“Can I ask you something?”

Lance looks up abruptly. He hadn’t realized Robbie was watching him, and now that he does, his hands slow, lingering on the roundness of the calf’s little ankles, the absurdly tiny points of her cloven hooves. “Yes,” he says without thinking, and then immediately wishes he hadn’t, considering all of the things Robbie could ask that Lance really, really wouldn’t want to answer.

For a split second, Robbie looks unsure, like he’s changed his mind and isn’t going to ask. Then, he seems to steel himself, and Lance’s dread triples at whatever he’s about to say.

“Did you go to school?”

For a moment, Lance just stares. Then, the breaking tension rushes through him and carries with it the urge to laugh. He manages to smile instead. “You mean, college?”

Robbie nods.

“Yeah. I did it in three years, to save money. I had some scholarships, but there were still so many expenses. And my aunt said she didn’t mind paying, but I didn’t want her to—well, I didn’t want her to have to worry about it.” He shrugs uneasily. I didn’t want to be a burden, he doesn’t say. He had been a burden on his aunt, but he’s come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t something he could help at the time. Now, Lance tries not to bother her if he can help it. He already derailed her life for two years when he abruptly showed up at her doorstep at sixteen, practically a runaway.

“What did you major in?”

These questions seem strange, until Lance is revisited by a series of vibrant memories. Robbie overseeing his brothers’ homework at the dining room table in the farmhouse, asking detailed questions about school projects and follow-ups to the answers; Robbie doing half of their required reading along with them; Robbie snagging Danny’s textbooks when he finished studying for an evening and reading from them like other people read pulp fiction.

Robbie had loved school, and he probably would have loved college, too. Lance already knows that Robbie never went. His dad died his senior year of high school, and he stepped in to take care of his brothers and the ranch. Lance has always known the bare bones of that part of Chase history, but as a kid, he hadn’t dwelled on how hard that would have been for Robbie. How young eighteen really was.

“I majored in film studies, and also in photography.” He’s braced for comments on the impracticality, but instead of disapproving, Robbie looks both impressed and mystified, like Lance has just told him he has a PhD from MIT or something.

“Two degrees?”

Lance nods shyly.

“So, you take photographs?”

“Well.” Lance pulls his knees tighter against his chest. “Yeah, but I haven’t sold much yet. For work, I wound up on the other side of the lens…you know.” He shrugs uncomfortably. Talking about modeling always makes him feel vaguely itchy, especially since what happened with Niall.

“‘The other side of the lens’?” Robbie echoes, making it a question.