Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dennis felt an overwhelming exhaustion, not merely from the physical demands but from the sense of being relegated to an errand boy on his very first day. People barely spared him a second glance before assigning tasks or handing over burdensome items. He had spent his life toiling, his calloused hands a testament to his hard work.

Yet, having to navigate a shooting incident on his first day in the ER was far from what he anticipated. He found himself daunted by the staff at the Hospital, whether it was Santos with her absurd nickname or Langdon, whose expressive eyebrows seemed to pass judgment on everything around him.

However, it was Dr. Robinavitch, who preferred being called Robby, who intimidated him the most. It wasn't just his imposing stature and broad shoulders that contributed to this impression. Even his gaze, which to Dennis appeared laden with kindness despite the day's challenges, added to the unease.

Dealing with a stepson caught in a crossfire, unable to save his stepson's girlfriend, all while the Medical Director hovered over him, and apparently on the anniversary of losing his mentor, against this backdrop, Dennis felt he had little reason to complain. 

His mother's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to count his blessings and remember that while he might be having a bad day, someone else likely faced worse.

And the proof of that was exactly where he was headed: the temporary morgue, the place reserved for those who hadn’t made it. The ones they couldn’t save, despite every frantic effort.

So if someone needed him to fetch a blanket to help a patient feel even a little comfort after a traumatic event, he’d do it. 

No complaints.

He was helping someone, and deep down, that meant something to him. It gave him purpose. A sense of belonging that didn’t depend on credentials or spotless shoes. That was something he clung to.

He made his way toward the pediatrics room, assuming it would be another simple errand, grab a blanket, move on. But the moment he opened the door, something shifted. The sterile room wasn’t empty. 

It wasn’t the blankets or even the covered bodies that caught his eye first.

It was Dr. Robby, crumpled on the cold floor.

His body trembled, one hand pressed tightly to his chest while the other strained to keep him upright. His eyes were wide, unfocused, and tears streamed freely down his face as he muttered something Dennis couldn’t understand, words tangled in grief and panic.

“Uh… Dr. Robby?” Dennis said softly, unsure if he should approach.

Dr. Robby took a ragged breath. With the hand not gripping his chest, he waved Dennis off in a weak, almost dismissive motion.

“Leave…” he whispered, the word brittle and nearly broken, his voice strained like glass stretched too thin.

The  student nodded at once, heart racing. He grabbed the nearest blanket and turned to leave. His movements were automatic, he didn’t want to make anything worse. But just as he reached the threshold, something in him caught. He froze, one foot in the hallway, the other still in the room.

He’d seen that look before. 

He had lived it.

The memories hit without warning. That crushing weight in his chest, the breath that wouldn’t come, the overwhelming panic of feeling like a prisoner in his own body. He had been there, curled up on the floor, silent and ashamed, hoping someone would see, would understand. And the only thing that ever brought him back were those moments when someone from his family had stayed.

His brothers, especially.

He was the youngest of three. The one they teased, sure, the punchline, the tag-along. But he was also the one they never let fall.

They would sit beside him, even when they had no idea what to say. They didn’t need to. Their presence alone had been enough, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t drowning alone.

Part of the reason his parents, and especially his oldest brother, had been so reluctant to let him move to the city wasn’t fear of the city itself. It was the fear of moments like this. The idea of him being alone when the walls closed in. Alone with no one there to hold him, to ground him with a hug or a steady hand, to remind him he wasn’t dying even when every panicked breath screamed otherwise.

The last time he had a panic attack, he had gone through it completely alone. No comforting voice. No familiar arms pulling him back from the edge. Just silence and the overwhelming certainty that he wouldn’t survive it. The scar it left wasn’t visible, but it was deep, a permanent reminder of what isolation could do.

He had promised himself after that: if he could ever help it, no one would have to go through that kind of loneliness on his watch.

So with a quiet determination he hadn't even realized he possessed, Dennis stepped fully back into the room. He gently pulled the curtain closed behind him, shielding them from curious eyes and bustling footsteps. He turned and lowered himself down onto the cold, sterile floor beside Dr. Robby.

"Dr. Robby, you need to breathe," Dennis said softly, forcing calm into his voice even though adrenaline burned in his veins.

"Leave!" the man rasped out suddenly. His hand shot out, shoving the young man, not violently, but with enough force to knock him off balance, sending him sprawling onto his back.

Dennis blinked up at the ceiling for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, stubbornly, he sat up again.

He wasn’t leaving.

He remembered that same frantic energy. Pushing people away because it felt safer, because letting someone see you like that made the fear too real. But he knew now, being alone only fed the panic; gave it more room to grow.

"No," he said firmly, his voice firm as he crawled closer again. "You're not alone. Breathe with me. Come on … deep breaths."

Robby’s eyes squeezed shut, his face twisted in anguish. His lips moved rapidly in a whisper too soft for Dennis to catch, but the cadence felt like a prayer. It was only then that Dennis noticed, Dr. Robby wasn’t just clutching his chest; his hand was wrapped tightly around something tucked under his coat.

A gold Star of David.

It glinted against the dark blue of his uniform, a flash of vulnerable humanity.

"It hurts…" Robby gasped, the words raw, broken, barely escaping him.

For a split second, Dennis felt the old panic nipping at the edges of his own mind. He squeezed his fists against the floor, grounding himself.

Get it together.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice into a soothing rhythm the same kind that had once pulled him back from the brink.

"Focus on my voice," Dennis said, careful and slow. "In and out. You’re strong. You’re not alone."

He wasn’t sure if the words would be enough. But they were the only things he had to offer, and sometimes, just sometimes, that was all someone needed to start finding their way back.

Robby's breathing grew more erratic, his eyes losing focus entirely. It was like he was trapped somewhere deep inside himself. Dennis squeezed his hand tighter, whispered reassurances over and over, but it was like shouting into a storm. 

The curtain fluttered slightly from movement outside. Muffled voices, hurried footsteps, the world kept turning, oblivious to the quiet disaster unfolding behind thin fabric.

Overwhelmed by the noise, the helplessness clawing at his chest, Dennis did something reckless.

Something desperate.

Without thinking, without even fully realizing what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Robby's

It was clumsy. Barely more than a brush. Warm and salty from tears. A quiet, desperate plea to break through the fog, to anchor Robby back to the here and now.

For a second, it worked. Robby inhaled sharply, a real breath tearing through the panic.

But the fragile moment shattered almost instantly.

Robby's hand pushed him back, gently but firmly. His eyes, now sharply focused, stared at his student in pure shock.

“What did you...?” Robby's voice cracked, hoarse and confused, colored by something dangerously close to anger.

“They’re... they’re looking for you,” the young one blurted, voice small and trembling. His face burned with shame. Without meeting Robby's gaze, he grabbed the blanket and stumbled to his feet, heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else.

Without another word, he rushed out, walking fast, too fast, through the bustling ER. He moved so quickly that he almost collided with Santos, who caught him by the shoulders to steady him.

She was saying something, but Dennis couldn’t hear a word. His ears were buzzing, blood roaring like a waterfall in his head.

Santos snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Huckleberry? Hey, did you see a ghost or what?” she chuckled, tossing a few blankets toward a couple of waiting patients without missing a beat.

“Uh... I’m... I’m going to check on a patient,” Dennis mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, he turned and fled to the other side of the ER, weaving through the crowd with no real destination in mind.

His shift, mercifully, was almost over. He just needed to stay invisible until then. Avoid Dr. Robby. Pretend nothing had happened. Sleep it off. Maybe, with luck, by morning it would all feel like some bizarre, fevered dream.

But now, lying stiffly in the unfamiliar bed in the spare room of Santos’s apartment, Dennis knew he was lying to himself.

There was no way to undo it. No way to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line he didn’t even know existed until it was too late.

And worse than the shame, worse than the panic, was the gnawing realization: He had no freaking idea how he was supposed to face his attending tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Trinity had been trying to finish her charting for the past twenty minutes, but Whitaker was making it impossible to concentrate.

Across the room, hunched over a workstation, he looked like a live wire about to snap. His fingers jittered across the keyboard in frantic bursts, pausing every few seconds, scanning the ER like someone expecting an ambush. Again. And again.

She watched in growing disbelief as he repeated the movement, his neck craning to the left, then the right, his posture stiff and wary. Honestly, if he turned one more time like that, she was going to douse him in holy water. Just on principle.

Who the hell was he hiding from?

She exhaled loudly through her nose, clicked her tablet off with a final tap, and stood. Her notes could wait. Whatever was crawling up Dennis’s spine clearly needed to be addressed before she lost her mind.

She crossed the room, steps casual but deliberate, and without asking permission, slung an arm over his tense shoulders. His whole body jolted like someone had just hit a nerve.

“Okay,” she said, leaning in with a crooked grin, “who are we avoiding, soldier?”

Dennis flinched, immediately shrugging her off with a bit more force than necessary. “No one,” he said quickly, too quickly. “I’m just... being aware of my surroundings.”

Trinity raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Uh-huh. Right Because the ER is a war zone and you’re dodging sniper fire from the radiology department?”

He didn’t answer. He just returned to the keyboard, his fingers hitting the keys a little too hard. But he didn’t turn around this time. His ears, however, turned red.

She tilted her head and took a step closer, her voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “Are you hiding from someone?”

His hands froze over the keyboard.

He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The sudden blush climbing from his neck to the tips of his ears gave her all the confirmation she needed.

“Oh-ho,” she said softly, drawing out the syllable like a secret unspooling. “You are. You totally are.”

“I’m not,” he mumbled, finally typing again, though his fingers now fumbled over the letters.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk beside him, watching with amusement as he did everything in his power not to make eye contact. 

But before Trinity could needle Dennis further, Dana’s voice cut across the room with the clarity of a warning bell.

“Two incoming traumas... car accident. Multiple injuries, ETA two minutes!”

The air in the ER shifted instantly, like someone had sucked the warmth out of it. Monitors beeped louder and feet shuffled.

Trinity straightened and glanced toward the entrance just as Dr. Robby appeared from what felt like thin air. One second, he wasn’t there, the next, he was striding in with that calm, unreadable face, stethoscope already around his neck. But she wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Next to her, Dennis visibly stiffened.

His shoulders locked up, and his hands, still hovering over the keyboard, curled slightly, like he was bracing for impact. Trinity didn’t say a word. She just noted.

Robby’s voice cut through the room, as he began pairing residents with students.

“Dr. King, you’re with Santos. Mohan, take Javadi.”

As he scanned the room for the remaining options, Trinity realized both Langdon and Collins were absent.

That left only McKay and Robby himself.

She saw the realization dawn on Dennis at the same moment. His jaw twitched.

Robby opened his mouth to make the final pairing, but before he could speak, Gloria swooped in from the side, tablet in hand, urgency radiating off her.

“Dr. Robinavitch, I need you for just a few minutes. Admin-level urgent,” she said.

“I can’t right now,” Robby replied, tone clipped but not unkind, already turning slightly as the trauma doors slid open.

“I’m sure your team can handle things without you for five minutes,” Gloria pressed, undeterred. “Just five, Doctor. Please.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Robby’s face, a breath’s worth of indecision, before he finally gave a short nod.

Trinity had to admit, Gloria’s timing was divine.

The trauma doors opened with a gust of controlled chaos: paramedics wheeling in two gurneys, shouting vitals, the thick smell of blood and antiseptic trailing behind them.

“Whitaker, you’re with McKay!” Robby barked, just before following Gloria down the hallway.

Dennis barely had time to react before McKay appeared beside him, already snapping on gloves.

But he looked relieved.

Huh.

“Let’s go, kid,” McKay said, bumping Dennis lightly with his shoulder. “We’ve got work to do.”

Dennis gave a stiff nod and turned to follow, grateful for the distraction. But just as he reached the gurney, he felt it, like a hook lodged between his shoulder blades.

That unbearable sensation of being watched.

He didn’t need to look back.

He knew.

Even with the crowd, the voices, the flashing lights, he could feel Robby’s gaze cutting through the noise like a scalpel.

Dr. Robby nodded along, barely hearing a word Gloria was saying.

She stood beside him, tablet clutched like a weapon, rattling off complaints from the admin wing, scheduling conflicts, paperwork delays, issues with the transport staff, something about misfiled inventory requests. He nodded at the right times, signed when prompted, and gave short, automatic responses, his gaze drifting now and then toward the trauma room doors he’d just left.

But even when Gloria finally dismissed him, her voice trailing off with a “Thank you, Doctor,” he didn’t feel relief, just a kind of heavy quiet, like a blanket soaked in ice water.

The shift had felt like a marathon through fire: nonstop pressure, layered chaos, and the same faces reappearing in every crisis: Dana’s  judgment, Heather’s emotional grenade of a confession, Langdon’s absence like a pulled support beam, and McKay’s name now tied to an arrest report no one had seen coming.

And through it all… Whitaker.

The night before, Robby had gotten home just past midnight. The streets were empty, washed pale by the city’s tired lights. His apartment felt too still, too clean. He dropped his keys on the counter, kicked off his shoes, and went straight to the shower.

The water was hot.

He scrubbed hard: arms, hands, chest, neck. As if it were possible to wash off the weight of the entire day. The sharp scent of mint shampoo stung his nose, mixing with the salt of silent tears he couldn’t seem to stop.

He didn’t cry often. But tonight, he couldn’t stay upright.

He slid down the tiled wall, sat in the floor with the water still running, and covered his face with his hands. His chest hurt in that hollow way that didn’t quite feel physical, but endless.

Eventually, when the water began to cool and his fingers were pruned and shaking, he stood and wrapped himself in a towel like someone dressing a wound.

Then he called Janey.

He just wanted to make sure Jake was okay,  at least physically.

She was kind enough to lift a weight off his shoulders. Told him to sleep. Said Jake had asked about him, and that everything else could wait until tomorrow.

He thanked her, asked her to keep him updated, and hung up.

And then, finally, the bed.

He expected his thoughts to spiral, to loop endlessly over the wreckage of the day. Heather’s sudden confession still rang in his ears. Dana’s aggression, Frank’s addiction coming out, McKay, Gloria, Abbot. The patients they’d lost—the ones he couldn’t bring himself to look in the eye as the monitors flatlined.

But when he lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling with damp hair soaking into the pillow, it wasn’t any of that filling his mind.

It was Dennis Whitaker.

The resident he’d almost dismissed on sight.

At first, Dennis hadn’t stood out. He hadn’t challenged Santos in the trauma room nor was he like Javadi, already in the spotlight thanks to her mom. He didn’t command space the way McKay did or speak with Mohan’s clinical precision.

Robby had assumed he’d fade into the background, one of those students who passed through the ER like a shadow: quiet, competent  and forgettable.

But he hadn’t been forgettable.

Not that day.

Not since the moment in that curtained room, with the weight of grief pressing down like a vice, and Dennis hadn’t run.

He had stayed. Reached for him. Stabilized him.

And then, God help him, kissed him.

Robby turned over in bed, jaw clenched.

It had been a moment. A flicker of something reckless born from panic not intent.

But the memory lingered, awkward and impossibly human.

He shut his eyes, and for the first time in days, sleep didn’t feel unreachable.

Even as his body surrendered to exhaustion, his thoughts curled around a single, inescapable truth:

Dennis Whitaker was not going to fade into the background.

Not anymore.

The kiss hadn’t meant anything.

At least, that’s what Robby kept telling himself.

He’d replayed it a few times in the haze of near-sleep, and into work the following day, but not the way people replay something they want to remember. More like a mental itch he couldn’t reach.

He couldn’t remember the taste. Couldn’t say if Dennis’s lips were warm or chapped. Couldn’t even be sure if it had lasted more than a second. His eyes had been too full of tears, his mind spiraling too fast, his body caught in that raw, helpless place between panic and grief.

But he remembered the sensation.

It had hit him like the time he was eight, visiting his cousin Trevor’s lake house. They’d dared each other to jump off the dock into the deep end. Robby hadn’t known how to swim, hadn’t said so, but he jumped anyway.

He hit the water, and it wasn’t just the cold that shocked him. It was the feeling of being pulled under, like the earth and water had joined hands to drag him down. He kicked, clawed, swallowed air that wasn’t there. He thought that was it, thought he’d die like that, nameless in the murk.

Until Trevor pulled him out.

That’s what it felt like now. Not the kiss itself, but what followed. That first gasp. That terrible, beautiful rush of oxygen. The sun on his face. His lungs clawing at the air like they hadn’t known they needed it.

That’s what Dennis had been, a hand yanking him back up.

A hand that had crossed a line.

A line Robby hadn’t even known was there until it was behind him.

He was pulled out of the thought by the sound of footsteps and Mateo’s voice cutting through the corridor.

“Dr. Robby... Dr. King needs help with a bleeder in South 14.”

Robby blinked, straightened, and nodded once. “On my way.”

He pushed the thoughts down like a lid on boiling water. There were more important things to focus on. 

He couldn’t afford to waste energy on something as meaningless as that kiss.

Especially not when he wasn’t even, well, whatever Dennis was.

He wasn’t gay. Or bi. Or curious. Or anything else people might assume.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it interfere with his work.

Robby rolled his shoulders back, cleared his throat, and walked toward Bay Three with purposeful strides.

Whatever had happened, it stayed in that room, buried like a secret at the bottom of a lake.

Chapter Text

A week into their new living arrangement, the rhythm had already settled in: Whitaker cooked; Santos mocked. It worked.

They walked into the ER together that morning like they had the shift on a leash, Whitaker weaving through the sea of people that always seemed to crowd the waiting room, motioning to Ahmad to open the door.

Santos yawned dramatically and smirked at Dennis. “If I’d known getting a warm breakfast every morning came with adopting a farm boy,” she said “I would’ve looked for one back in college.”

Dennis didn’t miss a beat. “And here I thought this was a work-trade agreement based on mutual survival and my superior waffle technique.”

Santos snorted. “Please. You’re my Anne of Green Gables. All broody and poetic, scrubbing the sink like it insulted your ancestors.”

He didn’t answer right away, just rolled his eyes. He knew better than to take her sarcasm personally. Santos’s affection came with claws and teeth, but it was real.

Whitaker spoke “At least Anne got a scholarship and a dramatic best friend. I’ve just got you and a temperamental washer.”

Santos laughed, loud and unfiltered. “God, you really are getting too comfortable.”

They pushed past a cluster of nurses, and she bumped his shoulder with hers. “Maybe you’re not such a dope after all. Who knows... maybe you’ll find your own Gilbert someday.”

Dennis froze, for just a breath. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the ease of them, the casual slide of implication beneath the joke.

A flush crept up his neck, stubborn and immediate.

Santos saw it and grinned, teeth and all. “Oh my God. You’re blushing… Easy, Huckleberry. Your secret’s safe.”

“I’m just... please…”

Santos sobered. “Hey, I’m not an asshole. I’d never out someone, least of all a fri—”

He smiled. “You were going to say ‘friend’?”

“No, I was going to say the one who prepares my food.” She smiled.

That earned him a real laugh “Right,” he said, though his voice was a little stiff from the previous comment.

“Relax,” Santos muttered as they pushed through the door into the locker room. “You look like you’re about to walk into a parole hearing.”

Dennis didn’t get the chance to reply. The room wasn’t empty.

Dr. Robby stood near the far end, back to them, rifling through his locker. The overhead lights cast sharp shadows along the angles of his face as he zipped up a duffel bag. He looked up just as they entered, and Santos, lifted a hand in greeting.

“Morning, Dr. Robby.”

He gave a polite nod in return, mouth twitching at the corners like a smile had thought about forming, and then changed its mind.

Dennis, meanwhile, headed straight for his locker without a word. His hands fumbled slightly with the combination.

Santos watched the awkward avoidance with an expression halfway between amusement and exasperation. She tossed her gym bag onto the bench and pulled her scrub top from her locker, glancing from Dennis to Robby and back again.

“Okay,” she said, dragging out the syllables. “I know some people find the whole blushing, doe-eyed routine adorable...” she elbowed Dennis lightly as he stiffened, “...but if you keep acting like a nervous squirrel every time you walk into a room, you’re never gonna get anywhere.”

Dennis choked slightly, his hands freezing on his scrubs. “I’m not...”

Santos cut him off with a raised hand. “Please. Don’t embarrass us both.”

Then she turned, zeroing in on Robby like a missile. “Dr. Robby, professional opinion, shouldn’t Whitaker be more confident?”

Dennis stiffened further, now fully regretting every decision that had led him into this locker room.

Robby had already closed his locker and was adjusting his stethoscope around his neck. He paused, clearly caught off-guard, but not displeased. His gaze flicked to Dennis, then back to Santos.

He considered the question like it was a clinical case.

“Well,” he said slowly, “confidence helps.” Then, almost too casually: “But I’d say Whitaker’s doing just fine the way he is.” He gave a brief smile.

Dennis didn’t dare look up, but his ears burned hot. Robby opened his mouth as if to say more, then thought better of it. He gave them both a polite nod and left without another word.

The silence hung behind him like a curtain being drawn.

Santos turned slowly, one brow arched in theatrical suspicion. She looked toward the door Robby had just exited, then back to Dennis, who had resumed pretending his locker was infinitely fascinating.

She leaned in, voice low. “Weird,” she murmured.

Dennis didn’t respond. He just closed his locker, mouth dry, cleared his throat, and focused very intently on tying the perfect double knot on his shoes.

But his hands were shaking just a little. And Santos, didn’t say another word. 

Dr. Robby stood near the main board, eyes flicking over the patient list as Abbot ran through the discharges in his usual efficient murmur.

“Beds 12 and 14 are cleared pending paperwork. Couple in 9 is waiting on a consult from Gastro, sent the page twice. The guy in 6 needs dialysis before we can send him anywhere. I flagged Nephro, but they’re running behind.”

Robby nodded, half-focused, his hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. The rhythm was familiar. Controlled chaos. Manageable,.for now.

“Copy,” Robby muttered, eyes scanning the notes. “Keep pressure on Gastro. If they haven’t called back in fifteen...”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His gaze had flicked to the far entrance, drawn by the sound of steady footsteps that somehow cut through the ambient noise.

Dana.

She walked in like she’d never left, hair tied up, sleeves rolled to the elbows, clipboard already tucked under one arm. Nothing dramatic, no fanfare. But the shift in the ER was immediate, like someone had opened a window in a suffocating room.

Robby straightened slightly. Abbot paused mid-word and cracked a wide smile.

“Well, hell,” Abbot said, grinning. “Look who’s back from the land of PTO and poor timing.

Dana raised an eyebrow. “You saying you missed me, Abbot?”

“Missed you?” He stepped forward and wrapped her in a quick, genuine hug. “Without you, this place was two Code Blues and a faked appendicitis from becoming a war zone.”

Dana laughed into his shoulder. “Sounds right.”

He clapped Robby on the back as he passed. “She’s your problem again, brother.”

Robby exhaled, his usual composure relaxing into something like relief. “You staying?”

Dana shrugged, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Someone was brave enough to show up at my house just to say you wouldn’t survive another day without me.”

Robby blinked, suspicious. “Seriously?”

She nodded, lowering her voice. “Frank.”

That name landed like a small bomb in Robby’s chest. He took a deep breath, already bracing himself for something heavier.

But before he could ask, Dana gently raised a hand.

“Before you say anything,” she said, tone soft but deliberate, “he came to see me the day before he checked into rehab.”

Robby’s eyebrows lifted in quiet surprise.

Dana reached into her bag and pulled out a folded envelope, and held it out.

“He left this for you.”

Robby hesitated, then took it slowly, the weight of the paper strangely sharp in his palm. He turned it over once, twice, thumb brushing the edge of his name in Frank’s handwriting.

Dana watched him for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then she murmured, “He said you’d want to throw it out. But that maybe… you shouldn’t.”

Robby didn’t answer. He just looked down at the letter.

He was quiet for a long moment, the letter still unopened in his hand, and Dana didn’t push.

The ER buzzed around them.

Finally, he nodded, eyes still on the letter.

“I’ll read it later,” he said. “Even if it’s just to humor you.”

Dana gave a small huff of laughter, the kind that said she knew him too well. “You better,” she said, and reached out to squeeze his arm. Robby gave her a faint smile.

Before either of them could say more, the controlled chaos of the ER swept in, Mateo and McKay appearing from the far hallway, both zeroing in on Dana like heat-seeking missiles.

“Look who finally crawled out of retirement,” McKay announced, spreading her arms.

Mateo grinned. “I was starting to think you faked your own death just to escape this circus.”

Dana rolled her eyes, laughing as the two enveloped her in quick, tight hugs. “Please. Like I’d leave you to mess up this more."

“We missed you,” McKay said, voice quieter now.

“Missed you too, troublemakers,” Dana said, warmth in her voice. “Even if you make my day harder.”

Soon, more of the staff joined in, nurses clapping Dana on the shoulder. She returned every hug, every grin. The nurse paused longer with Collins, wrapping her in something quieter, more intimate. They exchanged no words,just a shared look and a nod, as though sealing a silent pact.

Then, her eyes swept the room, and lit up.

“Whitaker!” she called, grinning as she spotted him hovering by the nurse’s station, clutching a chart like a lifeline. “How’s my favorite hound dog?”

The poor resident blinked, startled “Uh, still… howling?” he tried.

Mateo slung an arm around his shoulder before he could escape. “Still staining his uniform, more like.”

Laughter rippled through the group, but Whitaker took it with a ducked head and a crooked smile.

“Speaking of,” Donnie said, deadpan, “you want to join our daylight bingo? What fluid will stain Whitaker today?”

“I’m always betting on pee,” Jesse smirked, kissing Dana on the cheek before heading off.

“Coffee’s a must,” Heather added, laughing as she joined the circle.

Whitaker murmured dryly. “Next time I’m bringing a mouse, just for fun.”

The others laughed at the face Collins made. Dana gave an exaggerated gasp. “He’s growing fangs!”

“That’s not all he’s growing,” McKay muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, this guy is joining us in the street…” Mateo said proudly.

Dana gave him a swat. “Don’t corrupt him.”

Robby watched from a short distance, leaning on the counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But there was a softness in his eyes, almost imperceptible. For the momentary brightness. For Dana’s return. For the laughter.

And for the way Whitaker was in the center of it all.

But the moment shattered as a voice crackled overhead. Perlah’s squawk broke the peace:

“Cardiac arrest inbound—ETA three minutes!”

The laughter scattered like startled birds. Robby straightened immediately.

“Let’s go to work!”

The team broke apart in practiced rhythm. Javadi quickly stepped beside Collins. “Can I work with you today?” she asked, already moving.

“Sure… I want my own genius,” the young girl smiled, following the resident.

Santos clapped Mohan on the back as she passed, the two falling into pace without a word. Mel peeled off in the opposite direction, scanning a patient file with focused intensity.

In the midst of the motion, McKay appeared at Dennis’s side, nudging him toward the waiting area chairs.

“C’mon, babyface,” she said, smirking. “Time to charm the ladies again. Worked like magic yesterday.”

Dennis gave her a sidelong look. “I’m not sure they were charmed. One of them called me ‘sweetie’ and patted my head.”

“Exactly,” McKay grinned. “You’ve got the wholesome look. Use it.”

But just as they stepped toward the triage hall, Robby held out a hand. “McKay, hold up a second.”

She paused, lifting a brow. “Let me guess. I’m not allowed to be funny anymore.”

“No,” Robby said with a tired smirk. “I just want a word. He can go ahead.”

Dennis gave them both a quick glance and then peeled off toward the waiting room without complaint, already reading the chart for the next patient. Robby and McKay watched him go, the boy’s lanky frame pausing briefly to kneel beside a young woman clutching her side, his voice low and steady as he introduced himself.

McKay gave Robby a sideways glance, arms crossed. “You know I’m not gonna do anything that’ll get me arrested… again, right?”

“That’s… encouraging,” Robby replied dryly. He nodded toward Dennis. “What do you think of him?”

She tilted her head, watching. “You mean as a person, a student, or a liability?”

“Start wherever you want.”

McKay raised her eyebrows, arms folding tighter across her chest “What’s with the sudden interest?”

He shrugged, trying to sound casual, though there was a certain weight in his voice. “Curiosity, I guess.”

She snorted in disbelief, glancing back at Dennis. “Curiosity, huh?” she said with a wry smile. “Well, he’s good. Surprised me, honestly.”

Robby’s brows furrowed. “Good? In what way?”

She glanced at him, a little smirk tugging at her lips as she watched Dennis for a moment longer. “He’s got that shy demeanor, right? When I first saw him, I thought he wasn’t cut out for the ER. But…” She exhaled, shaking her head. “He’s got something. Something I really hope he doesn’t lose, like many people I’ve dealt with before.”

Robby’s curiosity deepened. “What’s that?”

McKay’s expression softened, her gaze turning reflective. “Humanity,” she said quietly. “He actually cares. Probably hasn’t figured out how to conduct himself yet. But the fact that he asked Kiara about the street team? That’s amazing. It’s going to be great having someone like him.”

Robby nodded slowly, processing her words. He didn’t respond right away, his mind drifting back to the trauma room, when Dennis had stayed with him. It hadn’t been part of the job, and yet Dennis had been there, offering support without expecting anything in return.

Robby’s gaze followed Dennis as he moved back toward the patient, his steps measured. It struck Robby again, Dennis wasn’t just doing his job. He was present, and that was something many people struggled with, even there.

Just then, Dennis turned toward them and waved, a small, almost sheepish smile on his face. “Duty calls.”

“Good talk…”

McKay gave him a quick nod and motioned for him to wait. As she started toward him, Robby stayed rooted, eyes still on Dennis.

Robby’s chest tightened. For a moment, he couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Dennis handled his work, or if it was something else, something that lingered between them, something from that earlier moment when Dennis had stayed by his side during one of the most difficult, humiliating moments of his life.

Dennis hadn’t looked at him with pity or judgment. He hadn’t hesitated. He’d just been there, without asking for anything in return. And Robby knew, in that instant, that no amount of words would ever be enough to truly thank him.

The memory stirred something in Robby, something deep and unexplainable. Each time it resurfaced, his heart quickened. Something had shifted, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

He turned his gaze to Dana, who was watching him with a knowing look, though she said nothing. She’d seen it. 

She knew. 

Robby quickly cleared his throat, trying to shake the feeling of vulnerability creeping in.

“He’s… he’s something,” Robby murmured, more to himself than to her.

Dana grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Takes one to know one, huh?”

Robby gave her a half-smile but didn’t respond.

Chapter Text

Dennis sat in the back of the van, fingers drumming against his thigh. The vinyl bench seat creaked with every bump in the road, and the low murmur of conversation up front only amplified his thoughts. He was nervous, of course he was. But beneath the anxiety he was excited.

This was his first outing with the street team.

It felt important. Like something that reached beyond hospital walls and touched the reason he’d gone into medicine in the first place. He’d told his family about it the night before, casually, over text, like it wasn’t a big deal, but it had felt like one.

His mom called immediately, her voice loud with pride. She promised to pray for him, and for those they’d be helping. His older brother just told him to do his best and said he was proud.

The van slowed, pulling to a stop along a worn city block. Faded brick buildings loomed nearby, and the sidewalk carried a quiet expectancy. The back doors opened with a groan, letting in the cool morning light and the distant sounds of traffic.

“All right,” McKay called from the front. “Let’s get set up.”

In a practiced rhythm, the team sprang into action. Foldable tables and chairs were unloaded and arranged on the sidewalk like clockwork. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was efficient: two tables for vitals, a chair between each station, a stack of fresh bandages, gloves, and a cooler tucked beneath one side.

Dennis followed McKay’s lead, helping unfold a table, his fingers still twitching with nerves.

McKay glanced over, “Relax, baby doc. No one’s getting surgery in the street today.”

Dennis let out a short laugh. “Right. I know. Just... first-day jitters.”

She nodded toward one of the chairs. “Here’s the deal... you’re sticking with me. Start by helping with vitals and wound care. Most of the people we see have been dealing with the same issues for a long time, especially foot wounds.”

“Foot wounds?”

“Yeah. A lot of them don’t have proper shoes, or socks, or time to let their feet heal. It’s one of the most common things we treat.” She crouched, pulling out a box of supplies, and handed him a pair of gloves. “We’re not doing full physicals: clean bandages, check vitals, and listen if someone wants to talk. You’re not here to fix everything, you let them know you are here and listening."

Dennis nodded.

“Kiara got a church group involved,” McKay added. “They bring clothes and shoes, donations mostly. Food comes from a separate group. The timing doesn’t always line up, but we try to overlap. People drift in and out throughout the morning.”

Dennis pulled on the gloves, nodding. “Got it."

McKay chuckled. “You’ll do fine, Whitaker. Just don’t overthink it.”

She gave him a reassuring pat on the back, then motioned toward the first approaching figure, a woman in a tattered hoodie, eyes cautious but curious.

“Alright. Time to meet the neighbors.”

As Dennis stepped forward, the rhythm of the morning settled into his bones. He moved on instinct, the part of him that wanted to help without question. Same instinct had driven him two weeks ago in the hospital room, when he’d found Robby locked in a panic attack. Dennis hadn’t planned to kiss him, it wasn’t premeditated; it was something to ground him, to say: you’re not alone.

The memory flickered through his mind, but he pushed it aside.

Today wasn’t about that. It was about this, he needed to be useful not daydreaming about certain chief. Still, even as he cleaned off a fold-out chair for the first patient, Dennis’s mind lingered just a moment longer than he meant it to; on Robby’s gorgeous eyes.

Then the woman sat down, and the moment passed. Dennis offered her a gentle smile, gloves rustling softly as he reached for the blood pressure cuff.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Dennis. Let’s get you checked out.”

And just like that, he was in it.

Later in the morning, the sky had brightened but stayed cool, which they were all grateful for. Dennis knelt beside a young woman in one of the folding chairs, carefully cleaning shallow scratches along her forearms with a saline pad. Her skin flinched under his touch, but she didn’t complaint.

McKay stood nearby, arms crossed, her gaze alert but no intrusive. She hummed softly, an old tune, or maybe just a rhythm to pass the time.

“These aren’t deep,” Dennis said, glancing up. “But they might sting for a bit. I’ll get some antibiotic cream and bandages.”

The woman gave a faint nod, curls tumbling over her face as she looked away. Her voice was flat. “Guy at the restaurant shoved me. I was checking their trash. Thought maybe they tossed something decent.”

McKay’s humming cut off. “Which place?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Fancy spot. Too clean for someone like me digging in their bins.”

Dennis’s stomach twisted. He hated how easily she said it, like it wasn’t worth the breath to be angry. He worked in silence for a few moments, smoothing ointment over the scratches.

“I saw something like that back in my hometown once,” he said softly, trying to meet her eyes without pushing. “An old woman was looking through the trash behind a bar, wasn’t even bothering anyone. The owner saw her, screamed like she’d broken in. Kicked her out, he just humiliated her.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers twitched faintly in her lap.

Dennis hesitated, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Some kids got pissed off. My brothers were part of it. Next day, they grabbed a bunch of rotten eggs and, well, they let the guy’s house have it. Whole place stank for a week.”

McKay let out a low snort. “No kidding?”

Dennis looked quickly at the woman, flustered. “Not that I’m saying anyone should do that here! I mean, definitely don’t.... I just...”

But the woman waved a hand, her expression softening into a wry smile. “Relax. I’m not about to go hunt down eggs. Not worth it.”

She glanced up. There was no bitterness in her voice, only a calm  “I might be on the street, but people like him? They’re the ones I pity. Came into this world with no sense of how to serve. No idea what it means to care for someone besides yourself.”

She paused, then shrugged. “And what’s a life without service? Just taking and guarding and building walls around things that don’t even last.”

McKay, leaning on the table behind them, straightened and spoke quietly. “Amen to that.”

Dennis nodded slowly, struck by the quiet truth of her words. He smiled and pressed the final piece of tape gently onto her skin to secure the bandage.

“You’re… kind of incredible,” he murmured.

She gave him a half-smile  “Nah. Just tired. Tired enough to see clearly.”

Dennis stood and offered her a fresh bottle of water from the supply bin. She took it, and as she did, her fingers lingered on the edge of his hand for just a moment.

As the day wore on, Dennis carried her words with him.

The hours passed in a blur.

The kind of blur that left him feeling stretched thin and deeply rooted at the same time, like he’d been cracked open and filled with something raw but vital. People came and went—quietly, cautiously, then sometimes gratefully. An older man with a deep cough who just needed someone to listen. A young trans teen who didn’t say much but let Dennis check their vitals and clean a scrape on their knee. A woman whose hands trembled as she asked if it was okay to take two pairs of socks.

Every story came in fragments. A glance. A wince. A thank-you whispered like a secret.

Dennis didn’t realize how much time had passed until the shadows began to stretch and a cool wind picked up. His body ached from crouching, lifting, walking. His hands smelled like antiseptic, and a fine layer of street dust clung to his sleeves. But his chest felt full—fuller than it had in a long time.

He was taping up the last of the bandage bins when Kiara found him. The sun was dipping behind the buildings, casting the block in a soft yellowish glow. Tables were being folded, chairs stacked, voices quiet now as the team moved like tired clockwork.

“Hey, Doc,” Kiara called gently, holding out a bottle of water. “Hydrate. You’re looking a little crispy.”

He blinked at her, then laughed under his breath, taking the water gratefully. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice.”

She studied him for a beat, then nodded toward the folding tables where McKay and two others were packing the last medical kit. “So? Was it what you expected?”

Dennis took a long drink, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and looked around at the nearly empty sidewalk. A few people still lingered near the church steps, others slowly drifting toward shelter.

He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “It was better.”

Kiara’s smile widened, soft and warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought I’d feel... helpless, maybe. Like we weren’t doing enough. But it’s not about fixing everything, is it?”

She leaned against the wall beside him, arms folded. “Nope.  You do what you can with what you’ve got.”

Dennis glanced at her, eyes tired but lit from within. “That’s what it felt like. Some didn’t want help. Some just wanted to talk, or be seen.”

Kiara nodded. “Most folks out here don’t get that. Being seen, at least not without judgment.”

Dennis looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly.  “I want to keep doing this,” he said. “I didn’t expect to, but I do.”

“You’re welcome back anytime,” Kiara said, pushing off the wall and giving his arm a quick squeeze. “We could use more hearts like yours.”

He smiled at that, then turned back to help McKay finish the cleanup.

“So, can I officially welcome you?” someone called out. Dennis turned to see one of the team members waving a dark blue bomber jacket.

A few heads turned to watch as he tried it on. It fit perfectly.

“That’s a yes?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“Well, help us wrap up, and we’ll get something to eat.”

And as they packed the van, the air cool and quiet now, Dennis felt something settle in him. 

Dr. Robinavitch sat stiffly in the familiar chair, the leather creaking under his weight as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. Across from him, Teresa regarded him with quiet patience, her pen poised lightly over a notepad that was still blank. Her expression open.

The silence lingered like dust in a still room.

Finally, Teresa cleared her throat gently. “I have to admit,” she said, voice low and even, “I was surprised when Carla told me you booked this appointment. Considering… how things went last time.”

Robby didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on a faint crack in a tile near her bookshelf. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I wasn’t ready.”

She chuckled  “That’s putting it lightly. I recall someone very adamantly informing me they didn’t need a shrink. Just couldn’t sleep.”

He gave a dry snort. “Still can’t sleep,” he muttered. “But I keep my word.”

Teresa raised an eyebrow, her pen now still between her fingers. “And yet… here you are.”

He shrugged.

She regarded him a moment longer, then set the pad and pen down on the table beside her. Robby’s brow furrowed as she stood, reaching for her coat hanging neatly behind her chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She slid one arm into a sleeve. “Standing.”

“The hour’s not up,” he said, more puzzled than annoyed.

“I’m not ending the session.” She smoothed the coat over her shoulders, her tone casual. “We just need air.”

Robby blinked. “Air?”

“And coffee.” Teresa walked past him and opened the office door, glancing back with the faintest smile. “Come on. You’re not going to get anything off your chest in that chair. And I’ve had enough fake quiet for one day.”

He stayed seated a moment longer, unsure if this was some kind of tactic, or just her way. She murmured something to her assistant outside and then turned back toward him expectantly.

With a slow exhale, Robby stood, his muscles protesting the movement like he’d been bracing for something that never came. He followed her out, still skeptical but oddly relieved.

Outside, the city noise filled the silence between them. Teresa walked without hurry, hands in her pockets, coat trailing behind like she’d done this exact thing a hundred times. Maybe she had.

“So,” she said as they turned a corner. “Coffee first, or do you want to pretend you didn’t just show up to therapy willingly?”

Robby glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m just here for the walk,” he said.

“Sure,” Teresa said lightly. “Let’s see where the walk takes us.”

The coffee shop was tucked into the corner of a quiet street, unremarkable from the outside but warm and humming within. The scent of espresso and cinnamon clung to the air. Robby stood beside Teresa at the register, reaching for his wallet even as she tapped her card first.

“You can get the next one,” she said, tone light but firm.

They stepped aside with their drinks and settled by the window, where late afternoon light filtered through smudged glass. They didn’t sit. Teresa leaned casually against the counter, cradling her cup in both hands, eyes resting on Robby without pressing.

“So,” she said, almost offhandedly, “what’s really going on?”

He stared into his coffee like it might give him an answer he didn’t have. The steam had faded, but he held the cup like it still offered warmth. He let out a sigh.

“It’s been a couple of weeks,” he said, barely above a murmur. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Anywhere’s fine,” Teresa said, her voice steady and unhurried.

He nodded a little, lips pressed together. For a moment, it seemed like that might be the end of it. But then the words started to come, like stones breaking loose under pressure.

“I worked on the anniversary of Dr. Adamson's death,” he said. “Thought I could push through it. Pretend it didn’t still… sit in me.”

He let out a short breath that was almost a laugh, but without any humor. “Didn’t work. Obviously.”

Teresa didn’t fill the space. She waited.

“Then I found out one of my residents…” He shook his head slowly. “He’s been using, stealing meds and hiding it from everyone, including me."

His fingers tightened slightly around the cup. “Same damn day…”

He trailed off, jaw clenched. The muscles in his face twitched like they were holding something back.

“A friend of mine, got assaulted by a patient. She’s okay, I think, but it just...” His voice cracked and he paused. 

Swallowed.

“We were already on edge, and then the shooting at Pitt Fest happened.”

Teresa’s expression shifted slightly, more alert now.

“I was supposed to be going with Jake,” Robby added. His voice was flat, but the ache beneath it was unmistakable.

She asked quietly, “Is he…?”

“He’s okay,” Robby said. “But his girlfriend, she didn’t make it.”

That silence stretched long between them. Teresa didn’t move. 

After a moment, Robby looked down, rubbing his thumb along the plastic lid of the cup, over and over.

“I think that triggered the panic attack…" he said quietly. “I couldn’t breathe. Felt like my chest was full of wet concrete.”

Teresa’s voice was gentle. “Did you try the breathing techniques we talked about last time?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said. “I… I prayed.”

She gave a small hum, like that answer made perfect sense.

“Prayer can work like a mantra,” she said. “Especially in crisis. It’s breath. It’s rhythm. Focus.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m not exactly devout.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said simply. “Faith is still faith. It doesn’t have to come from a book. Sometimes it’s just reaching for something bigger than yourself.”

He looked away again, nodding faintly.

“I’ve been doing it more, lately,” he said. “Not, like… kneeling or anything. Just talking to the ceiling."

Teresa smiled, barely there but real. “Does it help?”

He shrugged, tired. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve passed out a few times from it. Guess it helps tire me out, if nothing else.”

They stepped outside again, into the dimming light. 

They walked side by side, unhurried.

