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It is a truth universally acknowledged that Robb Stark is a nice guy.
He is, to put it in Sansa’s own words, annoyingly perfect. The kind of son every father would be proud of, the kind of young man youngers sisters, the kind mothers want their children to bring home to the family. And, for the first twenty years of his life, Robb has behaved exactly like everyone expects the epitome of goodness to act.
He has offered to walk girls home at night, several times. He’s been known for scaring bullies away using the least amount of violence and to always lend his course notes even to people who frankly shouldn’t deserve it. On one memorable occasion, after his best friend got himself kicked out by his dick of a dad for liking boys, Robb persuaded his parents to offer him a place to stay.
All in all, the point has become exceedingly clear: Robb Stark is a good person. If there was such a thing as karma in life, he deserved all the good times and none of the stress – a quiet, fun beginning to adulthood. He would move in with said best friend, eat lots of junk foods and pull last-minute all-nighters, all while trying to figure out how life is supposed to work. The usual.
Things start to go wrong after he breaks up with Jeyne.
Or maybe, Robb can’t help but think, maybe it had all been going on for longer than that, but he was distracted and missed it. Maybe he’s been so lost in Jeyne’s pretty eyes, her soft skin and her sparkling laugh, and he’s always been this way, all along. And that’s even a worse thought to consider.
It starts like this: three days after the break-up, Theon takes him out. They go out for dinner, like actual financially stable adults, then completely ruin it by going to a bar. They’re four drinks in when someone walks up to their table – a young man with green eyes and very broad shoulders, and his ears are pierced. Robb quickly looks away.
“Hey,” the guy says, smiling at Theon. “I’m Mark.”
Unbelievable, Robb thinks. Theon’s ability to get hit on whenever they go had, long ago, been hilarious. Tonight, it’s just making him sad.
He takes another gulp of his drink.
“Hey,” Theon says, flashing the guy the kind of white smile that should never be seen in real life outside of toothpaste ads. Then his eyes dart to Robb, and he coughs discretely. “Theon,” he says. “But I’m not sure this is the best time – “
“Don’t be stupid, Theon,” Robb cuts in, then winces. He’s sounding drunk even to his own ears, definitely drunker than he’d thought he was. Theon’s slow, indulgent answering smile makes him duck his face further into his glass.
That’s when Theon whispers something that Robb can’t hear. The guy walks away with another stupid smile, and Robb completely forgets about his existence.
Until two days later, when he comes back home in the evening to find Mark from the bar with Theon sitting on his lap, snogging on the cough.
“Shit,” Theon says, jumping up the moment the door closes. He grins – a flustered, lopsided grin. “Hi, Robb.”
Robb laughs, taking in the scene – Theon standing up with his shirt half unbuttoned, Mark’s flushed cheeks and heavy breaths. He laughs because it should be funny, the way Theon always used to make fun of him every time he’d caught him snogging Jeyne in that same spot; but, somehow, it’s not.
He feels a strange twinge of discomfort somewhere low in his belly, mouth twisting wryly.
“Right.”
Theon stands up. “We’d better move this somewhere else, my friend,” and he winks and laughs heartily as if he hasn’t noticed a thing. The guy – Mark, his name’s Mark; Mark who’s ha his lips on Theon’s, just seconds ago – he takes in Robb’s sour face and raises one quizzical eyebrow in Theon’s direction. But Theon just smiles.
“He’s just been dumped,” he says in a stage whisper. “Let’s be gentle with him.”
And off they go, putting up some Eighties Rock turned up enough that Robb doesn’t have to hear a thing.
This is the first strike.
**
The strange feeling doesn’t go away. It stays, making its way into Robb’s mind like some sort of poisonous, murderous bigoted snake. Every once in a while Theon brings someone home – as he’s always done; and he’s always so low-key, always discrete – and Robb feels. Uncomfortable.
He doesn’t want them here, these boys of Theon’s. Ha wants them to leave, the sooner the better. He doesn’t want to see any stranger kissing Theon on their cough, or making the eyes at Theon over their dinner table, or just casually brushing their twitchy, stupid fingers over Theon’s shoulders, like they belonged there. It makes him upset, makes him angry.
