretty recently, and there’s some old loose yoga pants from when Natasha had forced Yelena and Bob to attend her pilates classes. He looks like he’s about to go sleep on a library couch at 2 AM in this outfit.
Bob takes another look through his closet. Yep, nothing else there.
He makes it downstairs three minutes before they’re supposed to leave. The stairs squeak slightly when Bob jumps the last two rungs. He does a quick check of his bag- laptop, charger, earbuds, wallet, keys.
“You made it,” John says. “Coffee.”
Looking up, Bob sees John walk around the corner of the kitchen island, two tumblers in hand. The other man holds out one to him.
“Thanks,” Bob says automatically, taking it gingerly. He usually prefers his teas, but how’s John supposed to know? A small sip has him grimacing internally. Hot drip, no sugar, no milk. The exact opposite of how Bob takes his normally.
“Come on,” John says. He gestures towards the door. “If you’ve got everything we can head out now.”
“Oh, yep.”
Bob hastens to follow John out the front door. He bumps into the corner of the hallway cabinet, and a sharp pain in his hip has him hissing, a small bit of coffee splashing onto the back of his hand. He wipes it on his pants quickly. Thankfully it doesn’t seem like John has noticed.
“Hey, we’re going to be late.”
“It’s only a fifteen minute drive-”
“Bob.” John looks back at him from where he’s holding the passenger’s side open.
There’s an edge of something in John’s voice that has Bob flinching. This is why he doesn’t like men, or date them. Too many of them are so confident, so used to ordering people around, it-
John’s doing him a favor. Bob swallows and mutters a small thanks instead of slamming the door and walking to the bus station.
John’s new roommate is a weirdo . An attractive weirdo, but a weirdo nonetheless.
It all starts when, two weeks into his new stint at college, he gets an anonymous, untraceable email dropped in his inbox.
<unknown>
4:00 AM
Subject: House
Walker,
Here’s the link to your new lease. 900$ a month, utilities included, one roommate, independent room. In unit laundry as long as you’re nice to Robert. If you’re down, sign it and send it back in 12 hours.
malden_grove_house_lease.pdf
It feels weirdly suspicious but that’s sometimes just the way Bucky operates, he knows, so he signs the thing without really checking the details. 900$ a month for rent in the Bay, less than a fifteen minute drive away from campus? He’s not going to find a better deal. If Bucky Barnes and his weird mob group wanted to steal from someone they wouldn’t be picking John Walker.
He almost immediately gets a text from an unknown number.
xxx xxxx xxxxx 8:07 PM
hey
xxx xxxx xxxxx 8:08 PM
this is your landlord
jk im yelena, you’re taking over my lease
me 8:08 PM
How did you get this number?
He saves the contact, listing the group as ‘Bucky’s mob?’.
Yelena ? 8:10 PM
dw about it
anyways did bucky tell you you’re going to be living with my brother?
me 8:10 PM
He only mentioned that I’ll have a roommate. And that house parties aren’t allowed.
Yelena ? 8:10 PM
okok
so
my brother isn’t really a people person
do you have a car
me 8:12 PM
Yes?
Yelena ? 8:10 PM
ok good can you drive my brother to uni with you sometimes? he hates public transport and he goes to the same campus
ill talk to bucky and climt to take another hundred off your rent
clint*
John considers it. It’s not a bad deal. It’s not like he’s using any extra gas money to bring a tag along to campus. Free money for him, free rides for the roommate.
me 8:20 PM
Yeah sure. I’ll ask him for his schedule to see what days I can make.
Yelena ? 8:23 PM
bob-schedule-fall.png
me 8:25 PM
???
Yelena ? 8:29 PM
dont sweat it i have yours too
John scowls. He’s not going to fight a friend of Bucky’s, but this Yelena woman needs to keep her hands off of his personal information.
There’s not much to bring with him, and Bucky hands him the keys to the house at work the very next day. Seeing how John has been crashing on six different couches ever since he got discharged, John is more than ready to drag his stuff to his new place.
The first thought he has when Bob opens the door is ‘wow, who the fuck named this guy Bob?’ Bob is a name for a slightly balding middle-aged white collar worker. Not a stupidly puppy eyed kid with the most remarkable gunmetal blue eyes John has seen in his life.
Bob acts like a skittish woodland creature. It’s funny how he bites back when John is even the slightest bit aggressive, but then he seems to shrink into himself and ignores John for the most part. While John unpacks and catalogues the furniture he needs for the room, he doesn’t even hear a peep from Bob’s room across the hall.