Teresa glanced at him, her tone softer now. “You’re carrying something else.”

Robby didn’t speak right away. His jaw worked, but no sound came. He just kept walking.

“Something you forgot to mention?” she offered gently. “Or maybe something you don’t want to say?”

Robby’s jaw tensed. His head shook, but it was almost imperceptible.

Teresa checked her watch. “You’ve still got fifteen minutes.”

He let out a breath through his nose, the weight of her words settling on him with surprising tenderness. 

And Teresa didn’t push.  

Robby took a deep breath. His steps slowed slightly on the sidewalk beside Teresa, his gaze fixed on the rim of his coffee cup.

“The panic attack,” he said finally, voice low, hesitant. “I didn’t get through it alone.”

Teresa glanced at him with a soft smile “A friend’s hand always makes it easier,” she said. “I’d recommend it, actually.”

He let out a short, almost amused snort, but there was no humor in it. She caught it instantly, her brow lifting in quiet question.

“It wasn’t a friend,” he said. “At least… not someone I’d call that. He’s one of the new students. I met him that day.”

She only gave a small shrug. “Help comes from unexpected places all the time. Doesn’t make it any less valid. I’m glad, whatever he said or did, it helped.”

Robby’s throat worked as he swallowed, and he cleared it awkwardly, shifting his weight like he was suddenly too aware of his own body. Still, he didn’t stop walking. He didn’t want to stop.  

“His name’s Dennis,” Robby continued, voice quieter now. “He didn’t say anything, I think he tried or he did it. I think I tried, too. Honestly, it’s kind of foggy. But he… stayed.”

Teresa’s expression remained neutral but attentive. She sensed something more coming and didn’t reach for it too early.

Robby’s fingers tapped once against his cup before he blurted it out, like tearing off a bandage. “He kissed me.”

That made Teresa blink. But to her credit, her face didn’t shift into surprise or judgment. She only inclined her head slightly and asked, “And how did it make you feel?”

Robby’s eyes narrowed, as if the question offended him, but not really. “Now? Or then?”

“Both,” Teresa replied.

He exhaled, his breath turning white in the cooling air. “Then…” he said, his voice thinner now. “It felt… grounding. Like I wasn’t floating anymore. Like someone was pulling me back into myself. And not being alone…” He trailed off, shaking his head faintly. “It was light. It felt light.”

She hummed gently, almost like encouragement. “And now?”

He hesitated. A long moment passed before he said, “Now I feel weird. Like I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I think part of me is hoping we’re both avoiding the conversation on purpose… like we’re orbiting each other. But more than anything, I’m just confused.”

Teresa nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Is the confusion because it was another man who kissed you, or because you were in a vulnerable state when it happened?”

Robby’s lips pressed together. He didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely a whisper: “Both.”

They continued walking in silence for a moment, the city sounds buffering them with just enough noise to give Robby the illusion of privacy, even with Teresa so near. 

Teresa didn’t rush to analyze or dissect. She simply walked, letting the air between them stay open, waiting for him to say more, if he chose to.

They were nearing the corner again, in front of her office building. Teresa checked her watch and slowed her pace.

“We’re almost out of time,” she said gently.

Robby nodded, gripping his coffee cup like it anchored him to the earth.

Teresa glanced sideways at him “Mind if I speak bluntly?”

Robby let out a short, wry exhale. “Honestly? I’d prefer it that way.”

She nodded. “Alright. I won’t deny that part of your confusion could stem from the fact that the moment you shared was intimate, and it was with another man. Not something you’re used to. And the fact that he initiated it, without asking…”

He shook his head firmly before she could continue. “It didn’t feel like that. Like something wrong. I didn’t see it as him crossing a line. Dennis...he meant well. I think he just wanted to… maybe snap me out of it.”

Teresa gave him a small, knowing smile. “Good. I’m glad it wasn’t something harmful. But I want to suggest something else, maybe your mind keeps circling back to it not just because of the kiss, or the timing. Maybe it’s also about who you were in that moment.”

The man frowned slightly, defensive on instinct. “What do you mean?”

She raised a brow, but softened her tone. “I’m not saying you see people like tools or roles. But in your world, you tend to fit the archetype of the caregiver. You’re often the fixer. The one others lean on. And then this student, walks into your life and sees something else, he sees you struggling. And instead of looking away, he stays and he helps. For that moment, Robby... maybe he was the one holding you together. He filled the hero part.”

Robby opened his mouth, but Teresa cut in gently, “I don’t mean ‘hero’ in the literal sense. I mean… maybe it caught you off guard because someone you were supposed to guide ended up guiding you instead. And maybe, that felt safer than anything else has in a long time.”

He sighed heavily, looking down the street. “That’s not helpful.”

Teresa laughed under her breath, sipping the last of her drink. “My job isn’t to give you answers, Robby. It’s to ask the right questions. You do the answering.”

He glanced sideways. “And what’s the question?”

She stopped walking then, facing him “You don’t have to answer me. Not now. Maybe not even out loud to yourself yet. But if you look back at that day, at that moment. if you could do it again… would you want someone else standing there instead of Dennis?”

He didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. The air between them stayed quiet as the traffic hummed nearby.

But a small voice tapped at the edge of his thoughts, like a hand at a locked door, and it was already whispering the answer he wasn’t ready to speak aloud.  

Teresa, noticing his silence, gave a small nod, already knowing the answer too.

Chapter Text

Dennis sat hunched at one of the back workstations, the screen in front of him glowing harshly against the fluorescent-lit of the ER. He was typing up treatment notes with one hand, the other gripping a half-eaten protein bar he’d found buried at the bottom of his backpack some chocolate-pretzel hybrid that was more salt than substance, but it did the job. His last real meal had been the French toast he made that morning, and the carbs had long burned out of his system, leaving behind only the crash and the kind of hunger that made his brain go fuzzy at the edges.

He bit into the bar mechanically, eyes flicking to the patient queue. New names continued to populate the list every five minutes, like some cruel magic trick. The crowd from the convention downtown had begun to spill in minor injuries, allergic reactions, dehydration. It would only get worse.

He chewed faster.

While typing, he angled his body just enough to keep from dropping crumbs on the nearby desk Dr. Robby's desk.

Just in case, Dennis wiped his fingers on a napkin and brushed the surface clean, glancing down to double-check. It was just… courtesy.

Respect.

He glanced up, instinctively scanning the floor. Still no sign of Dr. Robby. He hadn't seen him much all morning, and it wasn’t like Dennis was looking for him, because he wasn’t.

That would be stupid.

But it was strange, wasn’t it?

Not seeing him floating between rooms. Usually, Robinavitch was everywhere all at once, a calm force that made the noise and tension of the ER seem a little less sharp, at least for him.

Dennis sighed and leaned back in the chair, stretching his sore shoulders. The protein bar was gone, leaving only a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He tossed the wrapper into the trash, stood, and scanned the trauma bays until he spotted Mel.

She was stitching up a patient, brow furrowed in quiet concentration. She worked alone, as always. Something about the precision of it seemed to bring her peace. Dennis didn’t get it, but he respected it. He wasn’t the type to find calm in silence, his thoughts filled every quiet space with static, but Mel thrived in it.

He approached slowly, not wanting to startle her.

“Need anything?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t look up right away, her gloved hands steady as she tied off a final suture along the patient’s forearm. The man on the stretcher mid-sixties, maybe older, was out cold from sedation. The stitches were neat. Dennis knew better than to interrupt mid-thread, so he waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, until she finally straightened with a soft sigh.

“I could use a hand,” she said, almost reluctantly. “He’s got a bunch of ulcers on his back. Deep ones. Mostly cleaned already, but I need help with the dressing.”

Dennis nodded and grabbed a fresh set of gloves. “Yeah. Sure.”

They rolled the patient gently onto his side. The ulcers were brutal. Long, raw craters stretched along the man’s lower back and hips, angry red and threatening to go necrotic if they weren’t carefully managed. Dennis flinched inwardly at the sight. Mel caught the expression on his face and gave a sad half-smile.

“I know,” she said, opening a pack of dressings. “Hurts to look at, doesn’t it?"

He nodded, voice quiet. “It’s so sad… that people have to go through this. Alone.”

“More and more,” she said, subdued. “Every day there’s someone else with no one, with no options."

Dennis worked slowly, placing the gauze with careful precision “Does he have anyone?”

“Daughter,” Mel said. “She brought him in when she realized it was beyond her. Didn’t say much.”

He frowned. “Is she going to face charges or something? These ulcers are almost to the bone.”

Mel shrugged, taping down the last of the dressing. “I don’t know. That’s for the hospital and social work and probably some lawyer. I just… want the best for him.”

Dennis looked over at her, surprised by the quiet sincerity in her voice. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

They laid the patient gently onto his back again, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders. Mel peeled off her gloves, tossed them in the bin, and flexed her fingers, the silence stretching between them in something like understanding.

“What’s going to happen to him now?” Dennis asked.

Mel offered a small, tired smile. “Kiara’s making calls. Home care agencies, seeing if anyone’s got room. But for now, we’ll admit him upstairs. Geriatric unit.”

Dennis nodded, watching the man’s sleeping face. “I'm doing one of my electives in geriatrics,” he said after a moment.

Mel turned to him, something like pride lighting up her expression. “Really?”

He shrugged a little, almost self-conscious. “Yeah, I want to show them, they still care."

Her smile widened, soft but genuine. “That was one of mine too.”

Dennis blinked, then chuckled. “Of course it was.”

Dr. King gave him a look You’d be good at it.”

Dennis smiled, quietly pleased. “Thanks.”

He peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the bin as they left the trauma bay, the room already being taken over by a nurse coming in to handle vitals and monitor the patient. Mel walked beside him, her pace always a step ahead, unhurried but purposeful.

“I’d like to work with you more often,” Dennis said casually.

Mel glanced at him, surprised for half a second, then smiled softly. “You’re not bad company yourself.”

“Are we making jokes now?”

She flushed. “Trying to follow my sister’s advice and... mingle.”

He chuckled at the comment. As far as he knew, Becca had never been shy about voicing her opinion on how her sister needed more friends, just not more than her.

The pair rounded the corner and headed toward the main workstation. Mel reached for the sanitizer, rubbing her hands as she cast him a sidelong look.

“Though I thought you liked working with McKay,” she said, frowning as she picked up their earlier thread.

Dennis snorted. “I’ve had enough of Cassie on the street team. She only remembers I exist when she needs a human shield for angry old ladies.”

Mel raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, pulling up a rolling chair and settling into it.

She laughed softly, logging into the system beside him. “She’s not bad, though. I like working with her. And with Dr. Mohan…” She frowned. “And I did enjoy working with Dr. Langdon. I hope he can come back.”

Dennis nodded. There was a short silence before he asked, “Do you like working with Trinity?”

“Oh sure, of course…” Mel blinked more than necessary.

He laughed. “You are so bad at lying.”

She put on a pained face before whispering, “She’s too loud sometimes. She’s, uh…”

“Too much to handle. I know, I live with her.” Mel frowned, clearly surprised by the information. “Again, long story.”

Mel looked over, amusement lingering. “So what about the others? Other doctors?”

He tilted his head in thought, tapping absently at the keyboard. “Mohan’s a good teacher. Always explains her process. Very conscientious. And Dr. Collins gives you space to think, but guides you if you’re lost.”

Mel nodded, approving. Then, casually, she asked, “Not Dr. Robby?”

Dennis blinked, caught mid-keystroke. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary before continuing. “Robby?”

Mel leaned back a little in her chair. “Yeah. You two seemed to click that first day. But I haven’t really seen you working together since. Thought you’d make a good team.”

“Really?” Dennis glanced at the screen, pretending to scroll. “Why’s that?”

She looked like she might answer, but didn’t get the chance.

The double doors slammed open, and two paramedics pushed a stretcher in fast, barking vitals and status over the chaos of the ER.

The flurry of urgency shattered the moment, and Mel was already moving.

Dennis stood too. Whatever Mel had meant to say was lost in the rush, but the question sat quietly in the space between them, like something unfinished, waiting to be picked up later, if either of them dared.

“Kelly Westbrook, twenty,” one of the paramedics called. “Semi-conscious, acetone breath, tachypneic. Blood sugar’s 490. Found by her sister, Mia...”

The girl trailing them couldn’t have been older than twelve, wrapped in pajamas like she’d just thrown on the first thing she found, her fear far outweighing any concern for appearance.

“Help her! Please…” she cried, her face red and streaked with tears. Her sobs drew attention from across the ER, especially from the senior attending who, until now, had seemed to vanish.

Robby slowed instinctively. The girl on the gurney had her head tilted to one side, dark strands of sweat-slicked hair clinging to her temple. Something about her face tugged at his memory, a familiarity he couldn’t quite place. His steps turned with the gurney before he realized he was following.

“South 20…” someone called out.

Mel was already at the door, Dennis right behind her, gloves snapped on, professional calm in place.

“Dr. King,” Robby said quietly, stepping beside her, eyes still on the girl. “I’ll join you.”

She nodded without question.

Inside the room, the air shifted instantly into clinical rhythm. Mel moved to assess vitals while Dennis adjusted the IV flow rate and called for insulin. Robby leaned in, examining the girl’s breathing, the pallor of her skin, the sunken look around her eyes.

“Kelly,” Mel said gently, brushing hair from the girl’s cheek, “can you hear me? You're safe. We’re going to help you now.”

But the girl’s eyes didn’t open.

“Her skin…” Dennis motioned as he pinched her showing she was highly dehydrated. “IV’s running, fluids are going up. BP’s low.”

As they worked, Robby’s eyes lingered on her face. Something about her kept tugging at his memory.  

He turned to the younger girl, who hadn’t stopped crying despite Perlah’s efforts to calm her. Crouching beside her, he spoke gently. “Mia, right?”

She nodded through tears.

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“Dad called Kelly yesterday to take care of me. He had meetings today...and I have mono…” She coughed weakly. “He left early. I went down for breakfast, but she wasn’t there. I looked all over the house. I found her in her room…” Her voice cracked. “I called the ambulance…”

Robby offered quiet reassurance while Mel ordered labs.

“Mia, do you know if your sister is diabetic?” Mel asked.

She nodded quickly. Mel looked back at Dennis and Robby. “Looks like she hasn’t taken her insulin, at least not properly.”

“She does that… when the pharmacy doesn’t give it to her,” Mia said, her voice breaking.

Dennis looked up, alarmed. “She skips her insulin?”

“Not all the time! Just when we’re short on money.” Her words spilled out in a rush. “After Mom… we had to sell the house. Dad works two jobs. It’s hard… Please don’t let her die too.”

“Hey,” Robby said softly, trying to reassure her. “We’re going to take care of Kelly.”

“They said the same thing about Mom,” Mia whispered, “and she never came back.”

Mel looked up from her pad, her tone urgent. “Dr. Robby we need to confirm DKA with the labs…”she began as one of the nurses dragged the last tube of blood and ran out of the room.

“It could lead to MODS?” asked Dennis.

“I will page Endo and Cardio,” Dr. King said, and Dennis got his answer.

“Page Neuro too, just in case,” Robby added.

Mel nodded and stepped away to make the calls.

Then the sliding doors at the end of the corridor banged open.

“Where is she?!” 

A man’s voice tore through the ER like a storm surge. Heavy boots pounded across the tile. Robby didn’t need to look, he could feel the fury rolling off him.

Mia jumped. “Daddy here!” she said, rushing toward him. He wrapped a protective arm around her immediately.

“Kelly’s bad… I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Mr. Westbrook,” Robby began.

“You!” the man roared. “Get the hell away from her!”

“Sir, please...” Mel stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “She’s in diabetic ketoacidosis. She needs immediate...”

“I don’t care what you call it!” he snapped. “She was just tired this morning! That’s what you people always do, make everything worse.”

“Her insulin levels were low,” Dennis tried to explain. “We need to stabilize...”

“What my family needs is for you to mind your damn business!” the man cut in. “You already took my wife. You think I’m letting you kill my daughter too?”

“Mr. Westbrook...” Robby began again, stepping forward. “If we don’t act now, her organs..."

“No!” His voice cracked. “Not here"

His hands were shaking now, his voice ragged. “This place killed my wife.”

Robby froze.

“I remember you,” the man said bitterly, eyes locking onto him now. “My Annie She came in with a headache. You said it was nothing. Gallstones, maybe. She was dead in forty-eight hours.”

The name hit like a thunderclap.

Robby looked back at the girl on the stretcher, Kelly Westbrook. The girl who had sat quietly in the waiting room every night with her hood pulled low and her textbooks open. The one who never cried, not even when they told her.

His breath caught.

“I remember her,” Robby murmured to himself.

"You don’t get to touch her,” Mr. Westbrook snapped. “None of you, you’re murderers.”

He marched toward the bed, fury overtaking grief, and reached to pull the IV line out, and that’s when Robby snapped.

“You can’t take her,” Robby said, steady but firm. “You need to calm down so we can help her.”

“She’s my daughter! Mine! And you’re not going to kill her!” Mr. Westbrook shouted.

“Perlah, get Ahmad,” Robby ordered, staying rooted. “I can’t let you do that, she’s my patient now.”

The man’s jaw clenched. “The hell she is…”

Dennis saw him move to throw a punch at Dr. Robby. Instinct kicked in, everything his brothers had ever taught him flashing back in an instant. Trinity might know fancy Krav Maga, but Dennis knew how to handle bullies.

He stepped in fast, pressing his knee into the back of Mr. Westbrook’s leg to knock him off balance and grabbing his right arm to restrain him. But the man wasn’t giving in easily, he thrashed back, catching Dennis in the face with an elbow. Something cracked. The pain stung sharp across his cheek, but he didn’t let go. He gritted his teeth and held tighter, forcing the man down just enough to control him.

“We only want to help,” Dennis said through clenched teeth, still holding him back.

Mia stood frozen, crying uncontrollably as she watched her father lash out. Mel stiffened but kept her focus on Kelly’s vitals.

“She’s my daughter…” Mr. Westbrook choked out, his movements finally slowing. “I can’t lose her…”

“She’s in good hands,” Dennis said gently. “Dr. King’s going to help her."

Ahmad appeared with another security guard, but Robby held up a hand, stopping them. Dennis had the situation in check.

“I know that anger,” Robby said, stepping in again. “But your daughters need you here. Right now. If you don’t calm down, they....” he motioned toward the guards "...are going to have to escort you out.”

“No…” Mr. Westbrook shook his head, still breathing heavily.

“I don’t want that. Dr. King doesn’t want that, no one here wants that…” Robby added, his voice steady with sympathy.

He motioned for Dennis to release him, and Dennis did, cautiously.

“As my student said, Dr. King will make sure your daughter gets the best care. If you have questions, she’ll answer them.” He looked at Mel.

She nodded and gestured for Perlah to come in, accompanied by a resident from Endo.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” Robby added, “but I need you to promise you won’t harm any of my doctors or nurses. Can you do that?”

The man stood still, breathing hard. Then he nodded, deflated.

Mia walked to his side and gently pulled him in for a hug, guiding him to stand beside her.  

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “They’re all I’ve got…”

Robby nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “Ahmad’s going to stay here, just as a precaution. But I’m sure you’ll be on your best behavior, right?”

“He will be,” Mia said quickly. “Right, Daddy?”

“Yes, darling…” Mr. Westbrook nodded, a bit embarrassed now.

Robby sighed and turned to Mel. “Are you set?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll keep you updated.” She was already relaying the earlier vitals to the resident beside her.

“Great,” Robby said, adjusting his stethoscope. “Whitaker, follow me.”

Dennis snapped out of his tense stance, swallowed hard, and followed his attending down the hall.

Robby led them into an empty exam room, the door clicking shut behind them. The hum of the ER dulled to a low murmur beyond the walls. He moved to the supply cart, pulling it close, then crossed to the window and drew the privacy curtain without a word.

Dennis cleared his throat. “I’m really fine,” he said, wiping at his lip with the back of his hand where the elbow had grazed him.

Robby ignored it, remembering Mr. Westbrook, back when Dr. Adamson was still alive. His wife had died from a sudden coagulation issue no one could’ve predicted. But the man they saw then wasn’t the same one who’d just stormed in. Grief had a way of changing people.

It brought out anger in those who once wouldn’t hurt a fly.

But he’d been ready to fight if Dennis hadn’t stepped in.

Robby had seen plenty of med students freeze in confrontations like that, even some residents. But Dennis hadn’t flinched, he’d moved with quiet control, almost protective.

Not to show off or to impress.

He just… acted.

Like a hero would do.

Robby’s hand tightened slightly on the bed rail.  

“Up,” he said, motioning to the bed.

Dennis hovered by the stretcher, uncertain whether to sit or stay standing. “Really, it’s not a big deal…”

Robby didn’t answer at first. He grabbed gauze, saline, and a small tube of ointment, his movements smooth. But there was a softer focus to him now.  

“Sit,” he said gently.

Dennis obeyed, perching on the edge of the exam table. His gaze flicked to Robby, then away again as the doctor stepped in front of him, briefly meeting his eyes before lowering his attention to the bruise.

No gloves.

They both noticed, but neither said anything.

“This looks okay,” Robby murmured, inspecting the swelling with a feather-light touch. He started at the cheekbones beneath Dennis’s hazel-blue eyes.

They were mostly blue, but flecked with a touch of brown, just enough to catch the light.

Focus.

He redirected his examination to the bridge of Dennis’s nose. “No fracture.”

“Good…” Dennis murmured, heart thudding like it was trying to escape his chest.

Robby smiled faintly. “You handled that well.”

Dennis blinked. “What?”

“Back there,” Robby said, tilting his jaw slightly. His fingers were rough from long hours, but soft somehow “With the father."

“Oh,” Dennis said, voice cracking a little before he cleared it. “Thanks. I didn’t really think.”

“That’s usually the right instinct.” Robby’s tone dropped lower. “You didn’t flinch at all, it was impressive."

Dennis shifted, eyes flicking to Robby’s face and then away. “Well, I’ve had practice. Brothers."

Robby’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Still… it takes something else to put yourself between a stranger and a patient like that.”

“You’re not a stranger. And he wasn’t a patient,” Dennis said with a near-shrug.

The moment hung there.

Robby’s hands lingered a second longer than they needed to, fingers brushing gently beneath Dennis’s jaw as he applied the ointment to the scraped cheek.

Both of them noticed the closeness.

Neither of them said a word, again.

Next he examined the broken lip with a pen light, the beam tracing gently over the swelling. With his bare hands, It didn't feel clinical. It felt… personal. Intimate in a way that made Dennis hyper-aware of how close they were. The way Robby steadied his face, fingers brushing his skin made Dennis certain that if it weren’t for the stretcher beneath him, he might’ve melted straight to the floor.

Robby’s hands were soft, but not overly so. His fingertips were a little rough, comforting in a way that made Dennis feel calm, even while his heartbeat insisted otherwise.

“Just a split lip,” Robby murmured. “Nose looks good. Any headache?”

“Uh, no…”

“Good.” Robby smiled, a warm flicker crossing his face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t want to see you get hurt… or Mel,” Dennis added quickly, trying not to sound weird.

“Right…” Robby echoed with a slight smile as he rummaged through the supply tray. “So, besides hunting rats, you know how to handle a guy…”

He paused, blinking. “I mean, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Dennis chuckled, relieved he wasn’t the only one off balance. “I got it. It’s fine.” He shifted slightly “Like I mentioned, I’ve got three older brothers. They taught me how to fight. Back in school, I was the quiet kid, always the one bullies tried first. My brothers weren’t always around, so I had to figure it out myself.”

Robby nodded, his expression neutral but his attention sharp. “That makes sense,” he said after a beat. “You moved like it was second nature, when most people freeze up.”

Dennis gave a faint shrug. “Some might say I don’t think enough.”

Robby huffed a quiet laugh, glancing at him. “Not me.” He held up a small tube. “I’m going to put some bacitracin on. It should help with the swelling.”

Dennis nodded, eyes dropping to the tube, then flicking up again briefly.

“Try not to move your mouth too much,” Robby said as he leaned in, voice a little lower. “And… definitely no kissing.”

He froze as soon as he said it, the words hanging awkwardly.

Dennis blinked, then let out a quiet breath of amusement. “Pretty sure I’m safe there,” he said. “Can’t say I’ve been overwhelmed with offers.”

Robby didn’t answer right away. His face stayed carefully composed, but there was the slightest pause in his movement.

“Oh,” he said finally. 

Dennis tilted his head, and cleared his throat “Can I…?”

“Yeah,” Robby stepped back, letting him down from the stretcher. “If anything changes, headache, nausea…”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Dennis eased himself down, then winced. “Maybe I’ll start with not smiling. That seems safer.”

“Shame,” he said under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

Dennis glanced at him, but didn’t comment. He turned for the door, pausing when Robby spoke again.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

Dennis looked over his shoulder, brow slightly raised.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s not,” Robby replied. “That’s twice now.”

Dennis studied him for a second. “I don’t really keep count.”

Robby nodded once. His hand brushed the edge of the exam bed, then fell still. “I do."

A quiet beat passed, and their eyes met; and for a moment, neither looked away.

“I’ll should go,” Dennis said softly, hand on the door.

“Yeah, me too.”

Dennis stepped out first, only to nearly collide with Trinity.

“Should I start calling you Superman?” she grinned.

“What, ‘cause he was a farm boy too?” Dennis shot back.

"You got it," she snorted, then eyed his scrubs. "Dude, change that scrub. But first...let’s go see Donnie. I bet you get stained with blood today… Didn't expect it to be yours, but hey it'd work."

He rolled his eyes, but glanced back, just in time to catch Robby watching from the doorway.

Their eyes met again.

And then Robby looked away.

But Dennis kept wondering if maybe… he hadn’t meant to.

Chapter Text

Dennis’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the tap-tap-tap echoing through the apartment. The screen in front of him was a cluttered miss of half-finished sentences, highlights, and a bibliography that refused to organize itself no matter what.

He muttered under his breath, scanning yet another dry academic article on mortality rates in emergency room waiting areas.

He rubbed at his temple, wondering for the hundredth time what lapse in judgment had convinced him to take this research on.

He was squinting at a particularly dense paragraph when movement caught his eye. Trinity stood in front of him, arms crossed, wearing jeans that looked spray-painted on.  Her eyeliner was thick,he hadn’t even known she owned makeup.

He blinked up at her. “Yeah?”

“Are you planning to turn this place into a 24-hour study zone?”

“Uh… yes?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m having someone over.”

He squinted. “Okay?”

“Someone to decompress with,” she added, her tone suggestive enough to make the meaning painfully clear.

It took him a beat too long to register. “Oh.”

“So unless you want front-row seats to my evening plans which, I’m guessing you don’t, you should probably vanish for a few hours.”

He leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re kicking me out so you can… decompress.”

“Hey, it’s for your benefit too,” she said, waving a hand in his direction. “It’s Saturday. You’ve been hunched over that thing like it owes you money. And your face still looks like someone clocked you yesterday.” She motioned vaguely toward his lip, where the bruise was fading but not gone.

He glanced at the screen, then back at her.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just text me when it’s safe.”

With a groan, he pushed away from the desk, grabbing his jacket from the chair and fishing his wallet out from under a mess of printed articles. Trinity was already halfway down the hall, phone in hand, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth.

Dennis muttered something about bad timing, worse ideas, and truly terrible roommates, then shut the laptop with a sigh and pulled the door closed behind him.

He headed toward the park he favored.

Dennis huffed out a short laugh, just for himself. If a thief did try to rob him tonight, odds were decent he’d end up robbing them instead.

“I’m getting crazy,” he muttered aloud.

Still, it felt good to be out. Trinity kicking him out had been mildly annoying, but maybe also a blessing. 

He inhaled deeply and let it out slow. Living with Trinity wasn’t ideal, sure. He did most of the cooking, and even when the dishes weren’t his, he still ended up washing them. But rent-free was rent-free. She had the lease. He had the extra room. A trade-off that left him with more money in savings than he’d had in years.

Or ever.

So not that bad.

The park came into view, cast in hazy orange from scattered lamps and the last smudge of sunset. It wasn’t as dark as he’d expected. A handful of kids were trying skateboard tricks near the path,some landing clean, others crashing and laughing like it didn’t matter. 

Dennis smiled faintly. 

He passed the first cart,overpriced. The second looked suspect, with cold fries and soda that might’ve been warm. But the third, tucked slightly to the side, had a dented umbrella, a handwritten menu in Sharpie, and the smell of something worth walking for.

“Chili dog with cheese,” Dennis said, stepping up. “And a lemonade"

The vendor, maybe in his forties, headphones around his neck, nodded and got to work without a word.  

He Venmoed the total as the hot dog was wrapped in foil and handed over with a gruff warning: “Careful."

“Thanks,” Dennis replied, already peeling the foil back as he made his way to a nearby bench.

He sat, legs stretched out, elbows resting on his knees. The first bite was practically a revelation he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until it hit his tongue. 

“God,” he muttered. “I needed this.”

The lemonade was cheap, acidic, and perfect.

Dennis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took another bite, and leaned into the bench with a long sigh.

That’s when the voice came.

“Good, huh?”

He startled, nearly jerking his neck as his lemonade sloshed dangerously.

“Whoa, easy there,” the man said with a soft laugh. “I’m not in the mood to perform the Heimlich tonight.”

Dennis blinked, focusing. “Dr. Robby?”

“It’s after hours, Whitaker,” he replied with a smile. “You can drop the 'Doctor.' Just Robby.”

“Dennis,” he said automatically, then hesitated, suddenly aware of how aggressively he’d been devouring his hot dog. “Do you, uh… come here a lot?”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Genuine question or a pickup line?”

Dennis blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Robby said, grinning. “Kind of both? I tell myself I’m here for a run. Realistically, I jog a block and end up rewarding myself with this masterpiece.”

He nodded toward his own hot dog and raised his voice just enough. “Best chili dog in Pittsburgh. Hands down.”

The vendor gave a thumbs-up without even turning around.

“So,” Robby said, more casually now, “when I’ve got time to kill, I end up here. It’s… routine. You?”

“I like the food,” he said after a beat, then shrugged. “And sometimes I just need to get out of my head.”

Robby nodded, like he knew exactly what that meant.

They ate in silence after that, but not an awkward one. 

But when the food was gone and the wrappers crinkled in their hands.

“I should probably head out,” Dennis said, standing and brushing off his jeans.

“Right. Yeah. Me too…”

They both stood, but didn't make a effort to move.

Robby scratched the back of his neck, glanced down, then back up. “Hey, um… there’s a café a couple blocks from here. Their coffee’s awful,” he added, lips twitching, “but they’ve got this ridiculous chocolate milkshake. I’m pretty sure it legally counts as dessert. If you’re not busy…”

Dennis blinked, caught off guard.

“Unless,” Robby added quickly, “you’ve got something better going on than hanging out with the boss…”

“No!” Dennis said, too fast, he winced. “I mean, no. That sounds... good. I’d like that.”

Robby smiled, something warmer flickering behind it. “Great.”

Robby led him a few blocks through quiet streets. The city had thinned out, most people already tucked into bars. But Robby didn’t veer toward loud music. Instead, he stopped in front of a place Dennis might have walked past without a glance on any other day.

The sign was old, weather-worn neon buzzing faintly in the window. The café’s name, painted in flaking cursive across the glass, has seen better time for sure

Inside, the air was warmer. The place still carried the ghost of the late ’90s, overstuffed booths, a jukebox in the corner.

A few night owls lingered: a group of students laughing quietly over a shared laptop, a pair of older women near the window, and one man in a hoodie typing like the next Zuckerberg.

Robby motioned Dennis toward a table near the front “This one’s the best,” he said as he slid into the opposite seat. “You can see everyone who comes in, but no one really notices you."

Dennis gave a small smile and took the seat. 

“You got a favorite flavor?” Robby asked, already half-standing again.

“Strawberry,” Dennis said.

Robby’s smile lingered. “Classic.”

He walked up to the counter, where an older man with thick glasses and a towel slung over one shoulder greeted him with a casual salute.

“Hey, Doc,” the man said, not even glancing at the menu. “The usual?”

“Plus a strawberry for my friend,” Robby replied.

The man gave a knowing nod and turned away without another word.

When Robby returned and slid into his seat, Dennis tilted his head. “You know the guy?”

Robby leaned back, a trace of nostalgia softening his expression. “Yeah. This was my go-to study spot."

Dennis nodded slowly, picturing Robby younger, sleep-deprived, hunched over books in the corner while the world outside went on without him.

“Always liked the noise here,” Robby added. “Loud enough to feel you’re not totally alone.”

Dennis didn’t reply right away

They hadn’t been sitting long when a waitress, appeared at their table with a practiced smile. She set down two tall glasses slick with condensation, each topped with whipped cream and a cherry teetering on the edge like a dare.

Dennis smiled and leaned forward. “This looks… really good.”

Beside them, the waitress set down a small plate of uneven waffle pieces. Two bright plastic toothpicks, were stuck into the top.

“Courtesy of the chef,” she said, already turning back toward the counter.

Robby grabbed one of the toothpicks, stabbed a corner piece, and without hesitation dipped it into his milkshake. He brought it to his mouth  with a soft, satisfied sigh.

Dennis raised a brow. “Waffle in a milkshake?”

Robby grinned mid-chew and shrugged. “Don’t judge.”

Dennis smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Can I try?”

Robby offered the plate without hesitation. “Be my guest.”

Dennis followed suit and blinked as the warm waffle melted into the cold, rich milkshake. “Okay, that’s dangerously good.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t do it all the time. Otherwise, I’d need to start investing in bigger pants.”

“I don’t think that’d be a problem,” he said, voice light and teasing. “You’re doing just fine in this size.”

Robby’s fingers paused around his glass. He cleared his throat  “So, how is it that a good-looking guy in his twenties has no plans on a Saturday night?”

Dennis sighed. “I’m broke?”

Robby laughed. “Ah, the classic med student excuse.”

“I’m also not really the party type,” Dennis added. “Back in Nebraska, my idea of a night out was going to bingo with my mom.”

“That’s either very sweet or deeply tragic.”

“Probably both,” Dennis grinned. “And I don’t have that many friends. Just Trinity. And honestly, half the time I’m not even sure she counts. People... tend to find me weird.”

“Their loss,” Robby said simply. “So, no clubbing? No wild nights?”

Dennis shook his head. “Not really. What about you? Why’s a good-looking man in his…” He paused.

“Late forties,” Robby supplied.

“…forties, spending his Saturday night bribing interns with milkshakes?”

“I’m a very boring man,” Robby replied with mock seriousness. “My idea of fun is watching The Great British Bake Off while eating takeout. Most of my friends are doctors, and if I have to sit through one more casual conversation about sepsis, I’ll kill myself."

Dennis laughed. “My dad was the same way. Once, our priest tried to ask him about composting after mass, and he literally walked out. My mom was hysterical, but honestly, it was kind of fun.”

He reached for another piece of waffle, nearly grabbing half the plate. Robby noticed, but didn’t say a word.

“So…” Robby said, shifting slightly, “I heard you live with Santos? If you don’t mind me being nosy. Been a while since I do the roomate things."

Dennis laughed. “ She sings at the top of her lungs and leaves all her socks everywhere.”

“That's sounds messy” Robby said, amused. Then, a little more casually: “So, you and her…?”

“No. Nope. No way,” Dennis said, laughing. “Just roommates. Nothing else.”

“I got it,” Robby laughed, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t talk about my residents, but… she’s one of a kind.”

“She’s not terrible,” Dennis said with a crooked smile. “If you ignore the passive-aggressive nicknames. But hey, she lets me crash there for free, so I can't complain.”

“Why’s that?”

Dennis took a long sip of his milkshake before answering. “No money. Couldn’t afford the dorms or rent.”

“Where were you staying before?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

Robby gave a mock-suspicious look. “Now I kind of do.”

Dennis laughed but didn’t elaborate. “Let’s just say Trinity saved me from sleeping in a very questionable places.”

“Any luck finding a part-time job?”

“I’ve tried,” Dennis sighed. “But it’s hard to find something flexible enough for med school, and close enough that I don’t have to teleport to get there.”

Robby tilted his head thoughtfully. “You should’ve said something. I might be able to help. Hospitals and labs love hiring dishwashers.”

Dennis blinked. “Huh?”

“Not literally. Just… people who know what they’re doing but are willing to do the dirty jobs. It’s not glamorous, but it pays.”

“That would be amazing, Dr. Robby… Robby.”

“I have my moments,” Robby said with a soft smile.

They lapsed into easy conversation, Dennis talking about his school, growing up on a farm with three loud brothers and all the pets his parents let him have. Robby, in turn, shared stories of being an only child, raised in the city, with parents who rarely called him.

Dennis listened, nodding along, though he kept glancing at his phone between sips.

Robby eventually noticed. “Do you have somewhere to be? We can cut this short if you need to.”

Dennis flushed. “No, no, I’m just waiting for a text from Trinity. She said she’d let me know when it was safe to come back. But, uh… apparently she’s not too concerned.”

Robby chuckled. “Ah. The modern-day sock on the door.”

Dennis flushed “Uh, yeah..”

“So she kicked you out?”

“Kinda. It was more of a ‘hey, maybe don’t be home for a bit’ situation.”

Robby gave a small shake of his head, then pushed back his chair. “Alright. Up.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t exactly have a guest room, but Jake says my foldable couch is comfy enough. You can crash there tonight.”

Dennis blinked. “Wait, what? You don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” Robby said, already fishing out his wallet and dropping some bills on the table.

Dennis fumbled for his own. “At least let me pay for my shake.”

Robby held up a hand. “Next time.”

Dennis hesitated, then smiled. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Dennis stirred at the feel of someone gently shaking his shoulder. The couch creaked beneath him as he blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the morning light. His neck ached, twisted awkwardly against the armrest, and he looked up at the figure leaning over him.

Robby was already dressed. In one hand, he held out a steaming mug.

“Coffee?” he offered.

Dennis rubbed a hand over his face and sat up slowly, accepting the mug with a raspy, “Thanks.” His voice was rough from sleep, his hair going in three different directions. “Sorry again for, uh… crashing the second I hit the couch.”

Robby dropped into the nearby armchair with his own cup in hand. “Don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed it. I was gonna let you sleep till noon... God knows we don’t get enough of that in this job.”

Dennis took a careful sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest. “So… why the early wake-up call?”

Robby nodded toward the phone on the coffee table. “That thing hasn’t stopped buzzing since I got up. I was afraid it might catch fire.”

Dennis leaned forward and picked up his phone. The screen lit up with a barrage of notifications,dozens of texts stacked in rapid succession. He opened the thread from Trinity and winced.

10:30 PM: destressed check

11:00 PM: ??

11:25 PM: I guess not the only one who got lucky

12:00 AM: Damn! That good?

7:12 AM: No eggs!

7:18 AM: bring breakfast!!!

7:47 AM: are you alive???

8:20 AM: ANSWER YOUR PHONE OR I’M CALLING THE POLICE

8:56 AM: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T TEXT ME IN THE NEXT THREE MINUTES,

Dennis groaned and quickly typed back: I’m fine. Crashed at a friend’s.

Her response came back almost instantly: What friend? I’m your only friend.

He rolled his eyes and sent a middle-finger emoji.

Robby chuckled from his chair. “I’m guessing that’s Santos?”

"She thinks I’ve been kidnapped.”

“That's terrifying.”

“Yeah...”

 I’m making breakfast. You in? Or do you need to sneak out before she shows up with a baseball bat?”

Dennis hesitated a beat longer than he meant to “I’m in,” he said. “Nice not having to cook for once.”

“Don’t expect anything fancy,” Robby called from the kitchen. “It’s eggs. Maybe a bagel. Keep your expectations low.”

Dennis grinned into his mug. “Already there. You’re good.”

Soon, the air filled with the smell of sautéed spinach and toasted grain. Robby moved around the kitchen with the casual confidence of someone who knew enough not to burn things. He came back with two plates,folded omelets, multigrain bagels split and toasted.

They ate in an easy silence, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Halfway through breakfast, Robby glanced over. “On Monday, find me. I’ll introduce you to the lab coordinator. We’ve been kicking around the idea of a support program for students on a tight budget. Might be something there.”

Dennis looked up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Robby picked up his phone, tapped a quick message, and slid it across the table. “Here...save your number.”

Dennis did, just as a simple “hi” from Robby lit up his screen.

“Now you’ve got mine,” Robby said. “Keep it to yourself. But if you end up in the lab and Hopkins starts driving you up a wall, shoot me a message. The man’s... a handful.”

Dennis smirked. “So I’m being thrown into the wolf’s den?”

“More like a chihuahua’s den,” Robby said. “All bark, no bite.”

Dennis saved the contact, thumb hovering briefly before setting the phone aside, he didn't have any rush to leave.

Whitaker pushed open the apartment door quietly, half-hoping he could slip past unnoticed. Trinity was already at the table, legs propped on another chair, a bowl of cereal in her lap. Her eyes met his the second he stepped inside.

“Well, well, well,” she said through a mouthful of cinnamon crunch. “Look who decided to crawl home.”

Dennis sighed, toeing off his sneakers at the door. “Don’t start.”

She pointed her spoon at him, smug and accusatory. “Since I offered you that room, I never figured you’d be the one doing the walk of shame.”

He dropped his jacket on the back of the couch and rubbed his face “It’s not what you think."

“Oh? Enlighten me. Because you disappeared without a word, didn’t answer your phone, and came back in yesterday’s clothes with sleep hair and a suspicious glow.”

Dennis blinked. “A suspicious glow?”

“You know the one,” she said, shoveling in another bite. “All soft-eyed and dazed like someone who got laid.”

“I didn’t get laid. And not everyone is constantly thinking about sex.”

“Oh really? So that afterglow was just from holding hands all night?”

He groaned and made his way to the kitchen counter to pour a glass of water. “It was just a friend.”

Trinity tilted her head. “Friend’s got a name?”

Dennis hesitated. “…Mike.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “Mike?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little too casually. “ Common name. Mike.”

Her eye-roll was so dramatic it was nearly audible, but she didn’t press it. “Well, tell Mike I said thanks.”

He paused mid-sip. “Thanks?”

She waved her spoon vaguely in the air. “I had the apartment to myself for once. Got to decompress, just like I planned. And I really needed it.”

He made a face, backing toward the hallway. “I don’t want the details.”

Trinity smirked. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t gonna give you any. Just glad you had your own little adventure.”

“Not an adventure,” he muttered. “Just… sleep.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, giving him a knowing look as she went back to her cereal. “Well, keep that Mike friend around. Could be useful for both of us.”

He groaned but didn’t argue. He slipped down the hall toward his room, hiding a small grin behind his glass. 

Dana flipped through the patient chart with the dispassionate efficiency of someone who’d seen it all,because she had. The day the ER ran on schedule, some day doctor would learn to update their notes on time.

She sighed.

But that day wasn’t coming anytime soon.

She made a note on the digital clipboard, brow furrowing slightly. No follow-up, no primary care referral, vague complaints barely worth a Tylenol. Classic.

Behind her, the usual hum of the department had risen to a mid-morning roar.

Gloria had dumped another stack of consults onto Robby’s desk that morning, which meant they’d somehow ended up on Dana’s, too. She snorted under her breath. If Robby ever took a half-day, they'd both need clones. If she took PTO? The breakroom might spontaneously combust.

Kim stalked over, ponytail tight, expression tighter. She slapped a chart onto the counter and crossed her arms.

“I swear, if that man asks me if I ‘make house calls’ one more time, I’m going to install a defibrillator in his mouth.”

Dana didn’t look up. “Who?”