More often than not, Robb catches himself staring at whatever boy-of-the-week he just managed to get a glimpse of, and imagines how it would look if he and Theon went further than kissing. Of all the things they must do to each other when Robb can’t see, when the doors are shut and the music loud. Those are lewd pictures, of sweaty bodies and breathy moans, and every time they make Robb sick to his stomach. But still he keeps torturing himself with them – the more he doesn’t want to think of Theon having sex the more he does, feeling increasingly disgusted every time.
Once or twice, Robb considers just how bad things might get if Theon ever starts dating for real and gets an actual boyfriend, and the thought is enough to make him groan out loud.
In time, Theon starts to notice. Robb can tell he isn’t sure at first – and who could blame him, really? There are occasional frowns, the way he throws an odd look Robb’s way and then shakes his head, as if trying to persuade himself he must be imagining everything.
He’s really not. Robb is an absolute disaster of a human being, and a horrible, horrible friend.
One day, he comes home to Theon kissing Patrek Mallister goodbye in the middle of the living room – Theon’s hair still wet, Patrek’s shirt unbuttoned. Robb winces and feels his hands ball tightly into fists, and all he wants is to march right out of the door and never come back.
“Hey, Robb,” Patrek says, giving him a small wave. He wants to punch him in the face.
The thing is – he usually likes Patrek. He’s fun to be around, with a quick smile and a wicked sharp sense of humour; they’ve been friends for years, and he’s been occasionally hooking up with Theon just as long. In fact, it had been going on a date with Patrek that got Theon kicked out of his house all those years ago – they had been almost serious then, but the relationship hadn’t survived the Mallisters’ deep-rooted hatred of Balon Greyjoy, and nowadays they both make a deliberate effort to keep things casual.
But the point remains that Robb likes Patrek and they get along, and he found him shirtless in Theon’s presence quite a few times before. Tonight, though…
“And how are you doing?”
“You know,” Robb says, before he can stop himself. “I could have been better if you guys had the good taste to keep this kind of things private.”
Patrek smiles then, weakly, as if trying to persuade himself it must be some sort of joke. It really, really isn’t.
“Well, Robb.” He keeps smiling. “I’m sorry if we’ve offended your virgin eyes –”
“Oh, you’re not sorry at all,” Robb hears himself say, flippant. He sounds ugly. His gaze catches on Theon’s face, the worried set of his jaw. “You’re just showing off.”
“What the fuck, Robb,” Theon says, the instant the door has closed behind Patrek’s shoulders. “What the hell was that?”
Robb bites his lip, trying to find a good answer. There’s none.
“I don’t know,” he tells Theon, softly. He really doesn’t know what is happening, and it’s starting to worry him.
“Robb,” Theon begins, seemingly more serious than Robb can remember seeing him in months. “Do you have a problem with me sleeping with other guys?”
Yes.
“No.” Robb’s reply is immediate, indignant. “Of course I don’t.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently. Theon takes a step closer, suddenly flushed. He looks almost angry. “So you’re just being an asshole for no reason?” he asks. “Like you’ve got any room to complain, with the way you used to have Jeyne over all the time and every single time you’d start going at it in the living room and you made it damn hard not to see–”
“You’re right,” Robb cuts him off. God, he’s feeling like the most horrible friend ever. He probably is.
“You’re right and I don’t know what came over me, I swear it’s not going to happen again. I just – I don’t know what’s going on,” he can’t keep his eyes on Theon anymore, and finds himself staring at his shoes. They’re grey and boring, but at least they can’t look disappointed.
“Right,” Theon says. He sounds worried, and perhaps a bit saddened.
“Look, Robb,” he continues. “I’m not mad at you, but I need to – I don’t know, go take a walk and cool off. Maybe I’ll sleep over. I just have to leave right now.”
“Right,” Robb echoes, feeling like his heart has lodged somewhere around his ankles. “I’ll see you later.”
And when Theon’s about to leave, very casually, he asks Robb if he is okay with his crashing at Patrek’s and probably staying the night. If Robb minds that Theon is going out and having sex with a guy at someone else’s place.
“Of course not,” Robb says. “It’s Patrek’s place, you can set fire to it for all I care.”
This is when Robb learns a very important detail about the whole thing: thinking of Theon having sex somewhere else doesn’t make it any less disgusting to imagine. But he still can’t get it out of his head, can’t stop himself from wondering what exactly Theon is doing to Patrek and how and how it would look –
Robb wants to vomit.
He closes his eyes, swallows his pride, and calls his sister.
