But when he glances up, Lance is smiling back, with his whole heart out, too.

Robbie forgets all of the internal speeches he’s given himself over the past twelve hours and loses himself for a while in the bright warmth of that smile.

“You remembered,” Lance says happily, breaking eye contact first so he can drag the plate closer and snag a slice. His enormous bite consumes about half of the first piece, so Robbie, smiling to himself, turns to reload the toaster.

“Yeah,” he says so quietly that it’s possible Lance can’t hear over his enthusiastic chewing. “I remember everything.”

He knows he should press Lance a little more. Ask the questions that have gotten even harder to ignore since yesterday. But, he doesn’t want to disrupt this moment, or that smile. So, he lets the peaceful, companionable quiet fall and spreads a careful layer of cinnamon and sugar over the second serving of toast after it pops out. When he scoots it in front of Lance, Robbie sees that, over Lance’s shoulder and through the big window by the sleeping area, the snow is falling again.

An hour later, Robbie is pulling on his coveralls and boots when he catches Lance watching him wistfully. He’s confused for a moment, but then he understands. It’s like the cinnamon toast all over again, convincing him one step at a time that there isn’t that much difference between this new Lance and his old Lance—not as much as there appeared to be yesterday, anyway.

“I’ve got a few spare coveralls and coats. And there’s a new pair of boots Johnny didn’t get around to wearing.” He nods toward a storage chest on the other side of the door; there are two plastic tubs set on top of it, both full of stuff he hasn’t gotten around to unpacking yet. He hasn’t needed any winter clothes except his own, and judging by how long Johnny’s been gone, maybe he won’t be unpacking them at all.

Lance perks up. “Yeah? It might be nice to go for a walk. Maybe out to the wooden bridge. If that’s okay?”

Robbie smiles reassuringly. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t okay.” He hesitates with his arms halfway into his coat and catches Lance’s eye again, more seriously. “Anything you need around here, it’s yours. Anywhere you want to be, go there. That hasn’t changed, okay?”

Lance hesitates for a moment, then nods slowly.

When Robbie gets out the door, he feels both eager and loath to leave the warm bubble in the hayloft. Even after just one night, the place is permeated with Lance. Robbie doesn’t know how to describe the change, exactly, except that the whole space feels warm, in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.

These thoughts lead Robbie into a cycle of waxing poetic and then berating himself for being an idiot at best and a predator at worst, which leads in turn to a lot of muttering, even though Megan has told him that the more he talks to himself, the more she worries about the side effects of social isolation.