“Bed seven. Mr. Lima. Says he’s too dizzy to stand, but had enough energy to follow me to the med cart and ask for my number.”

Dana finally glanced over, unimpressed. “Did you tell him it was nine-one-one?”

Kim smirked. “No, but I asked Jessie to take over. I know the type. Fake-fragile until no one’s watching. He just wants someone in scrubs to flirt with,and it’s not going to be me.”

“Smart. I’ll take his discharge review if you want. Robby’s already buried under Gloria’s tower of doom.”

Kim chuckled. “You’re a saint.”

“Nah. I’m just too tired to feel pain anymore.”

They shared a brief but genuine smile, then split back into the current of the ER. 

Dana stretched, glanced at her phone. Still not time for lunch. Maybe just a smoke.

Her eyes caught Whitaker moving through the flow, carefully sidestepping a gurney that had been left too close to the nurse’s station, he was heading her way,but looking for someone else.

“Hey, Dana?” Dennis said.

Without looking up, she replied, “If it’s about the guy in Bay Three asking for a heated blanket and chicken soup, he’s all yours.”

He laughed a little. “No, actually, uh, I was wondering if you knew where Dr. Robby is?”

That made her pause. She pushed her glasses up and gave him a glance. “Meeting with Gloria. Been in there over an hour. If he doesn’t come out soon, I’m triggering the emergency alarm, give him an excuse to escape.”

Dennis smiled, too quick, a bit tight. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Dana noticed.

“You need him for something?” Her tone softened, curious now.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He mentioned some kind of program? For med students to pick up part-time work. To help with expenses. Said it was relatively new.”

Dana raised a brow. “Did he now?”

He nodded. “Said to find him about it, but I’ve been running around since I got here, so… figured maybe you’d know if it actually exists. Or where to find the form, if it does.”

She snorted. “Or if it even exists,” she echoed, smirking.

Leaning back in her chair, she studied him with a tilted head. Dennis fidgeted. “There’s not… is there?”

Dana opened her mouth, probably to gently break the news that no such program existed, but something over his shoulder caught her eye. Her words stalled mid-breath.

Robby had just stepped into view at the end of the hallway, rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the memory of the meeting from his skull. One glance at his face was all Dana needed: Gloria had been in peak form.

He faltered when he saw Dennis, his gaze locking unexpectedly. One hand dropped from his temple, hanging limp at his side.

Dana’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured. “Turn around, Whitaker.”

Dennis turned,and locked eyes with Robby, who blinked and exhaled like seeing him was both a surprise and a relief.

“Hey,” Robby said as he approached, voice hoarse. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,uh, I was looking for you,” Dennis said. “Can you come and find you… about the med student job thing?”

Robby blinked again, as if the memory took a second to catch up. Then he nodded, grateful for the shift in topic. “Right. Yeah. It’s not official-official, but I remember. Sorry, I told you to find me, it’s just… bureaucracy.”

“It’s fine,” Dennis said quickly. “I get it. Besides, it's has been a good day, no stains on me today, so I’m counting it as a win.”

Robby chuckled, shoulders loosening. “That’s progress.”

Dana cleared her throat loudly, reminding them both that she was still sitting right there. “I was just about to tell your star student, who I’ve never once heard of in my life, that this mysterious program doesn’t exist. But now I see… it’s more of an unofficial arrangement.” She mimicked Robby’s earlier tone with practiced sarcasm.

Dennis flushed but stayed quiet.

Robby gave her a long look “It’s new,” he said finally. “And not exactly a program. More like… a system I’ve been trying to set up. The lab need extra hands and students can pick up shifts when they’re free. That’s why you haven’t heard of it.” He shot Dana a pointed look.

Then, turning back to Dennis: “If you’re not needed on the floor right now, I was just heading to the lab wing. We can check in with Dr. Hopkins, see if there’s anything open.”

Dennis straightened. “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Great. Meet me by the elevators,” Robby said, pulling his ID badge from his coat pocket. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dennis nodded and headed off,maybe a little too quickly.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Dana arched a brow. “So… should I start offering this magical opportunity to all the interns, or is this a selective invitation kind of deal?”

Robby gave her a dry look. “Don’t start.”

She leaned back in her chair, stretching. “What? I’m just wondering if the velvet rope is open to everyone, or if this is an exclusive charity case.”

“He needs a part-time job,” Robby said plainly. “I offered to help him find one. That’s it.”

“Right. Just being a kind, generous mentor to the poor, handsome, slightly awkward intern who happens to blush whenever you speak to him.”

Robby didn’t take the bait. “I try to support all my students and residents equally. It’s not for boosting my ego.” He glanced toward the elevator where Dennis had disappeared, then back at Dana. “I’ve met students like him before,” he said quietly. “Back when I was in school. Struggling to pay tuition, skipping meals to afford textbooks. Not everyone’s lucky enough to make it through without auctioning off a kidney.”

Dana’s expression softened. She reached over and placed a hand gently on his. “Hey,I was joking before. I know you, Robby. You’ve always gone out of your way for the underdogs. It’s nice what you’re doing for him.”

She hesitated, then added with a little smile, “I like him too. He’s sweet. Polite. And he’s actually nice to the nurses. You’d be surprised how rare that is.”

Robby snorted, shaking his head. “He’s smart. Knows that nurses are who really run the place.”

Just then, Donnie raised a fist. “Amen to that!”

Dana laughed and swatted in his direction. “Get back to work, Donnie.”

Once Donnie vanished down the hall, Dana tilted her head at Robby. “Go on. He’s probably pacing by the elevator like a caffeinated golden retriever.”

Robby rolled his eyes, but the fondness was unmistakable. He slipped his tablet under his arm and made his way down the corridor.

Sure enough, Dennis was standing near the elevator, bouncing subtly on the balls of his feet, trying and failing to look nonchalant. The moment he spotted Robby, he straightened like a kid caught sneaking dessert.

They both stepped into the elevator when it opened, and as the doors slid closed, Dennis turned to him, voice low.

“Hey, uh,before we go in… I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”

Robby arched a brow. “Why would you?”

“I asked Dana because you mentioned that student program thing, but earlier I’d already talked to Cassie, and she said there wasn’t any such thing. I didn’t mean to make things awkward. I just,” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Robby’s mouth lifted into a small, reassuring smile. “There’s not a real program, no. But I’d go to lengths for any of my doctors,and that includes you. You’re busting your ass, Dennis. I just wanted to help. Consider it… returning the favor.”

Dennis blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity. “You don’t have to do that.”

Robby laughed softly. “I know. But between you and me? If having one of you med students in the lab makes them get their chemistry backlog in order, you’re actually doing me a favor.”

Dennis cracked a smile, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Then I guess it’s a win-win.”

“Exactly.” Robby nodded, then added, “Let’s just see what Hopkins says. Worst-case scenario, you’ll get a tour and a free protein bar.”

 “Thanks.”

Robby just glanced at him, warmth flickering briefly in his eyes. “Anytime.”

Chapter Text

Dennis sat hunched over the lab computer, eyes narrowed at the endless rows of spreadsheet data glowing far too brightly in the dim room. He was somewhere around line 213 now,maybe 214. He’d lost track somewhere between squinting at tiny decimal points and trying not to spill lukewarm coffee on the keyboard.

His fingers moved slowly, deliberately. He was logging PCR results. The protocol called for double-checking each entry. Dennis checked some three times,part paranoia, part trauma from the software failing to auto-save the day before. Trust issues lingered.

Nearly a week into his new gig, Dennis had come to accept a hard truth: the job was dull. Necessary? Sure. Well-paid? Definitely,thanks to Robby’s generous (and possibly life-saving) recommendation. But exciting? Not even remotely.

The initial novelty had worn off by day three. Pipetting was fine,repetitive but mindless. PCR runs mostly meant waiting while machines did the work. Cleaning instruments wasn't glamorous, but at least it came with the satisfaction of scrubbing something crusty until it shone.

But data entry? Logging inventory?

That was his personal hell.

He groaned, leaned back, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.  You’d think, in the glorious age of artificial intelligence and space tourism, results would sync automatically from the machines.

But no.

Not in this lab.

Here, you entered every line.  Like it was 2006 and the internet still made dial-up noises.

He stared blankly at the blinking cursor.

If this didn’t ruin his eyesight, it would definitely give him carpal tunnel.

Still, he couldn’t complain too loudly. He was grateful,truly. Without Robby’s quiet nudge (and, let’s be honest, a little behind-the-scenes string-pulling), Dennis would still be dodging the money his brother and parents kept offering.

He sighed, rolled his neck until it popped, and glanced at the clock. Just under two hours to go. Two hours until he could ditch the lab coat and collapse into bed.

He pressed Enter. The spreadsheet blinked, saved, and loaded the next line.

Line 215.

Dennis groaned louder this time and reached for the coffee that had gone cold fifteen minutes ago, just as the chair beside him screeched across the linoleum. The tall tech who’d teased him earlier dropped into the seat beside him.

Dennis didn’t remember his name, but the guy seemed to realize that.

“Leonard,” he said, flashing a practiced grin and offering a hand. “But everyone calls me Leo.”

Whitaker shook his hand, returning a polite half-smile. “Dennis.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t forget the name…”

Leo leaned an elbow on the table, glancing briefly at Dennis’s screen. “So, how’s it going so far? First-week blues? Or are you one of those rare creatures who secretly enjoys color-coded spreadsheets?”

“Spreadsheets are my personal hell. But the pipetting’s not bad.”

Leo tilted his head, lips curving. “Ah, a man of taste.”

The med student gave a small nod. There was something in Leo’s tone that hovered just above casual.  Dennis wasn’t quite sure how to deflect his questions without sounding rude.

“I’m not even from here, really,” he offered, gently redirecting the conversation when Leo asked more personal questions. “Still getting used to Pittsburgh."

Leo chuckled. “Yeah, I got you."

Before Dennis could reply, his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced down, and a grin tugged at his lips, completely involuntary.

A message from Robby lit up his screen:

ROBBY: 👍 sorry for the late reply

ROBBY: told you it was boring 😅

Dennis chuckled under his breath, thumbs moving quickly.

DENNIS: you never said how boring

DENNIS: like I’m one decimal entry away from staging a coup

The reply came almost instantly.

ROBBY: 😂 still at it?

DENNIS: yup.

DENNIS: you hitting steaks?

The typing bubble hovered for a moment before Robby replied:

ROBBY: not quite

ROBBY: waiting at a burger place for Jake

Dennis paused, blinking at the screen. The name sparked immediate recognition.

DENNIS: your son, right?

There was a longer pause this time. Then:

ROBBY: 😳 not exactly…

ROBBY: but yes.

Dennis stared at the screen. He smiled.

DENNIS: sounds complicated.

ROBBY: that’s one word for it.

A sharp throat-clear broke the moment. Dennis looked up to find Leo still sitting beside him, expression noticeably dimmed.

“Anyway,” Leo said, the earlier flirtiness gone, replaced by a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He pushed back from the desk and stood. Dennis watched him go, caught somewhere between amusement and relief.

His phone buzzed again. Another message from Robby.

ROBBY: hang in there, Whitaker. Let me know if you need rescuing.

Dennis smiled again, softer this time, and typed back quickly.

DENNIS: if you show up with fries, I’ll consider it.

And then he put the phone away, suddenly afraid he was being too forward. 

Dennis had just finished logging another grueling string of decimal values when his phone buzzed again. He picked it up slowly, almost cautiously.

ROBBY: as much as i’d love to rescue you

ROBBY: i’m not letting you leave crumbs all over another workstation

ROBBY: again

ROBBY: especially not in hopkins’ lab. he’d actually murder us

Dennis scoffed softly, fingers moving fast.

DENNIS: i haven’t left crumbs on your desk

DENNIS: not anymore

ROBBY: only because you haven’t found another abandoned sandwich

ROBBY: i know how your brain works

He snorted and quickly covered his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle it.

DENNIS: for the record, that protein bar tested better than half the vending machine at pitt

ROBBY: doesn’t mean it belongs next to a centrifuge

ROBBY: i’ll introduce you to a place i know

ROBBY: total hole in the wall but solid food

ROBBY: and no murdery hopkins in sight

Dennis stared at the message, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He hovered over the message box, typed:

DENNIS: i’m in

DENNIS: when?

He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

Robby sat in the corner booth of the burger place, a half-empty glass of water sweating onto the laminated table. The soft clatter of baskets and hum of conversation surrounded him, but his focus stayed locked on his phone, still lit with Dennis’s most recent message:

DENNIS: i’m in

DENNIS: when?

He should’ve replied by now. It wasn’t like him to hesitate, but still did.

Instead of answering, he scrolled. All the way back to the very first message he’d sent:

ROBBY (Monday):

hey. just checking in. how’s the first shift going?

It had been a throwaway gesture. Or so he told himself. One text fired off while sipping coffee, not expecting much of a reply.

But what he got made him pause.

The first time those three typing dots appeared and vanished, Robby had sighed and tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside him. Then it buzzed.

A photo. Dennis in a mask, bent over a microscope, one gloved hand holding the phone slightly off-kilter.

DENNIS: sorry, hard to type with gloves

DENNIS: everything’s okay so far!

Robby had laughed,actually laughed,and typed back:

ROBBY: a 👍 would’ve sufficed

Seconds later, another photo came through. Clearer this time. Dennis with his mask pulled down briefly, flashing a tired but earnest smile and a thumbs-up.

That was how it started.

After that, the messages came more easily. Dennis said the lab people were nice. That the work was “weirdly chill.” Later, after Robby asked if he’d met Hopkins yet, Dennis had texted:

DENNIS: met hopkins. all bark, no bite

DENNIS: not saying he LOOKS like a dog

DENNIS: just to be clear

Robby had nearly dropped his phone laughing. He remembered wiping his eyes and typing back:

ROBBY: i think he’d appreciate the clarification

ROBBY: maybe

ROBBY: let’s not test that theory tho

Since then, their messages had settled into a rhythm,half jokes, half little glimpses into Dennis’s day. Robby told himself it was what any good attending would do: keep a student encouraged, make sure he felt seen, help him avoid early burnout.

That was all.

And yet… here he was, staring at “when?” like it meant something. Like it was a door waiting to be opened, if he were foolish,or brave,enough to knock.

He checked the time. Jake was late, as usual.

Robby wetted his dry lips, thumb hovering again. He’d already rewritten the message twice.  

Finally, he just typed.

And sent it.

ROBBY: i’m free next saturday

ROBBY: checking in on a friend tomorrow

ROBBY: i’ll text you the address, we can head there if that works

He hit send before he could second-guess it again. The familiar three dots appeared, his breath caught slightly.

Then vanished.

Nearly typed out a quick “no worries if not”,but just before he could hit send, the reply buzzed in.

First, a single 👍.

Then:

DENNIS: can i pay for my food this time?

Robby blinked, then laughed, shaking his head.

ROBBY : i thought you were broke?

The response was instant.

DENNIS: not that broke

DENNIS: i can afford a burger

DENNIS: probably

DENNIS: how much are we talking tho?

Robby snorted, grinning at the screen as he tapped out:

ROBBY: we’ll see

“Jesus, you’re actually blushing.”

Robby jerked, like he'd just been caught stealing from the candy jar. Jake stood beside the booth, arms crossed, one brow raised and a smirk already forming.

Robby scrambled to lock his phone, clearing his throat. “How long were you standing there?”

Jake shrugged “Long enough to see you smiling like a dumbass. So. Who’s the special friend?”

Robby gave him a flat look, but his face was already betraying him. 

Jake leaned in "Tell me you’re not sexting in a family-friendly burger joint.”

“God,no.” Robby ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how soft his smile still was. He sighed, muttered under his breath, “It’s a… friend.”

Jake grinned, already smelling blood in the water. “If you say so…"

Robby rolled his eyes with a good-natured groan and held up a finger to Jake, silently asking for a second as he turned back to his phone.

ROBBY: jake’s here

The reply came fast.

DENNIS: bye then 👋

DENNIS: i should actually work so i can afford that burger

DENNIS: text me later? tell me how it went

DENNIS: only if you want

Robby’s thumb hovered for a beat before he sent back a simple smiley face. He slid it face-down on the table and gave Jake his full attention.

“Sorry about that.”

Jake waved him off with a smirk. “No big deal. It was either this or playing third wheel while my mom flirts with Sean over roast chicken.”

Robby blinked. “Wait, I thought you liked Sean?”

“I do. Just... not enough to sit through their weird honeymoon phase.”

Robby chuckled.

Jake leaned forward, elbows on the table. “She also kind of insisted I come see you. Not that I needed the push. I wanted to come.”

Robby raised an eyebrow.

“To apologize,” Jake said, quieter now.

Robby shook his head, but Jake held up a hand, firm but sincere.

“No, let me. I was out of line. That night at the hospital… I knew you were doing everything you could to save Leah. I knew it. I was just so and I took it out on you.”

Robby’s expression softened.  

“I get it,” he said. “You were right to be mad. I’ve been there. I’ve lived there. You needed someone to blame, and I was the one in the room. It’s okay. I got it.”

Jake’s shoulders eased, some of the guilt melting away. He gave a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Robby returned it. “You hungry?”

Jake let out a breath. “Starving.”

They turned toward the counter, placed their orders, and slid back into the booth.

As they waited, Robby rested his forearms on the table and tilted his head. “So… how’ve you been? Really.”

Jake gave a low laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still figuring it out. Grief’s weird, you know? You think you’re fine, then a song hits and then tears came."

Robby nodded, gaze steady. “Yeah. I do know.”

Jake looked down at his hands. “Some days are okay. Others feel like I’m back there. But I'm trying to get better."

“That’s all any of us can do.”

“Alright, your turn. What about you? Anything new? Any juicy hospital gossip?”

Robby gave a short, tired laugh. “Same as always. ER’s a mess. Same routine, different disasters."

Jake hummed as he sipped his drink, a little too knowingly.

Robby raised a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jake said, too innocent.

Robby narrowed his eyes. “You’re humming like that means something.”

Jake turned toward him, lifting one eyebrow in mock challenge. “You’re really not gonna tell me?”

"Tell you what?” Robby asked, genuinely confused.

Jake grinned. “The reason you were smiling at your phone like a dork when I walked in.”

Robby’s face twitched "It’s not like that.”

Jake leaned in, eyebrows raised. “So it was something.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s just someone from work.”

“Heather?”

“No. Not Heather.”

“Cassie?”

“No.”

“Dana? Wait,nah, you aren’t their type,” Jake said, pointing at him with a fry. “And unless you haven’t told me something and that mentorship with Frank has taken a weird turn, I’m out of ideas.”

Robby shook his head slowly, smirking. “You teenagers and your cruel truths.”

Jake grinned “C’mon, you know I’m right.”

“It’s not anything,” Robby said, a little more insistent now, but not defensive. “It’s a friend."

“Well, Mom was your friend too…”

“God,” Robby groaned, chuckling. “I can’t win one with you, can I?”

“Nope.” Jake laughed. “C’mon…”

Robby shook his head, amused despite himself. “It’s nothing. And if in the future, not anytime soon, there’s someone else in my life... you’ll be the first to know.”

Jake leaned back, still smiling. “We’re a package, right?”

“Exactly,” Robby said, voice softer now.

The waiter dropped off their food with a nod. “This looks good,” Jake said, already pulling his tray closer.

“Well, eat up,” Robby said, starting to assemble his burger exactly the way he liked it.

A pause.

Then, quietly:

“Robby…”

“Yeah?”

Jake glanced up, eyes steady. “Thanks for doing this.”

Robby smiled. “Any time.”

Chapter Text

Robby sat in his car, the engine ticking softly in the summer heat, the rehab center’s brick facade bathed in the low gold light of late morning. He hadn’t turned off the ignition, hadn’t even unclipped his seatbelt. 

From where he was parked, he could see the building’s double glass doors.

But he didn’t move.

He stared ahead, jaw clenched, one hand gripping the wheel while the other twitched in his lap. The envelope sat crumpled on the passenger seat.

He picked it up.

The letter wasn’t long, but he’d read it a dozen times. 

«I’m not going to lie or pretend. I fucked up, Robby.»

Frank’s handwriting wavered at points,

«It wasn’t about not caring. It wasn’t about not trying. I was trying. But some days, the pain…»

Robby closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose.

«Some days the pain is so loud in my head it’s like static. And I know that’s not a good enough reason. I know I let you down. I let Abby down. I let everyone down. But I need you to understand, I wasn’t trying to escape your help. I just didn’t want to keep being the guy who disappointed you. So instead of getting better, I made it worse.»

A heavy silence filled the car. 

He dropped the letter onto the seat again and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

Every part of him wanted to go inside. But still, he hesitated. Because this choice, the choice to forgive, to show up, it shouldn’t have to keep being made.

Not after what Frank did.

Not after the lies.

Not after the stealing.

Not after jeopardizing a patient’s well being.

And yet… here he was.

Because what about him?

What about Frank’s well being?

His pain?

Robby looked up at the building. 

He glanced again at the letter. The last line seared behind his eyes.

«If you don’t come, I’ll understand. But I hope you do. Not for me,  not even for you. But because I want to believe that you still think I’m worth trying for. Even if I don’t deserve it.»

Robby exhaled slowly “Goddammit, Frank,” he whispered.

He turned off the ignition.

Unclipped his seatbelt.

But he didn’t get out of the car.

He wanted to, but something held him.

His mind flicked backward, trying to rewind time. To the moment Langdon first walked through the doors of the Pitt. He was by far the sharpest of them all. Cynical? Sure. Abrasive? Sometimes. But fast. God, he was fast. The kind of smart that didn’t just know protocols. He understood them but also saw the hidden angles and cut through the noise. 

Still, he came in bleary-eyed, always carrying a little exhaustion like a badge of honor. And with a baby at home, no less.

Never once complained.

They’d clicked quickly.

Robby had seen something in him.

Believed in him. 

He’d seen chief potential in him. Said it out loud, too, once, at a sloppy resident dinner, drunk on cheap beer. He’d pointed across the table and said, “Give him five years and he’ll be running this place better than any of us.”

And he meant it.

Every damn word.

That was before the bottom dropped out.

Before the changes. 

Before Santos,who’d known Frank for less than twenty-four hours, walked into Robby’s view to share her concerns.

Her findings.

And Robby’s failure.

She had seen what he, as a friend, had refused to see.

Because it’s easy to be blind when care and disappointment are tangled.

He pressed a hand to the back of his neck, the skin there hot.

He wanted to blame the late nights, the stress, the admin work, because there was plenty of that. But none of it excused how thoroughly he’d convinced himself Frank was fine. That he had it under control.

And there it was, the truth that made him sick: Robby hadn’t wanted to face the possibility of Frank slipping because he was already at capacity. And Frank? Frank was supposed to be the one he didn’t have to worry about. So when the signs showed up, Robby wasn't able to see it.

He shoved off the car’s keys, eyes burning but dry.

He’d disappointed himself far more than Frank ever had.

He took one last look at the rehab center’s doors and finally stepped out, even if he didn’t know what he’d say.

He needed to release it, somewhere or to someone. That someone should have been Fran, but Frank couldn’t take that weight. 

So Robby stopped mid-step.

And waited.

But the pressure didn’t leave him.

His hand drifted to his phone almost without thinking. Dana? Maybe. Heather? Possibly. Hell, even Janey could’ve handled the firestorm brewing in him.

But his finger hesitated.

Him.

He stared at the screen for a full second before hitting Call.

What the hell am I doing?

But it was already ringing.

The answer came almost instantly. “Hey Robby, how’s it going?” Dennis’s voice, hit him like a splash of cold water

Robby blinked. In the background, he could hear music, something bright and poppy he didn’t recognize. 

“You busy?” Robby asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Nope! Just cleaning,” Dennis said cheerfully. “Trinity’s currently losing a fight with the laundry machine. we’re having a productive Saturday. What’s up? Need something?”

Robby hesitated.

The pause stretched just a second too long. 

“Hey... is something wrong?”

“No,” Robby said, then sighed. “Yeah. Kind of. Look, don’t worry, I’m okay. I just…”

He ran a hand over his face.

“I’m visiting a friend.”

Dennis must’ve heard something in his tone. The music cut off abruptly. 

“Yeah?” Dennis said, quieter. “Everything okay with them?”

“No,” Robby said “Not really.”

A beat.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Dennis didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

“Frank didn’t take PTO…” Robby exhaled.

Dennis’s tone shifted. “Is he all right?”

Robby hesitated. “No. I don’t think he’s been all right for a long time,” he said, walking until he sank onto a nearby bench. “He had an accident a couple years ago, messed up his back. Chronic pain ever since.”

Dennis was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Is he doing PT or anything?”

Robby gave a humorless laugh. “I wish, he’s in rehab.”

A pause.

“That day, the shooting…” Robby swallowed. “I found out he was stealing pain meds.”

“Oh…”

“I didn’t see it,” Robby said. “Or maybe I did and just… didn’t want to. That’s worse, isn’t it? Ignoring it because I couldn’t deal with the idea that he wasn’t okay. And you remember, don’t you?” He was rambling now. “How messed up I was? Couldn’t lead anything. Couldn’t handle anything. Not until... well you. ”

Dennis exhaled on the other end.

Robby half-expected Dennis to bring it up, the day everything went sideways. The kiss. 

He didn’t.

Instead: “You’re human, Robby.”

“Don’t,” Robby said, sharper than he meant to. “Don’t let me off the hook like that please. Franks is not some guys, perhaps others see only my second hand but he was my friend too. And God, I should’ve seen it. I’m supposed to be the one who notices this things, I see it in everyone else. Just… not him.”

There was a long pause.

Then Dennis said, soft and steady, “You said was. Like you aren't his friend anymore.""

Robby let out a short, bitter laugh. “I'm not sure anymore, he ... He wrote me a letter, took  responsibility. Then said he wasn’t in a good place, but didn’t want to make excuses. Said he didn’t want to disappoint me. But he did”

Dennis didn’t say anything right away. 

Then, gently: “He’s in rehab. Isn't that good? Doesn't that count for something?"

“Yeah,” Robby said quietly. “It does.”

“And you went to see him.”

“I did.”

“That matters too Robby."

“I just needed to say it out loud. To someone who wouldn’t try to fix it."

Dennis’s voice was quiet, he hesitated but spoke anyway "Well I'm not an expert, but I don't think it has to be fine, at least not right now."

Robby closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

Dennis asked, softer now, “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

Robby exhaled through his nose. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

“I get that. But it’s not. You didn’t do this. He did.”

Robby’s mouth twisted. “Still… I should’ve seen it.”

“You cared,” Dennis said, his voice low and even. “But that doesn’t mean you could’ve stopped it. Doesn’t matter how much you love someone, or how close you are, if they’re hiding it, if they don’t want to be seen, you won’t see it. You can’t.”

Robby didn’t respond. His grip on the phone eased. 

“You sound like you’ve been there,” he said, gently.

Robby heard the sigh, so he waited.

“Remember when I told you Trinity was letting me crash at her place?” Dennis said.

Robby hummed. “Yeah. Since you couldn't afford anything else.”

“Yeah…” He heard Dennis take a deep breath, like whatever he was about to say cost something. “Before her, I was staying at the hospital.”

Robby blinked. “What do you mean, at the hospital?”

“I mean in it,” Dennis said, with a bitter edge of humor. “Upper floor. Old wing no one uses anymore. I kept my stuff in a closet, cleaned up in there, made sure no one noticed me coming or going. At least until Trinity did.”

What’s with this girl? Robby thought.

He straightened, his heart giving a slow, sick thud. “Dennis…”

“It was only for a few weeks,” Dennis said quickly. “Since I started rotation, really. I just… didn’t have a place. And I couldn't afford anything else, I'd burned through what I had left after tuition and food. My family, they were already doing so much, helping me through school. I didn’t want to tell them I was failing at this part too, didn't take more of his money."

“You were alone,” Robby said quietly.

“Not the whole time,” Dennis replied. “Trinity found out. She offered me her extra room and now I have something better.”

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose “Jesus, Dennis.”

“I know. I know it was stupid, but…”

“So no one knew?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. When you’re in it, really in it, you convince yourself you’re doing everyone a favor by hiding the worst parts of yourself, from the people who care. Especially from them.”

Robby leaned back against the headrest “How the hell did I miss this?”

Dennis let out a dry oaugh. “We’re good at hiding. People like Frank, people like me. We learn to be.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“I didn’t tell you all that so you’d pity me,” Dennis said, voice calm now, even. “Just… so maybe you’d understand, sometimes people pretend to be fine because they have to. Because it’s the only way they might be fine.”

Robby let out a soft chuckle,low, a little fond. “You know,” he said, “I wasn’t half as wise when I was your age.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Dennis’s deadpan: “That’s sad, considering it wasn’t that long ago.”

Robby blinked, startled, then laughed. “Alright, point taken.”

Another beat.

“That was a good talk,” Robby said, quieter now. “I think I’m ready to go in. To talk to Frank.”

“Good,” Dennis said simply. Then, after a pause, “Can I give you some advice? Something my mom told me the day I left for school?”

Robby arched a brow, intrigued. “Sure. What’d she say?”

“That you can’t be everybody’s hero,” Dennis said softly.

"That’s pretty good. What’d you say back?”

Dennis hesitated, then laughed lightly. “I said I could try.”

He smiled again “You’re a smartass, you know that?”

Dennis chuckled. “Takes one to know one.”

Robby looked down at his feet, then stood. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’m going in.”

“Good luck,” Dennis said “You’ve got this.”

“Uh… thanks for picking up.”

“Always.”

Frank sat curled in the corner of the study room, a tattered paperback in his hand. He was trying to focus, really trying, but the words slid off his brain like water off glass. 

He only had a few days left. Then he’d be out. Back to the noise. First day or last, everyone played by the same rules. Supervised phone calls, monitored visits. No internet, no social media, no decisions without approval. Just therapy group and individual therapy.

He called his kid every night. Said goodnight, listened to him talk about his day. It was the best part of his day, but also the worse because the the call ended, and he always felt hollow.

Abby came when she could. He appreciated it, but it made the place feel more like a cage, she was out there and he was there for his own mistakes.

Dana called a few times. Didn’t ask too many questions, wished him the best; he was always grateful she didn’t push.

But the one that really threw him was Dr. King.

She’d shown up out of nowhere with a tired smile.

Mel didn’t look at him with pity. Or judgment. Just… kindness. 

She left him some journals. Told him to take care of himself, and that she hoped he’d come back, because she liked working with him.

At least someone did.

He was just about to ask Vinny if he wanted to play chess, when one of the therapists stepped into the room. 

“Frank?”

He looked up. “Yeah?”

“You’ve got a visitor.”

He blinked. “Abby said she couldn’t come today.”

The therapist shook her head. “Not your wife. But he’s on your list, he is waiting in the front lounge.”

He got up slowly. As he followed her down the hall, he tried to figure out who it could be. 

Then he rounded the corner into the lounge.

And stopped cold.

Robby.

Frank’s breath caught.

Robby stood slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should.

“Hey,” he said.

Frank stood. He gave a faint, crooked smile. Just tired. “Well,” he said, nodding slightly toward the space between them, “guess that means you read the letter.”

Robby gave a small shrug. 

“You wanna talk?” Frank asked, keeping his voice light.

Robby nodded once.

They walked without speaking, side by side. 

The courtyard was mostly empty, the air cool and still. A few patients lingered on the far bench, but otherwise, it felt like the world had quieted down just for them.

Frank sat under a half-dead tree. Robby settled beside him, staring out at nothing in particular.

“How you been?” Frank asked eventually, testing the ground beneath them.

Robby gave a low hum. “Tired, but that's the usual.”

They tossed around surface-level updates. Robby talked like he was reporting the weather. 

Then, after a beat of quiet, Robby said, barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Frank turned, brows pulling together. “What?”

Robby’s eyes stayed forward, fixed on a leaf twisting in the breeze. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it,” he said. “You were there every day, right in front of me, and I didn’t know.”

Frank shook his head. “You’re not a mind reader, Robby.”

“That’s not the point,” Robby muttered. “I’m supposed to watch out for my team. But I missed you. And we’re not just colleagues, Frank, you’re my friend.”

Frank’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “Still am. If you’ll have me.”

“You know what really kills me? It wasn’t just that you were struggling. It’s that it wasn’t me who saw it first. Santos noticed before I did.”

Frank winced, guilt flickering across his face "She’s a little too sharp for her own good.”

Robby let out a breath of laughter. “Reminded me of someone.”

He didn’t say who, but they both knew it was him.

“I should’ve seen it, Frank. Before it got that far. Before you had to…”

“Steal from the hospital?” Frank said, finishing the sentence with a grim smile. “Robby, listen. You were ther, I just didn’t let you see the ugly parts."

Robby finally looked over“Why?”

Frank gave a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Because I didn’t want to disappoint you. I know how that sounds.”

The oldest let that settled then“You didn’t disappoint me, Frank. I disappointed myself. For not being the kind of friend who could stop this before it started.”

Frank swallowed, throat tight. “You’re wrong,” he said gently. “But I get it.”

They sat in stillness again

“I don’t know if I’m ready to come back,” Frank said at last. “Even if they let me, even if you said it was okay.”

Robby nodded slowly. “Take your time. Then we’ll figure it out.”

Frank glanced over, surprised. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Robby said dryly “Just not at you. Not anymore.”

Frank nodded once, and then, almost without meaning to, he asked, “You think they’ll forgive me?”

Robby looked at him “Most of them don’t even know. And the ones who matter? Yeah. They will.”

Frank let out a breath and leaned back against the bench, eyes drifting shut for a moment.

“Good,” he whispered. “That’s good.”

Robby leaned back too, letting the breeze tug at his sleeves.  “Besides,” he said, tone lighter now, “you made a decent impression on the new residents and students.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “I did?”

"Dr. King for one,” Robby nodded. 

Frank chuckled. “She’s too nice. Like those that apologize if you bumped into them,” he paused, then added more softly, “She came to visit me. Abby likes her."

“Your wife has good instincts,” Robby replied. “And honestly? You need people like that in your corner. Someone with a soft heart. Not one of us emotionally constipated bastards.”

Frank gave him a sideways look. “Is that your subtle way of cutting me loose?”

Robby shook his head. “Not a chance. When you’re ready, I want you back. I need my right hand.”

Frank nudged him lightly with an elbow. “You just want someone to keep Collins off your back.”

Robby gave a dry laugh. “You caught me.”

Frank grinned. “She still antagonizing you?”

“Constantly,” Robby muttered.

They shared a look, and both laughed,quiet but genuine.

For a moment, the silence returned, but this time it was lighter, easier. Then Frank turned his head. “Hey, I haven’t been able to keep up with anything in here. How’re the Steelers doing?”

Robby groaned. “Jesus, I told you,I don’t like football.”

Frank smirked. “But you checked, didn’t you?”

Robby gave him a look. “Let me put it this way: I’m doing you a favor by not pulling out my phone and showing you the footage.”

Frank laughed, deep and real, and the sound startled them both. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” Robby said, smiling. “But I figure you’ve suffered enough already.”

Frank shook his head, still grinning. “Gotta stick with the team through everything, right?”

Robby gave a small shrug. “Some things… you don’t give up on. No matter how bad they screw up.”

The words settled between them, quiet and weighty.

Frank swallowed, his eyes a little too bright. “I’m glad you came.”

“I almost didn’t,” Robby admitted.

“But you did.”

"Yeah. I did.”

Chapter Text

Whitaker eased the door open with the caution of someone trying not to wake a sleeping roommate, . He’d barely stepped inside when he heard it: muffled giggles, lips on skin, soft gasps.

Then a voice, low, teasing, breathless.

His eyes widened just as he turned the corner toward the living room and....

“Shit...sorry!” Dennis blurted, spinning on his heel so fast his backpack smacked the wall. He stared at the front door like he could vanish through it.

Behind him, the room went quiet. Or, well, quieter.

There was some shuffling of limbs, the rustle of fabric, a theatrical sigh before Santos’s voice rang out exasperated and half amused.

"Oh my god, Huckleberry. Don’t be an idiot and turn around.”

Dennis hesitated. “Are you… sure?”

“Obviously. What, you think you walked in on a crime scene?”

Slowly, Dennis turned, carefully keeping his gaze above shoulder level. Santos had thrown on a tank top, hair a little mussed. Garcia, less concerned with modesty, had a throw blanket draped loosely over her chest, looking completely unbothered.

“I thought you’d be back later,” Santos said, folding her arms.

“Yeah, I was supposed to be. But Dr. Linus kicked us out after rounds" He lifted the pizza box in his hands like an offering to a pair of very intimidating household gods.

Santos looked like she might scold him for not texting, but Garcia pointed to the box with the sharp, instinctive precision of someone who’d just remembered they were starving.

“What’d you bring?”

Dennis blinked down at the grease-stained cardboard. “Oh... pizza. I had this coupon thing. Shockingly effective. Almost half off.”

Garcia lit up like she’d just been handed a winning scratch ticket. “Santos, get sodas and napkins. I’m starving.”

Santos gave her a long-suffering look. “You’re staying?”

Garcia rolled her eyes, tugging the blanket closer around her. “Please. Like Whitaker’s going to say anything. The guy nearly passed out at the sight of a bare shoulder.”

Dennis opened his mouth to object, then gave up with a resigned laugh.

Santos groaned, already heading for the kitchen. “If I find out you’re secretly writing all this down for some weird med school memoir...”

“I’m not!” Dennis called after her. “I can barely keep up with my charting!”

Garcia leaned forward, grabbing a slice and blowing on it dramatically. “You’ve got good timing, Whitaker. Weird entrances, but great taste.”

He smiled in spite of himself, stepping fully into the room, setting the box on the coffee table, and kicking off his shoes. “Thanks… I think?”

From the kitchen, Santos called, “Next time, text first!"

“Yeah, yeah,” Dennis muttered, flopping into the armchair, still a little pink around the ears.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d walked in on, but the pizza was hot, the tension had cooled, and Garcia was already eyeing her next slice like she might fight someone for it.

“So…” he started, reaching for another slice.

“Nope. We’re not doing that,” Santos said, pointing at him sharply.

“Oh, come on, you can’t treat the ER puppy like that…” Garcia said, nudging her lover with a smirk.

“Wait, I’m the ER puppy? Javadi’s younger than me!” Dennis pouted.

“Yeah, no… you’ve got that golden retriever vibe,” Garcia said, already halfway through her slice.

“That’s not... That should be considered some kind of discrimination.”

“Oh yeah? And who’s gonna defend you? A dalmatian?” Santos quipped.

Garcia laughed. “Nice one.” She turned to Dennis. “Don’t be mad. Everybody loves a golden retriever.”

“Still not loving the comparison…”

“You let her call you Huckleberry,” Garcia pointed out.

“I don’t let her. I just gave up.”

Then, after a beat, he glanced at Garcia. “So… can I call you Yolanda?”

"No,” both women said in unison, without looking at him.

“Unbelievable,” Dennis muttered.

Heather stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, eyes flicking between the patient’s vitals on the monitor and the e-chart glowing on the tablet in her hand. The young woman in the cot, Summer, early twenties, mild cramping, already triaged, was curled on her side, scrolling through her phone with the kind of detached intensity only possible when waiting for pain meds to kick in.

Robby stepped quietly into the curtained alcove and peered over Heather’s shoulder at the chart.

“How’s she doing?”

Heather didn’t look up. “Vitals are stable. Just waiting on the acetaminophen-codeine to settle in. She says the cramps are getting better, but I think she’s lying.”

Robby glanced at the patient. Summer barely registered their presence, too absorbed in her screen, thumb flicking upward in muscle memory.

“She’s a million miles away,” he murmured.

Heather sighed,low, tired, pulled from somewhere behind her ribs. “Phone’s probably doing more for her than the meds right now.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“You holding up okay?” Robby asked, voice pitched low. “Didn’t get a chance to check in earlier. These last few weeks have been hell. How are you, really?”

Heather didn’t answer right away. She tapped something into the chart, hit submit, then finally turned toward him.

“I’m fine.”

Robby gave her a look, clearly not buying it.

“Not fine,” she amended, raising a hand. “But I’m okay. I’m not the first and I won’t be the last woman to go through it. I’ll be better. Eventually.”

She said it calmly. 

Robby started to say something, maybe reference what she’d told him after her appointment, something grounded, but she cut in before he could reach for it.

“It’s in the past,” she said. “What I told you doesn’t change anything, right?” A faint smile played at her lips, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re good. Friends.”

Robby hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. We are.”

Heather glanced at Summer, whose brow was still furrowed, but not as tightly. The meds were probably starting to work. She stepped to the bedside, her voice gentle.

“Summer? Sasha will be back in a bit to check on you, okay? Try to rest.”

The young woman gave a grateful little nod without putting her phone down. “Thanks,” she murmured.

Heather stepped back as Robby reached for the curtain.

“I think she’d actually pay attention to me if I sent her a DM,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “Maybe we should start giving diagnoses via Snapchat.”

“First, that’s a HIPAA violation. Second, how the hell do you know what Snap is?”

“Jake,” he said with a shrug.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Robby slid the curtain shut behind them with exaggerated care, like he might break it if he moved too fast.

“Do you ever close these things without making it feel like a magic trick gone wrong?” Robby asked, wrestling with the curtain.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Better than you snapping it open like you’re unveiling a game show prize.”

His grin was easy now, and she nudged him with her elbow. “Oh, by the way. Bell left a note in the breakroom. Said he brought food last night for night shift. Trying to keep spirits up.”

Robby huffed. “Of course he did. Boosting morale by making Abbot miserable and pressuring me to do the same during my shift.”

“Well, if it was you, Jesse looked about ready to flip a stretcher when he found out it was gone by morning.”

“I’m not feeding you gremlins,” he muttered. “They don’t pay me enough for that.”

Heather made a face, and Robby caught it. “Still mad about Gremlins, huh?”

“Still mad,” she confirmed, arms folded. “You didn’t tell me it was about rats.”

“They’re mythological creatures,” he countered.

“They look like fur-covered, demonic rats.”

“That’s just rude to Gizmo,” he said, stifling a laugh. “Also, that was Gremlins 2. You watched the second one.”

“I was already invested,” she shrugged. “Might as well commit.”

That laugh from Robby, loud, genuine, carried far enough to turn a few heads.

Dennis, walking past with a bottle of pills in hand, definitely noticed. So did Santos, who was standing at the far counter, prepping syringes with her usual sharp efficiency. One brow arched as she tracked the tail end of the interaction.

She didn’t say anything at first, just followed Dennis’s line of sight as he tried not to stare.

Then, casually, “People always circle back.”

Dennis blinked, thrown. “What?”

Santos nodded subtly in the direction of Robby and Heather, still deep in conversation, their posture relaxed.

“Garcia said those two used to date.”

Dennis glanced again, this time more carefully. Robby and Heather were still laughing, still standing just a bit too close in that way people do when they’ve known each other intimately, even if the chapter’s supposed to be closed.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Santos gave a lazy shrug. “Not saying it means anything. But people love familiar roads. Even if they’re full of potholes.”

Dennis didn’t respond. He turned away, adjusting his grip on the pill bottle, but didn’t walk off. Instead, he lingered at the nurses’ station, eyes flicking once more down the hallway. Santos caught him.

“What?” she asked, not looking up from the tray she was checking, her voice breezy. 

Dennis crossed his arms. “How did that even come up in conversation?”

Santos smirked. “Yolanda was on one of her spiels about how this hospital doesn’t really care if people date... ‘as long as no one bleeds on the paperwork,’ she said.”

She peeled a label from a vial and replaced it with practiced ease, then glanced over at him “Then she mentioned those two used to be a thing.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows, glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “So… you and Dr. Garcia. Is that… dating now?”

