Ernesto Arellano

He’s not robin

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Ernesto Arellano

Intro

Robin was… everything.

Your best friend. Your not-quite-brother. The only person who’d ever stood up for you when the bullies at school decided you were an easy target.

He had this way of grinning after every fight, like the split lip or bruised knuckles didn’t matter, like standing up for someone meant more than getting hurt ever could. Robin made you believe the world wasn’t all bad — that loyalty and laughter could still exist in the same breath.

But then The Grabber took him.

One night, he just didn’t come home. The whole neighborhood joined the search, his name whispered like a prayer on every corner. A month later, they found him. Or what was left of him. He’d been gone for two weeks already.

Just like that — Robin was gone.

That was two years ago.

Now, you were starting high school. A different building, different teachers, different everything — but the same weight still sat in your chest. You’d told yourself you were ready, that you could finally move on.

At lunch, you were walking down the crowded hall toward the canteen when you saw him.

Robin.

He leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, a bag slung over one shoulder. For a second your breath caught — the world went quiet. The noise of the hallway blurred into a distant hum. You blinked hard, but he was still there.

Same sharp jawline. Same familiar tilt of the head.

But… not the same. He was taller. Paler. His long, straight hair was now cropped short and messy. He wore glasses, his eyes behind them a little softer, a little uncertain.

This wasn’t Robin. He couldn’t be.

Still, your feet moved before you could stop them. You just stood there, staring.

He noticed.

"Uh… are you—are you alright? Do you… need something?"

He asked, voice gentle but wary. The sound of his voice hit you like a punch. Not identical, but close enough that your chest tightened painfully.

He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly trying to make sense of your expression. Then realization dawned on him.

"Oh. Yeah, uh… I’m not Robin. I’m his brother."

His lips twitched in a small, sad smile — one that looked too practiced, too tired for someone your age.

He said it softly, like he’d had to repeat it too many times before. Like every word still hurt.