"So then what happened?" Stuart asked with a sigh, narrowing his eyes as he ruffled the back of his hair.

"She bloody pulled me off the bus before I got chance to hit them," John muttered annoyedly.

John was still irritated by the events of the night before. After Robin had pulled him off the bus he knew his temper was close to overflowing, hence why he stormed off in front of Robin and left her to walk home alone, which now he was regretting. Just retelling the story to Stuart as they sat in his bedsit flat - Stuart working on a rather large canvas painting whilst John was sat across from him, his own art strewn across the floor with disinterest - made him feel angry. Stuart could tell, far too used to seeing John's terrible temper erupt, but he couldn't tell just where his anger was directed; at those lads or Robin?

"So they were coming onto her and slagging you off, but what were they actually saying?" Stuart asked, deciding he needed more details before he took either John or Robin's side in the matter.

"Some proper judgemental stuff, calling her big, and fat, but they were looking at her like she was a piece of meat!" John exclaimed angrily, and realising just what John was saying Stuart's eyes widened, looking down at the floor to avoid John's gaze. He didn't though, and John picked up on it, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

"Not to wind you up anymore or owt, but when you were out smoking with Rob yesterday Pete called her chubby," Stuart explained with a sigh, remembering what had been said at band practice. "It pissed me off too to be fair, but you said Rob wasn't bothered by those pricks on the bus?"

"No, that was the worst part! She just said it happens all the time!" John exclaimed, clearly not taking Stuart's advice as the information about Pete just made him angrier. "Seriously though, does that bastard want to get dropped from the band or what? He doesn't even know her,"

"See that's what I said, and it would help to have a drummer who can actually play the drums," Stuart pointed out with a short laugh. "And that's coming from someone who can't really play their instrument,"

He'd hoped his self-depreciating joke would take the pressure off Pete and change the conversation. He didn't like it when John got angry about something, his coping mechanisms not particularly the healthiest as he'd usually rant and rave until someone he didn't care about annoyed him, resulting in him getting in a fight. Stuart had patched him up from a few fights so far, not always managing to pull him away from conflict, and he didn't want his frustration to build to that point, not that day anyway.

The whole point of John going to Stuart's flat was because they both had coursework due in the next week. John wasn't always the most focused or dedicated student, scraping through school with the plan to do the same at art college. That wasn't really the best plan though, so Stuart and Robin had both decided that a group work session might give him the motivation to get his head down. Robin was still on her way to the flat though, and John was still clearly too wound up from the night before to even consider his sketchbook or grades. Part of Stuart hoped that when Robin got there John's attitude would change.

That didn't seem possible though, as a knock eventually came at the door and John immediately tensed up. Perhaps he was just nervous to face her again for the first time since he abandoned her to walk home alone, embarrassed for the way he acted. Stuart could see right through him though, knowing he had some sort of crush on Robin, be it lustful or emotional, but either way he was clearly worried that she would be annoyed at him. That wasn't a good sign though, as usually John's worry embodied itself into darker emotions, ones that would lead to him getting into fights.

"Try and drop it, alright?" Stuart suggested as he set aside his paintbrush to go answer the door.

John fought back swearing at him, feeling as if his best mate didn't understand just how wound up he was, but he didn't get the chance before Stuart was opening the front door. Robin looked just as nice as she always did, her hair pulled up into a messy bun, though she was dressed in a black turtleneck tucked into a long grey skirt that flared out at her hips in an A-line. John couldn't help but wonder initially if she had dressed more covered up than usual to avoid a repeat of the night before, but then he found himself thinking of those lads and their comments and he quickly snapped his thoughts away, not wanting to make himself angry again. He tried to focus on how nice she looked, juggling her portfolio and a bag of art supplies, but as she came into the flat and saw him sat on the floor he saw a flicker of something behind the eyes. Was it annoyance, disagreement, disappointment? He couldn't figure out if he'd imagined it, or if it was there and the night before had made her finally dislike him. If it was the latter, he wouldn't be surprised.

In truth though, it was there, but it was a look of worry. The walk home alone had left Robin with plenty of time to think, and even if she'd initially thought he'd acted irrationally and almost like an angry child, she wasn't mad at him. Even if she hated gossip, she couldn't help but remember what Jenny had told her. She remembered how he'd been described as 'a wild freak, right mean, a maniac'. Part of her initially thought that Jenny might have had a point, finally seeing the full extent of his short temper and aggression, but then she remembered why he was like that. Those lads were being rude to him, then they belittled her. It didn't take much to set him off, but the more she thought about it, the more Robin decided she didn't really mind.