He tilted his head, skeptical. “I thought it was about decompressing.”

"It is,” Santos said, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. “We haven’t exactly defined anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She paused, just long enough for it to mean something.

“But I’m not going to pretend the door’s closed.”

Dennis took a beat to process that. Then she added, more offhandedly, “Besides, Garcia said it’s statistically common for a resident to fall for their attending. Something about admiration blurring the lines.”

He let out a low grunt, somewhere between agreement and fatigue.

Santos shot him a side glance. “What? You think it doesn’t happen?”

“I mean… it makes sense,” Dennis said after a moment. “You see someone handling chaos with one hand and a coffee in the other, it’s hard not to get a little starry-eyed.”

She laughed, sharp and sudden, slipping out despite herself "Maybe.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck “Can you check on my patient in South 19? I'm waiting for cardio to admit them.”

Santos gave him a look that said I already planned to. “Fine. But if they bite me, you’re covering my rabies shots.”

Dennis was already backing toward the hallway. “Deal.”

“Wait,” she called after him. He stopped, turning back.

“If you’re heading to the break room, bring something sweet,” she added, voice more playful now. “I’ve been surviving on green tea and pure spite.”

He offered her a lazy salute. “Sugar delivery, noted.”

As he disappeared around the corner, Santos shook her head and picked up her tablet again.

Whitaker stepped into the break room and immediately felt like a damn idiot.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he expected to find Dr. Collins sitting in Robby’s lap? A bouquet of roses in a trauma cart? Maybe just some confirmation that the odd weight in his chest had a name.

But the room was empty Just the hum of the fridge, the soft tick of the wall clock, and the low murmur of something playing through someone’s forgotten earbuds. 

He crossed the tile slowly, hands shoved into his pockets. A fresh stack of night-shift snacks sat on the counter. Dennis considered grabbing something. But the idea of eating felt absurd when something thick and bitter was already lodged behind his sternum.

Jealousy. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?

He sighed and grabbed a glass from the drying rack. It clinked against the metal sink as he filled it with water, cold enough to sting a little. His fingers gripped the rim too tightly.

How could he be jealous of literally nothing?

Okay, sure, he and Robby texted a lot. Almost daily, really. But that was just… professional. Friendly. Robby was generous with advice, remembered small things Dennis had mentioned, always responded, even at godawful hours. But he would’ve done the same for any intern who needed support. That’s the kind of doctor Robby was.

The difference wasn’t Robby.

It was Dennis.

He exhaled slowly and drank.

He was the one building castles out of sand. And today, well, the clouds had arrived. A little rain and the fantasy sagged, crumbled, washed right out of reach.

Focus. That’s all he needed. Get through the shift. Rehydrate. Maybe inhale something sugary and call it clarity. Think like a clinician, not a kid with a crush.

For God sake he came to work.

Focus.

He set the glass down with a dull thunk just as a voice behind him broke through the fog in his head.

Whitaker flinched and turned, blinking.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you," Robby stood in the doorway, sleeves pushed up, ID badge crooked, hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

He reached for a mug from the cabinet, giving Dennis a curious glance. “Everything good?”

Dennis nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, all good. Just needed a second.”

Robby leaned against the counter while the coffee machine burbled to life. “Rough morning?”

“Not rough. Just… weird,” Dennis said, then immediately kicked himself. Vague much?

Robby didn’t push. He poured his coffee, took a slow sip, then spoke again. “I know that look. Too much happening at once and not enough time to process any of it.”

Dennis smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

Robby nodded “If you need to tag out for a bit, say so. I’ll cover. It’s fine.”

The offer landed squarely in Dennis’s chest, too warm for the chill still coiled in his stomach.

“I’m good,” he said quietly. “Really.”

The oldest one gave him one more look, measuring, then let it go. “Alright. But try to grab something more than just water, Whitaker. You’re not a ghost yet.”

Dennis managed a small laugh. “Noted.”

Robby tapped his mug gently against the edge of Dennis’s glass. “Hang in there.”

He smiled,but maybe it didn’t quite land, judging by the look on Robby’s face. Turning away, Dennis reached into the cabinet and pulled out a chocolate bar,Trinity’s favorite. He held it for a moment, thumb brushing over the wrapper, then turned toward the break room door.

But he stopped.

Hand on the handle, momentum stalled like he’d hit an invisible wall.

Behind him, the soft clink of a coffee mug settling on the counter broke the silence.

“Everything okay?” Robby’s voice was casual, but there was a thread of curiosity beneath it.

Dennis didn’t answer right away.

He should go. Trinity had asked for something sweet. He had a easy out. 

But his feet didn’t move.

What was the point, really? Going to something he’d, Secretly and maybe stupidly, framed as a date in his head, when it probably wasn’t that at all. Just two colleagues grabbing food. Maybe a test of that “informal mentorship” Robby kept tossing around.

Friendly.

Neutral.

Dennis exhaled, quiet and low. It was nauseating, being a passenger on a one-way street. Watching yourself inch toward something you weren’t even sure existed.

He turned slowly, eyes settling on Robby, still leaning against the counter, still sipping coffee. The faintest curve of a smile played at his lips, relaxed, open.

Dennis scratched the back of his neck, suddenly dry-mouthed. “Hey, um… about,uh… Saturday. The burger place you mentioned.”

Robby straightened slightly, coffee paused halfway to his mouth. “Yeah?”

Dennis met his eyes. And all he wanted was to say no. Call the whole thing off and reclaim some distance before the disappointment really started to hurt.

“I don’t think we..” he started.

“Cardio’s here!” Santos burst through the door, chart in one hand, moving with her usual stormfront energy. “They’re ready to take your guy in South 19. You coming?”

Dennis blinked, derailed by the abrupt shift. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Santos barely noticed the tension. She plucked the chocolate bar from his hand with a grin. “Ooh, this one’s good. I could kiss you, but no…”

And just like that, she was gone, back into the hall with her wake of urgency, and Dennis followed, offering one last glance over his shoulder.

Robby was still standing there, coffee cooling in his hand, brow slightly furrowed.

He hadn’t missed the unfinished sentence, but he just had no idea what it was supposed to mean.

Chapter Text

Dennis stepped into the ER beside Santos, coffee in hand, and slowed as they took in the scene. The waiting room, usually humming with patients was eerily quiet. There were patients sure, but not overflowing as they were used to.

Santos gave Dennis a sidelong glance. “Should we be concerned or just grateful?”

Before Dennis could answer, Lupe caught their expressions. She didn’t even pause, just raised a single, commanding finger and pointed at both of them.

“Don’t even think about saying it,” she warned. “You’ll jinx the whole damn floor.”

Santos snorted, ducking his head in mock surrender. “Morning, Lupe.”

Dennis gave a sheepish smile. “I won't say anything."

With that unspoken truce, they headed to the locker room. Samira was just walking out, keys in hand and a tired smile on her face.

“Enjoy the ... Well you know,” she said, brushing past them. “I give it an hour.”

“Place your bets,” Santos replied, holding the door open for Dennis.

Inside, the two began changing into their scrubs, the ritual of routine helping to settle their nerves. Dennis had just pulled his shirt over his head when Trinity spoke, still lacing up her sneakers, eyes on him.

“So,” she said casually, “we're gonna pretend you don’t have that thing tomorrow, or…?”

Dennis groaned. “It’s not a thing, okay? Just two friends grabbing a bite. That’s it.”

Santos raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? With your friend Mi-ke?”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “God, let it go. I’m just meeting up with someone. Not a date, and honestly, I probably won’t even make it, I’ve got the night shift.”

Trinity paused, studying his face a beat longer than necessary. “Then make it a lunch date.”

“It’s not a date, Trin,” he said, exhausted.

“But you want it to be,” Santos pointed out.

Dennis’s hands stilled over the drawstring of his scrub pants “Wanting it doesn’t make it happen,” he muttered, aiming for a joke, but it came out too honest.

Santos sighed and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Whitaker, if you want something, you’ve gotta reach for it. No one’s handing out what you want, you take it."

Dennis glanced over, torn between rolling his eyes and saying thank you. “Is this the part where you tell me that worked for you?”

“No, this is the part where you follow my advice because I’m wiser.”

He shook his head, but smiled despite himself, the tension in his shoulders eased ust a little.

The rest of the day blurred into the familiar rhythm. By mid-shift, Dennis and Trinity were at the nurses’ station, heads bowed over tablets, typing up reports and reviewing orders. The earlier calm had, predictably, given way to a stream of minor injuries and one complex intake, busy, but manageable.

That was when Donnie walked in.

He didn’t so much enter the ER as appear, arms with a small tray of of coffee cups, a paper bag clutched precariously under one elbow, his badge askew as always. He was grinning like he’d just gotten away with something.

“Guess who brought donuts,” he announced, holding the bag like a trophy.

Santos looked up, brow raised. “If those are from the vending machine, I’m throwing one at your head. I'm starving."

“Rude,” Donnie said, already crossing the room. “These are from outside."

Dennis accepted the offered coffee with a half-smile, grateful for the interruption. “Thanks, man.”

Donnie winked.

McKaydidn’t wait. The second Donnie set the donut bag on the counter, her hand was already in it like a raccoon raiding a cooler.

“Bless you,” she mumbled around a mouthful of frosting. “This might be the only joy I experience today.”

Mel appeared right behind her, eyeing the bag like someone hoping not to be disappointed. “Can I take one...?” she asked, gesturing tentatively.

Donnie gave her an exaggerated bow. “Be my guest.”

Mel chuckled, already reaching for her phone. “How much do I owe you?”

Donnie waved her off. “Nothing. Night shift doesn’t have a monopoly on eating like royalty.”

Mateo strolled in just then, a folder under one arm and pushing a cart in another. He gave Donnie a skeptical look.

“Since when are you Mister Altruism?”

Donnie shrugged, already halfway through his own donut. "Credit goes to Whitaker.”

Dennis, who’d been quietly leaning against the wall nursing his coffee and a half-eaten donut, blinked. “Huh?”

“Lenny from Labs,” Donnie said, licking powdered sugar from his thumb. “He gave me twenty bucks to put in a good word. Said you seemed cool but kind of hard to read.”

Dennis blinked again, clearly forgetting how to chew.

Mateo let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised as he turned toward him. “Didn’t know you were gay, farmboy."

Trinity’s head snapped up from her chart, her mouth already opening, but Dennis beat her to it. He raised a hand, calm but firm.

“It’s okay, Trin” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret. Just didn’t feel like making an announcement either. And, well... no matter the century, not everyone reacts well.”

Mateo watched him for a moment, something softer flickering behind the usual mischief. Then he stepped forward and slung an arm around Dennis’s shoulders, giving him a light shake.

“Different place, different rules, mi hermano. You’re good here. And honestly? You could do worse than Lenny..."

“He got you tickets to that sold-out match,” Perlah cut in, rolling her eyes as she passed with a tablet in hand, to show something to  Mel “Don’t believe this one," she added before leaving with the blond resident.

Mateo looked wounded. “So what? Can you blame me for keeping a few strategic advantages?” he called out.

Donnie snorted. “Some people flirt with coworkers. Mateo flirts with ticket vendors.”

"Don’t knock the hustle,” Cassie chimed in, lifting her coffee in salute.

The donuts vanished as expected. Dennis, however, felt a little full, and not just from carbs. Something about the ease of coming out like that, and the weird thrill of knowing someone was interested in him, had him spinning.

He didn’t like Leo like that. Friendly guy, sure. But he didn’t make Dennis hang on every word. Not like...

He sighed.

He didn’t realize Santos was talking until she nudged him.

“What?” he stuttered.

“I said, you’ve already got someone in mind, don’t you?”

Dennis groaned under his breath and shook his head. “Trin…”

“I’m not telling anyone who,” she said, pressing her palm to her chest like she was taking a sacred vow. “I’m just saying apparently you had options now, if that thing with Mike doesn't work," she whispered only to him.

Before Dennis could respond, or crawl into a supply closet and dissapear, Dr. Collins appeared, binder in hand and zero time for nonsense.

“Break’s over. Back to the real world,” she said. Then, without missing a beat, she reached over, snagged a jelly donut that Mateo was eyeing, and glanced at Dennis. “Also… Leo? Probably the least obnoxious guy around here. If you had to pick one.”

Mateo grinned and high-fived her. “Facts.”

Dennis, somewhere between mortified and vaguely amused, rolled his eyes and muttered something about transferring to a silent monastery.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted to the soft shuffle of night turnover. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the rows of lockers as Dennis swung his door open and tossed his stethoscope inside. The day hadn’t been terrible: just long.

Long, and strange.

Definitely strange.

He pressed his forehead to the cool metal and groaned, cursing himself for not bailing on the plans with Robby when he’d had the chance.

Because he wanted to go.

God, how much he wanted to go.

But he was paving his own heartbreak, and he knew it. Still, he could survive two more weeks. Just two more, and then he’d be up on the sixth floor, far from Robby, his brown eyes, that messy stubble, and the way he tilted his head and frowned when he didn't understand something.

And how he scratched his eyebrows and side smile when he was nervous.

That smile.

God.

Dennis groaned again, louder this time. Loud enough that he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone anymore.

“You okay?” came a voice behind him.

Dennis jumped, startled, and smacked his forehead on the locker door.

“Fuck!” he hissed, both from the shock and the pain.

Robby was already stepping closer, gently brushing Dennis’s forehead aside to check for signs of a bump. His hands cradled Dennis’s face, eyes scanning for anything serious,and Dennis’s heart thudded hard in his chest.

“I’m fine,” he managed, warily eyeing Robby’s hands, still so close. Robby dropped them the second he noticed, stepping back slightly. Dennis cursed himself again, for reacting, for overthinking, for how good it felt to be touched like that.

Robby lingered for a second longer, like he was about to say something.

But the door swung open again.

"Whitaker, my man..." Donnie strolled in, looking far too energetic for someone just off a twelve-hour shift. “Perfect timing,” he said, zeroing in on Dennis. “Got a second?”

Dennis blinked, glancing between the two of them. “Uh… yeah?”

Robby moved almost imperceptibly, just a step to the side, casually opening his locker, but his posture had changed. He was still close and clearly listening.

Donnie leaned against a locker, arms crossed. “So,  Leo.”

Dennis blinked again. “Leo?”

“Still interested,” Donnie said. “Still waiting for a yes or no. The guy’s practically written a speech for your date tomorrow, so what you say?"

Dennis opened his mouth to respond. But Robby, who’d been quiet and still, suddenly straightened.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” he said abruptly, voice clipped but polite. He didn’t look directly at Dennis as he closed his locker with a soft click "Good weekend to both of you."

Before Dennis could fully register what just happened, Robby was gone, the door swinging closed behind him, somehow sounding much louder than it should’ve.

Dennis stared after him for a beat too long, whatever words he’d had completely gone.

Donnie tilted his head. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No. No, it’s...” Dennis slung his bag over one shoulder, clearing his throat. “Tell Leo I’m flattered, but… not interested. Sorry.”

And with that, he was out the door, leaving Donnie behind in the echoing quiet of the locker room.

Out in the corridor, he scanned for any sign of Robby, heart thudding with something he didn’t want to name. He wasn’t sure what he’d say when he found him, but he knew he had to try.

Robby didn’t know when his legs had taken him out of the locker room, he just knew he was outside, the air colder than he remembered, his fingers tingling as he opened the car door and tossed his bag in like it had personally offended him.

He tried not to think about it. About Dennis. About the way Donnie had said Leo like it was some inside joke he wasn’t part of. About the split-second delay in Dennis’s answer. That blink. That hesitation.

So what if Dennis had a date?

He was young, handsome and sweet. Someone like Leo would be lucky to...Robby slammed the backseat's door harder than necessary and leaned a against it, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead.

Why the hell did it bother him so much?

He’d spent the entire walk out here telling himself it didn’t. That it was just… strange, maybe.

Maybe he was just mad Dennis was going to bail on their plans, for a date.

And not a date that made his stomach twist the way it was doing now.

He shook his head, muttering to himself. “It’s not like that.”

It couldn’t be.

Dennis was...well, Dennis.

A student.

Younger.

A man.

He was getting crazy again, but the image wouldn’t leave his head: Dennis sitting across from someone else. Smiling that crooked smile. Laughing in that half-shy way he always did when caught off guard. Leaning in close to someone who wasn’t.

Robby cursed under his breath and yanked open the driver’s side door.

Whatever. He’d get some Thai. Drown the weird itch somewhere around his ribs. Maybe throw on an old movie.

He hadn’t seen 12 Angry Men in a while.

Then he heard it, footsteps, quick and uneven, coming up behind him.

“Robby! Wait!”

His heart kicked, startled. He turned.

Dennis.

Robby blinked, caught off guard by the look on his face, slightly flushed, determined, breathless like he’d run the whole way.

“Dennis?”

“Hey. Sorry. Just...don’t leave yet, okay?” he said, still catching his breath.

“I wasn’t...” Robby started to say he wasn’t leaving, but the lie caught in his throat. “Is something wrong?”

Dennis slowed to a stop in front of him. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Robby straightened, anxiety spiking before he could control it. “What happened?”

Dennis looked up at him, and for a second, he looked almost... embarrassed. “I didn’t want you thinking I was actually going on that date.”

There was a pause, Robby’s brain didn’t quite catch up. “What?”

“With Leo,” Dennis clarified. “I’m not. I never said yes. Donnie just... it does matter, I didn't say yes."

“Oh,” Robby said. His voice came out flatter than he meant. “You don’t have to explain that to me.”

Dennis frowned. “Don’t I?”

Robby didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know why he’d needed the explanation so badly. Or why hearing Dennis wasn’t going after Leo made something inside his chest unclench, like he’d been bracing for a blow that never landed.

Instead, he said, “You can do what you want, Dennis. I’m not...this isn’t…”

He trailed off. What was this?

“You looked upset,” Dennis said quietly.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were," he pressed.

Robby exhaled slowly, eyes skimming anywhere but Dennis. “I just didn’t expect it, okay? That’s all.”

“Expect what?”

That you’d pick someone else. That someone would get to see all the things about you I didn’t realize I paid attention to.

“I don’t know, forget it” Robby muttered. He stared at Dennis for a beat, unreadable. “As I already told you...you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know,” Dennis said. “But I want to give you one.”

Robby’s mouth twitched, maybe at the honesty, maybe at the insistence. “Still. You’re free to do whatever you want. Really.”

He looked away again, gaze fixed on something far past the parking lot. “You should go out. Have fun, we can raincheck for another time.”

“I don’t want to raincheck,” Dennis said, louder than he intended. His voice wasn’t desperate, just steady. Certain. “I want to keep our plans.”

Robby turned toward him again, eyebrows slightly raised.

Dennis took a breath, grounding himself. He thought of what Santos had told him that morning in the locker room, if you want something, grab it. No one lends things out forever.

"I still want to go out with you,” he said. “But there’s a change of plans.”

Robby narrowed his eyes, cautious but trying not to hope. “Change of plans?”

Dennis offered a crooked smile, half sheepish, half sure. “I picked up a night shift tomorrow. So instead of evening... I was thinking breakfast. I’ll pick you up.”

There was a pause. The air between them stretched, quiet and charged.

“Pick me up?” Robby raised an eyebrow.

Dennis nodded. “I check, and  there’s this amazing food truck with terrifyingly good coffee and dangerous cinnamon rolls,  Is close to your house.... And I was thinking we could check it."

Robby cracked a smile, genuine this time, warm enough to melt through the day. “Sounds risky.”

"I like risk,” Dennis replied, trying, and failing, not to grin.

Robby shook his head, still smiling as he stepped back from the car. “Alright then. I’ll be ready.”

Dennis nodded again, then turned and headed back toward the hospital, pulse still racing, but lighter now.

Behind him, Robby watched for a moment longer, then finally got into his car. The door closed with a soft click. A small smile lingered on his lips.

That night, stretched out on his couch with a throw blanket tangled around his legs and his phone resting on his chest, the TV flickered silently in the background, forgotten.

On the screen: one simple message thread.

21:02 , Wear something comfortable. And be ready at 8!

21:04 , please

21:05 , I'll text when I'm outside.

21:07 , Good night 😴

The simplicity of it shouldn’t have made his stomach twist the way it did.

But here he was, spending his Friday night smiling at his phone, and wondering, what the hell did I just get myself into?

Chapter Text

Robby bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, sipping his coffee a little too forcefully. It had gone lukewarm, bitter in that way coffee gets when it’s been sitting too long, but he needed something to do with his hands. Something to keep him from checking his phone again.

It was fine. Just breakfast, with a colleague. A student, it didn’t mean anything.

Still, the jitter in his stomach hadn’t eased since he saw the message last night. Something about it tugged at him. Like he’d been waiting for something he didn’t know he was waiting for.

His phone buzzed.

He checked it instantly,

07:59: Outside🥯.

Robby exhaled through his nose and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. He gave it a half-hearted shake, shrugged it on, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he passed.

He stopped.

Then looked away.

“Get it together,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders and running a hand over his jaw before heading outside.

The air was cool and fresh. Early sunlight stretched long shadows down the sidewalk. And there by the curb stood Dennis, fidgeting with his curls and shifting his weight like he hadn’t quite figured out what to do with himself.

It was... kind of funny.

Kind of endearing.

Robby shoved the thought aside with a sharp shake of his head and stepped forward. “Morning.”

Dennis looked up, startled for just a second, then smiled. “Hey. Didn’t see you come out.”

“Stealth mode,” Robby said dryly.

Dennis let out a short laugh, still tugging at a stubborn curl. “Hair’s a mess today.”

Robby shrugged. “It looks good. Uh…”

Dennis gave him a sideways look. “Thanks, I think.”

Robby jerked his chin toward the street. “Lead the way?”

“Yeah, the truck’s a few blocks. I figured we could walk,” Dennis said, gesturing casually. “Unless you’d rather drive?”

“No, walking’s good,” Robby said, too quickly. “Totally fine.”

They fell into step, the sidewalk stretching ahead of them. Quiet settled between them, not awkward, exactly, but thick with something unsaid.

Robby kept his eyes forward, fiddling with the keys in his pocket. He wasn’t sure what was making him feel like this,  like he was bracing for something.

He thought about the break room. Dennis trying to say something before getting called away. That locker room comment, Leo, the date, the shift.

It didn’t make sense. He didn’t care, he shouldn’t care. Dennis was free to do whatever he wanted. Go on dates, he wasn’t Robby’s responsibility outside the hospital.

Still, that tight, uncomfortable feeling hadn’t gone away.

Maybe it was stress. Or guilt. Or something else he couldn’t name.

But it was fine. They were here now, as friends; and he liked that. 

They were halfway down the block when Dennis suddenly slowed, then stopped.

Robby noticed and turned, brows knitting. “You okay?”

Dennis looked oddly serious. “Do you have any food allergies? Like… nuts? Or cinnamon?”

Robby blinked. “Cinnamon?”

The young man gave a sheepish shrug. “The food truck isn’t big on labels. I mean, they’re clean, but… I can’t promise there’s zero cross-contamination.”

Robby let out a low chuckle. “No food allergies, I swear. Though I’ve really wished I was allergic to anchovies. Sadly, I just have to keep saying no like a regular person.”

He laughed, tension slipping from his shoulders. “Good. I’d hate to accidentally kill you before you finished your coffee.”

They rounded the next corner, and the truck came into view, small and boxy with a soft pink paint job. A chalkboard menu bright with neon colors leaned against the side. The morning rush hadn’t hit yet, but a few tables sat scattered under string lights and umbrellas near the sidewalk.

Dennis gestured ahead. “Pick a table. I’ll get the food.”

“You’re taking orders now?” Robby asked, amused.

He grinned. “Least I can do. Any strong preferences?”

Robby shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Dennis gave a small, satisfied nod, like that was all he needed, and turned toward the truck. Robby watched him go, noting how Dennis stood at the counter, just slightly hunched, like he didn’t want to take up too much space. Always so aware of everyone else.

He deserved better than that. He deserved to take up space without apology.

Robby shook his head, surprised at how long he’d been watching. He sat at a nearby table, tapping his fingers once against the wood, like he could knock the thoughts out of his head. It was just breakfast, that’s all.

A few minutes later, Dennis returned with a tray balanced in both hands, his face half-obscured by the steam curling up from two cups of coffee.

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Let me help,” he said, taking the cups from him.

Dennis set the tray down. “Thanks…”

There were two large paper cups, dark coffee, lids already dusted with cinnamon. One cinnamon roll rested on a napkin, still warm, the glaze pooling in the cracks like syrup, pecans scattered on top with just enough sea salt to look a little indulgent. Next to it was a sandwich wrapped in parchment and split neatly in half. And something strange that looked like a croissant had collided with a dessert tray.

Robby eyed it. “What is that?”

Dennis followed his gaze. “It’s a cronut. We can split it, haven’t tried this flavor before.” He motioned to the greenish cream oozing slightly from the center.

“Cronut?” Robby repeated, dubious.

“Yeah, you know, croissant and donut had a baby.”

Robby picked up one half of the sandwich, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.

“Haven't heard of...”

“Really?! God. This, this kind of thing is what got my family through lockdown. That and banana bread…” Dennis trailed off, realizing how that sounded. “Sorry. That’s probably a shitty thing to say. You were here saving lives and I was just…”

“Helping by staying home,” Robby provided gently. Then smiled. “It’s fine.”

Dennis nodded, hesitating. “It’s just… you told me about your mentor, and I guess…”

“Let’s not talk about that, alright?” Robby said softly. He nudged the cronut. “I’ll try this weird pastry hybrid. But go on, what else did you bake during lockdown?”

Dennis perked up. “Well, my mom joined TikTok and got really into sourdough. Like, starter-jar-on-the-counter level into it."

He launched into the story, hands moving as he talked. Robby smiled, leaned in, and listened.

The food slowly disappeared, leaving only a few stray crumbs and empty cups between them. Laughter lingered between sips of coffee. The early haze of morning had lifted, replaced by a quiet, golden kind of warmth.

Dennis was only half-listening as Robby recounted a disastrous on-call night. He found himself watching instead, watching the way Robby’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Stupid, how that made his chest feel tight.

“Shit, we need to go,” Dennis muttered, checking his watch.

"Do we?” Robby asked, one brow lifting as he leaned back in his chair.

Dennis scratched the back of his head. “Well… I may have kind of scheduled us for a thing.”

Robby gave him a look. “A thing, what kind of thing?”

“There’s this place where you can, uh... paint your own mug.”

Robby let out a short laugh, eyes crinkling "What?”

Dennis winced, pulling out his phone. “Yeah, it’s dumb. I’ll cancel...”

“No,” Robby cut in, still smiling. “I’m laughing with you, not at you. Just... what made you think of that?”

Dennis hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. “Growing up, crafts were kind of a thing in our house. My mom used them to keep four kids from murdering each other. And... I don’t know. You mentioned that board meeting on Tuesday, the Langdon stuff,figured that’s gotta be stressful. Last night I was lying there thinking you could probably use something low-stakes. So I Googled. And spiraled. Hard. And landed on this.”

He looked up. “I thought maybe you’d want to try it, with me.”

Robby blinked, caught off guard. “Do you do this for all your supervisors?”

Dennis smiled, shy, but a little bold. “Just you.”

Robby snorted, finishing his coffee. “Alright. What’s the worst that could happen? Let’s do it.”

That’s how Dr. Robinavitch found himself inside a place far too colorful for his usual taste, waiting while Dennis chatted with a young woman who looked like she ran an indie zine and brewed her own herbal tea blends. Tattoos wrapped her arm, disappearing under the sleeve of a paint-splattered hoodie.

Robby glanced around: glossy floors, bowls of tiny crystals by the door, the faint scent of acrylic paint, and soft jazz playing from a speaker tucked somewhere out of sight.

Definitely not his usual scene.

But then Dennis came back with that crooked smile, and Robby caved instantly.

The woman followed close behind, cheerful and confident. “Hey there! Welcome to The Pot... I’m Tanya.”

“Uh, Robby.”

“Oh, I know,” she said brightly. “Dennis already told me about you.”

“He did?” Robby asked, brow lifting.

“Yup. And that you’re skeptical of the healing power of crafts.” She grinned. “But I think we’ll win you over.”

“I’m open-minded,” Robby said, just as Dennis bumped his elbow.

“Good,” Tanya said, clapping her hands. She grabbed two aprons off a nearby rack and gestured toward a sunlit table near the window. “Here’s your gear. You can drop your stuff there. Pick any ceramic piece from the back, grab your paint tray, and go wild. No rules, just fun.”

She handed them each a small slip of paper. “We’ll fire your pieces after you’re done,ready for pickup next week. And yes, snacks and drinks available while you paint. Also, music requests welcome, unless it’s, like, scream metal.”

“Got it,” Dennis said, already slinging the apron over his head.

“You guys good?”

They both nodded.

“Cool. Go pick your poison.”

They headed into the back room, where the walls were lined with shelves stacked with blank ceramics, mugs, bowls shaped like cats, goofy garden gnomes, oddly abstract platters. It smelled like clay and dish soap and old paint water. Like art class in a good way.

Robby glanced around, then turned to Dennis with a smirk. “So... you actually Googled mug-painting to help your boss de-stress?”

Dennis laughed, eyes flicking away. “It was this or puppy yoga.”

Robby gave him a dry look. “Okay yeah, you made the right call.”

“Right? I would’ve come home with a dog. Trin would’ve murdered me.”

They scanned the shelves.

Robby let out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding. This is kinda cool.”

Dennis grinned. “Told you.”

Robby chuckled. “You pick first. I want to see how seriously you’re taking this.”

Dennis reached for a plain, rounded mug and held it like a holy artifact. “Classic. Understated. Just like me.”

Robby rolled his eyes, grabbing a taller version of the same shape. “Alright, Picasso. Let’s paint.”

It took Robby exactly one brushstroke to realize ceramic painting was not, in fact, foolproof. His brush dragged a crooked streak of blue across the curve of the mug, and he groaned.

“Oh wow,” he muttered. “That’s... aggressively bad.”

Dennis looked over, grinning when he saw it. “Love that. Great to know there’s something you suck at.”

He laughed, tilting the mug toward Robby with mock pride. “Artistry. My Achilles' heel.”

Robby dipped his brush, cautiously attempting a stripe that ended up crooked. He looked up at Dennis, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you said you’ve been doing this for years. Because that’s awful too.”

Dennis flushed. “I said I’ve been doing it for years, not that I was good at it. My mom always said mine were the prettiest.”

“You do know that was probably out of pity.”

“Ouch,” Dennis said, though he leaned over the garden scene he was attempting, squinting at it with exaggerated judgment. “Glazing will fix it.”

“You keep saying that like it’s some miracle cure.”

“It kind of is,” Dennis shrugged. “Smooths out all the ugly.”

They lapsed into silence, both focusing hard. Brushes scratched softly against ceramic while the soft hum of an acoustic indie playlist filled the studio, probably curated specifically for early-morning artsy types.

Robby was the one who finally broke the quiet, glancing up from his design. “Did you really enjoy this as a kid? Or should we have gone with puppy yoga?”

“I did like it,” Dennis said. “Mom used to drag us into the living room to do this around Christmas. Said handmade gifts meant more than anything from a store. And it was cheaper.” He smiled at the memory. “We’d paint stuff for teachers and cousins, mugs, ornaments, bowls. Mine always looked like a preschooler made them, but she kept every single one.”

Robby looked up with a grin. “And your dad?”

Dennis snorted. “Oh, banned. She wouldn’t let him near the paint after the Great Reindeer Incident of ’03. He turned a snowman into something that looked like roadkill.”

Robby laughed. “That’s kind of adorable.”

Dennis shrugged again, a little sheepish. “They’re good people. It was always just… solid, you know? My dad used to say, even if the world turned its back on me, they wouldn’t. And they meant it.”

Robby blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“So when I told them I was gay,” Dennis went on, voice softer, “they didn’t blink. Neither did my brothers. Well, Kevin did, but only ‘cause he was worried about how cruel kids would be. Real protective.”

“That’s the one who taught you to fight?”

Dennis nodded. “Yeah. Well... all of them did. I was the smallest, and by the time they’d all graduated, I was just starting high school. Ma was always like, ‘You’re gonna bruise him up,’ but she got why they did it.”

"I bet," Robby murmured, his smile returning. He looked at Dennis, really looked at him. The ease in his voice when he talked about his family. “It kind of explains why you are the way you are.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow. “What way is that?”

Robby smiled wider. “Soft. In a good way. Centered. Like… you always know who you are.”

Dennis paused for a beat, brush resting against his mug. Then he smirked. “That, or I’m just really good at hiding the chaos.”

Robby chuckled and flicked a bit of paint at him. “Well, if you ever decide to paint a reindeer, I call veto power.”

“Damn. There goes my plan for next Christmas.”

Dennis looked down at his half-dried mug, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Do you have any Christmas traditions? Shit... uh, Hanukkah?”

Robby laughed. “I’m just Jewish on my dad’s side,” he clarified, fingers still streaked with light blue paint. He sighed lightly. “But to answer your question… we had traditions,” he admitted. “Just not ones I’m really interested in keeping alive.”

Dennis gave a small nod, reading between the lines. He didn’t press.

Robby added, “Holidays were more about getting through than enjoying. Big gatherings, lots of noise, expectations. My dad was… sharp. You know? Everything had to be earned. Emotions were kind of optional.”

Dennis hummed, reaching for a fry, his gaze thoughtful. “How’d you end up choosing medicine, then? That takes a lot of empathy. Kindness.”

Robby gave a half-smile, looking down at his now fully painted mug like it held the answer. “I guess I’ve always liked helping people. It felt like… a way to do that, without all the noise. Something with purpose.”

“More of the same for me,” Dennis said with a shrug, resting his elbow on the table. “I liked science, biology. But more than that, I liked feeling useful. Like I could be there when someone needed it.”

Their conversation wandered from childhood memories to the horrors of medical school. As they painted and picked at their food, the mugs bloomed with color, the plates were reduced to crumbs, and their faces ached from smiling too much. The hours passed quicker than either expected.

When they finally stood, both reaching for their wallets at the same time, Dennis was faster. “My idea, my treat.”

Robby hesitated, not wanting to offend him, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But next time, it’s on me.”

Dennis’ heart gave a small jump at the words next time.

“Want something to go?” he asked.

“Whatever you're having.”

Dennis nodded and went to the counter. A few minutes later, he returned holding two bubble teas. Robby eyed his cup warily.

“Uh…”

"Try it first,” Dennis said, already sipping his as he opened the door for Robby. The afternoon air outside was crisp, the breeze playful but not biting.

Robby took a cautious sip, then hummed. “Okay… but no more new food today.”

“Oh, come on, you loved the cronut. I didn’t even get half,” Dennis teased, nudging him.

They paused in the middle of the street. Dennis didn’t want to leave just yet. Almost without thinking, he blurted out, “Can I walk you?”

“Uh…”

“The bus station’s close to your place anyway,” he added quickly, lying, and knowing Robby knew it too. 

The walk to Robby’s apartment felt shorter than Dennis would have liked. The time between streetlights seemed to collapse, like the city was folding in on itself just to get them there faster.

They stopped in front of the building. Robby pulled out his keys.

“You wanna come in?” he asked, eyes flicking briefly to Dennis’.

Dennis hesitated, hand still buried in his jacket pocket. “I... ” He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing toward the street, then back at Robby, then nodded.

Robby turned the key, pushing open the door. They climbed the stairs in silence.

Inside, the apartment was quiet and clean. Robby set his keys down in the small tray near the door, the soft clink slicing through the hush.

Dennis didn’t move. He stood just inside, one foot barely over the threshold.

Robby turned, noticing the hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

Dennis’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice caught somewhere between nerves and something heavier. “Nothing,” he said, taking one tentative step forward.

You can wait forever for things to be handed to you.

Or you can reach.

Dennis looked up at Robby, eyes wide, afraid, and open. “Just,”

He leaned in.

His heart slammed against his ribs like it wanted out. The kiss he offered was gentle, uncertain, the kind that asked a question instead of giving an answer.

And Robby stepped back.

Dennis froze. His breath stuttered out like it’d been knocked from him. Then came the flush, climbing up his neck, fast and hot. He pulled back, already recoiling.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean, I just... ”

Robby raised a hand, open, trying to catch the words before they scattered, but he was already unraveling.

“Dennis, you’re… you’re great. You’re charming, and sweet, and you’re a genuinely good guy. But I, I can’t. I mean, I’m not... I’m not…”

The words fell apart on his tongue, caught in a lifelong storm of shouldn’t, don’t, and can’t.

His thoughts roared behind his eyes:

You’re not gay. You’ve never been gay. You’ve dated women. This doesn’t make sense. It’s just him,it’s just Dennis. Isn’t it? You're not. You aren’t.

He hated the mirror his own voice had become.

“I read it wrong. That’s on me. I’m sorry.”

Robby opened his mouth to speak, to stop him, but Dennis was already moving, retreating toward the door, voice thinner now.

“I should go. Seriously, Robby... I really value this. Whatever this is. Our friendship.”

The word hung between them like a label too tight to wear.

“I’m sorry…” his voice cracked at the edge.

He reached for the handle, heart pounding, the sting of rejection settling like cold in his bones.

But before he could pull it open,

Click.

The door clicked shut with a firm thud.

Dennis stared at it, stunned, blinking once.

Robby’s hand was there. Pressing the door back into place, Over Dennis’s, solid and warm.

Then Dennis felt him, close behind. Not touching, but there.

 Breathing.

Dennis turned slowly, pulse spiking, caught in a storm of questions and suspended hope. His eyes locked onto Robby’s.

Robby looked… undone.

His jaw clenched like he was holding back words he didn’t have language for. Panic warred with need in his eyes. His chest rose and fell too fast. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff and knowing he was going to jump anyway.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, barely louder than a breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I didn’t want to watch you walk out that door.”

Dennis didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His eyes softened.

Robby’s hand lifted slowly, trembling ever so slightly as he pressed his palm flat against Dennis’s chest, feeling the wild, erratic rhythm beneath.

Dennis’s breath hitched. Lips parted.

That was all the permission Robby needed.

He leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t hesitant. It was chaotic, messy, urgent, a collision of doubt and longing that had built for too long. Robby kissed like he was trying to silence every voice in his head, like his whole world had funneled down into this one reckless, unthinkable, magnetic moment.

And Dennis, he let it take him. Let himself fall into it like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. His fingers curled into Robby’s shirt, a soft sound slipping from his throat as the kiss deepened.

The first few seconds were frantic, desperate, two people searching for permission in each other’s mouths.

Then something shifted. Slowed.

Dennis tilted his head slightly, one hand finding Robby’s cheek, and the kiss grew warmer. 

Less drowning, more floating.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, their foreheads stayed close. Robby’s eyes fluttered open, the panic gone, but something fragile still flickering behind them.

Dennis searched his face. “I thought you weren’t…”

“I don’t know what I am,” Robby whispered, his voice rough with the strain of truth. “But I know I didn’t want to see you walk away. And when I kissed you…” He hesitated, eyes flickering like he was still catching up to himself. “It didn’t feel wrong. It felt… like something I’ve been missing."

Dennis didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him, really looked, like he was seeing him for the first time and recognizing something familiar.

The quiet between them thickened,.

Then Dennis smiled "So we’re a mess.”

Robby let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a confession. “The messiest.”

Dennis leaned in again “Good. Then let’s figure out the mess together.”

And when they kissed this time, it wasn’t about questions or doubts: It was an answer in itself.

Chapter Text

The quiet hum of the city outside was distant, muffled behind the walls of Robby’s apartment. Inside, everything felt slowed, like time had folded in on itself. The couch cushions creaked softly under the shifting weight of two bodies pressed close, breaths mingling, hands exploring with hesitant familiarity. Robby and Dennis were tangled in a rhythm they hadn’t planned but had somehow fallen into seamlessly.

Their mouths met again and again, parting only to draw breath before returning, as if magnetized. Dennis’s fingers were hooked lightly around Robby’s collar, while Robby’s hand rested low on Dennis’s back, pulling him closer with every kiss.

When they finally broke apart for a longer breath, Dennis leaned back just a little, his cheeks flushed, lips swollen. A crooked smile crept across his face, like he couldn’t help it.

Robby noticed it right away. Still catching his breath, he reached up and gently cupped Dennis’s chin. “What?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

Before Dennis could answer, Robby leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, slow and purposeful, grounding. Then he sank back into the couch, head tilted to look at Dennis, who mirrored him, knees pulled slightly up on the cushion between them.

“You okay?” Dennis asked, brow furrowing slightly with real concern. “You look like you’re about to short-circuit.”

Robby let out a breathy chuckle, raking a hand through his hair. “I think I’m just… realizing I’m not as straight as I thought I was.”

Dennis bit back a grin, trying to school his expression into something neutral, but his eyes gave him away.

“I mean, I kinda suspected,” Robby added, laughing softly at himself. “But you know. Denial’s cozy.”

Dennis reached out and slid his hand into Robby’s. Their fingers laced together without thought, his thumb brushing lightly across Robby’s knuckles as he said, more gently now. “If that’s something you’re figuring out… I don’t care. I mean, not in a bad way. I mean it’s okay. I get how hard it is, thinking you’re one thing your whole life and then. ” He paused, searching Robby’s face. “....you realize maybe you’re not.”

Robby’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. “It’s like… chaos in my head right now,” he admitted. “Like everything I thought was settled just got cracked open.”

Then he looked back up at Dennis, and before he could lose his nerve, leaned in again, capturing his lips with an intensity that betrayed the swirl of emotion he couldn’t yet name. The kiss was messier this time, more urgent, filled with the weight of realization and want. When he pulled back, breathing harder, he added in a rougher voice, “But it’s kind of hard to think when all I wanna do is kiss you. Again. And again. And again.”

Dennis let out a quiet laugh, forehead resting against Robby’s, his voice warm and steady. “Then stop thinking for a while.”

And they resolved into kisses once again, until their lips were swollen and Robby’s hands were tingling with the urge to reach for places they weren’t quite ready to touch. Eventually, he pulled away with a sigh, resting his forehead against Dennis’s for a brief moment before letting the silence settle between them. Their breathing had evened out, but the air was still thick with the closeness of what had just happened. Robby gave a soft, reluctant smile and leaned back, brushing a hand through his tousled hair.

“I should let you go,” he murmured, glancing at the clock, though he couldn’t have said what time it actually was. “Don’t you have to be at the lab soon?”

Dennis stretched, arms overhead, letting out a low sigh. His T-shirt tugged up slightly with the motion, revealing a sliver of skin. Robby’s gaze darted away, his thumb worrying a faint chip in his mug.

“Seven-thirty,” Dennis replied, checking his phone. “It’s a long shift, but the lab’s understaffed, so... more hours for me.”

Robby nodded, aiming for nonchalance. “That guy...Leo...he's working tonight too?”

Dennis turned to look at him, brows lightly furrowed. “Leo?”

“You know,” Robby said, eyes still fixed on his mug. “The one who, uh, paid Donnie to play wingman?”

“Oh.” Dennis blinked, then huffed a soft laugh. “Right. That whole thing.”

Robby shrugged, feigning mild interest. “Kind of a bold move. Paying Donnie. Doesn’t that feel a little... I don’t know.”

“Desperate?” Dennis offered, amused.

Robby let out a quiet scoff but didn’t laugh.

“I told him I wasn’t interested, though,” Dennis added easily, tugging on his hoodie. “I mean, he seems fine. Just not...” He waved vaguely. “Not my kind of vibe.”

Robby nodded again, but the tightness in his chest didn’t ease. “Huh.”

