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Ramy bangs on Robin's door for the second time this morning, knocking hard enough to shake the door in its frame.
"Come on, you dolt, we're going to be late."
It's not an unheard of occurrence, one of them sleeping through the bells. They've all been worked to the bone this term, and it's a miracle if they ever get to bed before midnight.
Still, Robin usually startles awake at Ramy's first knock, and will grumble through the door to let him know he's heard him. Today, though, there is only silence on the other side.
Ramy pushes down his worry – Robin is fine, they're all just tired, he's probably just still asleep – and tries the doorknob. It turns, and Ramy gives a silent prayer of thanks for Robin's bad habit of never locking his door, and steps inside.
He sees Robin as soon as he crosses the threshold. He's awake, but he's not groggily rubbing his face, or frantically trying to get dressed. He's just standing there by the bed, still in his pyjamas, staring at the door like he's afraid what might come bursting through it. He doesn't relax when he sees Ramy - instead, every part of him stills, and he looks at him with his eyes wide and lips parted like he's seen a ghost. It's an expression of such shock and devastation that Ramy's mouth goes dry.
What could have possibly happened, to make Robin look at him like that?
Ramy takes a single, tentative step toward him, and Robin flinches.
"Birdie?"
And at that – just one word, just his name – Robin's expression crumples.
He crosses the room in two strides and throws his arms around Ramy, holding him so tight that for a moment it's hard to breathe, and before Ramy can process that particular shock, Robin buries his face into his shoulder and bursts into tears.
Ramy's heart gives a painful thump.
Robin doesn't cry – or if he does, he's never done it where any of them can see. In some ways, he's always been the most stoic of all of them.
Now he's clinging to Ramy as though he's afraid he'll disappear if he lets go, and sobbing as if his heart would break, and Ramy doesn't know what to do.
He can't think what could have caused this. It's not a breakdown from overwork–they've all had their fair share of those, and they're nothing like this. His next, terrified thought is that something has happened to one of the girls–but how would Robin have known?
Slowly, cautiously, Ramy reaches up to fold his arms around him, and as soon as he does Robin's knees seem to give out entirely, and they sink together ungracefully to the floor. Robin slumps into Ramy until he is curled against Ramy's chest, still sobbing.
Ramy looks down at him. When he was a child, his mother would always run her fingers gently through his hair to comfort him when he cried, and Ramy lifts his hand now to Robin's head to do the same, unthinking–but he stops, his hand hovering above Robin's head. He can't. As much as he might want to, there are lines that he can't bring himself to cross, even now. Especially now. He lets his hand settle again on Robin's shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Ramy whispers. "Oh, Birdie, what's happened?"
Robin doesn't respond to this. Ramy isn't even sure he hears him, except that he clings to him even tighter. He's murmuring something into the front of Ramy's jacket, and it takes a moment for Ramy to work out what it is:
His name. Over and over and over, in tones so broken that he can hardly make it out.
Ramy , Robin says. Ramy Ramy Ramy Ramy.
Tears prick at Ramy's eyes, hard as he tries to blink them away. He doesn't know what brought Robin to this, so he can't fix it - all he can do is hold him tighter, whispering to him as he weeps.
"It's all right," he says, "It's all right. I'm here, it's going to be all right." And he hopes, with all the hope he has in him, that what he's saying is true.