She didn't like his aggression, but she'd never had the sort of friend who was willing to defend her in that sort of way. As much as she wished he'd stayed out of it, thinking she could have dealt with it, she'd started to appreciate the gesture that he'd stood up for them both. It was only as she got home and looked out her bedroom window to see John sat out in his garden smoking that she realised she was only so upset at his reaction because she was worried get hurt on her behalf. She'd hardly slept all night, her mind stuck on worrying over the possibility that he'd not have been so easy to get off the bus or that they'd one day see those lads again and they'd hurt him for that close encounter. All she could think about all night and all that morning, even as Albert was giving her a lift to Stuart's flat, was that friends weren't meant to get each other hurt. She didn't want John getting into fights, she didn't want to see him in any pain, even if he was suffering silently mentally.

Eventually as she arrived at Stuart's, Robin had decided to just act normal around John. She decided to make no mention of the night before and hope that it was all forgotten. In the grand scheme of things it wasn't the end of the world. Some guys tried to come on to her and she and John had a disagreement, it didn't matter. Surely if she didn't care anymore John wouldn't either. That clearly wasn't the case though, not as John looked away from her quickly as soon as she came in the room.

"Hiya," she greeted them both with a small wave.

"Alright?" Stuart said with a grin, gesturing over to the corner where his own stuff was set up. "Have you got much left to do on your pieces?"

"Just some shading, so yeah, a lot," she joked dryly, moving into the room and sitting across from John. "Alright?"

"Yeah," John nodded, barely glancing up at her as he for the first time all day turned his focus to his sketchbook. "You?"

"Yeah," she nodded too, pulling out her own sketchbook and pencils.

It was quiet, but it wasn't awkward. Stuart put a record on and the three of them got on with their work. It felt like a free period at college, not a social gathering with friends, but that was the sort of thing Robin wanted. The gatherings she'd taken part in the past few days were nice but completely out of her comfort zone. It felt nice to just sit and work on her art, focusing her mind on something other than trying to fit in. Even if she still worked hard on all of her pieces drawing and painting came easy to her, creating art being second nature. It was different doing it in a social setting, but it also felt like opening a part of herself up to other people for the first time.

John's focus didn't last as long as Robin's. If he struggled staying on topic when they were in class, when a tutor could easily reprimand him for not working, so getting him to work voluntarily was like pulling teeth. Unlike Stuart, he didn't have the passion for art, and unlike Robin he didn't have the drive. The pair of them were ridiculously talented, Robin's talent lying with classic, traditional style drawings that mimicked reality as if she was a photographer without a camera, whilst Stuart was brilliant at abstracts. Compared to the two of them he felt subpar, that feeling not helping his lack of motivation. He wished he had his guitar with him, knowing that was where his true passion was.

"D'you want a hand with anything, John?" Robin asked after a while, seeming uncharacteristically kind to him.

John felt bad for thinking that. Robin was always kind, but she was usually dry and sarcastic in her kindness, especially towards him. It set him further on edge, feeling as if she felt sorry for him. Maybe she also thought she was better at art than him, or maybe she was being overly nice to him because she could still remember how he'd acted the night before.

"I'm fine," he said back, trying to sound polite but it instead came out cold.

Robin tried to ignore his tone, knowing she was only trying to help. She felt Stuart look over to her from behind his easel but she didn't meet his eye, instead putting down the final few strokes of shading onto her drawing. After years of practice she liked to think she knew when to step away from a piece, so she shut the book and slid it away from her. That had almost become a routine for her whenever she finished any kind of drawing, deciding it as best to put physical distance between herself and the work as she got her head out of it. She also liked closing the book so that when she'd finally gotten herself out of the zone of that particular piece, she could flick through the whole book and see how much she had improved, finding it refreshing to look at the newly completed work with fresh eyes.

The routine made sense to her. It was what she did at home, but clearly it confused the company she was with as both John and Stuart looked away from their own work to try and understand what she was doing. Robin let out a quiet laugh at herself before she stretched out, lying down on the floor. That was another tradition she'd built for herself for finishing a piece, since she usually worked on her bedroom floor she'd lay down and look at the ceiling, trying to let her mind go blank after so long of focusing on being creative. Her little rituals seemed so normal to her, but when she heard Stuart laughing quietly she realised that maybe not everyone else had such structures to their creativity.

"I'm not mad," she muttered, rolling her eyes with a small smirk. "D'you not have to walk away from completed painting just to see it with fresh articles so you don't immediately hate it?"

