Robin was fairly sure he heard the punch’s impact before he felt it, ears ringing with a white noise, more immediately notable than the pain radiating from his jaw. It was because of an earlier punch, the pain in his cheekbone already occupying his mind. Robin’s head snapped to the side and he flinched slightly before driving forward, dropping his shoulder to throw Rolf off balance. He laughed, a little breathlessly, “I guess you did tell me you’d hit me in the jaw.”
The collision sent Rolf staggering backward, throwing his arms wide for balance. But he recovered quickly, dropping back into a fighting stance, balance easily shifting as he rocked on his feet. There was a flash of teeth as he grinned at Robin, his eyes lit up with excitement. “And I do try to keep my promises,” he replied with an easy laugh.
There wasn’t much time to consider strategy: what Robin lacked in bulk, he put into speed. Rolf was convinced he could end this with a few powerful blows, though, and he pulled his fist back as he surged forward, aiming for Robin’s stomach.
Rolf telegraphed a bit too much: Robin spotted it in time to sidestep out of the way of the worst of the blow, knocking over a chair from the table as he moved. Rolf’s fist connected with his side instead and Robin tried to roll with it. He knew Rolf was stronger than he was.
Mind whirling, Robin knew he’d have to fight dirty. He kicked the chair towards Rolf’s legs.
It was a move Rolf didn’t anticipate. He pivoted to avoid a direct impact, but the chair still glanced off his right leg. Pain scored through him, but he quickly shook it off, laughing as he launched forward. He hooked his arm around Robin’s neck, tugging him into a headlock.
A burst of laughter at the unexpected move left him and Robin shouted, “Mind the hair.” He didn’t really care, but he kept half-laughing, trying not to move too much to worsen the headlock. He moved as close to Rolf as possible to ensure he wasn’t going to be pulled and bent about, straightening his back. With one leg, he tried to hook his ankle around Rolf’s. He’d send them both to the ground.
Rolf let out a delighted laugh as they toppled over to the floor, only narrowly avoiding a nearby worktable. The two were a tangle of limbs — he had released his hold on Robin’s neck — until Rolf gained the upper ground. He kept Robin pinned down by the chest, then landed another jab to his jaw.
“Ow, you dick,” Robin said, but he was laughing in between the gasp. Rolf was strong enough to keep him in place and Robin decided against trying to surge up and throw him off balance. Instead, he reached out, grasping for anything and then hit the back of Rolf’s head with a nearby discarded shoe.
Rolf, caught off-guard, let out a hiss of pain as he rolled off of Robin, clutching the back of his head. “You’re not supposed to use weapons,” he pointed out, though there was little heat to his words. There was still a smile on his face as he blinked back tears. “That actually really hurt! I think I’m seeing stars?”
Then, without warning, Rolf took advantage of the opening and drove his knee into Robin’s ribs.
It hurt. It hurt with a crunch, a stabbing pain as he lost breath. Robin let out a noise and rolled away from Rolf, moaning slightly. He moved like he was curling in on himself. “Oh, Merlin,” he moaned, moving one arm slightly, as if to wrap around his ribs.
Rolf’s laughter immediately died out, his expression quickly changing to one of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, sitting up and tentatively reaching out to touch Robin’s arm. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to seriously hurt you.”
There was a part of him that, perhaps, would have felt guilty if he allowed such thoughts in. He didn’t, not now, because he’d told Rolf that he was going to win and so he was. The moment Rolf touched his arm, Robin turned, aiming his fist hard at Rolf’s face. The knee to his ribs had hurt but it hadn’t hurt that much.
After the punch connected, Robin was on his feet, surging up to his full height with quick, cursebreaker reflexes. He was grinning and panting slightly as he stood over Rolf, face flushed, lifting his foot and holding it, poised, over a particularly delicate part of the other boy’s anatomy. “You can say I won now or I can step on your crotch and then you can say I won.”
It took a moment for Robin’s words to sink in — it took another moment for Rolf to notice Robin’s foot hovering above him. He was too focused on the searing pain pulsating from his eye, wincing as he gingerly touched the bruised skin. There was no way this wouldn’t result in a black eye. His head thumped back against the floor, and he sighed as he covered his injured eye with one of his hands.
“Francine told me you were going to cheat but I didn’t listen,” he said finally, his irritation obvious. His breath was starting to come back to him, lungs slowly filling with air, his heartbeat evening. Then, dully: “You win.”
Robin, who was an ostentatious winner, barely registered the tone of Rolf’s voice. Instead, he lifted his arms above his head in triumph, tilting his head towards the ceiling and declaring, loud and with jubilance, “I won! I won! I won!” He jumped up and down a few times, light on his toes, shirt going up as he stretched as high as he could, jumping in a circle. It was a childish display. He didn’t care.
Laughing, he turned towards Rolf again and stuck his hand out. “Good fight, man. Come on, I’ve got some stuff to slather all over you. We’re gonna have massive bruises.”
“I would win in a fair fight,” Rolf replied as he gripped Robin’s hand, pulling himself up to his feet with a groan of pain. His irritation at how their fight had played out was already waning, though. Rolf was not the sort of person who remained annoyed or angry with another person for very long — which could actually be quite irritating in its own way. He brushed the dust from his shirt and straightened, looking at Robin with weary amusement.
“I know I’m going to have a black eye.” There was a beat as a thoughtful expression flickered over his face. “Maybe I can say a kappa gave it to me.”
“Hey,” Robin said, frowning. “Why can’t I have gave it to you? Why’s the kappa stealing my thunder?”
“Because I can’t have lost to someone whose arms look like spaghetti noodles?” Rolf suggested with a small smile.
