I haven't started a new fic in a long time, so I hope this one's okay! This first chapter is shorter than I'm used to, but basically what I wanted to do was take from where the game left off and finish off the Robert romance, because it really only feels like a beginning, not an ending at the finale of Dream Daddy. Anyway, the shortness of the chapter is probably not going to be usual. I'm going to add characters to the story as they appear, and the rating may get higher as well.

"I love you, Dad. Make sure not to burn the house down while I'm gone."

And with those words, Amerigo D'Amico is an empty nester. The going away party is over, the fifteen-hour drive (one way!) to set Amanda up in her dorm is over, and now he's back in a cul-de-sac where he only has a few short months of memories built up to tearfully reminisce over. He considers driving back to his old house and parking across the street from it so he can stare at all the windows Amanda broke growing up, but he knows, objectively, that that's not a normal thing to do. It doesn't make him want to do it any less, though.

Amerigo pulls his car into the garage and parks it, sighing as he takes the keys out of the ignition. When he gets out of the car he accidentally slams the door behind him, wincing at the noise it makes and silently apologizing to his car door hinges for the brutality he's unintentionally shown them.

Inside the house, he's so lost in a fog of his thoughts—the way Amanda laughed when Alex twirled her in the air, how she'd pedal faster when she took her bicycle over speed bumps, the record sixteen layers she wore once to school during a particularly cold winter—that he doesn't notice that something is wrong in the house. The first sign is that there's unexpired milk in the fridge, which he doesn't register until the carton is at his mouth and that cold, delicious goodness is pouring down his throat. He's been gone for nearly a week, what with helping Amanda move into her dorm and the drives each way, and he definitely didn't have the foresight to buy new milk before he left.

The second sign is the dent in the couch. Amerigo's well-trained eyes can identify over ten thousand (or is that ten?) unique couch dents, and he knows that this one was made by someone's posterior. Someone else's posterior. Who is this mysterious person, and why has he come into Amerigo's house, daring to buy him milk and sit on his sofa? What kind of demon would do such a thing?

The third sign happens when he's just about given up on the whole mystery, having spent ten whole minutes (a lifetime for a man used to being able to break up his attention span with commercial breaks) trying to decipher it. His body begins to reject the milk, something that's begun to happen more and more as he ages, an especially worrying sign considering how much he likes cheese. When he opens the bathroom, the third sign is there. The third sign's name is Robert Small.

"Robert?" says Amerigo, startled into forgetting all of the snazzy intros he'd thought of in the car to impress Robert. "What are you doing here?"

Robert shoots him a level glare from where he's crouched, currently balancing himself on the rim of the bathtub and smoking a cigarette. The shower curtain brushes his salt-and-pepper hair, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Can't a man visit a friend?"

"Of course," says Amerigo. "But I don't really remember any of my friends doing it in my bathroom before."

Robert reaches his arm out and Amerigo instinctively takes it, finding himself helping Robert stand up and step down from the tub. There are no dirt stains of any kind left behind; Amerigo looks down and realizes that Robert isn't wearing his shoes. One of his socks is a different shade of black than the other.

"That's because none of your friends were me," says Robert. He adds, "Or a guy by the name of Ricky I knew back in my army days. He slept standing up in the shower. Didn't matter if the thing was on or not, he could catch a wink just by shutting his eyes. Only ended when the sergeant found him half-drowned at three am. He'd started snoring, you see."

Amerigo can't help but smile. "Were you even in the army?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I'm kidding."

"Of course."

Robert's already in Amerigo's kitchen when he calls out, "Actually, I'm not."

Amerigo will believe it when he sees the discharge, but he figures that's a matter for another day. "So what brings you to my particular bathtub?"

"Your milk was expired."

"Did you know that before you broke into my house?"

Robert shrugs. Nothing about his expression changes, but there's a certain tenseness in his tone when he says, "If it really bothers you, I won't do it again. You should find a better spot for your spare key, though. Under the mat? Really?"

He dangles it from his thumb and forefinger, faking Amerigo out the first two times he tries to snatch it from him before finally letting him catch it.

"It's fine," says Amerigo, meaning it. A few months ago he would have thought that Robert was insulted by the idea of Amerigo being upset about the breaking and entering, but he now knows to read the emotion just expressed as nervousness.

He looks at Robert with a new focus, reading between the lines with the kind of skill usually possessed only by master ghost hunters on reality TV shows or film noir detectives, or at least the versions of them that live in Amerigo's mind. There are bags under Robert's eyes, and stubble of a thickness that implies he hasn't shaved in a few days. Amerigo steps forward to see if there's any sort of scent around Robert. The result leaves him with the impression that, until he found him, Robert hasn't been spending much time in bathtubs.

"Did you just sniff me?" says Robert.

"No," says Amerigo. "Yes. Maybe."

Robert stares at him. "Don't expect me to sniff you back."

Amerigo laughs. It feels good. His chest feels slightly lighter. Standing in his kitchen, he can feel the tenseness in his shoulders acutely, the ache in his knees throbbing harder than ever. "I need to sit down," he says, stumbling to the couch.

Robert sits next to him, far enough away that he can put his shoulder up on the back of the couch but close enough that his fingers brush Amerigo's cheek. He doesn't say anything, but his expression is calm.

"What was it like?" says Amerigo, because he doesn't know how to ask Robert if he's been drinking again and he knows he's not going to stop thinking about Amanda's smile and the possibility of him forgetting what it looks like.

"What was what like?"

"Val going to college."

There is a pause, and he wonders if he stepped too far. When Robert answers him, though, there isn't any anger in it. "At first, I hardly noticed. Just one less person around to get pissed at me. Didn't have to worry about waking her up when I came home."

Amerigo doesn't know what to say. He should have known Robert wouldn't understand what he's going through, not because he doesn't care about his daughter, but because he's only begun to do something about those feelings recently. Amerigo leans back, letting his head flop against the top of the sofa as he shuts his eyes.

"I knew it would be different for you," says Robert. With his eyes shut, Amerigo's imagination enhances the throaty quality of the other man's voice.

Amerigo lifts his head, which protests the point of being moved when it had been so recently allowed to relax. "Yeah?"

"Well, obviously."

Amerigo wants to ask if that's why he's here, but he knows how Robert values silence, and besides, he's pretty sure he knows the answer. "Do you think I could get real gay with you, Bobert?"

"You're already wearing those socks, Bmerigo."

"That does not roll off the tongue."

"I would make a convincing case in a court of law that neither does Bobert."

Amerigo leans into Robert, closing the space between them and pressing his head into Robert's shoulder. Now he smells like tobacco, a strong enough smell that he can ignore any more unpleasant odors he's picking up, and he's warm. Robert raises his hand to Amerigo's back and leaves it there, clearly unsure what to do but comforting in its heavy presence. When the tears come, Robert says nothing, only drawing Amerigo closer until they leave only hiccups and sniffles in their wake. Only then do either of them let go.

If you liked it, I'd really appreciate it if you left a review! I haven't been writing much fanfiction recently, so I'm a little nervous about starting a new chapter fic. Thanks for reading!