The next morning, John wakes up like always at seven sharp. Five years in the force will do that to a man, especially one who used to get up at insane hours for practice all the time anyways.
For the entire ninety minutes that John dresses, goes for a jog, buys some groceries and picks up his order of hand weights, and puts it all away, Bob’s door stays closed. He’s not concerned. He’s definitely not eyeing the door every five minutes while he puts his new weights in the basement (Yelena had given him the go ahead to use her old machines, but her weights were not up to his standards).
Around eight thirty, he decides to wake the other man up.
“Bob? Bobby?” He calls out, knocking. “You in there?”
Something crashes behind the door.
“One second,” Bob calls out in response. He cracks open the bedroom door.
“Hi,” he says, out of breath. “Um. What’s up?”
John takes in the sight. The younger man (and John is fairly sure Bob is younger by a couple years at least) blinks blearily up at him, brown curls falling all over his face. The blue in his eyes are brighter than yesterday. It’s kind of infuriating how some people just get to be naturally cute, while the rest of them need to keep to a rigid workout routine and hair care schedule to maintain it.
Instead of showing his annoyance, John nods towards the stairs.
“I’m heading out at nine fifteen.”
“... Have a good day then?”
John stares at him. If he ever meets Yelena in person, he’s going to toss her out of a window or something. Do these siblings ever communicate? John’s not really well known for his patience, and he’s getting tired of having to be the one who explains everything.
“Yelena asked me to take you to campus with me?” he tries, mentally taking a deep breath.
“Oh,” Bob says. “Oh! Yeah I’ll be ready by then.”
John nods and moves away from the door. Bob stares after him for a second, eyes wide and unblinking.
Okay. John definitely does not speedwalk into the bathroom for his own shower.
It’s only after he’s shed his jogging clothes and stepped into the water that he realizes he’s missing his usual Lush death monkey shower gel- he must have left it in Torres’ bathroom. John sighs and resigns himself to skipping it for now. That single bottle was fifty dollars. Torres (or Wilson, for that matter) better not be using it.
Getting ready is almost instinctual for John. He’s more used to the strict rules of uniform, and likes to have his daily outfits planned out pretty similar to it. A nice clean pair of jeans, a plain shirt, maybe a jacket if the wind’s a little harsh. Dark colored socks and sturdy boots to match. His tags, sometimes, if he wants more attention at a bar. Not today though.
He wanders downstairs once dressed, checking the time. Still got enough to make some coffee.
The coffee beans he’s brought with him are a darker roast, bitter with a hint of caramelized sugar that John prefers. It’s best drunk in an espresso, but since he doesn’t have access to Olivia’s fancy espresso machine here, he resigns himself to making an old fashioned drip. The deep scent of coffee relaxes the tension in his shoulders a bit, and he rummages the cabinet to find the fancy tumbler he remembers unpacking. Pauses for a moment when he sees the second one. He hadn’t realized he’d also taken Olivia’s matching bottle when he’d left.
Well. John clears his throat and pours out a decent cup for himself. Then he remembers Bob. Instead of throwing the remainder out, he fills the second tumbler with a bit of coffee for the other man.
Bob still seems a bit out of it when he comes down the stairs, clutching a backpack in one hand. John eyes it and hands him his coffee, heading out to start the car.
The drive to Berkeley’s campus is mostly quiet. John wonders if Bob wants any music on, but whenever he looks at the younger man, Bob’s either staring blankly out the window or texting someone on his phone.
They pull up into a student parking lot near where John’s first class is. He remembers Bob’s schedule starting a bit later than his own.
“It’s a bit far out from the Museum.”
Bob finally looks up. “Oh, that’s fine. I walk a lot anyways. Uh, Thanks for the ride!”
He almost launches himself out of the car, only to be stopped by John’s lightning quick reflexes. John reaches over the passenger’s seat and stops the halfway opened door.
“Hold up- when and where do you want to meet up after class?”
Bob blinks blankly. “What?”
“To drive back to the house?” John says. He doesn’t mean to make it sound like a question. He doesn’t like asking questions. Unfortunately, it seems like he’ll be asking a lot of questions living with Bob.
“I can take the bus home.”
John rolls his eyes. “Yelena told me,” via shoving Bob’s schedule at him, “that you’re out at 4 PM. I get out by 3:15. I can go wait at the gym or something, so just tell me when and where.”
“I guess 4 in front of the City Club then? I- I’ll text you.”
“Hand me your phone.”
He beckons at Bob, who looks slightly bewildered (or maybe he always looks slightly bewildered). The phone makes its way into John’s hand, one way or the other, and John quickly punches his number into Bob’s contacts and gives his own cell a call. Once he’s made sure he has it, he tucks it back into Bob’s hand and pats the other man’s shoulder.