"Yeah, I'm just not as dramatic about it," Stuart teased, and John tried desperately not to scoff in annoyance.

He knew Robin and Stuart were mates. They'd somehow been close ever since he'd had to show her around college, and they'd also somehow skipped the awkward stage of getting to know each other and just settled into roles of best friends. John was madly jealous, something he'd surprisingly not noticed until that moment. He wasn't sure if he was jealous of Robin, the new girl getting in the way of his friendship, or if he was jealous of Stuart, his best friend getting all the attention from the girl he liked. His mind was instantly whirring as they bantered, wondering if the two of them were more than friends, if they liked each other more than they were letting on. He hated that thought.

"Can I see it?" John asked, trying not to be forgotten.

Robin nodded, gesturing over to the sketchbook without a second thought. She was surprised at how comfortable she felt doing that, knowing that it was a sketchbook that wasn't just for academic purposes, containing some of her personal drawings, drawings that she never usually showed to anyone. She was proud of her work, but the book was like the inner workings of her mind, and she didn't like anyone to know exactly everything about her. Even if John was acting weird around her that afternoon, she couldn't help but muse over how good it felt to trust someone with the book, to know that he might just be able to understand it all.

John opened the book and began flicking through. A lot of them were landscapes, places that he didn't recognise so he just assumed they were of her hometown, until he got to one that looked as if she'd drawn the skyline from the top of her uncle's tree. The details on each drawing were impeccable, especially as some of the other drawings were portraits. Film stars and musicians graced the pages, though the majority of them were all of one dark haired actress.

"I know you said you liked Debbie Reynolds but have you drawn her enough?" John laughed, and Robin rolled her eyes.

"You should see the watercolour of her I keep above my bed," she shrugged, sitting up and stretching.

John went back to looking through the portraits, stopping at one he didn't recognise. Maybe he couldn't quite make out who it was because of the lack of detail. It was the only one that wasn't completed, loads of other pieces finished around it, as if she'd given up. The few features he could make out resembled hers, the almond eyes, the long nose, and he wondered if it was her attempt of a self portrait that she'd given up on. He wished she'd completed it, wishing that there was a drawing of her he could stare at, pretending to admire the detail when he'd really be admiring not just her beauty but the beauty of her art.

He was still caught up in that thought as he flicked through a few more pages to her more recent works, and the sketchbook eventually fell open onto the page she'd been working on yesterday at the band's rehearsal. At first as John's gaze dropped onto the page he didn't realise what he was looking at, his mind instantly musing over how talented she was until he took in what he was actually looking at. It was George sketched in full dramatic detail, pointed teeth, teddy boy quiff, everything. It was a face John knew well after a few years of being in a band with the younger lad, long enough to know George was good looking and attracted plenty of girls, but the way Robin had drawn him brought out all his best features. It was as if she'd taken the time to study his face, thinking about everything that was good about him and putting it down on paper in the most flattering way possible.

It was like all those drawings of Debbie Reynolds, someone Robin clearly adored. Did she feel that way about George too? That thought was too much to deal with. He wasn't sure how he felt about Robin, but to know that she'd been looking at someone that he classed as a mate, a little brother even, he felt hurt. It was worse than how he felt with those guys on the bus the night before. He hated them, any approach they made towards Robin would have been met with anger, but the thought of George and Robin liking each other felt like a betrayal, a stab in the back that he didn't know just how to react to.

So he reacted exactly like he did whenever anything wound him up. Badly.

"Why the fuck have you drawn him?" he asked, his tone deceivingly calm, sliding the book over towards Robin who looked down at the drawing confusedly.

"It was just sketching practice," she shrugged again, though her casual nature just infuriated John more. She saw the scowl crease across her face, making her frown. "What's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" he exclaimed, getting up from where he was sat, storming over to her as she got to her feet too, still looking confused. "You've drawn George! You've met him twice, and what, you love him or something?"

"Oh for God's sake, of course not, I-" she began to explain, but the way she rolled her eyes and let out a small laugh as if he was being ridiculous made him spiral even more.

"Fuck off, Robin!" he snapped before he could stop himself.

It was all too much. Logically in the back of his mind he knew he was in the wrong, but his immediate instinct was telling him to be angry. Force of habit made him follow his instincts, even though he felt an ache in the bottom of his chest as he realised Robin was the only person he knew that hadn't seen this side of him, and she was the one person he never wanted to show this side to. He was letting her down, spoiling her opinion of him, but he wasn't thinking straight, thinking that she clearly didn't care about him at all. If she didn't care about him enough to like one of his best friends then why would she care if he acted like this?