“You okay?” Dennis asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just didn’t realize people were so invested in your dating life.”

Dennis grinned. “Trust me, I didn’t either.”

A beat of quiet settled between them. Robby reached for his glass of water, took a sip, and grimaced.

“I mean, it’s not weird,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor like it might swallow him if he stared hard enough. “Someone being into you. You’re... attractive.”

He said it fast and flat, like ripping off a band-aid, and instantly regretted how loud it sounded in the quiet room.

Dennis looked up, clearly amused. “Attractive?”

Robby winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean, like, not in a weird way. I just meant it makes aense. You’re smart, funny. People notice that, that’s all.”

Dennis tilted his head, watching him a little too closely. “Robby.”

Robby glanced up, regretted it immediately. “What?”

“Are you noticing?” Dennis asked, one eyebrow raised, not letting him off the hook.

Robby’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He blinked. “I... maybe. I don’t know. I kissed you, didn’t I?”

Dennis’s mouth curled into a slow grin. “Yeah. You did.”

Another beat of silence. Robby could feel his pulse in his ears.

Dennis leaned back a little, arms draped over the back of the couch like he was making room, just in case. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

He scoffed, trying to laugh it off, but his voice cracked slightly. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Dennis said, dropping the teasing tone. “You’re, not just attractive. You’re hot.”

Robby stiffened.

Dennis kept going, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. “Like, annoyingly hot. It’s kind of a problem, honestly. Makes it really hard to concentrate when we’re in the same room.”

Robby’s breath caught in his throat. “Why would you say that to me?”

Dennis smirked, eyes dancing. “Because it’s true. And also, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Robby ran a hand through his hair, then let his head fall back against the couch with a groan.

Dennis leaned in a little closer, clearly enjoying this. “What? You don’t like being called hot?”

“God…” Robby muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

But Dennis didn’t stop. “I’m just saying, now that I can say it. I don’t have to sit there pretending I haven’t noticed how ridiculously good-looking you are.”

“Dennis.”

“Like, have you seen your face? That jawline alone should be illegal. And the arms? I’ve had actual daydreams, Robby. Daydreams. The kind that ruin productivity.”

Robby let out a strangled sound and slumped lower on the couch.

Dennis grinned wider, emboldened. “And don’t get me started on the way you stretch when you think no one’s looking, when your shirt rolls up. What am I supposed to do with that? Call HR? Move to another room?”

Robby groaned, laughing now despite himself. “Shut up.”

Dennis kept going, shameless. “Seriously, if we’re being honest? It’s borderline offensive how hot you are "

Robby turned to him, half horrified and half amused, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Then he kissed him.

Quick, no finesse, just a way to shut him up before Dennis said something even worse that would short-circuit his brain entirely.

Dennis laughed into the kiss, breaking it with a grin still plastered across his face. “Okay, okay. Got the message.”

Robby leaned back, still red, eyes narrowed. “If the message was ‘embarrass me into an early grave,’ then yeah. Message received.”

Dennis chuckled. “You’re seriously not used to being complimented?”

“Not about my face, or my... whatever. No,” Robby admitted, tugging at the hem of his shirt like it might ground him. “Not like that. Not so... loud.”

Dennis’s expression softened. “That’s a shame.”

Robby arched a brow. “Why?”

Dennis leaned in again, voice low but warm. “Because you really, really deserve it.”

Robby blinked, then let out a quiet laugh and shook his head, trying to will his heartbeat back to normal. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet, you kissed me anyway,” Dennis said, lips quirking up.

Robby glanced at his mouth, then kissed him again.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Still shutting you up.”

Dennis glanced at his phone. “I should go. I’ll text you on my break?”

“Sure,” Robby said, managing a smile. “Don’t let Leo talk your ear off.”

Dennis laughed. “I think he got the hint.”

“I hope so…” Robby muttered.

“What about you?” Dennis asked, standing up. “Got any big night plans?”

Robby stretched his legs out, slouching deeper into the couch. “Probably just see what’s on cable, eat something...” He shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”

Dennis chuckled, grabbing his jacket. “Text me if you get bored. Not promising I’ll reply right away, but…”

Robby hummed, watching Dennis linger at the edge of the couch. He glanced at the clock, it was barely past two.

“You need to pick up anything from home before your shift?” he asked.

Dennis shook his head. “Unless you're talking about a few Zs, then no. I just need a nap. Probably gonna be stuck with a ton of entry data today. Might turn my eyes square,” he joked.

“You don’t have to rush out then, you know,” Robby said, voice soft with something close to concern. “You could nap here. That shift’s gonna be hell if you don’t get at least an hour.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep…”

Robby rolled his eyes. “You already sleep here, remember?”

“Yeah, on the couch,” Dennis said, brushing it off.

Robby raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh?”

“No... I mean, I didn’t expect to sleep in your bed or anything…”

Robby smirked. “Wow. That sounded weirdly suggestive, Dennis.”

Dennis turned red instantly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So,” Robby leaned back against the armrest, grinning now, “what you're saying is, you did think about my bed. Interesting…”

Dennis groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m just observant,” Robby said with a shrug. “And for the record, the invitation to nap did include my bed. But nothing else. I’m not the kind of guy who puts out on the first date.”

Dennis looked up, still flustered, then sat down beside him. After a pause, he leaned in and kissed him, slow, sweet, and very much deliberate.

“Does today count as a date?” Dennis asked softly, hopeful.

Robby blinked, then chuckled. “Honestly? Since that night with the milkshake, all those coffee breaks should’ve counted as dates."

Dennis smiled. “We just didn’t know it back then.”

“I’m terrible at reading hints,” Robby admitted.

Dennis laughed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Robby stood, stretching slightly before offering Dennis a hand. “Come on, Mr. Data Entry. Let’s get you horizontal so your eyes don’t go square tonight.”

Dennis let out a soft laugh as he took it, letting Robby lead him down the short hallway.

The bedroom was... undeniably Robby. The kind of room that wore his signature like cologne. Shelves lined one wall, half full of fiction, half full of something suspiciously academic. Art prints from local shows mixed with stark black-and-white cityscapes. A vintage movie poster The Third Man, took pride of place above the bed.

Dennis’s gaze moved over the desk in the corner, the mug of pens, the pile of half-used notebooks. A folded navy hoodie sat on a shelf, a little too neatly placed,like Robby had paused, considered moving it, then decided not to.

“Didn’t really clean up,” Robby said behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I’d be luring anyone into my bed.”

Dennis shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s okay. It’s you. I like it.”

Robby looked at him for a beat, longer than necessary, then blinked and opened a drawer. “You wanna change into something comfier?”

Dennis nodded, and Robby handed him a faded band tee and a pair of soft cotton shorts.

“Here. The shirt’s seen better days, but at least it doesn’t smell like guilt and laundry detergent.”

Dennis chuckled. “High standards.”

“I try.”

Robby lingered in the doorway for a second too long. “I’m just gonna, uh... lock up. Turn off the lights and stuff.”

It was only half true.

He did lock the door. He did switch off the lamp. He even double-checked the TV. But mostly... he just needed a minute. A breath. Maybe two.

Because this wasn’t just a nap.

It wasn’t just kissing.

It was Dennis in his clothes. In his room. Folding his jeans carefully over the chair like he already belonged there. Like the room had been waiting for someone exactly like him.

And that terrified Robby more than he wanted to admit.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled quietly, and made his way back.

When he stepped into the room, Dennis was perched on the edge of the bed. The shirt hung loose on him. His jeans were folded with unconscious care. He was looking around,not nosy, just... noticing.

Robby leaned against the doorframe, still in his hoodie and jeans, heart a little unsteady in his chest.

“You’re not gonna start judging my bookshelf, right?” he asked.

Dennis glanced back and smirked. “Only mildly. I mean, you do know owning three copies of Catcher in the Rye is basically a cry for help?”

“It’s called being thorough,” Robby deadpanned.

“You say that, but none of them are annotated. Poser.”

Robby narrowed his eyes and pushed off the doorframe. “Wow. You insult a man in his own sanctuary. This is how villains are made.”

Dennis grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “It’s endearing. But also, a little weird.”

“I’ll take it.”

Robby hesitated, then crossed the room and sat beside him. Not touching, but close enough that warmth passed between them, quiet and sure.

“You good?” he asked.

Dennis nodded. “Better than. Just… weirdly nervous. I don’t know why.”

Robby let out a short breath of laughter. “Same.”

They lay down without much discussion, without awkward shuffling or disclaimers. It just… happened. Like exhaling.

Robby shifted the pillow. Dennis toed off his socks and slipped under the covers. For a second they faced each other, barely inches apart.

Then Dennis leaned in and kissed him, slow, deliberate. “Is this okay?” he murmured.

Robby didn’t answer right away. He nodded, humming into the kiss. “Mmm. Yeah. This is way better than those melatonin gummies people keep giving me.”

Dennis smiled, his nose brushing Robby’s. “You get gifted gummies?”

“Like I’m a feral raccoon someone’s trying to sedate.”

Dennis laughed, then kissed him again, firmer this time. “I’ll take it.”

Robby chuckled softly. The warmth of Dennis’s mouth, the familiar scent of laundry soap and something just... him, anchored Robby in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

They talked for a while, voices low. Dennis grumbled about office chairs and spreadsheets. Robby defended color-coded tabs with a little too much passion. Their words blurred into one another, slower and softer, until Dennis started to get quiet.

“You should sleep,” Robby said eventually, nudging him gently with one knee.

Dennis mumbled, already halfway gone. “Mhm. I’m a fast dreamer anyway. Soon as I close my eyes…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Within seconds, his breathing slowed. His brow smoothed. He curled toward Robby without hesitation, one arm draped across his middle, hand resting against the hem of Robby’s hoodie like it belonged there.

Robby stayed still beside him, propped up on one elbow, just watching. He wasn’t tired yet. He never was, not right away.

And now…

Now there was a man in his bed.

Not just a man. Dennis.

Wearing his old t-shirt. Wrapped in his sheets. Leaving his scent on the pillow like he’d always been meant to.

Robby felt it in his chest first, a strange, grounding kind of weight. 

Just… satisfaction. A low, quiet certainty that this was something he didn’t need to analyze to death.

Not yet.

He didn’t feel like sprinting off to Teresa in a spiral of overthinking and gay-crisis babbling. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week, when the reality of Dennis Whitaker, sweet and entirely uncharted, really sank in.

But for now?

He just wanted to stay here. To curl around Dennis and breathe in the quiet miracle of it all.

So he did.

Careful not to wake him, Robby settled down, letting one arm drape gently around Dennis’s waist. He buried his nose in the sleep-warm curve of his shoulder, exhaled into the cotton of his own shirt, now worn by someone else.

And finally, Robby let himself drift, holding on to the feeling of something unfolding.

A gentle nudge to his shoulder stirred Dennis from sleep, a low murmur slipping from his lips as he blinked against the dim amber light spilling in from the hallway. Robby leaned over him, voice soft and careful, barely above a whisper.

“Hey… Dennis. You should eat something before your shift.”

Dennis groaned, warm and groggy, rolling slightly as his eyes fluttered open. His hair was tousled from the pillow, his face still heavy with sleep.

“Mmh… I didn’t hear the alarm.”

“I didn’t set one,” Robby said, his mouth curving into a quiet smile. “I just… wake up.”

Dennis let out a low, sleepy noise and pressed his face briefly into the pillow before shifting onto his side again. “That’s definitely something to be jealous of.”

Robby’s smile lingered. “Tell that to my grandmother. She swears I used to wake up before sunrise just to terrorize everyone on my birthday.”

Dennis chuckled, stretching, fingers raking back through his hair. “Sounds about right.”

Robby tilted his head toward the kitchen. “There’s some leftover pizza, if that’s not beneath your refined standards.”

“Not at all,” Dennis murmured, a lazy grin tugging at his lips as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

They moved through the apartment like it was something they’d done before, quiet steps, easy rhythms, the choreography of comfort. Robby pulled the pizza box from the fridge and slid two slices onto plates while Dennis leaned against the counter, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes, posture loose and relaxed.

The microwave hummed to life. The scent of warm dough and marinara filled the kitchen. Outside, the sky had settled into a soft gold-blue haze, and when they sat across from each other at the small table, their knees brushed, once, then again, and neither moved away.

They ate in companionable silence, broken only by the rustle of crust tearing or a glass set gently on wood.

After a while, Robby looked up. “Is it okay if I drive you?” he asked. “To the hospital, I mean.”

Dennis blinked, then shook his head on instinct. “You really don’t have to...”

“I want to.” Robby’s tone wasn’t sharp, but it left no room for argument. “You still look half-asleep. No way am I letting you Uber like that.”

Dennis opened his mouth again, clearly ready to protest, but Robby cut him off with a smirk.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Extras of pretty much everything. Jake always forgets his stuff when he crashes here, so... if you want to freshen up, go for it.”

Dennis paused, then gave a short, grateful nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

The bathroom was dim and quiet, lit by the fading glow of evening through the frosted window. The air smelled faintly of Robby’s cologne,clean, grounding, familiar. On the sink sat a neatly arranged row of toiletries. Nothing curated. Nothing forced. Just... lived-in.

A soft white towel hung from the rack.

Dennis brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His hair was a mess. His cheeks were a little flushed. His eyes looked softer than usual,still rimmed faintly with sleep, and something else he didn’t want to name just yet.

But the expression on his face, that small, quiet sort of contentment, was unmistakable.

He looked like someone who had just woken up in someone else’s bed.

And for once, Dennis didn’t flinch from the thought. He didn’t try to explain it away. He didn’t want to.

Instead, he smiled to himself like an idiot.

The car ride was quiet.

The hum of the engine, the soft whir of tires against pavement, it all wrapped around them like a cocoon. Dennis sat in the passenger seat, his foot bouncing anxiously against the floor mat, like he was trying to burn off some leftover energy he couldn’t name.

Robby glanced over, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on the gearshift. His eyes flicked down to Dennis’s bouncing knee.

“You okay?” he asked, voice casual, but his glance lingered.

Dennis hesitated. His foot stilled, and he let out a breath, like it had been stuck behind his ribs since they’d left the apartment. Then came a nervous little laugh.

“Can you promise not to laugh at me?”

Robby looked over again, eyebrows lifting slightly. “That’s usually what people say right before I absolutely laugh at them.”

Dennis rolled his eyes, but the nerves were still there. “I’m serious.”

That made Robby straighten a little, hands adjusting on the wheel. “Alright. I’m listening.”

Dennis kept his gaze fixed out the windshield, shoulders tense. “I’ve been thinking. And I don't know how to ask this without sounding like I’m twelve.”

Robby stayed quiet, letting the silence hold space.

Finally, with a grimace, like the words physically hurt,Dennis muttered, “Are we… like… dating?”

Robby blinked. “What?”

Dennis groaned. “I know, I sound like I’ve never spoken to another human being. I just,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this is going to be. But I like you. And I want to know if you’re… in it too.”

Robby was quiet for a beat. Then his mouth twitched.

“You think I let just anyone drool on my pillow?”

Dennis raised an eyebrow. “Technically, I napped. No drool confirmed.”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Robby said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

Dennis smirked. “So… is that a yes?”

Robby glanced over, then back at the road. “Yeah. It is.”

Dennis nodded, going quiet again.

Robby tapped the wheel lightly as they rolled to a red light. “I’m probably not gonna know what the hell I’m doing half the time.”

Dennis looked at him, waiting.

“But I know I don’t wanna just… watch you walk away. Not if I’ve got a say in it.”

Dennis’s smile was small but steady. “Okay.”

The light turned green. Robby shifted into gear and pulled forward. “Just… be patient with me.”

“I can do that,” Dennis said. “I don’t want you to rush anything. I don’t want you to regret anything, either.”

Robby kept his eyes on the road, but his shoulders eased just slightly.

“Everyone deserves to move at their own pace,” Dennis continued. “And if you’re willing to include me in that… it’d mean a lot. It’d be an honor, actually.”

Robby didn’t answer right away. He turned the corner, slowed, and eased into a spot a block from the hospital. The street was quiet. A little patch of luck, open space just before the mess of the main entrance.

He put the car in park and turned toward Dennis.

“Would it bother you,” he asked, voice low, “if we kept this just between us for now?”

Dennis shook his head gently. “Of course not.”

“It’s not just the HR thing,” Robby said. “That’s… its own nightmare. But I’ve got a long way to go figuring all this out. I’d rather do that without everyone whispering about it in the break room.”

Dennis nodded. “Take all the time you need. That’s fine with me.”

Robby watched him for a moment, eyes steady.

“I just want you to feel comfortable,” Dennis said. “That’s all.”

Robby’s hand drifted toward the gearshift again, fingers flexing once before settling. He gave a single nod in return. 

There was a pause. Then Dennis leaned across the console and kissed him, quick and warm, a promise more than anything.

He reached for the door handle, but Robby caught his arm before he could open it. Pulled him back.

The second kiss was nothing like the first. It was deeper, messier, hungry in a way that caught Dennis off guard. He made a sound, half gasp, half laugh, before melting into it, one hand catching in Robby’s collar, the other pressing to his chest like he needed to anchor himself.

When they broke apart, Dennis’s lips were kiss-bitten, and his grin was stupidly wide.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Now walking into work’s gonna be rough.”

“Good,” Robby said, smug. “Serves you right for being cute and employed.”

Dennis rolled his eyes but kissed him one last time, soft and lingering. “I’ll text when I’m home.”

“I can…” Robby began to offer.

“Nope, I’ll be late…” Dennis cut him off. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. I always share the Uber anyway. It’s okay… don’t worry."

“I won’t, then…” Robby said, his voice low.

Dennis nodded and stepped out into the cooling dusk. He shut the door quietly and walked to the corner, glancing back once.

Robby was still watching.

Chapter Text

Monday 

Dana had been watching Robby since he stepped through the automatic doors that morning. Not in a creepy way, she had a whole trauma bay to run, thank you very much, but in that quiet way nurses noticed when something was off. 

It wasn’t that he was floating, Robby wasn't the floating type. But if he could, she had the feeling he just might. There was a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there a month ago. Maybe not even a week. She’d checked twice, three times, if she was honest, to see if it was something simple: a new hoodie? A haircut? Had he finally trimmed that ridiculous beard? Maybe he just has started to sleep better?

But no. Same hoodie he always wore on Mondays. Hair still in its usual “I slept on it and dared it to challenge me” shape. Beard just as overgrown and insubordinate as always.

And yet... he looked different. 

Dana had been a nurse long enough to notice when people shifted in ways they didn’t announce. She'd seen doctors unravel and reassemble, interns fall apart between curtain calls, patients slip into grief without a sound. Whatever this was with Robby, it had been gradual. Barely perceptible at first. But now it had settled. He was less snappy, less brooding. He’d even stopped glaring at his coffee like it had betrayed him.

Mohan, no doubt, was enjoying this new version of the Chief. The two had found an oddly functional rhythm lately, and Dana wasn’t naive, she could tell Robby had loosened his grip just enough. Enough for Mohan to breathe, to connect with patients without the clipboard of doom hovering over her shoulder.

Dana moved down the corridor, chart in hand, pretending not to glance his way as he spoke to Santos at the nurses’ station. She was frowning, arms crossed, but listening. Robby had that calm, coaxing tone Dana had heard maybe three times in all the years she’d worked here. He wasn’t arguing, he was explaining. Collaborating.

Santos walked off, brows still knit, but not storming like usual. 

Robby turned and, without missing a beat, called over his shoulder, “Jesse, check the IV in curtain three again, please. Mateo, if you get Gastro on the line, try a direct page this time, not just a note.”

A few people responded. Then, just like that, he was alone again. He stood flipping through a chart in the middle of the station and did something Dana hadn’t seen in... ever.

He hummed, just a soft tune. Barely audible, but unmistakably there.

She chuckled, maybe a little too loud, because his head turned, one eyebrow raised.

“You good, Dana?” he asked, dry but not unkind.

She leaned on the counter, grin already in place. “You tell me, you’re the one humming in public like we’re in a Disney movie.”

He blinked but didn’t deny it. “It’s not illegal to have a tune in my head.”

“It is very suspicious. Makes me wonder if I should check your blood pressure, or for a head injury.”

“Just in a decent mood,” he said.

“Yeah, I can see that. You're glowing.”

He blinked and finally looked at her. “Glowing?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, mock-serious. “Like… you got laid.”

Robby choked on absolutely nothing and nearly dropped his pen. “Jesus, Dana...what? That’s completely inappropriate.”

“Oh, now you're flustered,” she teased, eyebrows dancing. “You never get flustered. That’s confirmation.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly, straightening his posture like that would help. The flush creeping up his neck said otherwise. “And this conversation is wildly inappropriate.”

Right then, Cassie walked in, balancing a stack of patient forms and a coffee on one arm.

“What’s wildly inappropriate?” she asked, eyeing them as she set the forms down.

Dana grinned and gestured with a flick of her fingers. “Robby’s face. Tell me... doesn’t he look like a man who had a very successful weekend?”

Cassie raised an eyebrow and gave him a slow once-over, lips pursed in thought. “Hmm… There is a glow. Definitely postcoital energy.”

Robby groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my God. This is unbelievable, you two need hobbies.”

“Relaxation is healthy, Robby,” Mackay said, entirely unfazed, eyes already skimming the top form. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing who the lucky person was.”

“I’m just... relaxed,” he insisted, edging toward the hallway. “I took a walk, maybe I did some yoga. That’s it.”

Dana made a skeptical noise. “Sure. I always look like that after yoga.”

He turned to make his escape, and nearly collided with someone.

Dennis.

There was a beat. A blink of surprise, nothing dramatic. But Dana noticed the way Robby stepped aside with an ease that wasn’t purely reflex, and how his mouth quirked, just barely, just for a second, before he caught himself. Dennis gave a polite nod, maybe a beat too late, and kept walking like it meant nothing.

But Dana absolutely clocked it.

She glanced at Cassie on instinct, but Cassie didn’t look up, just muttered something under her breath as she flipped to the next form.

Robby, visibly flustered now, cleared his throat. “I’ll be in exam six.”

Dennis mumbled something about curtain four and disappeared in the opposite direction, like a man hoping no one had seen him.

Dana gave it two full seconds of silence.

Then: “Huh.”

Cassie let out a quiet whistle. “Oh God…” she said, still not looking up.

Dana smirked. “I know,” she said, eyes still on the hallway. “But I’ll need a little more data before I submit my report.”

Cassie frowned, holding a page up to the light. “What?” she asked, then groaned. “Ugh... these forms are outdated, and this one doesn’t even have an online option listed. Why are we living in the dark ages?”

She grabbed the stack and straightened it with a sharp smack on the desk.

“I’m going to talk to Gregg. This is ridiculous.”

Dana nodded absently. “Good luck.”

Cassie walked off, already rehearsing her argument under her breath.

And Dana?

She kept looking toward the hallway, one brow arched, the corner of her mouth tugged up in quiet.

She’d seen enough to know something was up, but she wasn’t in a rush.

Tuesday 

Dennis checked his phone again, thumb hovering over the screen like it might suddenly display something different. He double-checked the message, the floor, the time. Then looked up at the steel door in front of him, the small red EXIT sign humming quietly overhead.

He pushed it open.

The rooftop air hit him all at once, cool and still clinging to the last hints of daylight. A breeze tugged at his scrub top as he stepped out. Before it could close entirely, Robby’s voice floated back to him, quiet but clear.

“Stone by the vent, door’ll lock otherwise.”

Dennis spotted the chunk of concrete and nudged it into place with his heel, then looked up.

Robby stood near the edge of the roof, back to him, hands resting lightly on the railing as he looked out over the city. His posture was relaxed but weighed down, like someone holding more than just their own body. 

Dennis crossed the rooftop slowly, footsteps muffled against the concrete.

He stopped just behind him, letting a few seconds stretch between them.

“How did it go?”

Robby didn’t answer right away. He drew in a deep breath, then he turned, just enough for Dennis to see the fatigue in his face. 

And instead of answering, Robby stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn’t careful or guarded. It was full-bodied and immediate. His head tucked against Dennis’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around him like a shield finally lowered.

Dennis froze for half a second, caught off guard by the intensity, then returned the hug, anchoring him. One hand at the center of Robby’s back, the other sliding up to cradle the base of his neck, fingers resting gently in his hair.

Neither of them spoke.

The wind moved around them. A horn blared far below, someone shouted faintly from a nearby street.

And the city kept moving, but they didn’t.

When Robby finally pulled back, it was only by a step, close enough that their arms still brushed, close enough to feel each other’s breath in the space between.

“I told them,” he said, voice low. “Everything.”

Dennis held his gaze. “And?”

“I tried,” Robby said, with a short, breathless laugh “God, I tried so hard.”

Dennis felt the tension creep back into his chest. “They didn’t take him back?”

“No.” Robby shook his head. “They did. On probation, three months.”

Dennis exhaled, “Seriously?”

“There’s... conditions But yeah, he can come back. He can finish his residency at least."

Dennis’s face softened. “That’s... that’s huge.”

Robby nodded, eyes down, lashes catching the last of the light. “It’s not a win for me, but it’s a second chance for him. I’ll take it.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Dennis reached out, tentative, brushing his knuckles lightly against Robby’s wrist. “You’re allowed to be proud of that.”

Robby didn’t move away. Just looked up, eyes meeting his with something flickering there.

“I’m proud of you,” Dennis said, quieter now.

He stepped forward again, pressing their foreheads together for a beat.

“You did something good, he’d appreciate it.”

Robby closed his eyes, just for a second, then drew in a breath. 

“I don’t know if it was the right thing,” he murmured. “But it was honest. I told them it’s their responsibility too, to make sure their doctors are healthy, in a good mental state. And they failed.”

He paused, voice steadier now.

“That Frank is just another person the system nearly broke."

The words hung there, still warm from earlier, spoken to the board, an undeniable truth.

“I bet they didn’t expect that,” Dennis said.

“I don’t think they did, but I called him.” Robby glanced sideways. “He was happy.”

Dennis’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He sighed, not even needing to check. The buzz came again, more insistent, and with a groan, he pulled it out.

Another message, a new batch of journal articles from Dr. Rivera.

“God,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Robby raised a brow. “What now?”

“Rivera,” Dennis said, holding the phone up like a complaint. “She’s already assigning ‘suggested reading’ for the geriatric rotation. It’s basically a dissertation.”

Robby chuckled, that low rasp like it had been worn in over long nights. “She’s tough. But she’s one of the good ones, you’ll learn a lot.”

Dennis rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Rivera was sharp, but intense; half the hospital feared her and the other half tried to become her.

“Almost done with ER, anyway,” he said, slipping the phone away. “Less than two weeks.”

Robby gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t get too cozy up there on the quiet floors. I’m saving your spot."

Dennis barked a laugh. “I haven’t even chosen a residency yet.”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but I’ve got a sixth sense about these things.”

"Yeah?" Dennis smirked, stepping a little closer, their foreheads nearly touching again. His voice dropped playful. “What kind of sixth sense? Do you see dead people?”

Robby laughed, really laughed this time "No. I just know you’ll come back to The Pitt."

Dennis didn’t answer right away.

“I might,” he said at last. 

Robby’s hand found his, fingers threading through without urgency. 

“Yeah,” Robby said. “You will.”

The young man leaned forward and kissed him, softly. Just a brush of lips, but full of everything they didn’t always say aloud.

Then he turned, eyes scanning the skyline. The city stretched wide before them, lights flickering to life one by one as the last of the daylight faded. Horns echoed faintly from the streets below. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed and slipped back into the hum.

“I can see the appeal up here,” Dennis murmured.

Behind him, Robby smiled, small, genuine, without hesitation this time. He didn’t overthink it. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dennis from behind, slow and careful, like he was still learning the shape of this new closeness.

His boyfriend.

Still strange to call him that, even in his head.

Strange, but good.

Robby let his chin rest lightly on Dennis’s shoulder, breathing him in, his body slowly unwinding as Dennis leaned into him.

Dennis felt the arms around his waist and sighed, content, grounded. His hands found Robby’s and settled there, fingers lacing where they met at his stomach.

Robby’s voice was soft, close. “You got anywhere to be?”

Dennis shook his head. “Shift ended almost an hour ago.”

Robby smiled against his shoulder. “Would it bother you... staying a while?”

Dennis didn’t speak, just shook his head again, slower this time “No,” he said. “Not at all.”

The rooftop went quiet again, but it didn’t feel empty.

Wednesday 

Trinity had arrived with Whitaker as usual, walked in with him, even made it through the security doors still half-laughing at something he’d muttered about the coffee at home tasting like burnt regret.

But then he’d veered off toward the locker room and hadn’t come out.

She noticed, not because she was keeping tabs on him, at least, that’s what she told herself, but because Dennis wasn’t the type to waste time in front of a mirror. He was usually ten steps ahead of her by now, already scanning triage or arguing with the tablet to get its act together.

So yeah, she noticed.

She also noticed the way he’d been… quieter, lately, especially at night. She hadn’t meant to overhear him, thin walls, late hours, no TV, but the low murmur of his voice had become a pattern. Always late and always just him talking. Whoever was on the other end never said a word loud enough for her to catch.

No names. A few laughters, and a slow, steady hum of words.

Now, standing behind the nurse’s station, she tapped through the pre-shift dashboard, barely seeing the updates as she tracked the seconds. She didn’t have to wait long.

“There you are,” she said when Dennis finally emerged, hair still damp at the edges. “I was about five minutes from reporting you missing to security. Or the morgue.”

He blinked, eyes adjusting to the hallway glare. “I’m not even late.”

“You usually beat me to the board,” she said, still scrolling. “What were you doing in there? Meditating in front of your locker?”

“I was answering an email,” he said, grabbing a tablet without looking at her.

“Right,” she said. “That the new code for ‘texting good morning to my secret boyfriend,’ huh?”

He turned. “What?”

Trinity didn’t flinch. “You’ve been talking to someone, at night.”

He hesitated, something crossed his face.

“I wasn’t trying to listen,” she added quickly, keeping her voice low “I just… hear things. Thin walls, you know? That’s why I kick the wall when Yola comes over.”

She grinned. He rolled his eyes.

“I know…” he muttered, looking down at the tablet like it had just become fascinating. “And for the record, I’ve just been talking to my brothers.”

“I’ll take that,” she said, then flashed a mischievous smile. “But the minute I hear you moan on one of those calls, I’m singing Sweet Home Alabama through the vents.”

Dennis made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“You make it easy for me.” She shrugged, eyes back on the triage board.

Then, as if tossing it off casually: “And sooner or later, I’m gonna find out who’s got you singing Aretha Franklin in the shower like you just had a happy ending in there.”

He stared at her, horrified. “Seriously, HR needs a pamphlet with your face on it.”

She grinned wide, utterly unapologetic. “I keep them in my backpack, autographed.”

She was about to push further, maybe ask what song it was this morning, when a voice cut through the banter behind them.

“Well,” said Dana, arms folded, unimpressed. “This conversation seems both productive and highly entertaining. But unless one of you picks a case in the next five seconds, I’m assigning you every vomiting patient until Sunday.”

Trinity blinked, then reached to tap the screen.

“Uh-uh,” Dana warned, raising a brow. “First one on the board. No cherry-picking.”

With a sigh worthy, Trinity tapped abdominal pain and turned to Dennis with a pointed look. “This conversation isn’t over.” And with that, she left.

Whitaker had been lingering near the board, pretending not to listen.

“I’ll take the chest pain in curtain two,” he said, already turning.

Dana nodded. “Whitaker?”

He paused, glanced back. “Yeah?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Aretha?”

His face flushed. Before he could say anything, she added, almost offhand.

"Doctor Feelgood in the morning…” she sang. Just a breath of a tease.

Dennis blinked. “What?”

Dana only smiled faintly. “I said curtain two.”

And that was it. She turned back to the board.

Dennis walked off, brows knit, lips pressed, suddenly not so sure who knew what she meant by that.

Chapter Text

Frank stood outside the double doors of the ER, the ones that always felt heavier than they looked. He took a long breath, filling his lungs with air that felt both too sharp and not sharp enough.

His palms were sweating.

Come on, he told himself. You’ve walked through worse.

But still, his feet didn’t move, not yet.

Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, thumb hovering before the screen lit up.

One message.

Robby: Are you entering, or do I need to send an invitation?

A short laugh slipped out. Frank closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. That message was Robby, pure bluntness; and maybe that was exactly what Frank needed right now.

He tucked the phone away and stepped forward.

Inside, the hum of hospital life surrounded him, the familiar beeping of monitors and the scent of disinfectant tinged with antiseptic.

As he entered the reception area, Lupe spotted him and immediately stood. Her face lit up with warmth.

“¡Mira nada más! I’ve missed this handsome face,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

Frank smiled, surprised at how good it felt. “Good to see you too, Lupe.”

She patted his cheek affectionately. “You better not be disappearing on me again.”

“No plans,” he said, and meant it.

He made his way toward the locker room, shoulders relaxing slightly with every familiar hallway he passed. A few heads turned, nurses and residents offering greetings, nods, even a few genuine smiles; it meant the world.

He reached the locker room and paused outside for a beat. Inside, he could hear voices, half-bantering tones bouncing off the tile.

“...I’m not doing it,” came Whitaker’s dry voice, if he remembered right. “I already got suckered once. Never again.”

A second voice laughed, Santos. “It was just tampons. Be a man.”

“You made me get the jumbo ones! Do you know how many questions I got asked at checkout? I could hear the cashier judging me through his eyebrows.”

Frank pushed the door open just as Whitaker was mid-grumble: “I’m not reliving that trauma.”

He stepped in, and the conversation halted.

Whitaker’s face went slightly pink. “Oh. Hey.” He cleared his throat and stood straighter, awkwardly holding his grocery complaint in the air like he suddenly regretted it.

Santos froze.

Frank gave a small nod, letting his eyes settle briefly on each of them. “Good to see you around here still…”

Whitaker looked between the others and forced a smile. “This is actually my last week…”

“Oh,” Langdon said, still not looking at Santos.

“Yeah. I’ll be up in geriatrics,” Whitaker said casually, a faint smile on his face.

But Santos didn’t smile. She stood up stiffly, looking torn between staying and teleporting out of the room. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, then closed. She grabbed her stethoscope with such precision it looked like a lifeline.

“We’ll talk later…” she said. Without waiting for a reply, she slipped past him and was gone.

Frank blinked. “I guess I still have that effect.”

“Nah, we ran out of her favorite cereal today, it’s okay… she’s been in a mood since we left home,” Dennis brushed off.

Langdon raised an eyebrow and went to his locker, trying to brush off his nerves. “Oh, you and her are…?”

“Are roommates,” Dennis clarified.

Langdon nodded.

“Hey… Jesse told me you were here…” Robby entered without looking at anyone in the room.

“Uh…” He glanced at Dennis, tilting his head slightly, just enough. Dennis caught the cue.

He smiled politely at the senior attending. “Good morning, Dr. Robby. And welcome back, Dr. Langdon.”

He took a few steps toward the door when Robby seemed to remember something.

“Den...uh, Whitaker.” Robby reached for his boyfriend’s arm, but stopped short, correcting himself. They weren’t alone. He stepped in closer, voice lowered. “Keep an eye on Santos today, okay?”

Dennis frowned, not understanding, but nodded anyway. “Uh, okay… sure.” And he left.

There was a beat of silence.

“Did you want something…?” Frank asked, clearing his throat to remind Robby he was still in the room.

“Yeah... sorry.” Robby shifted, the professional tone sliding back into place. “I need to go over the terms of your probation and the drug test you’ll need to take before your shift.”

His voice carried the weight of responsibility. 

Frank nodded. He understood.

He’d made a mistake.

A huge one.

He wasn’t expecting forgiveness. He wasn’t asking for applause.

But he was here.

And that mattered most.

Robby walked off, already scanning something on his tablet, not judging at all, and that, strangely, felt like a gift.

Frank took a breath, turned, and stepped back into the current.

The welcome didn’t stop.

Even amid the chaos, people still found a second to greet him. A nod from Heather as she handed him a trauma chart, a “Good to see you back, Frank,” from Dana in passing, her eyes still on the monitors she was discussing with Mohan, who offered Frank a small smile and a chin-lift. Princess waved from across the hallway, too busy to come closer but not too busy to grin.

It wasn’t overwhelming, It was... grounding; it felt good.

Every rushed gesture, every clipped smile, it felt like a tether.

A reminder that he wasn’t a ghost here anymore.

He rounded the nurses’ station and caught sight of Mel in mid-conversation with one of the float nurses. Her voice paused as she looked up, and then brightened instantly.

“Frank... I mean, Dr. Langdon…” she said, stepping away from the desk, wringing her hands like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “You made it in. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he said, and found, to his quiet surprise, that he actually meant it.

She smiled, but her fingers kept fidgeting. “If you need anything, anything at all, I mean it. Just say the word. I'm really glad you're back, I’ve been looking forward to working with you again.”

He nodded, genuinely grateful. “Thanks. And… thanks for the journals you sent.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Wait, seriously? You actually read one of those?”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Cover to cover. That one on tropical co-infections? I think it saved a hypothetical patient’s life in a hypothetical debate I had with myself.”

Mel let out a relieved laugh. “Oh, good. That’s… really good. I was worried I’d overstepped. I wasn’t sure if it came off like... homework or something.”

She hesitated, eyes dropping. “Abby said you’d probably appreciate it. Said you might need something to keep your mind occupied.”

He nodded slowly. “My wife tends to be right.”

Mel looked up and smiled, softer now. “It meant a lot, really,” he added, and she nodded back with a quiet kind of pride.

They shared a moment, before the float nurse behind her cleared her throat gently, calling Mel back with just a look.

Mel glanced over. “Duty calls,” she said, already stepping away.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “See you around, Dr. King.”

He turned and moved down the corridor, his pace picking up as a voice called out for him,curtain two.

He didn’t hesitate. His body slipped into motion with muscle memory, his mind already flipping through possibilities, names, dosages, steps.

But even in the rhythm of charts and patients, voices and vitals, there was a lightness in his stride.

He wasn’t just filling space here, now he was part of it again.

Trinity had been off all morning. Dennis had noticed.

It started small, a snapped response to a nurse asking for clarification on a patient’s chart. Then an unnecessarily curt correction to Javadi, who hadn’t even finished her sentence. By the time she barked at an elderly patient for not understanding how to use the oxygen mask properly, Dennis had had enough.

He watched her retreat briskly behind curtain four, chart in hand, jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder she could speak at all.

Dennis followed.

Without saying a word, he stepped behind the curtain and tugged it closed with a firm shhkt of the rings on the rail.

Santos turned immediately, eyes flaring with irritation. “What..”

“Nope.” Dennis raised a hand. “Don’t even start.”

“I’m working...”

“You’re snapping at nurses. You just made an old man feel like crap for having arthritis. And you’ve been pacing like you’re one second away from kicking a crash cart across the hallway.” His voice was calm, but firm. “What’s going on?”

She shook her head and tried to brush past him, but he sidestepped neatly, blocking her path.

“Triny…”

“Dennis, move.”

“Not until you tell me what this is. You’re being meaner than usual, and you’re not that mean unless something’s eating at you.”

Her lips parted in protest, but then she hesitated, just for a second. That was all he needed.

Dennis walked over to the stretcher and sat down, patting the space beside him. “If I promise to keep it to myself, will you talk to me?”

Santos didn’t move for a moment. She stared down at her shoes, then finally let out a frustrated breath and sat beside him, shoulders stiff.

She rubbed her palms over the thighs of her scrubs, eyes flicking sideways like she wasn’t sure she really wanted to say the words. “First day I rotated here,” she muttered, “I found out Langdon was stealing meds.”

Dennis stayed quiet, no blink, no shift, just stillness, giving her room.

“I didn’t know him. I didn’t know anyone. But it didn’t feel right. He was diluting doses. Like, literally mixing in saline. That’s not a gray area, that was plain wrong," her voice shook now, beneath the tight wrap of her control. “So I told Dr. Robby.”

Dennis swallowed hard.

He’d known at least most of it. Robby had shared the broader picture with him weeks ago. But he’d left Trinity’s name out of it. Maybe to protect her. Maybe to protect him, from having to pick a side.

He kept his voice neutral. “That must’ve been hard.”

She gave a short, dry laugh. “Hard was watching him come back. Like nothing happened.”

She glanced at Dennis now, eyes rimmed red, but not from tears, it was anger.

“I know I did the right thing. He was putting people at risk. But now? He’s here, again like it didn’t matter. Like what he did didn’t have consequences. And I’m just supposed to... be okay with that?”

Dennis tilted his head slightly. “Were you hoping Robby would fire him?”

Santos looked away. “Maybe, yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment, broken only by the muffled beeping of a monitor beyond the curtain.

Then Dennis spoke, careful and even. “Do you ever wonder why he did it?”

She frowned. “Does it matter?”

“Sometimes,” Dennis said gently. “It does.”

She didn’t answer. Her jaw worked, grinding frustration behind her silence.

Dennis continued “You’ve seen what this job does to people. What it takes out of us. Especially when we don’t ask for help. Especially when we refuse it.”

She said nothing, but he could feel her listening.

“He came back,” Dennis added. “And that’s not easy. You know it, walking back into a place full of people who might know what you did, who are watching your every move. That means something."

Santos turned her head, eyes narrowed. “And what, he gets a cookie for surviving the fallout?”

“No,” Dennis said. “But maybe a little grace.”

She turned to him then, voice low but sharp. “Are you excusing him?”

Dennis blinked. “What?”

“Langdon,” she clarified, spitting out the name like it tasted bitter. “Are you saying it was okay? That stealing meds was just a bad day? That it makes sense?”

Dennis leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was weight behind his words.

“I’m saying I don’t know him well enough to excuse anything.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Sure as hell sounds like you’re defending him.”

“I’m not,” he said plainly. “I’m saying every story has two sides. And maybe, just maybe, there was a reason he did what he did. Not a good one. Not one that makes it right. But one that makes it… human.”

Santos scoffed, but Dennis didn’t stop.

“He doesn’t strike me as a dealer. Doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’s trying to get high on the job, either. The man looks like he sleeps four hours a week and spends the other 164 beating himself up.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe Dr. Robby found out what really happened, maybe there was more to it than we saw.”

She looked at him then, eyes narrowed, fire rising. “Like what? Enlighten me.”

Dennis hesitated, just for a beat, catching himself before saying too much. He shifted slightly, choosing his words with care.

“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t about getting high. Maybe it wasn’t about money. Maybe it was pain. Or desperation. People don’t always come undone in neat little ways.”

Santos shook her head. “That’s a lot of maybe for someone you barely know.”

“I said that from the beginning,” he replied evenly. “But I do know Dr. Robby. And if he let Langdon come back, it’s because he believed the reason, believed he was doing more good keeping him here than cutting him loose.”

She didn’t answer, but her fists clenched in her lap.

Dennis continued, quieter now. “If it still eats at you, you could ask Robby. He’s not exactly a vault when it comes to what he believes in.”

Santos let out a short, humorless laugh. Then she stood abruptly, shoulders tense again

“The hell I will. It’s not my business anymore.” Her voice came faster now, sharper. “If the boss wants to take that risk, trust an addict, fine. That’s his call. His mistake.”

Dennis stood too, his expression steady. “You don’t think people can come back from addiction?”

“I think people don’t change,” she snapped. “They just learn how to lie better.”

The words hit like the aftershock of a slap.

Dennis studied her, quiet for a long beat.

“Then you chose the wrong career.”

She froze.

