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Love.
What exactly, is love?
(愛.)
To Robert, it's such a strange word.
(Amo.)
"Obviously, I love him. He's my Dad."
The words sit heavily on his tongue.
"…It's just, when you add obviously it feels a little less obvious."
His ceiling is beige. It looks morose in the evening lighting. Beef is the cutest dog in the world. Those are things that Robert would call obvious.
A son loving his father should be no different.
"Listen, if I didn't love him, we wouldn't be here, right?" His nose feels clogged. "Why would I be trying to find the man that killed him if I didn't love him? Why would I be doing any of this —"
Oh.
"Shit. My nose is bleeding. Thought I was getting emotionally snotty."
Joy.
(사랑.)
It's not like Robert isn't aware of what love means. For romantic, he's just not sure he's ever "felt" it, before. He's never felt that sort of spark, or wondrous earth shattering moment when everything, all the pieces, fall into place. He's felt lust for sure (No, Courtney, he is in fact, not a virgin), but he's smart enough to know that "attraction" and "love" don't mean the same thing.
Lust is… easy. It's attraction — a longing to become one with another, no matter how short a time. To share a part of yourself… to be lost in the pleasure of being with someone. Courtney wanted to find that relief in him, that connection, because he treated her like someone who could be more than what they were designated at birth.
He can understand that. And it's why he was able to forgive her for it when she apologized. He's felt the same way before, and he's sure he'll feel it again, too.
So that's lust. But… what about love?
I love my partner, I love my family. I love my friends, I love my dog.
(That last one, at least, he's pretty sure he understands.)
What is love? It sticks in his mind like molasses inside of a jar, refusing to be flushed out. No matter how much he tries to smack or jostle it, it stays inside, an ugly shade of black tar.
He glances at the clock. It's the dead of night. He should have gone home hours ago — he should go home now, but his mind still swirls as he contemplates.
He doesn't know what love is, but he does have an idea of what love isn't.
Love isn't… those one night stands he'd have, when the world gets a little too much, and an inviting smile lures him in.
Love isn't the phone number left on the hotel room drawer, with a little note scribbled saying "that was fun, hit me up again" without asking for his own.
Love isn't when his dad would grip him by the lapels of his shirt, dragging him to his feet, telling him to "get up".
But…
Love could be, when Chase shielded him from his dad that very next moment, telling him that enough is enough for the day. To let him rest. It could be, when Chase headed to the store and got Robert just one extra pack of Twinkies, to celebrate his progress.
Love could be the flicker of joy in his chest, when Mandy laughs at his jokes, or teases him for a silly mistake. It could be the groan of despair, when Courtney sees him courting another Twinkie instead of a real lunch, and throws a sandwich at his face. It could even be when Alice shows him an internet "meme" he doesn't understand, snickering and mocking all of the way.
Love could be… Malevola reaching over and resting her arm on his shoulders, pointing out some funny scene to laugh at together. It could be Chad offering him a glass of water to throw at the guy insulting him across the room. It could be Bruno giving him a broad smile as Robert gives him a drink, or Herm catching his shoulder when he slips on a puddle.
Or those moments, where Katon-Ur breaks out of his depressive haze and smiles, telling him about his home world. Or just the other day, where Janelle and Colm teamed up and planned a way to make a guy's life hell for tripping Robert on his way to work.
Or hell, Royd fits too — with his infectious grin and fist bump, telling Robert that "the man will be mecha again"; Galen, with his silent support, and helpful post-its he leaves on Robert's desk.
Love could be all of those things.
So… what is love?
The question reappears in his mind once more.
Love is…
(Amor.)
Love is —
"Rob-top? Hellooo. Anyone home?"
A hand waves in front of his face, and he jolts up, smacking his head against it; losing his balance. The appendage retracts itself in surprise, and he can feel a set of sturdy hands settling on his shoulders to keep him from tipping over completely.
"Ah, shit — Jesus Robbie, didn't think you'd jump that much. Did I scare you that bad?" The stranger drawls, low, lazy, and lightly sarcastic.
He knows that voice.
"Sonar? What the hell are you doing here — it's the middle of the night," Robert stares, bewildered, at the man-bat hybrid. He glances at the clock to check, and sure enough, it's far past midnight now; edging towards 2AM if the clock on the wall wasn't lying to him.
The aforementioned hybrid snorts. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, man? I came back because I realized I left something in my locker, so imagine my surprise when I notice a light's still on in the office."
Robert acquiesces the point. "Okay, you got me there. But what was it that you even left here that warrants coming back at two AM?"
He watches as Sonar's face goes from casually teasing, to smug in an instant, pulling something out from his pocket and holding it out in its full glory.
"Staplerrr."
Robert truly wonders how this guy graduated from Harvard. He also wonders why the hell he can't stop the cough of laughter that escapes him.
"Fuck," his voice strains against the unbidden laughter. "Why do you even leave it in your locker?"
Like a cat that got the mouse (or, a bat that got its rat?) Sonar grins, still smug to hell and back. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Sonar is kind enough to let Robert's choked laughs die out before grabbing a different chair, turning it around, and settling down in it. His head rests against the backrest of the office chair and he waves a hand. "Anyway. You gonna tell me why I walked in here and saw you looking like I ate your dog, or are we going to sit here like a couple of assholes doing overtime at two AM in the morning?"
Robert sighs and sits back in his own chair, eyeing Sonar with a flat, tired look. There are so many ways he can answer the bat's question, ranging from "it's not important" to "you could just leave".
