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“You ruin everything you touch.”
Aaron is holding him, rubbing his back and whispering soft combinations of it’s me and you’re alright and all Robert can think about is how he’s messed everything up —
How messed up he is .
His room is in total disarray; there’s shattered remnants of his mug on the carpet, lying in a puddle of coffee that’ll probably stain the carpet, and the shredded remains of a pillowcase just beside him, the sight of which reminds him of the ache in his jaw. The mirror on the wall is splintered and Robert vaguely remembers staring into the cracks and not recognising the reflection of Robert Sugden staring back at him.
He doesn’t know who he is anymore.
Knows who Aaron is though, knows his voice like he knows his own heartbeat, steady and familiar, pulling him back from the edge with gentle hands. So he presses his face further into Aaron’s shoulder and just lets himself cry because he’s touched Aaron and he’s ruined Aaron and yet here he is, still cradling the back of Robert’s head and murmuring reassurances, breath warm against his ear, thawing a coldness that prison left buried in his bones.
Fingers slide through his hair, scratching lightly over his scalp, before settling on his nape. Robert shudders, eyes drifting closed. He wants to enjoy this — he is , in some twisted way, even as he thinks with certainty about how this moment is his rock bottom — but Aaron’s thumb edges too close to his throat and the overwhelming panic is immediate.
“Don’t,” he rasps, flinching. “Please.”
Aaron stills. Unlike John, who is either a mind reader or something far more sinister (no guesses which) Aaron doesn’t seem to know about his aversion to being touched there, but he doesn’t ask questions either, just starts massaging concentric circles into his shoulder blade, grounding him.
They’ve done this before, both sides of it. Aaron holding him through the storms of Rebecca's disappearance, of Victoria's trauma. Robert holding Aaron through Gordon, through Kasim, through every other terrible storm they’ve weathered together.
One day they’ll be happy, just the two of them (and Seb ) and the universe won’t keep throwing catastrophes in their path. Robert truly believes that, mostly because without that future to keep him going he’s got nothing to fight for, no foundations left to stand on .
(“Just words.” “Because right now that’s all I’ve got.”)
He whimpers softly, inhales the familiar scent of home, and pretends that he’s got Aaron right now too, thrumming through his veins and keeping him alive.