"John-" Stuart attempted to interrupt, disliking the tension, but he didn't get the chance.

"You can't finish a bloody self-portrait but you can draw George perfectly as if you've known him years? Jesus Christ, Robin," John practically snarled, not noticing the confused frown on her face.

"Self-portrait?" she muttered quietly, until something dawned on her, a cold look of horror crossing her face as if she'd been thawed out, but her horror quickly turned to anger. "John, you have no idea, how dare-"

She was quick to defend herself, quicker than usual, and Stuart realised there was much more to the situation than she was letting on, something about what he said hurting her more than he intended. John didn't notice any of that though, he was far too self-centred in his own emotions, not willing to hear anyone else's perspective in the matter.

"Nah, fuck off, you can't act like you're me mate then do that, I'm done," he interrupted her again, but this time he stormed back over to his stuff, grabbing it all and heading back towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Stu,"

With that he opened the door and headed out, slamming the door after himself. Both Robin and Stuart stood there in awkward silence, Robin staring down at the floor stoically as Stuart looked at her worriedly, wishing for her to meet his eye so he could see what the damage was. The situation had escalated far too quickly, but Stuart was used to seeing John get that angry, but not to someone he seemed to care about. Part of him considered running after him to tell him to apologise, knowing that Robin didn't deserve that sort of treatment at all, not for some drawing, but at the same time he didn't want to leave her, not knowing what she was thinking.

She was unreadable, her usual closed book persona perfectly in place. Her face blank as she stared at the floor, she looked as if she was in pain and desperately trying to withhold any signs of discomfort. It looked as routine as her pushing her sketchbook had done, as if she was an expert and hiding her emotions was something she'd spent a long time practicing at. Forcing it all away, she took a deep breath and sat down on the floor again, leaning and grabbing her sketchpad. She stared at the paper for a moment before sighing, reaching for her pencil and adding a few more lines of shading to George's hair.

"Robin, he's acting a prick, I'm-" Stuart began, sitting down next to her, but she lifted her hand up, telling him to be quiet and he obliged.

"I'm not a slag, you know," she said quietly, channelling her focus on the drawing, her hand steady despite the slight shake in her voice.

"God, Rob, that wasn't what he was saying at all, but please don't think that's what we think of you!" Stuart exclaimed, desperate for her to not take John's harsh words to heart.

"Kinda seemed that way, and I wouldn't blame anyone thinking that," she shrugged, still not looking at him. "Jenny at college thinks I'm mad on John since he's my neighbour, those wankers on the bus thought I'd be an easy shag cause I was wearing a low cut top, now John thinks I'm madly in love with one of his best mates when really I just wanted something to sketch yesterday and I thought he made an interesting subject. I mean, I'm the new girl to Liverpool, of course I'm gonna slag myself around, no better way to get to know a city really, and I bet John thinks I really did want to screw them lads since I stopped him punching them,"

"John can be a prick," Stuart repeated, though he soon realised justifying Johns actions wasn't the best thing he could do for Robin.

"So can most men," she said firmly, letting out an annoyed laugh as she turned the pages of her book until she was at the only page where the art wasn't finished, and Stuart presumed it was the self-portrait John had referenced. "No offence, obviously, but men are disgusting. Lad's do that shit that happened on the bus all the time, sometimes worse. It's shit, especially cause I'm curvy and all that, but it's no big problem. I didn't want John getting involved in something that was a regular inconvenience, but that doesn't mean I was considering their offer,"

"I'm sorry," Stuart muttered, disgusted that some men would make women feel that uncomfortable. "I know what John's like, he probably thought he was helping, and he's told me about those lads before. They were all at school together and apparently they were right wankers, but that doesn't justify him being mad at you, you did nothing wrong,"

"Try telling him that," Robin rolled her eyes, putting her pencil down onto the page, hesitating before she grimaced and closed the book.

"Did Jenny actually think that you had a crush on John?" Stuart asked, remembering the other parts of her rant. "When did she tell you that?"

"One lunchtime when it was only me, her and Helen," she shrugged. "Is it true Connie broke her nose? Cause she deserved it, what ever she did,"

"Oh yeah, Connie has a habit of that, she's like John, she has a proper short temper," Stuart explained. "It's fine when that temper goes off to people they don't care about, but when it's friends and loved ones, like now... well, it's a bit shit. If it makes you feel better I'm not overly keen on Jenny either, what did she say about John?"