"You're not usually this witty," is what he says instead, raising an eyebrow.
Sonar's face sours dramatically at Robert's observation. Enough so, that Robert has to cover another laugh. "Ugh. Don't remind me. Maybe I should just get high again — I hate being sober, actually. At least when I'm high, my brain doesn't work fast enough to think of witty bullshit," he says, all despair and long-suffering.
"But you won't."
"But I won't," he agrees, begrudgingly. He looks like he's on the cusp of wailing. "God, this sucks. Didn't answer my question, though."
"Gee. Here I was, hoping you'd forget."
Sonar's face evens out to match Robert's own. "C'mon, Robbie. you and I both know we could sit here for the entire night — more so me, because I'm the one that's partially nocturnal, but I'm sure neither of us actually want to be here right now," he holds out his hand in a gesturing motion. "I can't believe I'm the one telling you this. Malevola should be here right now, she's better at this… emotional stuff."
He sticks out his tongue with a look of disgust, but still makes no move to leave the chair he's taken hostage.
And then, something clicks.
More than a little baffled, Robert leans back further in his chair. "Are you... trying to comfort me, right now?" It's a crazy conclusion to come to for a guy who offers cryptocurrency and crack on the regular; with a dash of cyberbullying on the side, but to his surprise, Sonar seems nonplussed.
"Depends. Is it working?" He tilts his head to the side, arms crossed as he readjusts himself. "I've been told I make a great therapy animal."
Fat chance. "By who, the stock bros?"
"Mal, actually, Roberto the third. My name's Victor, remember? I'm a winner — so I better be winning at this whole 'comforting' thing, too." He raises a finger to point at Robert, shit-eating grin and all.
Robert hums, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if that's something you can win at."
"It is now!"
Sonar's voice is so bright with enthusiasm, that Robert can't help but run his hand down his face to cover the smile that threatens to bloom.
"And even if I'm not winning, I will be. Here," Robert watches, hand still covering his mouth, as Sonar uses his legs to send himself and the rolling office chair he's sitting in right up to Robert's side, still smirking. And then, without warning — he grows.
Startled, Robert leans away. "What the hell — hey, watch the chair!" The chair in question slides back, pushed by a now much furrier and larger coworker half-laying on the floor… that props his head on Robert's lap. What the hell.
"Mal always says that something furry to hug helps soothe the soul, or something," Sonar says as explanation, though it still doesn't explain why his head is on Robert's lap.
He stays stock still, unsure of what to do (google, what do you do when your coworker puts his head on your lap?) when Sonar speaks again, a low rumble that Robert can feel through the fur. "C'mon man, your dog isn't here, so we're making do."
Robert looks down at the bat with an incredulous look. "You want me to pet you?""
There's a heavy sigh from Sonar. "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds weird."
"Yeah, because it is," Robert shoots back, still sitting frozen.
Finally seeming tired of the banter, Sonar shoots Robert an unamused glower. "Dude, just do it. Just for a minute. I promise my fur's clean, or whatever," one of his ears flick slightly.
"That's not the issue —" Robert lowers his hand to push Sonar's away, right as Sonar lifts his head to look up at him. His hand makes contact with the short fur, and the first thing Robert can think is that it's much softer than it looks.
Instinctively, Robert curls his fingers slightly to feel it better, before his brain can catch up to his actions. The worst part is that it does, in fact, soothe him slightly; Sonar dropping his head gently back down on Robert's lap, a comfortable weight not dissimilar to Beef's own. Despite the fact it isn't Beef, he can feel his own form relaxing… and he's sure he can feel the smugness radiating off of Sonar in that moment.
He lifts his hand back up in haste, when his brain does catch up. Here's to hoping there's a reputation left to salvage. "Alright, Sonar —"
He's cut off immediately. "If you call me Sonar while my head is on your lap and you are petting me, I'm going to actually eat your dog the next time I see him."
It's a completely empty threat. Beef is loved by everyone, and a world deprived of Beef is a world not worth living in; a statement that's wholeheartedly believed by everyone in the office, and on the Z-Team. Robert knows this, and he knows that Sonar knows that he knows.
There's a moment of silence, that leads into Sonar closing his eyes with a slight grimace. "Look man, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Mal is better at that stuff than I am, but she's not here, and despite everything; I like you, and your dumb hero mentality shit that's rubbing off on all of us. So," he shifts his body into a position that's more like that of a dog laying on its side. "Just… let me help you. Or something. Because that's what a hero does, and I'm going to barf."
It's awkward, slightly hesitant, and overall an ineffective way to comfort anyone verbally. But there's still a warm something that settles in his chest, fragile and small, made up of all the little things he didn't know could exist before.
Just like the others, who have been growing and changing with time. Showing him different ways that they… care.
Maybe this could be something called love, too.
"That was a terrible way to try and emotionally connect with me, Victor," he grunts. But still, slowly, hesitantly, Robert lets his hand tap Sonar's head, then rest there. The tickling feeling in his chest grows as he does, and he closes his eyes.
Victor's response is a simple huff of a laugh that settles into an oddly comfortable silence.
The strange warmth is different from the feeling under his fingers as he caresses the fur on Victor's head. It's an all encompassing, somewhat soothing feeling he can't quite describe (a feeling that feels suspiciously like belonging), only exacerbated by the low rumbling that starts up not too long after he starts.
"…Are you purring?"
"Not another word, Robert, or I'm eating your hand."