“Okay, now you can go.”
Bob looks torn between saying something else and slamming the door in John’s face. He hops out, makes it a few steps, then comes back to poke his head through the unclosed door.
“... Thanks again.”
Then he’s off, speedwalking away. John smirks. He’s well aware that he puts people off their kilter a lot, and it never fails to amuse him how people can’t tell if they’re supposed to thank him for saving them or punch him for being bossy about it. It’s the former, obviously, though John won’t say no to someone who challenges him.
Miraculously, John makes it through his entire day without insulting any of his classmates. A couple of guys approach him after class, and one girl, but they’re all actual freshmen and John feels weird befriending eighteen-nineteen year olds at his ripe old age. That was part of the reason why he had declined the university’s housing offer. He’s way beyond the stage of his life where hanging out with fresh highschool graduates sounds appealing.
Hopefully the accelerated academic plan he’s on works out and he’ll be out of here soon. The school hadn’t been willing to take more than half of the credits John had gotten before dropping out of his old college to join the military.
On the way back, John kidnaps Bob with him on a detour to pick up groceries, and Bob treats him like an alien.
“Can’t we just get Panda Express?”
“Are you crazy? No, I’m cooking.”
“... Are we sharing groceries?”
“Look, Bobby boy, we’re going to Costco, and it’s going to be a whole lot cheaper if we split the 3 gallon tub of mayo okay. Got it?”
“Jesus, okay. I don’t buy groceries normally though.”
“Try it out for a week, and if you want to revert to your nasty bachelor pad habits, be my guest. You can get all the food poisoning you want from Panda Express.”
“Panda Express doesn’t- never mind.”
They don’t really interact for the next couple of weeks, except for the drives to and back from campus and when John decides to enlighten Bob with his cooking every few days. Usually John tends to meal prep for a few weekdays, and he keeps an eye on how many of the jerk chicken pieces go missing when John doesn’t see Bob for a few evenings. It looks like Bob at least eats fairly regularly, as much as he grumbles about not having cheap takeout.
John doesn’t know how, but he ends up updating Yelena every few days on their living situation. At first it’s because Yelena asks, and then it’s because he finds her kind of hilarious. One time he takes a quick photo of the magically disappearing dishes (Bob somehow sneaks out to do them whenever John leaves them for longer than five minutes).
me 7:10 PM
Look at your brother’s work.
Yelena B 7:41 PM
bruh
are you cinderellaing my baby brother
me 7:53 PM
Your baby brother is Cinderella-ing himself
I keep telling him we can split the chores but he disappears every time I bring it up
How did you train him to be so quiet?
Yelena B 7:55 PM
it runs in the bloodline
Yelena B 8:01 PM
also dont forget about the bar crawl this friday
be there or be cubed
me 8:29 PM
It’s be there or be square
Yelena B 8:41 PM
whatevs ill still cube u up
Judging by Yelena’s close relationship with Bucky Barnes (the scariest asshole John knows), and how her sister is the Natasha Romanoff, John decides not to anger her. The Friday Yelena is adamant on getting her friends together for a bar crawl happens to land on John’s week off from work, so he drives Bob and himself home early from classes.
“Can I call out sick,” Bob complains.
“Not unless you want Yelena to wheelbarrow you out. Man up, kid.”
“You’re only three years older than me, Walker.”
John shrugs. Bob’s got the worst case of baby face he’s seen in years.
They arrive home to see a car already parked outside. It’s a sleek red corvette, a gorgeously repaired older model. A tiny blond woman waves at them from where she’s leaning on the driver’s door. John immediately assumes it’s Yelena, judging by the shit-eating grin she gives him when he steps out of the car.
“John Walker,” she says in some horrible fake southern drawl, “good to finally see you in the flesh.”
“God,” John says emphatically. “Don’t ever do that accent again.”
Yelena snorts. She grins at her brother and opens her arms wide. Bob fucking jumps at her in joy, almost toppling her over with the force of his hug.
Another woman slinks over from the backseat of the corvette, her narrow face in what looks like a perpetual smirk.
“Ava,” she introduces herself to John. “Yelena’s roommate.”
“John,” he says in answer. “I’m sure you already knew.”
She shrugs.
As it turns out, Yelena and Ava are both crazy pregame-holics. They try to bully John and Bob into drinking until Bob makes the brilliant point that they both have to drive home the following morning. With non-minimal grumbling, they make it to the bar in under an hour.