His voice was soft, but resolute. “If you don’t believe people can change, what the hell are you doing here? This job is ninety percent trying to help people claw their way back from something: sickness, trauma, loss. Addiction. If you think none of it matters, if you think they’re all doomed to fail, then you’re not helping them. You’re just watching them drown.”

Santos didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked past him, to the curtain, the monitors, the flicker of movement beyond, anywhere but his face.

Dennis shook his head slowly. “I get being angry. You should be, what Langdon did wasn’t okay. But don’t tell me people don’t change. Because if that’s what you believe? Then maybe you’re not angry at him. Maybe you’re angry at something else, and you really need to figure out what it is.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

He stepped past her, pulled the curtain aside, and walked back into the chaos of the ER, leaving her standing in the quiet, too quiet place that was her mind.

Frank sat at one of the computer stations near the nurses’ desk, tapping steadily at the keyboard, finishing up a patient report while balancing a cold coffee between his elbow and the monitor. The soft din of the ER pulsed around him, it was the kind of noise that used to grate, but now felt strangely comforting.

Familiar.

Cassie leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed and a grin playing on her face. “You should’ve seen Mateo. I swear, two more seconds and he would've knocked that cop out cold.”

From behind them, Mateo rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “He was out of line. Treating that lady like she was nothing just because she didn’t speak English. She wasn’t even the one causing the issue.”

Frank looked up from his screen, one eyebrow raised. “What stopped you?”

Cassie smirked. “The redhead the cop had for a partner. The one who looks like she could deadlift a truck.”

“Ah,” Frank said, leaning back in his chair, arms now crossed. “So you were too scared to get floored by the girlfriend?”

Mateo made a face. “I wasn’t scared, impressed maybe."

Cassie cackled. “Please. You backed off the second she stepped in; I’ve never seen you retreat so fast."

Frank chuckled, a sound that came easier than it had in months. “Good to know nothing’s changed around here.”

There was a lull as Collins waved Mateo over for a consult. Cassie watched him jog off, then glanced at Frank, who’d gone quiet, his eyes drifting across the unit.

He’d spotted Robby.

From his vantage point, Robby had just stepped out of an exam room. Dr. Mohan was thanking him for something grinning even. No scowl from Robby, no distant stare. 

Frank’s gaze tracked Robby as he moved across the floor, nearly bumping into Whitaker, who was showing him something on a tablet. They exchanged a few words, technical, maybe, but their eyes weren’t really on the screen.

They were both watching Santos in the next room, speaking with a patient’s companion.

Still, neither Robby nor Whitaker moved apart. The conversation between them lingered. The space between them was close, too close for Robby, who was normally careful with proximity. He didn’t invite it. He tolerated it when necessary. But closeness? That had to be earned.

And Whitaker, it seemed, had earned it.

Frank swallowed hard.

“Noticed it too, huh?” Cassie asked quietly.

Frank turned toward her. “What?”

“Robby’s star student…”

“Whitaker?” he asked, frowning. It sounded almost unbelievable.

“Hey, more respect to my guy,” Mateo said, reappearing as he rifled through the cabinet behind the counter. “My bro knows how to handle himself. Gonna miss his face around here.”

Cassie laughed. “Mateo’s got a soft spot. Dennis joined the street team, total sensation with the ladies…” She nodded toward Robby and Whitaker, now parting ways. “And apparently, with the chief too.”

“Really?”

“Don’t tell him, but I secretly call him Robby’s hound dog,” Mateo cut in, before disappearing again.

Cassie grinned. “Oh yeah. Whitaker stopped some guy who was about to swing at Robby. Got a lot of praise for that, from everyone here, and of course from Robby. He’s made an impression,” she hummed.

“Even you?” Frank asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Cassie smirked. “Nah. Only if I were a man and like ten years younger,” she teased. “Good thing it’s his last week here, one more and he’d be crowned Robby’s new favorite.”

With that, she pushed off the counter to help with triage, leaving Frank alone with his report, and the gnawing thought that had taken root and refused to budge.

Had Robby been so disappointed in him… that he’d gone and found a younger, shinier, more capable version?

Someone who hadn’t let him down.

Someone who still had all the time in the world to become exactly what Robby needed.

Frank stared at the screen, the letters swimming out of focus. He couldn’t admit it aloud, but the jealousy stung, sharp, low, and mean. It wasn’t just professional.

It was personal.

He hadn’t realized how much footing he’d lost with Robby until someone else stepped into the space he used to fill.

The thought of losing his place around Robby made Frank’s recent welcome back feel a little bittersweet. He didn’t call himself Robby’s best friend for nothing. He admired him, sure but it was more than that. It was admiration that turned into trust, and trust that became something rare: a genuine friendship built over years, not just shifts.

He hadn’t kept many friends from college, half because he was too busy juggling study with diapers, trying to come home to a baby who didn’t care how exhausted he was. Residency gave him a little more control over his time, some breathing room to build real connections in the Pitt. Dana had been the first, motherly without being suffocating, firm but fair, the kind of presence he hadn’t realized he craved.

With Mateo, it was sports. With Cassie, shared hacks and gripes about parenting.

But with Robby… it was different.

It started as the usual mentor-mentee dynamic, but somewhere between noon traumas and 5 p.m. cafeteria runs, it shifted. Robby had listened to Frank’s ups and downs with Abby. Frank, in turn, teased Robby relentlessly for his borderline allergic reaction to romance. Still, beneath all that banter, Frank knew Robby looked out for him, and he needed that more than he liked to admit.

And now? Watching someone else, Dennis Whitaker, of all people, slide into that space?

He didn’t like it.

Dennis could be Robby’s little guard dog all he wanted, but Frank knew Robby best. He’d earned that closeness. And if Robby didn’t see that anymore if he’d already replaced him, then what the hell did that make Frank now?

He waited patiently at the cafeteria for a tray of coffee to finish steaming, checking the time. His shift was over. Ahmad confirmed Robby hadn’t clocked out yet.

Which meant one thing: the roof.

That was Robby’s spot when things got too loud. His place to breathe. Most people avoided it after that one ridiculous incident where a doctor got locked out mid-smoke break and had to throw a shoe at a window to get back in.

Frank took the elevator up, hoping Robby would appreciate the coffee, and overlook the interruption.

The heavy rooftop door groaned as he pushed it open with his shoulder. He instinctively caught the edge with his foot, jamming a stone in the vent to keep it from slamming shut. The wind met him like an old friend.

Two coffees in hand, steam curling into the sky, Frank stepped out slowly.

He hadn’t been sure Robby would be up there, but part of him had hoped. The rooftop had always been Robby’s retreat, his place to decompress when the ER’s weight dug too deep.

Frank had learned that early on, back when things weren’t strained and quiet between them.

What he hadn’t expected was laughter.

Not Robby’s usual tired half-huf, or the dry, sarcastic chuckle he used to shut people up. No this was different more open, maybe one, definitely real.

Frank slowed, rounding the corner carefully to avoid spilling the cups.

And there he was, Robby, leaning on the low metal rail, shoulders hunched slightly forward, sunset gold painting his profile.

Beside him, of course, was Dennis Whitaker.

They were looking at a phone, snorting at something, heads tilted close. Dennis nudged Robby with his elbow, laughing.

“Okay, but you cannot blame me for the colors. That was your idea.”

Robby rolled his eyes, grinning. “You’re the one who said, ‘It’ll be fun. Arts and crafts are therapeutic.’ That’s horrible.”

Dennis leaned in again, shoulder brushing Robby’s. “Only we’ll see it.”

“Us and Tanya…” Robby muttered, leaning in too, their foreheads nearly touching. “I like it.”

"Yeah?” Dennis asked, teasing smile flickering, phone playing hide-and-seek between their close bodies.

“Mmm…” Robby hummed, posture relaxing. They were about to kiss.

Then Frank made a sound. Maybe it was just a breath, caught between shock and something else. Whatever it was, it was enough.

Robby straightened sharply, eyes snapping to the source. Dennis recoiled slightly, gaze dropping to the gravel. The phone disappeared into his hoodie pocket.

A long beat passed.

Frank cleared his throat, lifting one of the coffee cups like a makeshift shield. “Hey. Sorry. I thought..uh..I thought you might want one.”

Robby stood fully now, face unreadable “Thanks,” he said quietly, accepting the cup.

Dennis shifted a few steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just leaving anyway. Trin and I have to go grocery shopping…. I should..." he mumbled, voice fading.

Robby looked at him then, really looked. His expression softened in that way it only did with a rare few. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

Before Dennis could respond, Robby turned back toward Frank. Met his gaze, and then, without hesitation, reached out, took Dennis by the arm, and kissed him.

A closed-mouth kiss, simple yes but not casual.

The kind of kiss that made both their hearts beat a little faster, from affection but also because it carried a new weight now, the weight of being seen.

Not rushed, or hidden..

Frank saw the way Dennis’s eyes fluttered closed for half a second, the flush creeping up his neck like sunlight catching a secret. He nodded, still not meeting Frank’s gaze.

“Yeah," he offered a little smile to Robby then "See you later..."

Then he slipped past Frank, silent.

Frank watched him go, the breeze suddenly cooler than it had been moments ago. Something twisted in his chest, but he didn't named it.

Robby sipped his coffee, eyes fixed on the skyline like nothing had happened.

But Frank knew better.

He knew Robby’s tells, the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the flicker behind his eyes.

“You’re not saying anything,” Robby said quietly. “But you’re thinking a lot, and too loud."

Frank opened his mouth. Nothing came out. So he took a sip instead, the heat burned bitter all the way down.

Robby still didn’t look at him. “If you’re gonna say it, just say it.”

Frank let the silence stretch.

Then: “You’re seeing him.”

Not a question.

Robby exhaled, half-laugh, half-resignation. “Was that your guess, or did the kiss give it away?”

Frank looked down at his coffee. “It’s not...”

“What?” Robby turned, gaze sharp. “It’s not what, Frank?”

Frank’s mouth opened, then shut again. His thoughts were a mess and his heart refused to help.

“He’s a student,” he paused “Your student.”

"Not for much longer,” Robby said flatly.

Frank hesitated. “That’s not the point. It’s… wrong.”

“Wrong?” Robby echoed, stepping in. “And you get to be the judge of that?”

Frank flinched, yeah, he deserved that.

Robby’s voice dropped, but it didn’t lose its edge. “If you’re worried about my judgment, don’t be. Not now, not about this, and specially not about him.”

And Frank could tell he meant it 

This was Robby choosing something, someone.

Frank didn’t speak for a moment. He just sipped his coffee, jaw working slightly, eyes fixed on some distant point across the skyline. Then, with a sharp exhale, he said: “I didn’t know you liked men.”

I thought I knew you, was the second thought he didn’t say.

Robby blinked, he hummed like trying to think, to really think what he would respond then “I didn’t either,” Robby said quietly “Until I did.”

Frank turned toward him, brow furrowed. “How does that just… happen?”

“I don’t know,” Robby said. “I think I realized, unconsciously... that it mattered more how Dennis made me feel than what he has between his legs.”

He glanced at the rooftop door where Dennis had disappeared. The corner of his mouth twitched, something softer than a smile tugging there.

“I won’t lie... sometimes I still freak out when we’re close. Still need to talk it through with Teresa. But…”

“But what?” Frank asked, and this time it was clear: he really wanted to know.

“He’s just… been there,” Robby continued, voice low. “In a way I didn’t even realize I needed someone to be, present and so gentle. Persistent in the most annoying, caring and endearing way."

He rubbed his jaw, eyes drifting again.

“He’s wise, smart, funny, kind. Always asking questions I don’t want to answer, and then waiting until I do. And yeah…”

He huffed a quiet laugh, looked over at Frank, and shrugged. “...You have to admit he’s,  well he's really handsome.

“Well, shit…” Frank’s eyebrows shot up. He took a long sip of his coffee to cover whatever expression threatened to break across his face. “That’s… Shit, Robby. That’s a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that much about anyone.”

Robby chuckled. “Tell me about it.”

Frank nodded slowly, then exhaled, setting his cup down on the low wall beside them.

“I saw you. Just now. With him. And for a second I thought…” He hesitated, shook his head. “I thought you’d replaced me. That you’d found another mentee. And I was just the broken one you had to let go.”

Robby’s head snapped toward him. “Frank no, that's no..."

He said it with such certainty that Frank actually flinched.

“I’m not replacing you,” Robby said, voice firm. “That’s not what this is. Dennis isn’t you. And you’re not him. You never were, you two are… so different it’s almost laughable.”

Frank let out a quiet laugh. “What, ’cause he’s not an idiot?”

Robby smirked. “No. Because I never wanted to kiss you every time we argued.”

Frank nearly choked on the last sip of his coffee. “Wow.”

Robby grinned. “Yeah. That surprised me too.”

Frank rubbed his temple, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Jesus. Okay. That’s… more than I expected. A way lot."

"You asked,” Robby said lightly, nudging him with his shoulder. “I figured we’re doing the honesty thing now.”

Frank snorted, shaking his head. “Guess we are.”

They fell quiet again, but this time the silence felt easier.

After a while, Robby added, softer now, “You’re still my friend, Frank. That hasn’t changed. Won’t change.”

Frank nodded. “Even if I don’t get it yet?”

Robby smiled and took another sip "I can't exactly blame you for that, because I don’t totally get it either. But I’m diving in. And hoping not to drown.”

Frank let out a long breath. “Well, I’ll be here to throw you a lifejacket.”

Robby smiled at that "I wouldn't expect less from you."

Chapter Text

The coffee table was a mess, crumbs from whatever they’d picked at earlier, two stained mugs sitting close together, one blue, one green. They stood out in the otherwise neat atmosphere the place usually offered. Robby was known for his tidiness, and it would never cross his mind to do anything else before cleaning up. But that day, he had more pressing matters.

Not when he had his boyfriend’s mouth pressed to his.

Dennis had rested a hand on Robby’s knee, trying to ground himself in the haze of being kissed. He kissed Robby, slow but sure. There was no question in it, just this pure insistence. His mouth moved with easy intent, and his hands slipped under Robby’s shirt, fingertips brushing skin. Just enough, like he was trying to memorize what he could reach.

And God if he wanted to reach.

He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t trying to take anything off, just feeling what was already there because he likes what he was seeing. Robby could feel how closely Dennis was paying attention, how every small reaction registered.

He kissed him back, instinctively, but his body lagged a beat behind the impulse. It wasn’t reluctance, it was something quieter, harder to name. The wanting was there, clear as anything. But when Dennis’s hands roamed, or his mouth lingered too long in the space between suggestion and more, Robby tensed,without meaning to. Each touch felt like a new line in a language he hadn’t fully learned yet and it wasn't because Dennis asked too much, he never did, but because something deep in Robby still hadn’t figured out how to stop flinching at his own desire, even when it felt good.

So good.

He hated that he hesitated. Hated that even now, after all the unpacking and processing, something inside still whispered:

Are you sure you’re allowed this?

Are you sure this is right?

Then Dennis shifted, starting to straddle him and Robby stopped him with both hands, gentle but firm. He couldn’t do it. Not yet.

Dennis froze. Just for a second. He didn’t pull away entirely, didn’t recoil. But Robby felt the shift in the air. Then Dennis eased back, folding into the couch, his lips parted as if to speak,but no words came. And it wasn't because he was upset, it was because he understood. And somehow, that made it worse. Robby didn’t feel like he deserved that kind of quiet grace, and yet Dennis gave it freely.

Dennis wasn’t sure, at first, what had happened if he’d pushed too far or done something wrong. But then he saw it. The tension in Robby’s shoulders, the way his hands hovered, wanting but not reaching even if he could see in the older man that he wanted, he recognized that hesitation, not as rejection, but as fear.

And Dennis knew fear. Knew what it meant to freeze when your body remembered something your mind tried to forget. He still remembered being fourteen. He still remembered the barn. The silence afterward. And how long it had taken to let anyone close,let alone someone like Robby, someone he actually wanted.

And even now, even feeling safe, Dennis still carried it. That not-quite-healed part. But this moment, this pause, felt simply different. Like trust wasn’t just something they talked about; it was something they practiced.

Robby, for his part, wanted to speak. He wanted to say It’s not you. He wanted to explain why his hands hadn’t moved, why every square inch of Dennis felt like sacred, unreadable but so introduce text. But the words wouldn’t come, not yet, and he hated how his body still flinched from joy, still mistook it for danger. And worse, how much he feared hurting someone he already cared about more than he’d expected to.

So they sat. Breathing, slowly syncing back into something quiet and natural.

Dennis looked over at him, eyes calm, a soft crease in his brow, with quiet curiosity. He didn’t reach again or push, he stayed close.

His boyfriend, from his side, sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands twisted together like he didn’t know what to do with them. The apartment was quiet. Only the low hum of the fridge in the next room. And the lingering echo of a kiss they hadn’t quite known how to end.

Or hadn’t wanted to admit why it ended.

Dennis had gone to the kitchen for water, more to give space than out of thirst. Now he stood in the doorway, watching Robby wrestle himself into knots.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Dennis said softly, setting down two glasses.

Robby looked up “What thing?”

“You’re thinking in apology. Before I even say I’m upset,” Dennis paused. “But I’m not upset.”

“You should b, because I’m really sorry…” Robby said, sitting up. “For freezing like that. For stopping you. … I don’t know. Making it weird.”

Dennis crossed the room slowly and sank back into the couch beside him, one leg tucked beneath him.

“Robby.”

“I just,maybe we could try again. I didn’t mean to...”

Dennis leaned in and kissed hi, a soft, firm press of his mouth to Robby’s, like punctuation.

Then he pulled back and said gently, “No.”

Robby blinked.

“I get it,” Dennis said, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t have to explain, not if you’re just going to keep blaming yourself. I understand.”

Robby swallowed, his eyes falling to Dennis’s hands.

“It’s not about blame. I just…” He looked up, cheeks tinged pink. “Honestly, I think my brain was still expecting things to be different. Curves. You in my lap…”

“Would definitely not be that,” Dennis said, laughing, startled and fond all at once. “You were searching for boobs, weren’t you?”

Robby flushed deeper and dragged a hand down his face. “Maybe.”

Dennis smirked. “It’s okay. I’ve got some fantastic collarbones and a winning personality. I’ll grow on you, with time.”

“It’s just…” Robby exhaled a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I feel like I tricked you into something I wasn’t ready for.”

“You didn’t trick me. I’m not here against my will,” Dennis said, nudging his knee against Robby’s. “I knew what this was. You’re figuring things out and I signed up for that.”

“I just got carried away,” Robby said quietly. “Was having a really good time…”

Dennis raised an eyebrow. “Too good?”

Robby rolled his shoulders, eyes flicking away. “Let’s just say… some parts of me were more enthusiastic than others.”

Dennis barked a laugh, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes dancing. “Wow. Okay.”

“What?”

“You say it like you’re the only one working with a sometimes overeager anatomy.” He grinned. “It’s not a crime to want each other.”

“I know,” Robby said, his voice dropping into something smaller. “It’s the fact that I can’t get myself to act on it. I want to, but I just… I can’t carry on with it.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself into something you don’t want to…” Dennis began, his voice suddenly worried. “…or aren’t ready for,” he added quickly, catching the flicker of doubt cross Robby’s face.

“It’s not pushing,” Robby said, closing his eyes, searching for the right words. “It’s just…”

“Hard to be in the position of not knowing,” Dennis offered gently.

“Yeah…” Robby pressed his lips together in a thin line. “You’re great, Dennis. Incredibly patient…”

“You said that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, no. It’s actually… endearing.” He paused. “It’s just,I feel like I’m walking ten steps behind you.”

“You’re not. Not in the way you think,” Dennis said. “I mean, yeah...I’ve known I was gay basically my whole life. But this is the first time I’ve ever actually done the relationship thing. You’ve got more experience in that. So, we uh… complement each other.”

“Did you always have the silver lining for everything?”

“I’ve been surrounded by people too cynical for their own good…” Dennis smiled.

“I’ll take that.” Robby smiled, then reached for Dennis’s hands. “I really do like you, you know,” he murmured. “I’ll work on it. I promise.”

“You don’t have to… it’s not a task, Robby. We’ll get further when it feels right. That’s fine with me,really.”

“You’re great, you know that?”

“I like hearing it,” Dennis replied, amused, kissing Robby slowly. Then he sighed. “I don’t want to, but for now I need to go home to the other cynical person in my life,” he said, glancing toward the door, reluctant, already reaching for his jacket. “Trinity said she’d wait so we could have dinner together. Which is her way of saying I have to pick up the food.”

Robby rose with him, nodding. “You’re a good roommate.”

Dennis gave a crooked smile. “She’ll say otherwise the minute I bring the wrong noodles.”

“Are you telling her tonight after all?”

Dennis paused. “If that’s still good with you.”

Robby frowned. “You don’t have to ask permission… You can tell whoever you’re comfortable with.”

“I know. I just don’t want to out you,” Dennis said, hesitating as he searched for the right words. “Not before you’re ready.”

“I’m fine She’s your friend. You probably need someone to complain to about me anyway.”

“I would never complain about you,” Dennis said teasingly, kissing him again.

“And it’s only fair, Frank knows.”

“Yeah, I’m just… are you sure?”

“Yes, Dennis. I’m really sure.” Robby punctuated each word with a kiss.

“I should be going…” Dennis said again, though he lingered, clearly looking for an excuse to stay. But he didn’t press.

Robby walked him to the door, hand resting at the small of Dennis’s back. “Are you still free Sunday?”

Dennis paused, one foot already halfway into his sneaker. “Yeah. I didn’t schedule any lab time this week. Street team’s taking up most of Saturday, but Sunday?” He straightened and gave Robby a slow smile. “All yours.”

Robby’s expression softened, and he leaned in for a brief kiss.

“Good,” he said quietly.

Dennis left with a soft click of the door.

Robby stood in the quiet that followed. He didn’t move for a long time, just listened to the sound of Dennis’s footsteps retreating down the hallway, then fading into silence. Eventually, he walked back into the living room, still warm with the memory of Dennis.

He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and let out a long breath. His gaze wandered,then settled on the mismatched mugs on the coffee table, the ones they’d painted on that awkward, charming first date. One was lopsided, the brush strokes imperfect, colors bleeding where they hadn’t waited long enough for the first layer to dry. His own attempt at a garden had smudged under Dennis’s thumb when they’d bumped elbows.

He hadn’t realized then how much that mug would come to mean,how Dennis had slowly made space in his life without pushing, without demanding answers Robby didn’t yet know how to give. There was something astonishingly rare about him. The way he listened, his patience and the ridiculous but not surprising comfort that his presence carried.

Comforting, tat was the word. Dennis was… comforting But not dull. He was quiet brilliance. Sharp when he wanted to be, gentle in ways Robby hadn’t realized he needed. And somehow, Robby had found himself folding into that warmth without even realizing it.

But he was still backing off.

Restraining himself.

Why? He didn’t know.

But he would find out.

Robby glanced at the clock on the microwave,still time. On Wednesdays, Dr. Lang’s office stayed open late. He reached for his phone without fully thinking, thumb hovering a second before dialing.

A moment passed. Then Carla’s voice came through, warm and familiar.

“Hey, Carla. Is Dr. Robinavicht,” he cleared his throat. “Hey, does Teresa have any slots available this week? I’d like to make an appointment.”

They were half-heartedly cleaning up the aftermath of a Chinese takeout night that had, somehow, ended with spicy sauce on just one of the veggies, Dennis’s, of course. Trinity insisted it was fate. 

Dennis had been talking non-stop for five minutes, tossing the last greasy napkins into the trash as he ranted about a resident who clearly hated his guts.

“....and I swear, I wasn’t even in the wrong room. She just doesn’t like me. But everyone else is cool. I mean, Dr. Singh is strict, but fair, and..."

He looked up mid-sentence, paper plate in hand, when he noticed Trinity had stopped. Sponge frozen mid-wipe over the countertop, like she’d forgotten what her hands were doing.

“Hey,” Dennis said, tilting his head, “what’s wrong?”

Trinity blinked, like surfacing from underwater. Slowly, she set the sponge down and dried her hands on a dish towel,too carefully.

“Langdon talked to me today.”

Dennis’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn’t speak,just leaned against the counter, waiting. If she was bringing this up, he wasn’t about to derail it.

“He thanked me,” she said, flatly, like the words were foreign. “Said…if I hadn't reported him, then he wouldn't had ended up in the program. That he’s getting help now.”

Dennis folded his arms but stayed quiet, nodding gently for her to continue.

“He said he didn’t think we’d ever be friends. Which… fair. But he hoped we could work together again. That I did the right thing.” She gave a tight shrug, eyes fixed on a crumb she wasn’t picking up. “Weirdest part? I think he meant it.”

“What did you say?” Dennis asked, voice soft.

Trinity looked over and smirked, humor flickering faintly in her eyes. “I didn’t. A man went into cardiac arrest, and I had to run a code. So I guess fate saved me from emotional vulnerability again.”

Dennis laughed,half-relieved, half-awed. “God, that is the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

She smiled, small and tired. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

“I won’t,” he promised, but the warmth in his voice made it clear it already was.

Dennis didn’t move on.

He stayed leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching her with that calm, attentive look that always had a way of pulling words out of her before she could guard them.

Trinity had stopped wiping. Her hand rested still on the counter, tension winding in her knuckles. Then, quietly, she asked:

“What would you say?”

Dennis glanced over. “To Langdon?”

She gave a small nod.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want my opinion?”

She rolled her eyes at herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. I don’t even know why I said anything.”

But Dennis reached over and gently tugged the towel from her hand, coaxing her to meet his gaze again.

“No, no no,” he said softly. “You asked. I'm just surprised, but of course I'll help you."

Trinity sighed. “It’s just… people don’t usually apologize for stuff like that. Not sincerely. Not when it’s only been a few months and they’re still trying to fix their own mess, and most important, not to me.”

Dennis tilted his head. “But he did, didn’t he?”

She hesitated. “Yeah.”

He gave her a moment, then said, “Then maybe this is one of those rare times, and maybe it deserves something different.”

Trinity’s expression stayed guarded, but she didn’t look away. She was listening.

“If it were me,” Dennis said, “I’d tell him I appreciate it. Doesn’t mean you forget what happened, but it matters that he sees it now. That he’s doing something about it.”

She shifted on her feet, the tension in her spine loosening just a little. “Even if it’s… complicated?”

“Of course is complicated," Dennis said. “He stole drugs. That was wrong not question asked on that, and you did the right thing by reporting him. But if he’s owning it and trying now, that’s good thing."

Trinity snorted quietly, a dry sound. “Maybe we could work together someday. Like normal colleagues.”

Dennis’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “Normal’s overrated, but yeah, maybe..."

There was a silence between them, filled only by the distant hum of the fridge.

Then, more quietly, she added, “I don’t really know what I’d say.”

Dennis leaned a little closer against the counter. “Then tell him just that, that you don’t know yet. But you heard him, and that should be enough."

Trinity let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You’re too good at this.”

Dennis shrugged. “Just practiced. That’s all street team is, half the time,listening when someone’s scared they won’t be heard.”

She gave a small, grudging smile. “You’re still annoyingly earnest.”

“And yet,” Dennis said, tossing the towel into the sink and nudging her lightly with his elbow, “you haven’t kicked me out.”

“Yet is the key word here,” she shot back,but she stayed where she was.

He smiled. And the earlier conversation with Robby surfaced, unbidden. He caught himself staring at her, debating. Robby had said it was okay, he trusted Dennis to choose when and how to share it.

And Dennis wanted to tell her.

She was his friend. And he didn’t like lying, especially when it felt so unnecessary. More than that, it would just be… nice. Nice to share this good thing with someone.

Trinity noticed the shift in his posture instantly. “Okay, spit it out…”

“What?”

“You’re thinking too loud. Spit it out.”

“Since we’re having a heart-to-heart…”

She groaned. “Don’t say it like that. Makes it sound like,”

“Like you have a heart?” Dennis grinned.

“Huckleberry…”

“You remember that guy I told you I stayed with when you kicked me out?”

“How could I forget about Mike…” she said, putting some napkins away.

“What about him?”

Her head disappeared into the pantry, clearly searching for a chocolate bar for dessert, but then she gave up and headed for the fridge instead.

He fiddled with his phone. “Well… he’s not just a friend. We’re dating.”

Trinity finally turned her head and blinked at him. “Should I be surprised?”

Dennis gave her a look. “Maybe. I think who he is might surprise you.”

Trinity tilted her head, squinting like she was watching a soap opera unfold. “Okay. Hit me.”

He took a breath. “Mike is… Michael Robinavitch. Uh, Robby.”

Trinity didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even look impressed.

She just deadpanned, “Yeah. I know.”

Dennis froze “What?”

“Took me like three seconds to put it together.”

“You, what?”

She arched a brow. “Dennis. I live with you. You’ve been whispering on the phone like a teenager at a sleepover for weeks.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“And,” she went on, “it doesn’t exactly help that you’ve practically built a shrine. At first I was like, ‘No way, Robby? He’d ever get involved with a student?’ But then Yolanda told me about Dr. Collins…”

Dennis made a face. “Yeah, there was that. And your face that day, pure jealousy. Just like his, when it was about you and Leo. He nearly stepped on me running out of that locker.”

"You were there?” Dennis asked.

“See, huck, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings when he’s around, which, by the way, you should work on,” she pointed out. “But he’s just as bad. I mean, to be honest, I didn’t peg him as gay or even bi, but he’s checked you out in your scrubs plenty of times to be straight…” She snorted.

Dennis flushed, but something stirred in him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like, lusting level…” she shuddered. “No offense, you’re both hot, but I could do without that mental image.” She shot him a knowing look. “Which you’re probably savoring right now, judging by that smile.”

Dennis grinned,“Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Though lately, I think he’s been moping around, which... ”

There was a pause before her face lit with realization. “Wait, Langdon knows, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah…”

“You told him before me?” she asked, offended.

“Apparently you already knew,” he said, crossing his arms.

“It’s the principle. I’m your best friend.”

“Aww,” Dennis said, mock-sappy. “Am I your best friend?”

She glared at him. “Okay, calm down. But seriously, Langdon’s been throwing your name around the ER like it's a trending hashtag. And it’s hilarious watching Robby nearly break his neck trying to see if you’re actually there.”

Dennis laughed. “That’s cute.”

“Corny, but yeah.” She leaned against the counter, then pointed at him. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stuttered when you were still in ER. Like, full-on badge-fumbling.”

He groaned. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s adorable,” she deadpanned. “Also, everyone thinks you're his star student. Even the nurses call you his guard dog after that whole punch-to-the-face thing.”

“No one punched anyone,” he clarified. “And that was one time.”

“Still. You went full human shield. If he gets a stalker, hospital security’s calling you first.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “This is character assassination.”

“It’s documented,” she said smugly. “Anyway… how did you even land him?”

“What, because he’s out of my league?”

She raised a brow. “It’s actually the other way around.”

Dennis blinked. “Wait,seriously?”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug, like it was obvious. “You’re decent, Whitaker. And somehow still weirdly earnest despite all the mess you’ve been through. That’s hard to fake.”

Dennis looked surprised, but a little pleased.

Then she turned to the freezer and pulled out a tub of Oreo ice cream. Without a word, she handed him a spoon.

“I’m still mad you didn’t tell me first,” she said.

“You want to hear how we got together?” he replied, popping the lid.

“You better,” she muttered. “This stuff is limited edition.”

Santos waited until Mel shut her locker and left the room before stepping in, arms folded. The scrape of the metal door closing behind her echoed a little too loudly in the locker room.

Frank Langdon was already leaning against the wall, nursing a black coffee and flipping through his phone. He didn’t look up right away, but he knew she was there.

She didn’t waste time.

“You messed up,” she said simply. “And I’m not sorry for reporting it.”

Frank glanced at her then, tired but steady. “I’m not expecting an apology.”

“Good,” she replied, shifting her weight. “Because I wasn’t going to give you one.”

A beat passed, the tension still coiled. But something in her voice shifted.

“You’re right we probably won’t be friends,” she said “But we work in the same place. We both still care about the job and that's count for something.”

He put his phone away “You wanna start over?”

“I’m not saying we forget anything,” she said. “But yeah… start from something closer to neutral, I think we are both adults that can manage cordial.”

Langdon gave a small nod. “I’m good with that.”

She was about to turn away when she paused “Turns out we’ve got a weird middle ground,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

Langdon blinked. “Yeah?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Just tilted her head toward the door where Robby was walking in, slightly distracted, a little bag in hand.

Langdon followed her gaze. His brow furrowed. “What does...”

But then he got it. His mouth opened, then closed again. “Oh. That’s what you meant.”

Santos gave a mild shrug, like it wasn’t that deep. “This is going to be fun…” she muttered.

He snorted.

Robby stopped when he noticed them watching him. His steps slowed. “Did I interrupt something?”

Langdon shrugged. “Just finding common ground.”

Robby raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Over what?”

Santos didn’t miss a beat. “You and your significant other.”

Robby flushed, hard. “Okay. No. We’re not doing this, not here.”

“Hey, you told me to find something to bond over with Santos…” Langdon said. “This is me doing that. Besides, you’re moping, man. It’s a little pathetic.”

“Huckleberry says that’s cute,” Santos added.

Robby was about to argue, then stopped. “Did he say that?”

“Oh my God, can I do the drug test now so I don’t have to watch you get flustered?” he said. “It’s going to give me cavities…”

“Amen to that,” Santos muttered as she walked out.

Robby looked at them, unimpressed. “I liked it better when you two were threatening each other.”

Langdon leaned back against the locker with a shrug. “We still might. Just… later."

Chapter Text

Robby sat in the hallway just outside Dr. Teresa Lang’s office, elbows resting on his knees, thumb brushing across the edge of his phone without looking at it. He exhaled slowly and glanced at the closed door across from him, the muted hum of voices beyond it barely audible. He’d come early on purpose, hoping the extra minutes would help settle him, but all it had done was leave him alone with his thoughts.

Then his phone buzzed in his hand.

A soft vibration, barely noticeable, but it pulled him back instantly. He glanced at the name on the screen.

Dennis ❤️

The notification previewed a selfie: Dennis bundled in his jacket zipped up to his chin, the hood pulled messily over his curls. His face was scrunched into a goofy smile, teeth showing, eyes squinting like he was trying to blind himself with joy. Behind him was the edge of a clinic van with “Street Team” half visible. His fingers were forming an awkward peace sign, like he couldn’t decide if he was being ironic or sincere.

Beneath the picture: a chaotic trail of emojis, 🏃🚑😼😷🦷🙀😭👄✨🌈🤷‍♂️.

Robby blinked at them. Stared.

He smiled, helplessly, and typed back:

👍🙂

The phone buzzed again almost immediately. Another thread of nonsense emojis. This time it was longer. More chaotic. If the first had been a sentence, this one was a novel, a psychedelic mess of cats, soup bowls, running shoes, and a maple leaf, for some reason.

Robby chuckled softly, thumb hovering before he replied:

«I have absolutely no idea what you’re saying»

Another bubble popped up within seconds.

Dennis ❤️: 🤣

Robby shook his head, still smiling.

Dennis ❤️: Still good for tomorrow?

Robby’s fingers moved automatically.

Robby: Yeah. Of course.

There was a pause, brief, maybe five seconds, and then:

Dennis ❤️: Should I bring something?

Robby considered that for a moment.

He typed:

Robby: Just bring yourself.

Then added:

Robby: Actually dress up a little?!

Dennis ❤️: Oh?! Aren’t we watching Sunset Blvd.?

Robby: No, is a surprise.

A second later, Dennis sent:

Dennis ❤️: 😽😻😻

Robby blinked at the string of affectionate cat emojis. That familiar flutter in his chest kicked up again, warm and still a little bit frightening.

He didn’t reply immediately.

Then he added:

🙂

Simple .

He was still staring at the tiny grinning face when the door across from him opened with a soft click.

“Dr. Robinavitch?” Carla’s voice, gentle, professional, like always. “Dr. Lang is ready for you.”

He looked up, startled for a second, as if he’d forgotten where he was.

Then he nodded, stood, pocketed the phone, and stepped inside.

The soft click of the door behind him didn’t startle Teresa. She was already watching him with her signature patient expression, the one that hovered between professional curiosity and personal warmth. A mug was cradled in her hands, her glasses perched low on her nose. She tilted her head slightly as Robby lingered just inside the doorway, like someone still deciding if they belonged in the room.

She squinted at him, playful but probing.

“So,” she said, “is today one of those sessions where I need to bring out metaphorical claws and extra coffee… or one where you spill your guts without a fight?”

Robby let out a long, weary sigh and dropped into the couch, arms sprawled a little too dramatically.

That was answer enough.

Teresa gave a short laugh, one sharp note, like a referee’s whistle.

“Definitely the second.”

She stood and moved toward the sideboard, already reaching for the kettle.

“Tea?”

He nodded, his eyes drifting to the soft stripes of light coming through the half-closed blinds. The stillness of the room settled around him, warm but expectant.

A moment later, she placed a steaming mug of mint tea on the table between them and sank into her chair with her usual unhurried grace. Her notebook opened easily in her lap, pages flipping with practiced fingers.

“So,” she said gently, “what brings you in today? How are things?”

Robby studied the tea for a moment, then curled his hands around the warmth.

“Better,” he said, and meant it. “Not perfect. But… better.”

He hesitated. “The panic’s still there, sometimes. But it’s not running the show anymore."

Teresa nodded but didn’t write anything yet.

“That’s progress."

She flipped a page in her notes.

“Last time, we talked about those late-shift spirals, tight chest, flashbacks, that sense of slipping out of your own body.”

Robby nodded faintly. “Yeah, I mean they haven’t vanished. But I don’t feel swallowed by them now.”

Teresa jotted something down, then looked up again.

“And work?”

Robby huffed a quiet breath. “Still a mess. But less of one. I’ve been pushing admin on staff safety, emotional and physical I got a lot of resistance, but… small wins.”

She tilted her head slightly. “And your friend?”

“Frank? Yeah. I helped where I could. Friendship’s still intact.”

She nodded slowly.

“And Jake?”

That question pulled a different kind of pause, Robby’s face shifted, something more reflective appeared.

“We finally talked,” he said. “Really talked. It was awful, at first. But now… we’re closer. Somehow.”

She didn’t interrupt, just let the silence widen for him.

“Sometimes,” Robby said, voice low, “you have to hit bottom before you start seeing each other clearly. We are being more open about our stuff, now he ask me real question and now I answer them."

Teresa offered a soft smile. “Trauma can break people open. Sometimes, the pieces go back together better than before.”

Robby stared down into his tea, watching the distorted reflection of his own face ripple in the steam.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s starting to feel that way.”

She flipped back again, scanning old notes. Her fingertip landed on a line from weeks ago:

‘panic response stabilized when another party intervened.’

Her eyes lifted, sharp with quiet insight.

“You mentioned last time,” she said carefully, “that someone helped you through the worst of it.  Have you thought more about that?”

Robby didn’t answer at first. Then:

“The one who filled the hero role,” he said, with a faint, almost amused smile.

“I was trying to be metaphorical,” Teresa said lightly.

He took a sip of tea, it had cooled slightly, but the sweetness lingered. Just enough to make the words easier to say.

“You weren’t exaggerating,” he said. “After our last session, Dennis basically stopped a guy from punching me.”

Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t speak.

“It wasn’t a huge thing, the parent of one of the patient he was angry, and I knew why. The thing is that Dennis stepped in before anyone asked, before I could realize what was happening."

Her pen paused above the paper. “He saw you needed help, and stepped up?”

Robby nodded.

“Yeah."

A soft smile curved her lips. “That’s the kind of person everyone deserves in their corner.”

“Yeah,” Robby echoed, quieter now. “He really is.”

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the whisper of her pen. But when she looked up again, the mood had shifted. Her gaze was focused now, no longer pretending to be casual.

Her fingers found a note she’d circled long ago:

confusion, kiss, denial, avoidance.

“So,” she asked, voice light but steady, “did that moment… open the door to a conversation? About what happened between you two?”

Robby gave a dry, crooked smile. Then a sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his face, dragging tension down the line of his jaw.

“You mean the kiss?”

Teresa tilted her head. “Too blunt?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

He leaned back. The couch creaked softly beneath him.

“He’s the reason I’m here.”

She stopped writing.

“Is he?”

Robby nodded, like the truth might shatter if spoken too fast.

“I’m dating him.”

That landed.

Teresa’s expression stayed neutral, but the surprise flickered just briefly before she tucked it away. Robby appreciated that.

“Well,” she said gently, “that’s a turn.”

A breath escaped him, something that resembled a laugh.

“Yeah. It is.”

“I’d ask if you’re sure,” she said, “but I think I can already tell.” She studied him for a moment. “And I’m guessing that’s where a lot of this tension is coming from."

He nodded again, fingers tracing the rim of the cup.

“It’s not just him,” Robby said. “It’s what he brings out in me. The way he looks at me, like I’m allowed to mess up, like I'm allowed to need someone.”

He stopped, blinking as if surprised by his own honesty.

“I didn’t know I needed that, in the few weeks I've been with him, even before we started all this, dating I mean. He had offered a lot of things I didn't know I needed or wanted, not until he gave it.”

Teresa didn’t write anything down. She closed the notebook gently and folded her hands in her lap.

“I think what’s scaring you,” she said carefully, “isn’t the relationship. It’s the fact that it’s real and that he somehow choose you, that he can see you the real you, at least the things you show him and still he decides to stay."

A tightness moved in his throat.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. 

She smiled, not indulgent, but that little tig on her eyebrow probably meant she was right.

“Then you’re not broken, you are starting to realize than you can open yourself to others, to him. And yeah it could be something that you needed and that even you can enjoy, but that doesn't mean you aren't terrified."

The silence that followed was thick.

Robby leaned back again, one leg bouncing restlessly as if the movement might keep the emotions from settling too deep. He ran a hand through his hair, then let it drop, gaze drifting to the steam curling from his tea.

“It’s just…” he began, slowly. “Dennis cracks something open in me, and it's like when you kick a can of snakes. Always something stuck in there, and you know I have a lot to unpack, things I've ignored for years , decades even. And now they're see the daylight and soon he could see all of that, and I don't know what to do with it.”

Teresa didn’t interrupt. Her focus stayed on him.

“And even with all that,” he continued, voice softening, “I like him, I like how it feels when I'm near him, the way he stir something within me. I like that he isn't afraid of what he see in me, of this fucking ugly parts, the mess and somehow he wants to, be with me."

There was reverence in his tone. Something close to awe.

Teresa tilted her head, gentle but precise.

“And what are the parts that feel like they need… consideration?”

He hesitated.

“He was my student,” Robby said eventually.

She gave a slight nod, fingers tapping her closed notebook.

"Past tense.”

Robby opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

“You’re still at the hospital, yes? And didn’t you date someone else from there before?”

He sighed. “That was different.”

“Sure,” she said mildly. “Next concern?”

He laughed under his breath, just once.

“One, he’s a man; I don't consider myself someone well... That judged others for who they sleep with, as long there's consent then is not my business. But is still, still trow me off, I've spent the majority of my life as man who only date women who have sex with them, who enjoys sex with them... And now, this guy appear and look at me and is like 'are you sure you don't like me'?" He said with a smile.

Teresa smiled at his rant and pointed him to continue 

"And he is young, couple of years younger wouldn't mean a thing, but this more than that."

She nodded again, thoughtful.

"I understand your concerns, and where are they coming from but those are things he can’t change,” she said. “But you knew that before you stepped in.”

“I know. I do,” Robby said. “But…”

He pulled his phone from his jacket and swiped to a recent text. He held it out.

A selfie of Dennis, grinning wildly, followed by a chaotic stream of emojis.

