"Yeah."
"Figured." He signals a passing barista for another coffee. "You look like you need to talk. And maybe some caffeine."
The simple offer makes my throat tight. "Have you—have you seen them? Since you got back?"
His jaw tightens slightly. "Corvus, yes. We've... talked. Briefly. Awkwardly. He apologized. I accepted it but made it clear we're not friends." He pauses. "The others I've avoided. Not ready for that yet."
"I don't blame you." I turn my hand over under his, linking our fingers. "God, I've missed you. Having you back on campus—I didn't realize how much I needed it until now."
"I've missed you too." His thumb rubs over my knuckles. "How have you been? Really?"
The question opens something in my chest. "Complicated. The bonds are... a lot. And Dorian's been—" I stop, not sure how to explain.
"An asshole?" Robbie supplies, his tone dry but sympathetic.
A surprised laugh escapes me. "Yeah. Pretty much. He went to visit his parents and came back... different. Cold. Like he can't even look at me."
"Let me guess." Robbie leans back, still holding my hand. "They told him you're inappropriate. That his feelings aren't real. That choosing you means losing his inheritance."
I stare at him. "How did you—"
"Because that's what wealthy, traditional families do when their precious Alpha heir catches feelings for someone they deem unsuitable." His expression is knowing, sad. "I've seen it before. My own extended family disowned my parents for their 'progressive' pack structure."
Over coffee, I tell him everything. About the lake house, about Dorian's trip to his parents, about Oakley's gentleness and Corvus's negotiations and the way I'm trying to navigate bonds I never wanted.
"And Dorian shut down when he came back?" Robbie asks.
"Completely. Won't talk to me, won't look at me, drinks expensive scotch in his room and acts like I don't exist."
"While you're living in his house."
"While I'm living in his house," I confirm.
"That's fucked up."
"That's what I said."
Robbie is quiet, absently stealing one of my fries. "You know you don't have to stay there, right? If it's toxic, if Dorian's making it unbearable—you have options."
"Do I?" I meet his eyes. "The bonds—"
"Are real, yes. But they don't mean you have to accept being treated like shit." He leans forward. "Vespera, I know fated mates are supposed to be this overwhelming biological imperative. But you're still a person with agency. You still get to decide what you'll tolerate."
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" He challenges gently. "What would happen if you told Dorian you're staying somewhere else until he gets his shit together? Would the bonds kill you?"
"No," I admit. "They'd hurt, but they wouldn't kill me."
"Then maybe it's time to stop accepting scraps of attention from someone who can't decide if you're worth fighting for."
The words hit hard because they're true. I have been accepting scraps. Grateful when Dorian doesn't actively reject me, relieved when he's cold instead of cruel.
"I don't know if I can," I say quietly. "Walk away, I mean. Even temporarily."
"Then don't walk away." Robbie's expression is serious. "But stop making yourself smaller to fit into his dysfunction. Stop waiting for him to choose you. Make him prove he deserves you instead."
"How?"