John, surprisingly, finds himself enjoying their company. Yelena is boisterous and clever, and Ava has a sharp tongue and equally sharp wits. Bob is quieter than either of them, content to hum to himself and watch John and Yelena argue about vintage aircraft. He occasionally butts in with a sardonic comment or sarcastic inside joke that puts John off balance more often than not. He’s realizing that Bob is so much nicer to everyone who’s not John.
Bob’s not actually antagonistic towards John. John likes to think that at this point they have somewhat of a rapport. John pushes at Bob’s boundaries, and Bob reacts with mild annoyance. Sometimes they poke fun at each other, or snark about a bad driver on the road. Then they retreat to their individual schedules. Rinse and repeat.
It’s definitely not the worst living arrangement John has been in.
“I think I might grab a diet coke,” Bob says at one point. Ava, who’s somehow conjured three espresso martinis in a bar that doesn’t serve them, waves him off.
“Go have fun, pretty boy,” she says. Her accent gets stronger the tipsier she is. “Also, could you grab a vodka cranberry on the way back?”
Bob eyes her with suspicion. “I thought you didn’t do vodka.”
Yelena giggles. “But I want one. Shoo, Bob, it’s practice.”
Practice for what? John watches, confused, as Bob sighs heavily and drags his feet over to the bartender.
He really isn’t as short as John mistook him for, early on. Standing straight, he’s almost as tall as John himself. Bob just has terrible posture sometimes.
The man leans in towards the bartender. His curls, held back by a thin band, tug free of their bindings when Bob runs a hand through his side bangs, messing it up. As he seems to finally catch the busy bartender’s eye, he’s interrupted by an unfamiliar man who sidles up to the bar next to him, oddly close. Bob doesn’t react at first, clearly intent on getting the bartender to listen to him. The stranger grabs Bob’s elbow, speaking into his ear.
John sees Bob flinch and instinctively gets up from the table. A scowl paints his face sour as he begins stalking towards the two of them.
Hell if John lets a weirdo that close to his roommate, as annoying as Bob can be.
The hand on Bob’s arm wrenches him out of his focus on the bartender. At first, Bob thinks it’s his sister. She’s the only one in his life who touches him so casually.
He turns to ask what she needs.
It’s not her. It’s fucking Jason.
Bob’s hackles rise. His jaw tenses before he yanks his arm away.
“What are you doing here, Jason,” he says sharply. “Thought you were too busy helping your students?”
Jason sighs, almost patronizingly. “Robert, I told you it wasn’t what it looked like. Come on, let me buy you a drink.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Saw you just order the vodka cranberry- don’t play coy. I deserve at least a hearing out, okay?”
A hand creeps onto the small of his back, and Bob flinches hard. The last time Jason had done that, it had been right after Bob started hyperventilating over seeing Jason kissing his student. Bob had decked him right then and there. Not just for cheating on Bob, but also because the student was nineteen and Jason is what, twenty-eight? He’s a full on assistant professor. Bob grits his teeth.
“Hey, what the hell is going on here.”
The hand disappears from his back and Jason takes a step back at John’s appearance. He holds his palms up, easygoing smile withering a bit. Good, Bob thinks venomously. He’s a piece of shit.
(And even a piece of shit cheated on you huh? Just like Lindy. Two measly relationships and they both hate you. What does that say?)
“Nothing man. Just talking to my boyfriend,” Jason says breezily.
“We broke up almost a year ago, asshole,” Bob spits.
John has angled his body to block Bob halfway from Jason’s reach. When he speaks again, his voice is low but steady.
“Maybe you should get out of here, buddy.”
Jason tries to step around John. A glare has him backing away again pretty quickly, eyes darting between Bob and John. Bob raises a challenging eyebrow at him.
“... see you around, Robert,” Jason says lamely. “And call off the dog.”
“I’ll call off John when you stop adding three inches to your height on Hinge, Jason,” Bob says. Somehow his voice doesn’t shake. “So never, probably.”
John turns to Bob with a smirk on his face. “Did he say he’s six feet then?”
“Six one,” Bob answers, eyes still on a seething Jason.
His ex looks positively murderous, but seems to think better of starting a fight with John. Probably sensible. He slithers away like the snake he is, glancing backwards every few steps.
Bob’s still rooted to the spot. He can feel his voice tremble when he tells John he’s fine. When they sit back down, his mind can’t stop wandering. He doesn’t touch his coke.
(It’s his fault. What’s new? Nobody really loves him.)
Yelena’s watching. Bob manages a small, trembling smile that she doesn’t buy. At some point, she leans in towards John and whispers something in his ear. Bob can’t hear it over the buzzing, the incessant buzzing, but whatever it is it has John standing up and nudging him to their car.