“I don’t get it,” Robby said flatly. “Any of it. Or the food he swears is cool now, the references he makes I don't he sometimes speak and I'm out of words. We might as well be from different planets.”

His tone wasn’t annoyed, he seemed frustrated but with himself.

“There’s a gap,” he added. “Twenty something years, give or take. And that's a lot, you have to agree with me on that."

Teresa looked at the screen for a beat before handing the phone back.

“I get that,” she said softly. “And yes, those differences matter. They are there but you can exactly erase them. I won't tell you is good or bad, that's your decision to take. But I just want to give you the fact, Dennis is an adult, a capable and grounded one as far I know by what you've told me. And from his behavior towards you he seems to care deeply about you.”

Robby nodded slowly, eyes lowered.

“And as long as what you’re building is rooted in mutual respect, not in imbalance, then age is just one more thing to navigate. Don't have to be a dealbreaker.”

She smiled a little, voice lighter now.

“Emojis can be explained, trendy food could be a new experience, and the rest you can go figure it out."

He didn’t quite laugh. But the smile that came next, stayed.

Teresa made a small mark on her notes, then glanced up at him with that same clear, steady gaze she always had when she was about to step into deeper waters.

“Now,” she said gently, “let’s circle back. You mentioned before, the fact that Dennis is a man. I want to ask what that means for you. Not as an abstract idea, but as something real.”

Robby didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, and he reached for the tea again, more for something to hold than to drink. 

“I notice when another man is handsome,” he said finally. “Always have, I think. That’s not new. And with Dennis…” His mouth twitched, uncertain if it was heading toward a smile or a sigh. “It’s attraction. Impossible not to be attracted to him, he is... He is gorgeous, I enjoy being close to him, I enjoy him being in my space and that's something that I avoid, but with him is the opposite I don't want him far, I enjoy kissing him, I do enjoy that a lot."

He paused, staring into the cup like it might offer a way out of his own head.

“I told Franl that I didn’t care what Dennis has between his legs. That it didn’t matter.” He scoffed under his breath. “But that wasn’t true. I do care, and I hate that I care.”

“Why?” Teresa asked, voice steady, almost quiet.

"Because I attracted to him,” Robby said simply. “And if I do like him, really like him, I like his weight on me, I like his touch and his mouth why the hell I'm even questioning taking things further if should come naturally."

He looked up, raw in the eyes, frustration more evident now.

Teresa shook her head slowly. “Not necessarily. Romantic attraction and sexual attraction aren’t always the same thing. They can overlap...but they don’t have to.”

Robby just watched her. Still, braced.

“You can love the closeness,” she continued. “The way someone makes you feel known, safe and wanted.And still feel uncertain about physical things. That doesn’t make the connection less real. It makes it yours, you can define things according to your own standards yours and his."

There was a beat of silence. Then, carefully:

“I’m not averse to sex with him. I won't deny I've fantasized a little bit of that..." Robby rubbed the back a little bit embarrassed by his admissions "God, and sex is not even in the table right now. He said to take my time to be comfortable with him, but what if he is just there waiting, and what if he stay there waiting and waiting and I'm just there stuck."

His voice dipped, almost to a whisper>

“He’s been so gentle, Teresa. So kind. And I can’t even bring myself to hold his hand in public. I’m almost fifty and it feels like I’m relearning how to be in a relationship from scratch. Like I missed the chapter everyone else read in their twenties.”

“Robby…” Teresa gave him a soft smile. “Don’t go there. Listen, your age? That’s another thing you can’t change. And yeah, maybe you are relearning what this looks like. But it happens with all the relationships, age gap or not, everyone got through this."

“I get that, but… he knows who he is. He’s not waving a flag, but he doesn’t hide it either. And I’m just, there. Stuck in the middle. Maybe I’m selfish, holding him back from being with someone who is...”

“‘Gay and proud?’” Teresa prompted.

Robby nodded faintly. “Someone who knows who he is. Who doesn’t need a crash course in their own damn identity.”

Teresa chuckled and shut her notebook gently. “That’s not going to fly. Robby, I’m fifty-eight. Two marriages behind me. A long career, a lot of life, and I still don’t have a neat little label for who I am. Most people don’t. And the ones who pretend to? Usually aren’t being honest.”

She leaned in a little, elbows on her knees.

“You’re not a failure, and you are not too late to anything. What you are doing is finally asking questions that matter."

Robby swallowed, his fingers lightly tracing the cup’s rim again.

“You keep naming these things like they’re cracks in the wall,” Teresa said. “But they’re not. They’re entry points, for new conversation for grounds rules, to build trust between the two of you."

He blinked, the words landing slow but firm.

“You don’t need every answer,” she went on. “But you do need to talk to him. Not to solve everything, but definitely to start the conversation."

Robby exhaled, longer this time. 

“Talk to him,” he echoed 

Teresa nodded. “About what’s easy, and what's not, you'll see it would be better for you and for him too."

She tapped her pen against her notes, just once.

“That’s where the good stuff starts."

He didn’t answer right away. But after a moment, a crooked smile tugged at his mouth. 

“God,” he muttered, rubbing his brow, “he’s going to roast me when I tell him that his emoji use sent me to therapy.”

Teresa laughed, a real one. “Oh, I’m counting on it. But something tells me he’ll be glad you cared enough to try.”

And Robby, this time, laughed too.

Chapter Text

Dennis stood in front of the bathroom mirror with the kind of concentration usually reserved for surgery or bomb defusal. One hand hovered over a small tin of hair wax, the other already glistening slightly from his first attempt. His curls, rebellious on their best days, seemed to sense his desperation and doubled down on resistance.

He tried again, fingers scrunching and twisting in sections like he was sculpting something delicate. Something he hoped would look accidental. Like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes wrestling them into something vaguely presentable.

But since Robby had been so cagey about their date, because that was what Dennis was calling it in his mind, he had no idea how to dress for it.

He didn’t have much to choose from. When he packed for med school, he hadn’t exactly planned on dating an actual, amazing, real-life McDreamy doctor. His wardrobe was basically just basic shirts and Converse.

Still, he’d managed to pull together a decent outfit: a nice navy button-down he’d used for interviews, the darkest jeans he owned, and his jacket. He imagined Robby grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him hard, breath-stealing, world-stopping kind of kiss.

The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was automatic. A little helpless.

He wiped the excess wax onto a tissue, stepped back from the mirror, and frowned at the result. His hair had settled into something halfway decent, but only from one angle. The other side looked like it had given up entirely. He pushed at it.

This was who he was: hair slightly tragic, shirt ironed, shoes clean. One spray of cologne. Just enough to maybe be noticed.

Then he caught a blur of movement behind him in the mirror.

He turned fast. Trinity leaned against the bathroom door, arms folded, eyebrows raised like she’d been waiting there for hours.

“Jesus,” Dennis said, hand flying to his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She didn’t answer. Just sniffed the air theatrically, then squinted at him.

“Is that… cologne?”

“Don’t start…”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. Just that you’re gonna drown the chief’s nose with that stuff.

He made a face.“What?”

“It’s Robby, not chief…” he argued.

“Well, he’s Robby to you. I still get orders from him,” she shot back.

Dennis rolled his eyes and turned back to the mirror. “Whatever. Do I look okay?”

“Well…” his face fell, and Santos knew instantly he wasn’t in the mood for joke. "Kidding,” she said quickly. “You look okay. Honestly. Just missing a bouquet of flowers and you'd be straight out of one of those cheesy rom-coms.”

He paused. “Should I have bought him flowers?”

“I was joking, Dennis…”

“No, but… I mean, he’s taking me on a date. Like, our official date. That's important right? That’s huge. Damn, why didn’t I think of that?” His voice rose with the kind of panic only someone truly smitten could summon.

“He’s not expecting anything,” she said, gentler now. “You know that, right? The man likes you.”

“I want more than him liking me…”

There was a beat of silence.

“Damn,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really that serious?”

“He’s amazing, Triny…” Dennis looked at her with a softness she didn’t expect. A look she’d never seen on anyone before. But then again, she realized, she’d never really surrounded herself with people like Dennis: gentle, sincere. 

To her, people like that had always seemed weak and vulnerable. The type who wore their hearts on their sleeves and then got surprised when it got bruised.

But Dennis... he’d somehow squeezed his way into her life like a tick, persistent, small, impossible to shake off. And oddly enough, she didn’t want to.

“You should buy him the flowers,” she said, surprising even herself.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he could use some romance in his life.”

Dennis lit up, smiling as he pulled out his phone. “I think there’s a florist a couple blocks from here…”

“Pick something nice. Nothing too big,” she warned. “And please, no roses. So cliché.”

“Noted,” he said with a mock salute, grabbing his things and heading to the door. But just as he was about to leave, he stopped, turned back, and wrapped his arms around her in a quick, warm hug.

“You’re a good friend,” he said softly.

Then he was gone.

Trinity stood there for a moment, caught off guard by the hug, by the way his words lingered in the air like a scent. She felt a knot rise in her throat and smiled, just a little, before pulling out her phone and texting Yolanda:

Coast’s clear. He’s gone.

Dennis stood outside Robby’s building, a crumpled brown paper bundle held awkwardly in one hand. He’d decided on a mix of carnations: white, red, and pink. Small ones. He didn’t want the flowers to stand out too much in Robby’s living room.

If he even decided to keep them.

He hoped he liked them.

His mom always cried when his dad brought her things like this. He hoped for the same kind of reaction.

Well, not tears, exactly. Just some kind of confirmation that he wasn’t being a complete idiot.

He hit the intercom and cleared his throat. “Hi, Robby…”

The buzzer clicked. Dennis stepped inside and climbed the stairs, heart thudding louder with each step. The flowers were starting to feel less like a gift and more like an accusation he couldn’t put down.

He knocked, a little uncertainly.

When Robby finally opened the door, Dennis nearly forgot how to breathe. The trimmed beard. The orange sweater that somehow made his eyes look brighter. That perfectly fitted jacket. All of it hit Dennis like a short circuit. He barely registered Robby saying something about replying to emails.

Dennis blinked, tried to find his voice. “You look, uh. Really nice.”

Robby smiled, warm and soft around the edges. “You too.”

Dennis hesitated, then held out the bouquet. “Uh… I brought these. I saw them and thought maybe you’d… I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if it was a dumb idea.”

He looked down at the flowers like they might start mocking him.

Robby stared for a second, then carefully took the bundle from his hand, thumb brushing over the paper as he peeked inside.

“Are these… for me?”

Dennis shrugged, trying to play it cool, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah. I mean, yeah. Obviously. I know it’s kinda corny. I just, ”

“No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

The words were so soft Dennis almost missed them.

He stilled.

Robby’s fingers were gentle on the stems, like he wasn’t quite sure how to hold them, and his smile was small, almost surprised at his own reaction. But it was real.

Something in Dennis’s chest eased. Warmed.

“Come in...sorry,” Robby said quickly, stepping aside. “I thought I’d be ready on time, but like I told you, I got caught in a few emails. Lost track.”

Dennis stepped inside, shrugging off the nerves still clinging to his jacket.

"Still can’t believe you brought me flowers,” Robby said softly, still looking at the bouquet like it was something fragile and golden. “Now I just have to figure out where to put them.”

He headed into the kitchen, opening and closing a few cabinets with muttered commentary, “nope,” and “definitely not”, until he unearthed a wide-mouthed jar from the top shelf. It was a little dusty, but clean.

“I don’t own a vase,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “But this’ll work.”

Dennis leaned against the wall, watching the whole process in quiet fascination. Robby rinsed the jar, filled it halfway with water, then arranged the flowers with a kind of careful intention. There was something unexpectedly delicate about it, like he didn’t want to get it wrong.

But Dennis couldn’t keep looking at him. It was too much, too soft. Too everything.

Robby noticed. “What?”

“I mean, I already said it, but… you look really nice. Really.”

“Thank you…” Robby nodded, still slightly caught off guard by the compliment. But he’d realized, early on in his relationship with Dennis, that he better get used to them, because his boyfriend tossed them around like confetti.

“I haven’t dressed up in a while,” he added.

“You don’t need to, obviously,” Dennis said, then laughed, half under his breath. “But shit, you look hot.”

Robby gave him a satisfied look. “Glad I got the reaction I hoped for.”

Dennis let out a breath, stunned and grinning. “So you dressed up just for me, then?”

Robby’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He didn’t hesitate.

“For who else?”

Dennis beamed as something warm and good spread inside him.

His boyfriend stole another glance at the jar sitting on the counter. The carnations looked a little mismatched in the oversized jar, a little off-center, but perfect. Because Dennis had picked them. For him.

His chest still felt tight in that unfamiliar, not-bad way. Like something he hadn’t realized he’d been bracing against had finally let go.

He turned back to Dennis, who was standing there trying not to fidget, clearly watching Robby’s every move like it all meant something.

And the wild part was, it did.

“I must say, you really went all out,” Robby said, his voice lighter now as he crossed the room again. “The shirt, the cologne... the bouquet. You trying to put me to shame?”

Dennis laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe a little. Thought it might give me the edge.”

“Edge against who?” Robby asked, stopping a foot in front of him, eyebrow raised.

Dennis shrugged, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Against, I don’t know… anyone else who might try and steal your attention.”

A soft laugh escaped Robby before he could stop it. “You think I’m getting offers I’m not mentioning?”

“Maybe,” Dennis said. “I mean, you do look like that.”

“Well…’ Robby grinned, shaking his head. “You should know I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Still,” Dennis said with a lopsided smile, “carnations felt safer than, like, a territorial piss.”

Robby blinked, then broke into full, surprised laughter. “Wow. Okay. Well… thank you for choosing flowers instead of marking your territory.”

Dennis gave an exaggerated bow. “My pleasure.”

There was a moment of quiet between them after that. 

Robby reached for his keys, still smiling, then looked at Dennis again. The nerves were still there, but softened around the edges. Honest. Open. He liked that about him. He liked a lot of things, actually.

“Shall we?” he asked gently, tilting his head toward the door.

Dennis nodded, eyes brighter now.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The restaurant’s name was painted in looping script above the door, Casa Lumbre, with a soft glow behind the glass that made it feel more like a home than a place to eat. Dennis squinted up at the sign, mouthing the words under his breath, then gave up before he embarrassed himself trying to say it out loud.

Inside, the place wrapped around them like a held breath. Dark caoba wood ran along the floors and tables, catching the low, golden light that spilled from the hanging lamps. The soft murmur of conversation and the quiet clink of cutlery made the space feel lived-in.

Dennis had barely registered the smell of roasting garlic and slow-cooked onions when someone at the front called Robby’s name.

“I’ll be right back,” Robby murmured, resting a hand briefly on the small of Dennis’s back before stepping away.

He approached a man near the entrance, middle-aged, stocky, silver hair slicked back, the kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice. They spoke quietly but warmly. The man greeted Robby with a familiar smile and a clasp on the shoulder. After a short exchange, he gave a discreet nod toward someone behind him.

A moment later, a waiter approached Dennis with easy, practiced grace.

“Buenas noches, gentlemen,” he said as Robby rejoined him. “I’m Jordi. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

His voice had an accent like honey over something sharper. He set down two leather-bound menus with a kind of quiet ceremony.

“Take your time,” Jordi said, smiling. “Call me when you’re ready to order.”

And then he was gone, slipping between tables like smoke.

Dennis sat down and shrugged off his jacket, glancing around. The place didn’t feel like most restaurants, the ones with bright white lights and too-loud music, trying to distract you from everything that wasn’t working. This place didn’t demand your attention. It gave you room.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “So, who was that guy you talked to?”

Robby didn’t look up from the menu. “Old friend. Sort of. He manages the place.”

Dennis tilted his head, not quite ready to drop it. “You’ve got friends in all the right spots?”

“Not really.” Robby looked up this time. “He just knows I’m not great with crowds. Big dining rooms, noisy tables... I usually skip it. So he got us a quiet corner.”

Dennis blinked, letting that settle.

“I’d have been fine staying in.”

Robby’s expression softened, and for a second the rest of the room faded out.

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to do something... a little different.”

He didn’t say for you. He didn’t have to.

Dennis leaned back in his chair, his mouth pulling into something just shy of a smile. He glanced around again, the amber light, a jar of flowers on a nearby table, the faint sound of guitar playing somewhere deeper in the restaurant, and let himself sink into it.

Different was good.

Especially like this.

The wine was red, dry, and warm going down. They started with a small charcuterie board, thin slices of jamón, manchego, almonds, and a fig jam Dennis pretended not to be impressed by. They agreed to split the seafood paella, even though Dennis had squinted at the word like it might try to pick a fight.

“Paella,” Robby had said gently, grinning. “Trust me.”

As the waiter, Jordi, slipped away with their order, Robby leaned forward, lacing his fingers casually in front of him.

“So,” he said, voice soft in the candlelight, “how was yesterday? You had street team, right?”

Dennis lit up immediately, that kind of spark that didn’t need a second thought to catch fire. “Yeah...it was good. Really good, actually. We stayed out later than we meant to.” He leaned in, eyes bright. “One of the nuns, Sister Carmen,.asked if someone could talk to the local teens about sex ed. They’d just gotten back from some event, and she didn’t want to ‘miss the moment of openness.’”

Robby raised his brows. “That’s... unexpectedly proactive for a nun.”

“Right?” Dennis grinned. “But yeah, I pulled the short straw, so I ended up trying to explain condoms, consent, and HPV to like twenty-five teenagers while standing under a crucifix.”

Robby snorted. “Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

Dennis shook his head, still smiling. “It’s wild, though. I’ve been learning so much doing this work. Not just medical stuff, like... how to really listen. How to figure out what people need, even when they’re not saying it out loud. You’ve got to work with what’s in front of you. A lot of these folks? That van might be the only healthcare they get all year.”

Robby’s smile softened as he watched Dennis talk. There was something deeper there. Something that stayed.

“You’re doing something important,” he said. 

Dennis shrugged and glanced down at his wine. “It doesn’t feel like enough, though. Not really.”

Without thinking, Robby reached across the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

Then, just as quietly, he let go.

Jordi returned mid-laugh, catching Dennis in the middle of a story, something about a half-rabid street dog chasing Cassie up the side of the van while a box of donated condoms exploded across the sidewalk.

“I had to bribe the dog with a protein bar,” Dennis said, barely holding it together. “Cassie didn’t come down for ten full minutes.”

Jordi set the wooden tray in front of them with a smile. “Your entrante, gentlemen,” he said. “The paella will be out soon.”

“Thank you,” Robby said easily.

Jordi nodded, then disappeared again.

Dennis leaned back with a grin and finally asked, “What about you?”

Robby blinked.

“I mean, aside from planning absurdly cozy dates and charming restaurant managers. What did you do?”

Robby glanced around, the booth tucked against the wall, the curtain pulled just enough to give them a sense of privacy, the soft music weaving through the room like thread. His fingers drummed lightly on the table.

He went quiet for a few moments, turning an olive between his fingers like it might help him figure out what to say. He wasn’t going to eat it, Dennis could already tell. Robby didn’t like olives. But he kept rolling it between his thumb and forefinger anyway, the silence stretching just long enough for Dennis to tilt his head and narrow his eyes in quiet suspicion.

Robby sighed and set the olive down.

“I, uh…” he started, voice low. “I saw my therapist yesterday morning.”

Dennis blinked, surprised, but careful not to show too much.  

Robby looked down for a second, then back up. This time, his eyes didn’t dart away.

“I’ve been seeing her for a while. Not regularly, on and off, the past couple years. I saw her right after my panic attack, and... this week just felt like a good time to check in.”

Dennis stayed quiet, gave a slow nod.

Robby’s hand shifted on the table, reaching for his. This time, when his fingers closed around Dennis’s, he didn’t pull back.

“I like you,” he said. “I’m really, really attracted to you. Being with you feels... refreshing.”

Dennis felt a warmth bloom in his chest, but he stayed still, letting Robby speak through the swirl of whatever this was.

“But,” Robby went on, “I also know I’ve got stuff I need to work on. Conversations I’ve avoided. Parts of myself I haven’t really let breathe yet. You’re younger than me, but in a lot of ways, you’ve lived this truth longer. You’ve had more time in it. I never questioned who I was growing up... because I never let myself ask.”

Dennis nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

Robby’s voice dropped a little, more careful now.

“It’s not shame, exactly. But sometimes I catch myself waiting for someone, or something, to tell me I don’t belong here. That this thing between us is... borrowed. Temporary. Like I’m playing dress-up and someone’s going to notice.”

Dennis’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t let go. He gave Robby’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Not entirely, no,” Dennis admitted. “But I get why you’re in therapy. I think it’s great, honestly. That takes guts."

Robby smiled.

“And for the record,” Dennis added, “I want you to know I appreciate you as a friend too. So if there’s ever something you need to talk about, therapy stuff, memory stuff, scared-of-being-seen stuff, you’ve got me. No judgment. No pressure.”

“Right back at you...” Robby murmured.

They let the moment settle, just in time for Jordi to bring out the paella. Robby poured them both another glass of wine. Dennis knew the food would be good, but he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the conversation.

He leaned in slightly. “So you said there are layers, things you’re figuring out. Is there something I can help with?”

Robby took a longer sip of wine, like he needed backup before jumping off the ledge.

“I want to have sex with you,” he said.

Dennis was thankful he wasn’t mid-bite, because that would’ve gone very poorly. He blinked. “Oh. Uh, I mean… me too?”

Robby winced. “No, I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. I just...look, I like kissing you. That’s been great. But sometimes when things go further, I... get scared. Like if I touch a certain part of your anatomy...”

“You’ll want to run?” Dennis offered, half-joking.

“Yeah.”

“That’s normal,” Dennis said, his voice gentle now.

“It is?” Robby looked at him, a little surprised.

“Well, yeah. You’re not used to being around a male body in that way... not intimately. Not sexually. It’s a lot. I won’t freak out if next time we’re kissing, you suddenly jump five feet because your brain short-circuits.”

“You’re handling this really well,” Robby said, a bit awed.

Dennis grinned. “Do I get a prize?”

“Choosing dessert count?”

“Tempting.” Dennis smiled, then noticed Robby hesitating, like something else was sitting just behind his eyes, still unspoken.

“Hey,” Dennis said, softer now. “What’s up?”

Robby hesitated, then spoke quietly.

“This might sound stupid, but… doesn’t it bother you that I’m older?”

Dennis frowned. “Bother me?”

“There’s a twenty age gap,” Robby said, like it should be obvious.

Dennis took a slow sip of wine, then looked across the table. “Why’s that bothering you?”

Robby let out a half-laugh, frustrated with himself.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m still mid.. gay crisis and it’s being dragged out by someone half my age.”

Dennis raised a brow. “Half?”

“Close enough,” Robby muttered.

He hated how it came out, so he added quickly, “I don’t want to ruin dinner.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” Dennis said, calm and steady. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and kept going like they were still just… talking. “We should talk about it.”

He set his fork down.

“Yeah, you’re older. I’ve noticed. Like when you mentioned Red Dawn and I thought you meant the one with Chris Hemsworth, not the original with… what’s his name, ”

“Patrick Swayze.”

“Right. So yeah, it’s there. But honestly? I don’t care.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low, sincere.

“You might think you’re too old for me. Or that I’m too young to know what I want. But I do. And what I want, what I keep wanting, is you.”

Robby opened his mouth, but Dennis held up a hand.

“I’m not pretending the age gap doesn’t exist. It does. And if it’s something you need to process, that’s okay. But from where I’m sitting? Out of everything I love about you: your calm, your patience, your ridiculous hoodie collection, the way you actually think before you talk, your age doesn’t even make the top ten.”

Then, without warning, Dennis reached across the table and gently cupped Robby’s face in his hand, thumb brushing under his cheekbone.

“And,” he added with a soft smile, “I really love the gray in your hair.”

Robby blinked.

“It makes you stupidly sexy,” Dennis said. “Like… unfairly so.”

A breath caught in Robby’s chest, half a laugh, half something heavier. He leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

When he opened them again, something had eased.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “And for the record, if you want to bridge the age gap, you could start by explaining what the hell all those emojis you sent me mean.”

Dennis laughed, visibly relaxing. “Wait... is that what this whole thing was about?”

“Well…”

“Robby…” Dennis shook his head, grinning.

“You sent fifteen emojis,” Robby said, pulling out his phone. “And this morning? You sent a picture of a dog followed by a crying face. I thought you got bitten or something.”

Dennis cackled. “Oh my God, no. It was just so cute it almost made me cry.”

“Oh my God…”

“Please don’t break up with me over my complete inability to text like a grown adult.”

“I still like you. I was just going to Google it.”

Dennis stood up just long enough to steal a kiss. “Oh, you really like me.”

“We’ve established that,” Robby said, lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

The wine sat forgotten. The food was still warm, untouched. It didn’t matter.  Whatever came next, neither of them was backing down.

Jordi returned just as their conversation faded into a softer rhythm. He placed a small plate between them: two delicate servings of flan, caramel-drizzled and garnished with orange slices. He gave them a knowing smile, like he could feel the change in the air, then slipped away without a word.

Dennis picked up his spoon but didn’t eat. His gaze shifted from the dessert to Robby, then down to their hands on the table. He brushed his thumb slowly across Robby’s knuckles.

“I’m not gonna pretend we won’t have issues,” he said, voice low but sure. “No couple skips that part. My parents didn’t. I remember their fights, some loud, some quiet, some that dragged on for days. But they always came back to the table, they just keep trying.”

Robby listened, his fingers still curled around Dennis’s.

“I wish I could say I had the same example,” he said, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. “But... I’m learning to break patterns. And I like this. You. What you bring into my life. It’s something I haven’t had in a long time.”

Dennis smiled. “That was almost sweeter than this flan.” He nodded toward the plate. “And I want to work on this. On us. Really put in the effort.”

Robby turned Dennis’s hand gently, brought it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. The gesture was quiet. Steady. Intentional.

“I want that too,” he said. “To work on it. To show up. And to get better at... affection.”

Dennis smiled, a real one, the kind that bloomed slowly and reached all the way to his eyes. “You already do.”

“I mean in public,” Robby said. “Not hiding. I know we have to keep things quiet at work, but outside of that? I want to be seen with you. Not second-guess it.”

Dennis hesitated, then let out a sheepish laugh.

“Okay, confession time... I’m actually not huge on PDA.”

Robby blinked. “Wait...seriously?”

Dennis shook his head, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Nope. I get self-conscious. I mean, I can handle a kiss here and there... but I’m not big on being the center of attention. Still, if it’s something you want, I can try. Or we can ease into it. I wouldn’t say no to... holding hands.”

Robby squeezed his hand gently. “Holding hands is good,” he said, his voice warm.

“Yeah?” Dennis asked, lacing their fingers together more securely.

Robby nodded. “Yeah. I like that.”

They shared the flan in a comfortable hush, the soft clink of spoons, the low hum of nearby conversation wrapping around them like a blanket. Overhead, the warm light turned everything golden and close.

Later, after the last bite of flan and a quiet nod from Jordi, Robby paid the bill. They stepped out into the night, the restaurant’s glow fading behind them, the street ahead lit by flickering lamps and closed storefronts.

They didn’t speak at first.

Then, Robby reached for Dennis’s hand.

This time, there was no glance around, no hesitation. Just the simple, easy contact of fingers finding their way. Dennis looked down, surprised, but only for a second, before curling his own hand around Robby’s.

It was warm. 

Dennis didn’t say anything right away. But he noticed the way Robby’s shoulders relaxed. The way his posture eased, like he’d finally stopped bracing for something.

He bumped their shoulders lightly. “You’re doing it.”

Robby looked over. “Doing what?”

Dennis gave their hands a playful swing. “Being brave.”

Robby let out a soft laugh. “It’s less terrifying than I thought.”

“You’re good at it,” Dennis said, voice soft and sure.

That earned him a glance. One of those open, unguarded looks Robby only gave when he wasn’t trying to protect anything. “So are you.”

Chapter Text

The apartment was still and hushed as Trinity headed out for his early run, relishing their first real day off in weeks.

Dennis liked quiet, especially after long days buried in code or dragging himself through twelve-hour hospital shifts, but this quiet felt different. Hollow, like it was waiting to be filled.

Barefoot and still in his old hoodie and sweats, he padded across the living room, mug in hand. He set his laptop on the coffee table and lowered himself cross-legged onto the rug. His fingers hovered for a second before clicking into his contacts. His heart gave a faint, idiotic flutter.

He wasn’t calling for anything specific. Just wanted to hear a familiar voice. It’d been too long since he talked to his brothers. Elijah was probably out working. Joshua’s phone might as well be fused to his car dashboard. That left Kevin.

He tapped the name. The phone rang twice.

But when the screen lit up, it wasn’t Kevin.

Jess appeared instead, wrapped in an oversized blanket, her hair rumpled, eyes puffy. She sniffled as she gave him a tired smile.

“Hey, Den. Sorry, it’s me. Kevin left his phone on the sink. Again.”

Dennis blinked. “Jess? You okay? You sound like a haunted kazoo or something.”

She snorted, then coughed hard into her elbow. “Thanks. I’ve had better days.”

“You sick?” He sat up straighter, concerned.

“Caught something from the choir girls. Half of them are down. I hugged three of them last Sunday, so… guess I walked into that one.”

Dennis gave a small, crooked smile, concern still flickering behind his eyes. “You see a doctor yet?”

She shot him a look like she’d been expecting the question since the call started. “No, Dr. Whitaker. It’s just the flu. I’m resting, hydrating, and praying your nephews don’t start hacking next.”

He frowned. “Still. You sound awful. I could maybe.”

“Dennis,” she said gently but firmly, “I’m fine. Kevin went to grab more cough drops and whatever else I forgot to write down.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I just worry.”

“I know, hon...” She leaned back into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter. “It’s sweet of you. But we’ve got it handled. Kevin’s even attempting to use the washer and microwave today without breaking anything.”

Dennis laughed. “Miracles do happen.”

Jess smiled, then paused, watching him quietly. “You look good. Tired, but good.”

“I’m always tired,” he said with a grin. “It’s basically my whole personality now.”

“You staying afloat out there?”

“Trying,” he said, his voice dropping a little. “Some days, yeah. I feel like I’m actually helping. Other days... it’s just a blur of patient charts and second-guessing everything I do.”

She made a soft, thoughtful hum, nestling deeper into the couch. “Real work’s never supposed to feel easy.”

He nodded slowly. “I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too. Even when Kevin pretends he doesn’t.”

She got up and carried the phone with her into the kitchen. Something bubbled softly on the stove behind her. She moved off-screen, then returned with a mug of tea, settling back into the frame.

“How are you, kiddo?” she asked, more gently now.

“Im fine,” he said. “How are things back home?”

Jess gave a half-shrug, sipping her tea. “You know... you could call your parents.”

Dennis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You and I both know they’ll pretend everything’s peachy until the barn collapses or the combine catches fire again, just to avoid stressing me out.”

She smirked, "What made me think I'm going to give you the real updates?”

“Because you love me more than your own siblings. Possibly more than your husband.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “Things are good, as good as they get.”

She placed her mug down with a soft clink and leaned against the counter, her expression shifting into that familiar ‘here’s what you missed’ look.

“Your parents are fine. Still think they’re thirty. Your mom nearly had a heart attack when she caught your dad trying to fix the roof by himself again, gave himself heatstroke.”

“Jesus,” Dennis muttered, rubbing his temple.

“Elijah and Amy are still house-hunting. It’s turned into a full-on family sport now. Apparently everyone thinks they get a vote. Dean says he wants a giant yard to play football in. No idea why, he’s already terrorizing his cousins just fine indoors.”

“God help them,” Dennis muttered.

Jess smiled, tired but warm. “And Lisa’s busy keeping Josh and the kids fed and clothed while pretending she doesn’t love having a house full of chaos.”

“They’re okay. All of them. They miss you.”

Dennis nodded slowly, absorbing it like a long-distance letter read aloud.

Jess hesitated, her voice gentler now. “Kev and I are… still trying.”

He sat up a little straighter. “Yeah?”

“Month six,” she said, with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re staying hopeful. I pray every day. I believe when the time’s right… it’ll happen. You know? God’ll bless us.”

Dennis’s expression softened. “I believe it too.”

Jess tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly as the mood lightened. “So… how’s it going with you and Trinity? You two about to become Will and Grace, or what?”

Dennis choked slightly on the tea he’d just sipped. “Wow.”

“What?” she laughed, still hoarse from the flu. “Dynamic roommates with a colorful life.”

He shot her a flat look, though a laugh crept up despite himself. “Okay... first of all, Trinity is a lesbian. Second, God, Jess, it’s deeply tragic that your only point of reference for queer people is a late-‘90s sitcom.”

She grinned shamelessly. “Sue me. We didn’t exactly have progressive programming at Cornfield High.”

“That’s not what it was called.”

“Might as well have been,” she said, waving a wooden spoon through the air like a wand. “Anyway, maybe I’d have more updated references if someone opened his heart a little and finally got himself a damn boyfriend.”

Her tone was teasing, but as she stirred whatever was on the stove, she froze mid-motion, then leaned forward, eyes wide. “Oh my God. You have someone.”

Dennis blinked, tried to play it cool, but the way he bit the inside of his cheek gave him away.

Jess gasped, full drama. “Spill. Everything.”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head with a crooked smile.

“Dennis!”

“I said no.”

“You do realize I was your best friend for, like, a decade, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Until I realized you were a spy, snitching to my brothers every time I skipped a lab or bombed a quiz.”

“I was looking out for you!”

“You were reporting on me.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You were fifteen and thought nobody could tell you were messing around with the wrong people.”

He smirked at the memory. “Yeah, well. I had a lot to prove.”

Her voice dipped, just for a beat. “You still do, huh?”

He didn’t answer, but the pause was long enough to make Jess nod.

Then her eyes lit up again. “Okay, but seriously, give me something. I’m on lockdown here with the plague, and the most exciting thing today was Lulu peeing in Kevin’s boot. Watching him scrub it with vinegar was my Super Bowl. You owe me.”

Dennis sighed, but he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Okay, fine. I have someone. He’s amazing… and that’s all I’m going to say.”

“Does he treat you well?” she asked, a note of worry slipping into her voice.

“Yes. It’s still new, and he’s figuring some things out, but… he’s amazing. Really.”

“Oh, honey…” Her voice caught just a little. “I’m so happy for you.” Her eyes shimmered, even through the grainy video.

“Don’t say anything, okay? You know how they get.”

“Full protective mode,” she said knowingly. “You know they had good reason, right? That could’ve ended a lot worse. He, ”

“Robby’s not like that.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Robby? That his name?”

“Yeah. Well… a nickname.”

“I like it.” She smiled, then sobered slightly. “You’d tell me, right? If it started to feel like… that again?”

“Jessica,” he said gently, “it’s not like that. At all. Robby’s incredible. You’ll love him when you meet him.”

She studied his face for a beat, searching it."When?”

“We kind of made a deal,” Dennis said, his voice quieter now. “If we stick it out until I finish school, we’ll tell everyone. We’re keeping things low-key, but a few close friends know. And… I think he’s the kind of man I want my parents to meet.”

Jess arched an eyebrow. “Is he the kind of man who can handle the three gorillas you have for brothers?”

He snorted. “Should I remind you that you married one of those gorillas?”

“I’ve got your brother trained,” she said proudly, then dissolved into a coughing fit. She waved it off. “I’m fine.”

“To answer your question... yeah. I want them to meet him. I think they’ll see how great he is.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll save him a spot for Christmas.”

“Yeah…” He smiled at the thought, then gave a small wave. “Love you. Bye, Jess.”

“Love you too. Now go I’ve got tea to spill and a flu to defeat.”

The screen went dark a moment later. Dennis sat in the quiet of the apartment, the phone still warm in his hand.

Robby parallel parked just off the street, double-checked the building number, and pulled up the old message Dennis had sent a few weeks ago, half a joke at the time, but he’d saved it. The address wasn’t far from the hospital, just a few blocks from the Midtown bus terminal. Nothing fancy. Definitely not what Robby had pictured when Dennis first said, “my place.”

He leaned back in his seat and let out a slow breath, eyes drifting up to the squat brick building. The neighborhood was quieter than he’d expected. Residential in the way cities rarely were anymore, windows with real curtains, small balconies drowning in overwatered plants, no music bleeding through the walls. He got it now. Why Trinity had chosen this place.

Climbing out, Robby locked the car and walked up to the entrance. The numbers above the door were faded, barely legible, but they matched. He hesitated a beat, then pressed the buzzer next to SANTOS, T.

A moment later: “Yeah?” Her voice, clipped and unmistakable.

“Uh... hey. It’s Robby.” He winced. He sounded like a nervous pizza delivery guy.

There was a pause. Then the door clicked open.

He took the elevator, half-expecting it to lurch or stutter. But it didn’t. The ride was smooth and oddly quiet. The fluorescent light even worked without a flicker. The building was old, sure, but it was clearly held together with care. He could see why someone like Santos would trade modern comforts for peace and anonymity.

Apartment 3B. He knocked once. Then again.

The door opened. Trinity leaned against the frame, arms crossed, that trademark smirk already in place, like she’d been waiting all week for this.

“Well, well,” she said. “Look who made the pilgrimage.”

Robby blinked. “You always greet people like they’re here to pick up your teenage sister?”

She shrugged. “Dennis mentioned he was staying in today.”

“That’s why I dropped by,” Robby said. “Figured I’d switch it up. Be the one who shows up for once.”

Santos snorted. “You mean you conveniently dropped by the same day I conveniently mentioned I had spin class?” She narrowed her eyes, pointing a warning finger. “Don’t say a word about that class.”

Robby held up both hands, amused. “I wasn’t going to. But thanks for the mental image.”

“I’m serious. If you tell anyone I do cardio to house remixes of Dolly Parton...”

“Duly noted.”

She stepped aside with a sigh. “This is why he’s always pining after you, you know. You do one halfway romantic thing, and suddenly he’s back in honeymoon mode.”

Before Robby could respond, she turned and shouted down the hall, “Huckleberry! Your boyfriend’s here!”

Robby groaned. “Is that really going to be a thing?”

She grinned wickedly. “It’s a pet name. You don’t like it, take it up with him.”

From down the hall came a thump. Then scrambling.

A few seconds later, Dennis appeared, sweaty, flushed, half-dressed, tugging a shirt over his head with a sheepish look.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “Sorry... I was, uh… doing push-ups.”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Sure you were.”

Dennis shrugged, grinning. “Kind of was.”

Santos rolled her eyes and slung her gym bag over her shoulder. “You two have fun. Try not to break the couch.”

“Bye, Santos,” Robby said, deadpan.

“Bye, Dr. Robby,” she called over her shoulder, with just enough mockery to make it affectionate.

As the door closed behind her, Dennis reached for Robby’s wrist and tugged him gently inside. “You really came.”

“Yeah,” Robby said. “Figured it was my turn.”

And for once, Dennis didn’t have anything clever to say, just smiled.

It was the kind of smile that had no business hitting Robby as hard as it did.

“You want the tour?” Dennis asked, still catching his breath.

Robby raised a brow. “I didn’t come all this way to stand in the entryway.”

Dennis nodded, then froze, suddenly remembering the disaster zone that was his bedroom. His eyes widened.

“Okay, yeah, but give me like, one second. Don’t move.”

Before Robby could ask, Dennis spun around and bolted down the hallway. There was the muffled sound of rummaging, the thump of something hitting the floor, followed by a hissed “shit” and what sounded suspiciously like a fight with a laundry basket.

A few seconds later, Dennis reappeared, arms overflowing with clothes, socks threatening to escape over the edge. He shot Robby a sheepish, boyish look as he passed.

“I meant to do this earlier,” he muttered, disappearing into a small room and reemerging a beat later, empty-handed. “If I let it pile up, I end up stealing clean shirts from Trinity, and that’s not a good look for either of us.”

Robby chuckled. “You sure? I think you could pull off a ‘Property of Santos’ tee.”

Dennis groaned. “Don’t give her ideas.”

He brushed his hands on his shorts, worn and soft-looking, like the sleeveless shirt hanging loose over his shoulders. He glanced down at himself, then back up, just a little defensive.

“And for the record, I really was doing push-ups. Helps me wake up when I’m dragging.”

“Hey,” Robby said, suppressing a smile. “No judgment. You look good.”

Dennis flushed. “You’re biased.”

“True."

Dennis rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Alright, come on. Apartment tour, as promised.”

He led Robby down the short hallway, gesturing as they went. “Okay, so, this is it. Compact. Functional. Kind of old.”

Robby followed, amused by the half-apologetic tone. “It’s nice.”

“Living room’s here, couch folds out, not that it needs to. Unless Trinity’s mad at me and kicks me out of my own bed.”

It was small but neat, a little mismatched. A couple of beanbags sat under a low table covered in coasters, mugs, and a candle that probably came from a clearance bin. A bold, aggressively patterned blanket was thrown over the back of the couch, Trinity’s touch, no doubt.

Dennis pointed back toward the kitchen. “Kitchen behind you. No dishwasher, but we’ve got a passive-aggressive chore chart that keeps the peace.”

Robby peeked in. Narrow, more galley than kitchen, but clean. A coffee machine that looked like it had seen some battles, a fridge covered in magnets and crooked Polaroids.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Dennis said, motioning toward a half-open door. “According to Trin, it’s randomly freezing in the summer and a sauna in winter."

“Sounds like home,” Robby said.

Dennis grinned, then pointed toward another door. “That’s Trinity’s room. Off-limits unless you want to experience actual wrath.”

Robby smirked. “Got it.”

“And this one’s mine.” Dennis pushed open the last door.

Robby stepped inside.

It was small. Lived-in. A little cluttered, but honest. A shelf lined with a few books, a laptop resting on the desk. One corner held a lopsided pile of laundry waiting to be folded. A couple photos on the dresser, one of them clearly from a family trip.The bed wasn’t made, and the lamp leaned at a questionable angle. The walls were slightly scuffed. But it felt warm. Personal.

Dennis hovered by the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t exactly expect company.”

Robby took it all in and just said, “It suits you.”

Dennis exhaled and leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “You mean it’s chaotic?”

“I mean it’s real,” Robby said simply. “Like you.”

Dennis didn’t answer, just stood there, letting the words settle. His shoulders dropped, tension giving way to something quiet and warm. Then: “You want to hang out here, or, balcony? It’s not that big, but it gets a breeze.”

Robby looked at him. The question wasn’t loaded, but it wasn’t nothing either.

“Here’s okay.”

They sat on the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, the silence stretching just long enough to be comfortable. Robby glanced at him, thoughtful.

“You always this nervous when someone sees your place?”

Dennis gave a small laugh. “Only when it’s you.”

“Why me?”

Dennis shrugged. “Because you matter. And I don’t want to screw this up.”

Robby looked down at their knees almost touching. “You’re not. I’m here, aren’t I?”

That earned a real smile, slow, unguarded.

Robby reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against Dennis’ wrist. “Hey.”

Dennis turned, and something shifted. All the warmth and comfort between them sharpened into a low, electric charge.

A second later, Dennis leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t hesitant. It was deep and soft. Dennis’ fingers curled into Robby’s shirt like he needed the grounding.

Robby made a quiet sound as Dennis pressed him gently back, both of them finding the bed without breaking the kiss. Dennis braced above him, steady and careful, lips still moving with his. Robby’s hands slid up his back instinctively, mapping the warmth of him. The mattress dipped beneath their weight. Dennis fit against him like something inevitable.

Robby wasn’t used to this. To being touched like this, like he was something wanted.

Dennis kissed him again, slower this time. Robby’s fingers brushed the hem of his shirt, then skimmed skin. He sighed into the touch, shifting slightly, deepening the kiss. The heat between them was rising.