"That he's a wild maniac, that he'd never be interested in me, that he was flirting with some other student last year until she moved away, and..." she recalled, listing off the notable points until she got to the most important one and hesitated. "I don't like talking about people when they're not around, not about important stuff that they should say themselves. What she said wasn't fair, it was cruel gossip,"

"Oh," Stuart nodded, immediately understanding, and as the truth dawned on him as to what Jenny had been gossiping about he felt protective of John all over again. "His mum. Losing her... Well, it did change him, it did make him angrier and... he just acts like the whole world is against him and there's no good out there,"

"I get that," she nodded, feeling the ever familiar lump rising in her throat.

She wasn't going to cry, she insisted to herself, but before she could stop herself a few tears spilled out. She was quick to try and hide them, looking up to the ceiling and rubbing her thumbs under her eyes, but Stuart wasn't an idiot and he noticed. Not understanding where her emotions were coming from, he held her arm, squeezing it gently as if to insist she was safe and welcome to talk to him about whatever was upsetting her.

Part of her wanted to, but she didn't know where to begin. How could she tell him that she felt the exact same and she knew exactly how John felt their experiences being so close? It felt like she was about to make it all about her when they were meant to be talking about John, but in truth whenever she thought about what Jenny had told her only days before, she thought about her own pain. At first it had been bitterly nice, knowing someone else knew what the crushing pain felt like, finding silent comfort in the knowledge, but now it had begun to feel cruel. Seeing first hand what the grief had done to John after witnessing his furious outbursts, seeing how warped his temper had become, she was left wondering if that had happened to her too.

She didn't have to wonder long, knowing it had. Maybe not to her newfound friends, but the silence she treated her mother and uncle to, the occasional explosive arguments she had with her mother before moving, the way she had withdrawn completely into herself. She was like John but in reverse. Grief had made him a bomb of bitter resentment and fury just waiting for the ignition to go off, whilst grief had made her into a shell of a person, slowly filling back up but never the same.

She wasn't the same person she had been a few months back, so maybe that was why she flicked back through the book to the barely completed page, handing it to Stuart without looking, knowing that she was about to tell him the truth at last.

"I know how he feels," she began with a small sigh, steadying her voice. "That's not a self-portrait I didn't finish. It's my Dad. We didn't have a camera back in Sheffield, so I wanted to draw him before I forgot what he looked like,"

Stuart frowned for a moment before he quickly realised, trying not to look too shocked or sympathetic in case it upset her. It didn't matter either way because she didn't look at him, staring up at the ceiling.

"Turns out I forgot quicker than I thought, or maybe I'm just not a good enough artist to do him justice, or I dunno it just hurt too much trying to think about him long enough to draw him," she continued. "I can draw fifteen different pictures of Kathy fucking Selden from Singin' in the fucking Rain just from memory but not my own dead Dad, funny how things work,"

"Rob I'm really sorry," he breathed out apologetically, not knowing what to say. "Is that why you moved here?"

"Without Dad's wage we were running behind on rent, so when my Uncle came for the funeral he offered for us to move in," she explained, getting up from the floor and getting her bag that contained her cigarettes. "I didn't get told all that though. Mum told me we were moving the week before we got here. Well, actually, the estate agent that came to inspect the flat told me,"

"Jesus, that's so awful," he sighed, watching as she lit up a cigarette, clearly using it just as something to focus on. "I'm glad you've told me, you know you can talk to me about anything. Whatever's going on with you and John, I do think you're one of my best friends,"

"Same, you're probably one of my first proper friends," she said with a bitter laugh, taking a long drag from the cigarette. "I didn't want to tell anyone about Dad, not cause I don't care but just cause I don't want anyone making a big deal about it. It's my problem to deal with, it doesn't have to be anyone else's. Turns out not telling people much just makes them think I'm a fat slut though, so I guess I can't win,"

If it hadn't have been such a serious moment Stuart would have laughed. He'd noticed how Robin had a way with words that she would just say the dramatic, blunt truth, especially about herself. She didn't bother with hedging, she just got to the root of the implication. It was almost admirable, as if she thought no one's words could hurt her if she said them herself.

"I don't think anyone thinks that about you, honestly Robin," he reassured her. "The rest of the lads think you're great, and as much as Jenny's a bint Helen likes you too, and as much of a prat he is, John really cares about you too,"

If that was the truth, he had a funny way of showing it.

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Word count: 5127

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