**
“And that’s exactly how it went.” Sansa says, frowning slightly.
There’s a twinkle in her eyes that Robb doesn’t like, and he bites on his lip before he nods. “Yes.”
“You didn’t leave out anything.”
“I did not,” Robb confirms.
“So you’ve just–”
“Turned into a raging, homophobic asshole?” Robb cuts in. “Yes. Theon having gay sex makes me uncomfortable. And I know it’s mean, and probably bigoted and I’ve been trying to fix it, but I don’t understand–”
“I was going to say jealous,” Sansa says, and it’s like she just shot a gun inside the room. Robb bolts, then stares. Then he laughs.
“I’m not jealous of Theon,” he says. The mere thought is clearly ridiculous. “Look, I know it was Jeyne who dumped me, but I’m not that bad looking. I could get laid if I wanted. Maybe not as much as he does, but getting this worked up just feels really stupid–”
“Oh, no,” Sansa says. She looks as though she’s trying not to laugh, and Robb immediately takes offence to that. “I meant, you sound like you’re jealous of Theon’s dates,” she continues. “Because, maybe, you would like Theon to date you instead.”
Robb’s mouth opens. Then he closes it.
“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” he says, once he’s recovered enough of his speech faculties. “I don’t like Theon – I mean I like Theon, but not that way. I like girls.”
“Alright,” Sansa says. “But have you noticed you flirt with him all the time?”
“I do not–”
“I heard you call him sweet cheeks at my birthday party, and it was enough for Margaery Tyrell to ask me just how long you guys have supposedly been dating.”
“That – that doesn’t mean anything,” Robb blurts out. This conversation is most definitely not going like he’d expected it would, not at all. “We’ve always done that. For years. Even when I was dating Jeyne, and when he was dating Kira, and Patrek, and that horrible little creepy kid…”
“I know.” Sansa sounds delighted, smiling wide as she leans in. “That’s why asked you to repeat everything word for word. Did or did not Theon Greyjoy ask you if you have a problem with him sleeping with other guys? Other guys, not just ‘guys’,” Sansa continued, speaking fast before Robb had the chance to throw a word in.
“He sounds like he tried to get you to admit to your little possessive fit. And he brought up Jeyne – that definitely sounded like jealousy to me. And all in all, the way you say he’s been showing off? It sound like it’s on purpose. I think you may have something there, Robb.”
Robb just stares.
And he stares, and keeps staring as Sansa smiles sweetly and sits back against the chair, practically oozing self-satisfaction, eyes shining with the pride in a job well done.
++
Their conversation, when they inevitably have it, goes something like this:
They are in the living room, sitting on the couch that started it all, watching some cheesy B-rated sci-fi flick about insectoid aliens, when Robb’s eyes fall on the curve of Theon’s profile and he figures this is a moment as good as any others to finally clears things up.
He clears his throat.
“I want you to know,” he begins, speaking very, very fast. He resolutely does not look at Theon, fully invested in the way the giant centipede just mauled the arm of one of the protagonists. “That the reason why I, uh. The reason why I’ve been such a dick lately. It turns out I was jealous.”
There’s a pause, and a high-pitched, blood-chilling scream coming from the television.
“Jealous?” Theon asks. “Robb, please tell me I don’t have to be the one to explain to you that you could definitely find people to sleep with you if you wanted–”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Robb starts to say, and then he loses himself, can feel his mouth moving and hears the sound of his voice filling his ears, but has no idea what he’s saying. It feels odd, like he’s floating somewhere inside his body.
He can feel his face flush.
They talk. It turns out that Theon’s flirting was real – it has been real for years, and how the hell did Robb even miss that? Theon’s flirting was real and his random hookups may not have been deliberate attempts to make Robb jealous, as Sansa suggested, but they’d definitely been Theon’s way to try to get over Robb.
Which is endearing, and intense, and terrifying in his implications…
“Oh, Theon,” he says. “Sorry. Apparently I really fail at subtleness, and I do self-delusion really well.”
“I’d noticed,” Theon says, but with none of his usual bite. He looks peaceful, relaxed even; almost glowing. Robb looks at him and he blushes.
“Can I – can I kiss you?” he hears himself say. “Just to try it, please, I just–”
“Oh, god, yes,” Theon says. He leans in closer. “Yes.”
And they do.
And it feels really, really great.