They are in bed when Robin whispers into Ishiah’s ear, brushing away the loose strands of blond hair and looking down at him with a smile.
“Someday,” he murmurs, so earnest that it pains them both, “I will leave you.”
But he doesn’t go on to say that he will never, ever stop loving Ishiah, even when, one morning, he’ll tire of waking up next to another body that he already knows inside and out, tire of the feathers drifting in every corner of his apartment, of the way Ishiah looks after him with nothing but his whole heart in his eyes. He doesn’t say it because it’s obvious; he’ll fall out of love with Ishiah, but it doesn’t mean he won't fall in again.
It’s something neither of them can help, the upturned hourglass of their relationship, nothing but a trickle of sand waiting to run out. Sometimes, Robin wonders what it is like, to be able to devote your whole being to one, single person forever and not want anyone else. The concept is fascinating to him, because he has all the time in the world to love whoever he wants, if only they would allow him to love others as well- though it doesn’t excuse Ishiah either, who is just as immortal as he is, only without the wanderlust.
Ishiah opens his eyes, and it worries Robin that he can read everything in them—the irritation, the impending misery, and the happiness despite it all.
“I know. You know I know. Why are you worrying about this?”
It’s priceless, Ishiah telling him not to worry, when all Ishiah does is worry too much. Robin buries his face into the pillow to stifle his laughter and avoid the heavy hand that comes to press the back of his head. Yes, Ishiah knows, probably more so than Robin himself. It shows when he’s walking around Robin’s apartment, naked and unashamed, and lets Robin stare at him without a word. His messy blond hair would be tied up, exposing the red, crescent-shaped marks of teeth and nails at his neck, his shoulders, all the way down to his bruised hips and thighs. His wings flutter and shift, and the golden feathers always seem to catch Robin’s attention.
Look at me, Ishiah seems to say, look at how much you want me.
And, sometimes, he walks up to Robin, reaching out to twine their fingers and kiss his forehead; look how much I want you, too.
Today, Robin smiles and tilts his head, appreciative and grateful, but whether it’s tomorrow or a hundred years from now, he will eventually stop reaching back, put up his hands and grin with all his teeth, shaking his head.
“I’ll wait,” Ishiah says to him, lifting his hand from Robin’s face to return the gesture, threading his fingers through the short brown curls. His wings are out, splayed over one side of the bed, gently swaying to his steady breathing. They don’t twitch or disappear, and Ishiah’s voice is calm when he murmurs, “When you leave, I will wait for you.”
“And if I never come back?” Robin asks, because he will always be difficult, though Ishiah is not without his stubbornness and pride either, and their relationship was never one-sided.
“You will,” Ishiah says, utterly confident. “Why else would you be worrying? When you come back, I’ll still be here.”
“I’m not worrying.”
Ishiah smiles and closes his eyes, already knowing that he’s won the argument. “Not anymore, you aren’t.”