On the ride back, John tries to talk to him. Keyword being tries. Bob would answer, he swears, if his fucking mouth would stop feeling like there’s twenty cottonballs between his tongue.
The silence must be awkward. Bob doesn’t care.
He lurches from the car and-
-blinks
-he’s sitting on the kitchen floor.
“... Do you want anything to drink?”
Bob looks up at John, who’s hovering over Bob’s hunched form. The man looks genuinely concerned. His brows are furrowed and his hand is outstretched towards Bob, hesitant to actually touch him. Bob almost wishes he would. He misses Yelena’s hugs, or Natasha’s grounding hands on his shoulders whenever a day went completely dark for him.
His episodes have been getting better. It’s been almost six months since the last one that was noticeable, and that one had been mostly manic. Bob scratches the back of his hand, shivering.
“Um, maybe some chamomile tea? It’s, it should be on the shelf with the sugar.”
John nods and turns to rummage through Bob’s stack of tea jars. He finds one of the chamomile ones (thanks, Ava for obsessively labeling all of them). Bob watches him heat up the water and dump the tea leaves in a mug. John seems to realize he’s skipped a step only once the water’s been poured.
“Hold on, I can find a strainer.”
“It’s fine. Can I…”
Bob reaches out at the same time John tries to offer him the cup. Their hands collide for a second. Hot liquid splashes over the rim and onto John’s hand. The taller man doesn’t even flinch, just presses the mug into Bob’s grip.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Bob says hurriedly, “I’m so stupid, I’m sorry, do you need-”
John frowns.
“Bob, it’s okay. I’ve been shot before, a tiny burn’s not going to phase me.”
Bob bites his lip and sits down again, mug grasped tightly in his hands. He feels terrible. Well, he always feels terrible, but this is- this always happens. He always makes a mess, or hurts people, or hurts himself. Despite the warmth in his lap Bob’s face feels like it’s freezing off.
“You-”
“I’m fine. Just. Just leave me alone, John. It’ll be over soon.”
He’s lying. Bob never knows how long a bad day will last. Sometimes they end up getting really, really bad and he wakes up after doing something he’ll regret forever. He’s lost all two of his relationships doing that. The Yelena voice in his head says Bob, please stop pushing me away. Let me help.
But she’s not here, is she? She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care anymore, and it’s Bob’s own fault.
“O-kay, we’re getting you to your room.”
Bob feels John getting closer. He lashes out, losing his grip on his tea, but John expertly dodges the half-drunk mug that clatters against the floor. It sounds like it shatters. John blocks his view of the pieces and tries again.
“It’s okay Bob. You’re home, and that weird guy’s gone. It’s going to get better.”
An arm snakes around Bob’s limp form and gently guides him up and away from the kitchen. Bob’s body shakes as he tries to calm down. It’s not helping. He needs, he needs medicine. His sister. He needs something like, pain, or.
John sits him down firmly on Bob’s bed, his hands anchoring him down. Through Bob’s blurred vision he sees John sneak his phone out.
“I’ll get Yelena for you, okay? Bob. You’ll be alright.”
Bob sucks a sharp breath through his teeth and manages a nod. He’s.. he shouldn’t be thinking like this. He starts muttering to himself.
“Always makes things worse, always breaks everything, always…”
He knows John is watching him, awkward pats on his shoulder reminding him he’s not alone Bob doesn’t want to meet his eyes, hates that his roommate is seeing him so fucking pathetic. Remembers to breathe half seconds too late.
His breath hitches erratically. Distantly, he feels John’s hands wrapping around his wrists, voice rising in alarm. Time feels like sludge, but also like it’s slipping past his fingers. Bob scowls. He needs to scratch it out. Yell at something. Needs to be useful.
The bedroom door opens again and he hears Yelena’s familiar voice.
“Oh Bob,” she seems to say. “Thanks John, I can watch him tonight.”
John’s voice is lower than usual when he answers. “Are you sure? I can…”
“Yeah, go get some sleep.”
Yelena slips into bed next to him. Bob watches warily as John turns to leave, his warmth slipping away from Bob’s shoulder. Yelena replaces it with her hug, arms wrapping comfortingly around him.
“Hey, I got you,” she murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you ran into that asshole.”
Her heartbeat pounds in Bob’s ears. Slightly slower than his own, he tries to keep track of the rhythm. He lets the steady pulse lull him into a dreamless sleep, drowning out the cacophony of memories in his head.
(You are useless. You are loved. You can’t do anything right. You’re the best. You…)