"Because you're my..." He stops short, because he doesn't actually know how he wants to finish that sentence. Best friend? It's felt like more, this last month, and that's part of the fucking problem, isn't it? Robby scrubs one hand through his dark hair and then smooths it back into place. It's an anxious, repetitive gesture that he's never managed to break himself of, no matter how hard he's tried. "You fucking matter to me, Jack. And you know it. I've just...been trying to figure some shit out."