Robin pulled a face, taking a step back and heading towards the kitchen. The flat was airy, open-space, so he Rolf would still see him as he said, “That’s rude. I work out, kinda. I’ve got guns.” He lifted an arm, as if to show it off and flex, but he didn’t have it in him. “Besides, my noodle arms gave you a shiner.”
He opened one of the cupboard doors, taking down a box which he kept the majority of his healing supplies in: pastes, creams, potions, everything he could think of that he might need. Robin never knew what curses Richenza would decide to put on items around his home. He knew what he was looking for as he dug in the box, turning to face Rolf and throwing a small tub at him.
“Now you can’t say I didn’t do anything for you, after.”
Rolf cast a skeptical glance down at the salve in his head. He wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a trick as well. Everything was a risk with Robin: a salve could make leaves sprout from your ears, or turn your skin magenta. His gaze snapped up to Robin, considering, before he twisted off the top to the tub. It would probably help with his bruises. And if it didn’t, well, it wouldn’t be the first time he had colorful skin.
He gingerly rubbed some of the balm beneath his left eye, wincing as he did so. “Hey, you can’t say I don’t do anything for you. I did offer to help bother your neighbors,” he pointed out.
Robin hadn’t missed the scepticism on Rolf’s face as he regarded the tub. It made him smile as he slipped the box back into the cupboard, pleased with himself. It was always best to keep people on their toes. “You did,” he said, “and I think they’re probably well bothered now. I’ll probably get a ‘loud night, eh?’ from Yvonne later. I can’t wait.”
The expression on Robin’s face was actually giddy as he swiped some of the salve onto his face. His fingers were tender as he brushed over his jaw and he cracked it, wincing slightly. “Do you punch your animals like that?”
“Beasts,” Rolf corrected. The salve had a strong smell to it, and Rolf made a terrible face as he kneaded some into his cheek. But something like a smile flashed across his bruised face as he continued, “And no, I don’t punch them at all. That seems like a great way to my head torn out. Or my intestines ripped out. Or—well, you get the picture, I suppose.”
Robin frowned, wrinkling his nose. “I guess you don’t want that to happen.” He peered at Rolf with mild curiosity. “Do you wrestle with them? Is there a strict gym regiment? I must know for later, when I tell this story and really big myself up.”
“Actually, I mostly use magic!” Rolf replied animatedly, always happy to talk about his work. Lifting up his shirt, he smeared some salve on a tender spot on his stomach, wincing again. “Being physically aggressive with a creature typically isn’t a good idea. In addition to spells, you want to treat them with dignity and talk to them respectfully. That matters a great deal.”
“Hmmm.” Robin frowned. He dabbed a little extra salve along his jaw. “I’m going to say there’s a strict gym requirement.” He grinned, fingers pressing into the already forming bruise, and then he turned, grabbing for a glass and filling it with water.
“I didn’t know you knew how to talk to people with respect.” It was better to have moved so Rolf couldn’t see his face. That way, Robin could sound more serious and the light in his eyes didn’t give him away.
Rolf’s curiosity nudged at him like a tide, an irresistible pull even though he was half-convinced Robin was just teasing him. “What do you mean?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t seem respectful to you?”
Robin flattened his mouth and turned back to Rolf, mimicking his expression by raising an eyebrow. “I’ve not really felt the waves of respect rolling my way.”
“What?” For a moment, Rolf looked surprised, then he only looked slightly confused. He tossed the tub back to Robin as he said, “I think I treat all my friends with respect. I’m a good listener, I try not to judge people for their Death Eater fathers or selling cursed artefacts to Death Eaters…”
Catching the tub, Robin held it in one hand, frowning. “Oh, so you gotta try not to judge me? Is it hard?”
Rolf lowered his eyes for a brief moment, then glanced back up at Robin, his expression contrite. “I mean, I don’t judge.”
“Sure, man.” Robin opened the cupboard again, chucking the tub of salve into the box. It hit the back of the cupboard and fell in. He shrugged. “It wouldn’t bother me, anyway. I know I’m great.” He was grinning as he looked back at Rolf.
“I was only pulling your leg earlier anyway. You’re a respectful kiss ass. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not a kiss ass,” Rolf replied, but his faint smile betrayed the mock offense. He looked around Rolf’s flat, taking in the minutiae of the open space as if he was seeing it for the first time. “Thank you for the cream, but I have to say, it smells dreadful. Like dragon dung.”
“You’d know, with how often you were sniffing it,” Robin said, grabbing another glass. He filled it and brought it over to Rolf, moving around him to sit on one of the seats around the dining table/workbench. “Speaking of things that could smell like dung,” Robin trailed off, widening his eyes, looking innocent and trustworthy. “Remember when you cruelly wouldn’t tell me about the professor you had a crush on? That’s the price of that salve. You gotta tell me now.”
Color rose in Rolf’s face as he choked on a sip of water, spluttering and coughing for at least half a minute. He swallowed and said, hushed, as if he were repeating a hideous curse: “Gilderoy Lockhart.”
Robin stared at Rolf for a long moment and then wrinkled his nose, his mouth twisting into a half-grimace. “Are you serious?”
“I thought his books were so cool,” Rolf admitted, his flush deepening. “I was obsessed with the Travel Trilogy as a kid. You know, Holiday with Hags, Voyages with Vampires, and Wandering with Werewolves.”
“Merlin,” Robin muttered, before taking a drink. His ribs hurt and he ran a hand over them, shaking his head. “This is awful. I wish I’d known this at school. It would have been so much better then.” He looked down into his glass, mouth slightly pursed, silent for a moment before something struck him. “You didn’t get into creatures because of him, did you?”
Rolf looked appalled. “My grandfather is Newt Scamander.”
Robin’s smile was as sharp as a knife. “Who?”
Grumbling into his glass, Rolf gave Robin a withering look. “This is why I’m telling everyone my black eye came from a kappa.”