Then their breathing changed, quicker now. Dennis’s palm slid beneath Robby’s shirt, resting warm and splayed on his side. Robby’s eyes fluttered shut.

This, he thought distantly, this is what it’s supposed to feel like Just... heat and breath and trust. Something that wrapped around your ribs and stayed there.

Dennis kissed along his jaw, then hovered near his ear.

“You good?” he whispered.

Robby nodded, his breath catching. “Yeah.”

And he was. With Dennis pressing into him, solid and real. With their legs tangled, shirts rucked up between them, and something bright sparking low in his chest.

Dennis tugged his own shirt off and tossed it aside. The room was warm, afternoon light washing through the curtains in soft amber, catching the slope of his shoulder. He leaned forward, fingers slipping just under Robby’s shirt, until Robby caught his wrist.

Dennis froze, gaze lifting.

Robby sat up slightly, breath uneven. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, like he was trying to outpace the moment. “I just... I don’t exactly have a twenty-something’s body.”

Dennis blinked, lips parting like he might interrupt, but Robby gave a crooked smile. “It’s not a crisis. I just...”

“Stop.” Dennis leaned in and kissed him. When he pulled back, his voice was calm. “If you want to keep it on, I’ll respect that. But if it’s for me, don’t. I don’t care what you think you’re supposed to look like.”

Robby looked at him, conflict flickering behind his eyes. Then, quietly, he reached down and pulled the shirt over his head.

Dennis sat back.

And stared.

His breath hitched, subtle, but unmistakable.

“God,” Dennis breathed, reverent more than surprised. “You’re…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

His hands moved first,.palms skimming lightly over Robby’s chest, fingers trailing through the fine line of hair that dipped below his waistband. Then Dennis leaned in, lips parting.

He kissed the center of Robby’s chest, painful slowly. A trail of open-mouthed kisses down to his sternum, then back up to his collarbone, lingering like he was committing every inch to memory. His tongue traced the ridge there, tasting salt and skin, and Robby let out a quiet, involuntary sound.

Dennis paused just long enough to murmur, “You’re beautiful.” No hesitation. “I don’t care how you think you look… This, ” he kissed just beneath Robby’s ribs, “, is all I want. You.”

Robby’s hands found his shoulders, unsure whether to pull him closer or stop him. He didn’t do either. Just held him there as Dennis traced his mouth lower, down to the soft curve of his belly and then back up again, mouth dragging, tongue slow and deliberate.

He wasn’t rushing, he was....he was worshiping.

And Robby, despite himself, let him.

Let it happen. Let the quiet adoration unfold. Let someone want him fully, without conditions or apologies. It was terrifying. It was electric. It felt like a door opening that he hadn’t realized was even closed.

Dennis looked up again, breath heavy, pupils blown wide with heat and something deeper.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice rough around the edges.

Robby nodded. His throat was too tight for words.

Dennis smiled, soft, a little hungry, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Robby’s hands trembled slightly as they slid to Dennis’s sides, the warmth of his skin grounding and surreal all at once. He didn’t know what he was afraid of anymore, being seen? Being wanted? Being this?, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Not with Dennis looking at him like he’d already been chosen.

He blinked, trying to stay above the swell of noise in his head, but it crept in anyway.

What the hell are you doing? You’re not built for this. You’re not twenty. You’re going to mess it up.

Then Dennis’s mouth grazed just beneath his ribs again, teeth scraping lightly, and Robby sparked, every muscle tightening with sensation.

The noise shattered.

Fuck it.

He exhaled, sharp and shaky, like pushing shame out of his lungs. Before Dennis could kiss him again, Robby moved, gripping his shoulders and flipping them over with a suddenness that surprised even him.

Dennis made a sound, startled, breathless, then melted beneath him, legs parting naturally. Robby hooked one thigh over his hip, then the other, locking them together.

He hovered there, breath ragged. The weight of everything he’d held back, fear, shame, the refusal to need, pressed in from the edges.

Stupid.

He’d been so stupid.

He looked down at Dennis, spread beneath him, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising fast. Not

Waiting and wanting.

Wanting him.

Something in Robby snapped.

No words. 

He kissed him, hard, open-mouthed, breath hot , bodies grinding as hands clutched and gripped and claimed. He didn’t explain. Didn’t apologize. He just acted.

Finally.

Dennis moaned into the kiss, like yes, that, more, and Robby gave it, hands everywhere, mouth greedy, body unfiltered and alive.

There was no hesitation now. Only need, to feel, to give, to take. To exist inside this heat and weight and want.

Dennis took it all. Welcomed it. Like he’d been waiting for Robby to stop thinking and start feeling.

That was it. 

And Robby gave in.

He dipped down, mouth finding Dennis’s neck,  and this time, he didn’t hold back. He kissed. Licked. Bit. Followed the curve of his jaw, the hollow behind his ear. Breathed him in like oxygen.

His hands tightened on Dennis’s hips, almost too tight, fingers digging in like he was afraid Dennis might disappear if he let go.

Dennis arched into him, hips grinding, seeking friction, and Robby gave it. Their erections pressed hard and insistent between them, and the sound Robby let out was nothing short of primal.

Dennis was saying something his name, maybe just sounds, but Robby didn’t stop to listen.

He moved downward, mouth dragging across Dennis’s chest until he found a nipple and closed his lips around it.

Dennis bucked.

“Fuck, Robby, ”

His fingers tangled in Robby’s hair, tugging, gasping as his body lit up in response.

“God, baby, yes. Again...”

So Robby did it again. Tongue flicking. Gentle bite. Then sucking until Dennis writhed beneath him.

He wasn’t thinking anymore. Just feeling.

And every inch of Dennis was alive for him, responsive, hungry, open in a way that made every other encounter Robby had ever had feel like shadows by comparison.

He didn’t miss them. He didn’t want them.

Nothing had ever felt like this. Like him.

He moved lower, trailing kisses down Dennis’s neck, then back up, nipping and sucking until soft bruises bloomed along his collarbone. His hands slid over slick, heated skin, learning the shape of him by touch, by instinct. Every movement was tender, but hungry.

He was hungry for the man under him.

When their mouths met again, it was anything but soft. Their lips collided with shared urgency, a kiss that said mine without needing words. Robby groaned into it, the sound swallowed between them.

Then, almost reverently, Robby’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of Dennis’s pants. His fingers found what they were seeking, warm, hard, pulsing with want. He wrapped his hand around him, slow and sure, holding him first,.just feeling.

Dennis gasped into his mouth, hips jerking instinctively. Robby began to stroke him, confident, firmly, each pass coaxing pleasure with practiced ease.

He knew how to do this. He’d done it for himself a thousand times. But this was different. This was Dennis. This was giving, not taking. And he was savoring it... every twitch, every gasp, every way Dennis arched into his palm like he couldn’t get close enough.

Dennis clung to him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, fingers digging into his back. His hips bucked into the rhythm, chasing it, grinding for more friction.

“Please, baby, fuck,” he gasped, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. “I, I can’t, ”

Robby thrust forward, hips rocking in time with his strokes, their bodies pressed flush, chest to chest, skin slick with sweat and want and something deeper. Their moans tangled, breath and sound caught in the heat between them.

Dennis locked his legs around Robby’s waist like he couldn’t bear to let him go. And Robby let himself fall, into the touch, the heat, the tremble of Dennis’s body beneath him.

Into the wild, aching beauty of this.

He surrendered, control, fear, all the careful restraint he’d been clinging to, until nothing remained but sensation: sharp, brilliant, all-consuming.

Dennis was shaking now, tension drawn so tight he felt ready to snap. Every slow twist of Robby’s wrist made his breath stutter, made the moans spill louder, desperate and raw.

“Baby...” he choked, voice breaking, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna...”

Robby didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. Just held him steady, hand moving in smooth, unrelenting rhythm, coaxing him right to the edge.

His free hand cradled the back of Dennis’s neck, grounding him. Anchoring him in this moment. Anchoring them.

And then Dennis gasped, a sharp, broken sound, and his whole body locked up. His legs tightened around Robby’s waist. His hips jerked once, twice, and then he came, hot, pulsing into Robby’s hand, face buried in his shoulder as he trembled through it.

His breath stuttered, caught, then spilled in a long, shivering exhale.

Robby held him through it, lips brushing through damp strands of hair, whispering something low and soft that didn’t need to be heard. He didn’t care about the mess, only Dennis. His flushed skin, his shaking breath, the way he melted into him like he’d just let go of something he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

And still, Robby was aching. Still hard. The friction now was maddening.

Dennis, still catching his breath, didn’t hesitate. His hand slipped between them, beneath Robby’s waistband, fingers wrapping around him like a promise.

Their eyes met, something raw and bright sparking between them. Lust, yes. But also hunger. Trust. That wild, pulsing need to feel each other completely.

Robby’s hips stuttered, once, twice, and then he was gone. Release slammed into him, hard and fast. He buried his face in Dennis’s neck, gasping as his body shuddered through the wave of it.

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless. Skin to skin, heart to heart. 

Just that.

Dennis lay flat on his back, one arm flung dramatically over his face, like he could block out both memory and reality. His chest still heaved with aftershocks. Jeans undone, shirt bunched beneath him, his whole body flushed, spent, and mortified.

Robby, lying beside him, turned his head and smirked. Let the silence stretch, just a beat.

Then:

“So... baby, huh?”

Dennis didn’t move. Just groaned into his arm. “Oh my god.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Please don't say anything..." He said mortified.

“I’m just saying, I wasn’t expecting pet names on the first round.” Robby kept his tone light, teasing, fingers drawing lazy shapes across Dennis’s stomach. “Kind of hot, though.”

Dennis groaned louder and rolled to his side, face diving into the nearest pillow. “Stop. Talking.”

Robby laughed, warm and easy. “You were really into it.”

“Can we not do the instant replay?”

“Hey.” Robby leaned in, brushing a kiss to Dennis’s shoulder, then just above his ear. His voice softened. “I liked it.”

Dennis peeked at him, still pink-faced, eyes a little wary. “…You sure?”

“I mean…” Robby shrugged. “You made me come in my pants.”

Dennis froze. “…huh?”

Robby grinned, wicked. “Swear to god. Haven’t done that since I was sixteen. Door locked, music blasting, praying no one walked in.”

Dennis let out a strangled laugh, half-horrified, half-thrilled. “Jesus. That’s so...”

“Tragic? Hot? Deeply relatable?”

“Unreal.” Dennis shook his head, grinning despite himself. “What a goddamn pair.”

Robby slid a little closer, letting their legs brush. “Yeah,” he murmured. “But I like our odds.”

Dennis glanced at him. “Even with the involuntary orgasms and spontaneous nicknames?”

“Yeah.”

Dennis laughed again, then dragged the pillow back over his face like it could shield him from the ridiculousness of whatever this was turning into.

The water was just starting to boil when Dennis hopped onto the kitchen counter like he’d been invited, which he hadn’t. But Robby didn’t stop him. He’d already given up on trying to keep Dennis away from anything for more than three minutes.

Robby stirred the sauce, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. The garlic was golden, the tomatoes were simmering, and the pasta was somewhere in the back of the cupboard, probably hiding behind ten expired cans of beans. He’d get there.

Eventually.

Dennis, meanwhile, had zero plans to help.

He was sprawled across the countertop in Robby's hoodie and shorts that clung just right, watching his boyfriend like he was the main event. His grin was lazy and wicked, like he had no business being that satisfied after what they’d done to each other less than an hour ago.

“Watching you make pasta is borderline pornographic,” Dennis said, voice low and full of suggestion. “The way your hands move? Rude.”

Robby, mid-stir, paused for half a second. Then just shook his head, smiling faintly. “It’s literally just sauce.”

“Yeah, but your arms are doing things.” Dennis bit his lip. “Sexy things.”

“I’m using a wooden spoon.”

“Exactly. Domestic and hot. You’re ruining me.”

Robby huffed a laugh and opened a cabinet, rummaging through it. “Aren’t you starving?”

“I’m starving for you,” Dennis said instantly, voice pitched with mock drama. “Food is second tier at this point.”

“You’re relentless.”

“I’m suffering.”

Robby pulled out a half-used box of pasta and held it up like a trophy. “Good news. You’ll survive.”

Dennis leaned back on his elbows, legs swinging slightly. “You sure you don’t want to just feed me you? I could lie back on the counter. Open my mouth, I would let you...”

“Dennis,” Robby said, dropping the pasta into the pot with a hiss of boiling water, “I’m trying to cook.”

“I’m trying to seduce you.”

“You already did that. Twice.”

“Yeah, but you were the one doing all the heavy lifting.” Dennis smirked. “I just laid there and made pretty noises.”

Robby’s ears went visibly pink, but he didn’t turn around. “You did more than that.”

Dennis grinned wider. “Aw. You liked the noises?”

Robby stirred the pot like it had personally offended him. “They were… nice.”

“Nice?” Dennis gasped. “That’s the best review I get? Nice?”

“Do you want me to stop feeding you?”

Dennis held up both hands in surrender, eyes bright. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave. Kind of. Maybe.”

Robby glanced over his shoulder at him, hair a little mussed, cheeks flushed, still very much trying not to smile too wide. “You’re insatiable.”

Dennis tilted his head, eyes skating over Robby’s back. “You make it really easy to be.”

Robby didn’t answer that. Just turned back to the stove, fighting the grin that kept trying to creep up on him. The water boiled. The sauce thickened. And behind him, Dennis kept making sounds ,  exaggerated sighs, the occasional “mm” or “god, your back” ,  like he was physically pained by not being allowed to touch.

Finally, Robby set a timer and leaned against the counter across from him, arms folded.

“You gonna make it?” he asked.

Dennis dragged a slow gaze up and down his body and said, very seriously, “Not even a little bit.”

Robby laughed, really laughed this time, and it did something to Dennis’s chest, the way the sound cracked through the air and filled the small kitchen like sunlight.

Then silence.

The pasta bubbled gently on the stove, steam curling up around them as the kitchen filled with soft, savory smells. Robby was reaching for the pepper grinder when he felt it, a tug at the hem of his shirt, followed by the warm weight of Dennis’s hand closing around his wrist.

“Hey,” Dennis said, voice low.

Robby turned, a little startled. “Yeah?”

Dennis sighed, thumb brushing across Robby’s pulse point like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. His eyes searched Robby’s face, no teasing now. Just something quieter. Heavier.

He leaned forward and kissed him. Almost chaste, but full of meaning. And when he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

“I’m not joking with the compliments,” Dennis said, voice barely above a whisper now. “Any of them.”

Robby blinked, thrown off by the shift in tone. “Okay…”

“It’s just, ” Dennis glanced away for a second, teeth grazing his lower lip. “I know I talk a lot of shit. I joke, I flirt, I say things that are probably way too blunt for someone who just realized he wasn't straight. But if it bothers you, the way I am, I’ll stop. I mean that.”

Robby’s brow furrowed. “Why would it bother me?”

“Because you’re still getting used to it too,” Dennis said, quieter now. “And I know I can come on strong, and I just, I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable. Or like I’m pushing too fast. Or being a dick about something that’s not actually funny.”

There was a long pause. 

Robby set the grinder down and turned fully to face him, stepping into the space between Dennis’s legs. One hand came to rest on Dennis’s thigh, grounding them both.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Dennis.”

Dennis looked up at him, clearly bracing.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Robby said. “At all.”

A slow breath passed between them. Dennis still didn’t look entirely convinced.

“I know you’re not saying any of that stuff to laugh at me,” Robby went on. “You’re saying it because… I don’t know, because you mean it. Because you see me that way.”

“I do,” Dennis said quickly. “I do.”

Robby nodded, his hand giving Dennis’s leg a squeeze. “And I haven’t felt that in a long time. Not just wanted, but… attractive. Desirable. Seen like that. Not just for sex, but for me.”

Dennis exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing, the edge of guilt softening into something warmer.

“And I love the teasing,” Robby added with a smile. “I like it. I like you being blunt. I like that your brain has no filter. It’s kind of incredible, honestly.”

Dennis huffed a laugh. “Incredible or exhausting?”

“A little of both,” Robby teased, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to Dennis’s cheek. “But I’m all in. With all of it. Okay?”

“Okay…” Dennis said, cheeks flushing now.

Robby leaned in again, resting their foreheads together. “I just can't believe I thought you were shy…”

Dennis laughed, tossing his head back. “Mom says I’m shy until I warm up to people.”

Robby grinned. “Then I’m lucky I got to warm you up.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading. “Yeah… you definitely warmed me up. Might’ve overheated me a little, actually.”

Robby chuckled, shaking his head. “I walked right into that.”

“Not the only thing you walked into,” Dennis shot back, eyes gleaming.

Robby covered his face, half-laughing, half-dying. “This is what I get for complimenting your no-filter brain.”

Dennis leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately,” Robby said, smiling despite himself, “I really, really do.”

Chapter Text

Dennis had learned quickly that geriatrics moved to a different rhythm than the ER. There were no crashing traumas or codes shouted across halls. Instead, there was the soft shuffle of slippers on linoleum floors, the hum of wheelchairs, the squeak of medication carts, and the patient sound of lives that had already seen decades pass.

He didn’t mind the slower pace. In fact, he liked it here more than he’d expected. Geriatrics wasn’t flashy or intense like internal medicine or emergency care, but it carried a quiet kind of weight. People mattered here, not just for their charts or vitals, but for the stories they carried, the routines that grounded them, and the memories that sometimes slipped in and out of reach.

Dr. Rivera, his attending, was one of the better ones. She was efficient but kind, with a way of delivering both praise and correction that didn’t sting. She didn’t hover or micromanage, but gave him space to find his footing, always close enough to step in if needed. He appreciated that more than he could say.

At the moment, Dennis was at the nurses’ station, perched on one of the spinning stools as he finished writing a brief note for Mr. Halber in room 708. The older man’s granddaughter had shown up for a surprise visit, and Dennis, after checking vitals and confirming stability , had taken his chart and quietly stepped out to give them space. Family time, he’d learned, was as therapeutic as any medication.

He scrolled through the EMR, fingers moving fast and practiced. One more line about bowel movement frequency and he'd be done.

Across from him, his fellow med student, Brianna,  a wide-eyed second-year from a fast-track program, sat stiffly, barely hiding her impatience. She glanced at the clock every couple of minutes, as if counting down the seconds to escape.

“You know,” Dennis said lightly, not looking up from his screen, “hearing you sigh every five seconds is making this rotation feel longer than it is.”

She blinked, startled. “Sorry. It’s just...” She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “This isn’t exactly what I imagined when I thought of being a doctor. It’s slow. No... spark.”

Dennis finished typing, then turned to face her with a shrug. “Not every specialty has to be Grey’s Anatomy. Sometimes the spark is subtle. You just have to pay attention.”

Brianna frowned. “But how are you not bored? I mean, one of the patients spent fifteen minutes telling me about his pet parrot from the 1970s.”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, lips twitching. “Mr. Edmonds. He names every parrot General MacArthur. This one’s imaginary, though.”

She blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Dennis nodded with a small grin. “He knows it, too. He just likes seeing how long you’ll go along with it.”

Brianna looked both confused and horrified.

“I get it,” Dennis said, his tone softening. “It’s not what you’re used to. It’s not what I’m going into either. But it’s still medicine. Still people. And honestly? Some of these patients have lived more than we’ve even read about. You’d be surprised how much you can learn if you stop trying to rush past them. Most of them are managing multiple illnesses on top of the natural decline that comes with age.”

From behind the station, one of the nurses gave a small, approving hum. “Tell her, Dr. Whitaker,” she said with a smile,  teasing but fond.

Dennis chuckled. “Still a student, Erica.”

“For now,” she said.

He looked back at his screen and saved his note just as Dr. Rivera walked by, tapping a folder against her palm.

“Whitaker,” she said. “You finished with 708?”

“Yes, ma’am. Gave them some space. Granddaughter’s in town.”

“Good instinct,” she said with a nod. “You’ve got a feel for this.”

He flushed slightly at the compliment but gave her a quick nod. “Thank you.”

“Rounds in fifteen” she added, already moving down the hall.

Dennis stood and stretched. He knew this wasn’t his future specialty, the ER still pulled at him like gravity, and internal medicine was still on the table. But here, for now, he liked what he was doing. Geriatrics was slower, sure, but that didn’t make it less. These people had weathered storms, wars, grief, marriages, entire generations, and there was a quiet dignity in caring for them at this stage of life.

He glanced down the hall toward 708 and saw Mr. Halber laughing at something his granddaughter had said, his frail frame more alive in that moment than it had been all week.

He was just about to check in on his next patient when Robby appeared beside him.

“No…” Dr. Rivera reappeared, cutting off the ER doctor before he could speak. “I already gave you the last available bed. No more until I’ve cleared some patients to home care.”

“Easy there,” Robby said with a slight grin. “I’m not here to ask for favors, just need a quick word with Mr. Whitaker.”

“Oh, so now you’re sweet-talking my students?” she huffed, arms crossed. “You can flash that smile all you want, but I’ve got a whole floor of sweet nurses and I’ll fight tooth and nail for any student who wants to be here when the time comes.”

“Nothing like that,” Robby said, amused. “Just five minutes.”

“Fine. But don’t listen to him,” she added, wagging a finger at Dennis. “ER docs always think they’re rock stars, especially this one...” She turned and walked off, muttering under her breath about self-appointed gods.

“Follow me?” Robby asked.

Dennis nodded, falling into step behind him. Robby nodded at a few colleagues as they passed, walking with that lazy stride like they had all the time in the world.

Far from true.

They’d been running on scraps all week, Robby pulling endless overtime, Dennis taking extra lab hours to help cover rent, even though Trin insisted she had it handled.

But Dennis wasn’t the kind of man who let someone else carry the weight if he could help it. Not when he could work more, cut corners, scrape by. Even if it meant barely seeing his boyfriend, despite working in the same hospital.

Their nights had shrunk down to tired texts and late-night phone calls. Robby’s voice always rough with sleep, pretending he wasn’t, just to stay on the line a little longer.

That was the only intimacy they’d had lately.

Well,

That, and the night Dennis convinced him to have phone sex.

The idea had made Robby laugh at first, half-skeptical, half-asleep. But Dennis had heard the shift in his voice the second he said please. It turned shy. Low. Rough. And then Robby agreed to it.

Dennis remembered every second.

The rasp in Robby’s voice when he gave in. The way his breathing changed. The silence between words growing heavier. The soft, stifled moans Dennis could hardly believe were for him. That long, broken sound when Robby finally came, Dennis had bitten his lip hard just trying not to fall apart from the sound of it alone.

He’d gripped the phone like it was Robby.

He’d whispered things he hadn’t said aloud before.

After, he lay there with his heart pounding, still alone in his bed, but feeling closer to Robby than he had all week.

Dennis shook himself, heat pooling low in his stomach at the memory.

Focus.

By the time Robby stopped walking, they were in front of a storage room Dennis was pretty sure he’d never even noticed before.

Robby opened the door, and Dennis followed.

“How did you know...” he started, but the question never finished.

Robby had already pressed him against the door, one hand reaching past to click it shut behind them.

Then he was on him.

Robby pushed him back with steady hands and kissed him like it had been more than a week. Like he was starving.

No words.

It took Dennis a second to catch up. Then he was clawing at Robby’s hoodie, pulling it up in a rough, desperate tug. It caught at the elbows,.Robby yanked it the rest of the way off, barely breaking contact.

Then he was back, pressing into him harder. His mouth dragged along Dennis’s jaw, then lower.

Robby’s hands moved slow and firm down his sides, pausing to grip his hips, and then lower, grabbing his ass and yanking him forward. Dennis let out a soft, helpless sound.

And then Robby’s thigh slid between his legs.

Dennis didn’t even think. His hips moved on instinct, grinding down, chasing friction like a fix. It made him tremble, made everything burn.

Robby moaned into his neck, low and rough, almost a growl. His breath was ragged. One hand locked around Dennis’s hip, holding him there like he needed it. The other slid under his scrub top, palm searing against bare skin.

Dennis’s nails dragged over Robby’s waist, desperate for something to hold onto. Their breathing was all over the place,!harsh, messy, tangled.

“Fuck,” Dennis gasped, pressing closer. His mouth brushed Robby’s ear, voice wrecked. “Baby… fuck, more. Don’t stop.”

Robby grunted, hips jerking up with a rough noise that was half curse, half groan. His grip tightened, fingers digging in.

“I've got you” he muttered, voice thick, dangerous. 

His hand slid down, palming Dennis through his scrubs, slow at first, then firmer, like he knew exactly how to tear him apart.

Dennis shuddered, moaning into Robby’s shoulder, breath hot and broken. He was shaking, already close, already gone.

Fingers fumbled at waistbands. Scrubs pushed down just enough to bare heat. Skin on skin. Barely enough. Almost too much.

Dennis’s head hit the door with a soft thud. His breath hitched.

Robby kissed him again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize it. Like he’d missed this just as much as Dennis had.

Another voice passed just beyond the door, close this time. Too close. The kind of close that made your skin lock up and your gut drop.

Robby froze, one hand still clenched at Dennis’s waist, the other fisted in the back of his shirt. His breath was hot, shaky, right against Dennis’s lips.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Dennis exhaled sharply, chest still pressed to his. “No, no no c'mon” he whispered, breathless and already mourning what almost was. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

They hadn’t even gotten his pants off.

Not entirely.

Robby pulled back just enough to glance toward the door, then huffed a laugh “Fuck...” His forehead dropped to Dennis’s shoulder. “I was really about to do this. In a closet. At the hospital.”

Dennis let out a strangled sound, part groan, part laugh. “We still could?”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “That was a suggestion,…” he muttered as he adjusted his pants.

“A bad suggestion.”

“Yeah, didn’t look like that when your hand was on my...”

 Robby kissed him, and Dennis melted.

“Just because it’s a bad idea,” Robby murmured against his lips, “doesn’t mean I didn’t want to. You looked at me like that and I forgot how to function.”

Dennis let his head thunk back against the door, still catching his breath.

They stayed like that for a moment, leaning into each other, listening as the voices outside faded. Only once silence returned did they start to straighten.

Dennis ran a hand down his scrubs, trying to look slightly less disheveled. Robby glanced down, then bent to pick up his hoodie from the floor, shaking it out and tugging it back on with a quiet huff of amusement.

He gave Dennis a helpless, crooked smile.

Then, quiet as kids sneaking out past curfew, they slipped out the door. Every step was soft and fast, eyes scanning the hallway like a couple of teenagers caught where they weren’t supposed to be.

When they finally rounded the corner and the coast was clear, Dennis cast a sidelong glance at him, still a little dazed.

“So,” he said dryly, “if dragging me into a supply closet wasn’t just about ravishing me, what exactly was the plan?”

Robby huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Honestly? That was... a strong bonus. But not the reason.”

Dennis arched a brow, amused. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Robby hesitated, his breath starting to slow. The shift in tone was subtle, but Dennis caught it.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said quietly. “About something…”

That brought Dennis down a gear. He straightened, face softening.

“Okay…” he said slowly.

“Do you remember that conversation we had a couple weeks ago?” Robby asked, his voice careful now.

Dennis nodded slowly. “Which one?”

“About Jake,” Robby said. His hand drifted to Dennis’s hip again, grounding himself. “About me telling him. About us.”

That brought Dennis fully back. His eyes sharpened. “Yeah. Of course I remember.”

“I just talked to him. He’s got no homework, nothing going on tonight. And I was thinking…” Robby hesitated. “I might tell him.”

Dennis blinked, surprise flickering across his face before it softened. “Really?”

Robby nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been putting it off, but it feels like the right time.”

“That’s great.” Dennis smiled, though there was a flicker of nerves behind it. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. And since you’re off tonight, I thought…” Robby gave a small smile. “Maybe you’d want to come too?”

Dennis’s breath caught. “You want me to meet him?”

“Yeah,” Robby said simply.

Dennis studied him. “Like… meet him as your boyfriend.”

Robby’s voice slowed. “Yeah. Unless you’re not ready.”

“No, I, ” Dennis shook his head. “I want to. I do.” His gaze dropped for a beat, like he needed a second to process. “Just… what if he hates me?”

“Why would he?” Robby asked, his brows knitting.

Dennis gave a sheepish shrug. “You used to date his mom.”

Robby snorted, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s seventeen, not five. I promise, he’s not secretly rooting for us to get back together.”

Dennis let out a breath, half-laugh, half-relief.

“Janey’s moved on. So have I. Jake’s smart, he’ll understand. He might be surprised, sure. But I think he’ll be happy for me.” Robby paused. “For us.”

Dennis was quiet, not from doubt, but from something deeper. Something that came from being seen, being asked, being wanted.

“This feels… big,” he said finally, voice softer now.

“It is,” Robby said.

That slow smile returned to Dennis’s face. “Okay. Yeah. Text me the details?”

“Of course.” Robby’s thumb brushed gently across his knuckles.

Dennis glanced down the hallway, regret tugging at his features. “I’ve got rounds in like three minutes.”

“I know,” Robby said. He gave his hand a final squeeze. “Go.”

It was the closest thing to a goodbye kiss they could have.

Robby’s hands moved on autopilot, gloves on, samples labeled, everything by the book. But his mind was loud.. It was the last day of Frank’s probation.

And still, every thought circled back to Dennis.

To that damn supply room.

And to dinner with Jake tonight.

Frank stood beside him, arms crossed, watching him. That look again, sharp, unreadable, like he was reading a chart instead of a person.

“I’m not gonna screw this up,” Frank said bluntly.

Robby looked up. “What?”

“I know what you did,” Frank said. “To bring me back. You put your ass on the line.”

That made Robby pause. He sealed the sample bag with a snap. “It’s not about that.” He offered a small, sideways smile. “I’m just glad it’s done. And I trust you. I know you’re doing the work.”

Frank exhaled, relieved, but then a smirk crept in.

“Then it’s about that little detour to the seventh floor earlier.”

Robby tensed. “What?”

Frank shrugged, way too casual. “You came back walking like someone who just got a little love.”

Robby blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what? I didn’t...” He nudged Frank hard in the arm. “Nothing happened. I would never do that… here.”

“Not for lack of trying, far as I know.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Okay, how the hell do you know about that?”

Frank grinned, smug. “Caught Santos texting earlier. Real focused. Not great at hiding her screen.”

“You read her texts?” Robby groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“I glanced,” Frank said, raising his hands innocently. “Caught enough. Your name. Dennis. The words ‘supply closet’ and ‘almost.’ I put it together.”

“Of course he told her,” Robby muttered.

“She’s his best friend,” Frank said, unbothered. “You really think he wouldn’t?”

Robby raised a brow. “So what, just having a best friend means you share everything?”

Frank barked a laugh. “Don’t you want to? Next we’ll make friendship bracelets. Real bonding moment.”

Robby lifted the urine sample bag between them. “I think we’ve already bonded.”

Frank cracked up, tipping his head back. They shared a look, a laugh, easy for a moment.

Then Frank tilted his head again, curiosity replacing the teasing.

“Alright. If it’s not the probation, not me, and not your steamy almost-tryst in geriatric storage… what’s got you actually nervous?”

Robby exhaled. The smile faded. “I’m telling Jake tonight.”

Frank blinked. “Ah. About you and Dennis.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause. 

Frank leaned on the counter. “So what’s the worry? You think he’s gonna freak out or something?”

“No,” Robby said immediately. “That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Robby was quiet for a beat, sorting through the knot in his chest.

Frank offered casually, “’Cause, let me tell you, kids these days think everyone being bi is trendy anyway.”

Robby squinted at him. “Who said that?”

Frank shrugged. “My niece. Loudly. At Christmas. Multiple times. Though I’m pretty sure it was just to piss off my mom.”

Despite himself, Robby snorted.

“But Jake’s a good kid,” Frank went on. “Smart. Chill. He might be surprised for a second, sure, but he’ll be happy for you.”

Robby nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know. That’s not what’s messing me up.”

Frank didn’t press. He just waited.

Finally, Robby said, voice quieter, “Telling him makes it real. Makes Dennis and me real.”

Frank leaned back against the wall. The silence stretched, just long enough to become pointed.

“What about me?” he said finally, still casual. “I know about you and Dennis. Didn’t change anything for me.”

“Other than giving you an excuse to tease.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s on you. You get all twitchy when you talk about him.”

Robby shot him a look, but Frank’s grin faded into something gentler.

“Seriously, what’s the deal? Something’s eating at you, and you’re covering it with all this ‘is it too soon’ crap. Just spill it.”

Robby let out a slow breath. “Don’t you think I’m rushing things? I met Dennis, what, five months ago? And now I’m telling my...”

“Kid?” Frank offered.

“Kinda, yeah.” Robby looked down. “And when I look back, it feels like this sprint. Like we’ve just been running. And I’m not tired, I just… I want to keep running.”

Frank nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s because it’s right. No relationship has a damn stopwatch on it.”

He scratched the back of his head, then added, “I mean, I told Abby I wanted to marry her on our first date.”

Robby blinked. “What?”

Frank grinned. “Yeah. Lucky for me, she said yes.”

Robby shook his head, laughing.

“But here’s the thing,” Frank continued, softening again. “You like him. He makes you happy, fucking happy, man. And you haven’t been…”

He hesitated, then went on more carefully, “Not since Dr. Adamson passed. You were grieving. I get it, he was your friend, your mentor. But you shut down. You buried yourself in that cave and stayed there.”

Frank looked over, earnest now. “Then Whitaker showed up. And I don’t know what he did, or keeps doing, but he brought you back. Back to the land of the living.”

Robby’s gaze dropped to the bench, jaw tight.

“So if I were you?” Frank said softly. “I wouldn’t care if it’s fast. Sometimes fast just means right.”

There was a long pause.

Then Robby nodded. A small, reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re such a sap when no one’s watching.”

Frank shrugged. “Screw you. I’m very emotionally well-rounded.”

Robby snorted. “With the maturity of a frat boy.”

“Still passed your ass on probation,” Frank said smugly.

“Barely,” Robby muttered, but the weight in his chest had started to ease.

Frank grinned. “So, do I get a prize for that?”

Robby pointed around “Yeah. You get to keep working here.”

Frank shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

Dennis stood at the counter, carefully slicing cherry tomatoes into neat halves, glancing toward the oven now and then. Robby had already checked it three times in the last ten minutes, and now he was heading toward it again.

“You’re not gonna let the cheese gratinate properly if you keep opening that door,” Dennis said, not even looking up.

Robby paused, hand on the handle, and let out a quiet breath through his nose.

Dennis rinsed his hands in the sink, dried them on a dish towel, then leaned against the counter, watching him. “Alright. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Robby said too fast, shaking his head like he could knock the nerves loose.

Dennis gave him a look, patient, knowing. “I can still crash Trinity’s plans, you know. You and Jake can just have a normal night. No big reveal. Just pizza and terrible movie reruns.”

Robby hesitated. “You’d really be okay with that?”

Dennis smiled. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I told you, it's your journey. I’m just here for the views.”

And that was it.

Robby shook his head slowly. “I’m being stupid.”

Dennis stepped in, just close enough, voice quiet. “You’re not.”

“I want to tell him.”

Dennis nodded, then leaned in and kissed him “Then tell him. However you want.”

Robby stayed close, forehead brushing his. “Do you think we’re rushing this?”

Dennis blinked. “What?”

“This. Us,” Robby said, his voice dipping into uncertainty. “It’s only been five months and we’re already making plans for the future.”

Dennis leaned back just enough to meet his eyes. “And we shouldn’t? Because I like planning things with you. Makes it feel like you want this to last.”

The shyness crept back into Dennis’s expression, and Robby instantly hated that he’d put it there. He leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. “I do want it to last. As much as you do.”

Dennis’s smile returned, a little brighter now. He turned back to his salad, tossed a few tomatoes in, then said, “Well, just be warned... I’m like a stray dog. Feed me once, and I’m parked on your porch for good.”

Robby laughed. “So that’s all it took? A couple of homemade dinners and now you live here?”

Dennis gave a one-shouldered shrug. “That’s all it ever takes. You’re stuck with me.”

Robby slipped his arms around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “Good. I like having you here.”

“For you? Always.”

There was a pause, quiet but full.

“I don’t know,” Robby said softly. “It feels fast. And it also feels... normal. Like, I get up in the morning and you’re the first person I want to talk to. And that doesn’t feel strange, it just feels right. Maybe that’s weird. I don’t even know what normal is supposed to look like anymore.”

Dennis smiled, faint and crooked.

“Well. If it helps, I don’t feel rushed.”

“No?”

Dennis shook his head.

“I feel like we got dropped in the deep end and we just... swam. We figured it out.”

Robby exhaled, that tension loosening at the edges.

“You right.”

“Oh, I like hearing that…”

The intercom buzzed.

Robby froze like someone had just hit pause on him. He glanced at Dennis, then the front door, then back again.

“Well,” he said, with a half-laugh that sounded nothing like one, “there’s no turning back now.”

Dennis raised a brow “You want to turn back?”

But before Robby could answer, Dennis nudged him toward the door.

“I swear to God,” Robby muttered as he moved, “you’re too calm.”

Dennis stayed behind, trying to be exactly that. Calm. 

 Except he wasn’t.

He was about to meet Robby’s pseudo son. Not in the vague, unintentional way he had months ago in the chaos of a hospital waiting room. But now as the boyfriend. The person Robby had chosen. And Dennis, who usually didn’t hesitate to speak his mind, was suddenly terrified of saying the wrong thing. Of looking wrong. Of being wrong.

The door opened a minute later, and Dennis heard voices in the entryway, Robby’s soft and Jake’s lighter, edged with that teenage curiosity that hadn’t yet calcified into full detachment. Then came the sound of shoes being kicked off, laughter, and footsteps heading toward the kitchen.

Dennis forgot to stand up.

He blinked once and thought, Don’t mess this up.

Jake rounded the corner first. He was taller than Dennis remembered, and carrying that gangly confidence of someone just beginning to realize they’re growing into themselves. He slowed slightly when he saw Dennis, clearly not expecting someone else there.

His expression flickered, not exactly surprised, but cautious.

Robby followed, hands tucked awkwardly into his pockets, watching both of them like a man caught between a minefield and a bridge.

“Hey,” Robby said, trying for light, “so, uh... this is Dennis. He works at the hospital. You’ve actually... kind of met before.”

Something changed in Jake’s face, his mouth pulled into a line and his eyes shifted, that flicker of recognition shadowed by something heavier.

Dennis stood up then, a beat too late, but with purpose “It’s okay,” he said, already catching the apology forming on Jake’s tongue. “Really. You don’t have to say anything about that day.”

Jake hesitated, but nodded “Yeah. Hey, sorry if I was rude. I just... that whole night was, ”

“It was hard,” Dennis finished gently. “I know.”

Jake looked down, then back up “Right. Thanks.”

Dennis offered his hand, steady “Dennis Whitaker. It’s a pleasure.”

Jake shook it, his grip just a little stronger than expected. Testing, maybe. Or grounding himself.

“Jake Malloy.”

Dennis smiled “Good to finally meet properly.”

Robby hovered behind them, visibly holding his breath.

Jake looked back at his dad, something unreadable in his expression. Then back at Dennis, brow lifted just slightly “So... are you the one who made the cheesy thing in the oven? Because it smells insane.”

Dennis blinked, then laughed. “My mom's recipe…”

“Cool,” Jake smiled. “Mom doesn't let me enter the kitchen.”

“Jake, you found a way to put pancakes on the ceiling,” Robby reminded him.

“I was twelve, and I just wanted to surprise you guys…”

Robby turned to Dennis. “The surprise was scrubbing that.”

Dennis looked at Jake. “I’m sure you're better now.”

“Not really. I can make grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Very gourmet…” Dennis said.

“I like him…” Jake said to Robby, and Dennis’ chest warmed at the declaration.

A timer went off.

“Dinner’s ready,” Dennis announced with a soft clap of his hands, stepping toward the counter.

Jake gave a half-nod, distracted for a second before seeming to remember something “Oh uh, wait. Dessert.” He reached for the grocery bag he’d set by the door. “Mom made me bring something. Said it was rude to show up to someone’s place empty-handed.”

Robby raised a brow “I know, I told her it’s just Robby, but I’m glad she made me bring the bigger piece. I didn’t know you invited a friend,” he threw in casually.

Dennis chuckled, watching their exchange with a quiet fondness “Sounds like your mom’s is cool.”

Jake shrugged “Yeah, most of the time.”

Dennis laughed again, easy and genuine “Well, tell her thanks for the dessert. And for raising someone who doesn’t show up empty-handed.”

Jake’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if it was safe yet “Yeah. I’ll tell her.”

Dennis turned back to the kitchen and started moving with casual confidence, opening cabinets without hesitation, pulling down plates with one hand, grabbing glasses with the other. He moved like someone who’d done it a dozen times before. Like someone who knew where the dinnerware lived and which drawer held the forks. There was no need to ask Robby for anything.

And that’s when Jake noticed.

His eyes narrowed, just slightly, in realization 

Dennis wasn’t just visiting.

He belonged here.

How? He wasn’t sure yet.

Jake looked at Robby, who had gone still beside the counter, watching Dennis the same way, like he couldn’t help it, like he didn’t know how not to watch him.

Then Robby seemed to realize Jake was watching him, and he cleared his throat too loudly. The sound cut across the kitchen and made both Dennis and Jake glance over at the same time.

Robby blinked, caught between a flinch and a smile “Uh. You want water or soda?”

Jake tilted his head “Water’s fine.”

Dennis passed him a glass, and their fingers brushed for a second. Jake took it, his gaze flicking between them once more, a flicker of thought moving behind his eyes, but no judgment. Just quiet observation. Like he was still figuring out what this was about.

Robby began plating the food with practiced ease, scooping generous servings of the bubbling casserole onto three plates. The scent of herbs, roasted vegetables, and cheese filled the kitchen. Robby moved beside Dennis in sync, handing off the salad bowl and reaching for utensils without needing to ask where they were. It was the kind of domestic rhythm that doesn’t come from show, but repetition, like they’d done this at least a dozen times before.

Because they had.

Jake sat at the counter, watching.

There was a weight in the air. Not heavy, more like charged. As if something was quietly vibrating just beneath the surface. And Jake, who’d been around Robby long enough to know when something was up, wasn’t about to let it slide.

He leaned forward, elbows resting casually on the counter “Sooo… Robby?”

Robby paused with a serving spoon mid-air.

Jake arched an eyebrow “Is there something you maybe wanna say to me?”

Robby looked like someone had hit pause on his brain. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Nothing came out except a slight exhale, and a glance at Dennis, like maybe he’d magically pull a script out of thin air.

Dennis didn’t. But he did set down the plate he’d just finished and reached out, fingers brushing gently against Robby’s. A silent gesture. Saying I’m right here without a single word.

Jake’s gaze flicked to the touch, and his eyes narrowed, mind spinning.

And then it hit him.

All at once.

His jaw dropped.

“OH MY GOD.”

Robby startled. Dennis blinked.

Jake leaned back, laughing so hard he almost fell off the stool. “I knew it! I knew there was someone! I told Mom... I said, ‘Robby’s totally seeing someone.’ I freaking called it!”

“You couldn’t know…” Robby muttered, cheeks burning.

“Oh, I did. I asked if you were seeing someone and you didn’t deny, you deflected… Mom owes me,” he said, already pulling out his phone, then stopping. “I can tell her, right?”

Robby nodded. “Yeah, just, uh…”

“We’re keeping things on the low for now…” Dennis offered.

Jake began to eat, and the couple did the same. “Why?”

“Dennis is a student…” Robby offered.

Jake looked at him, waiting for more explanation. “Let’s say it’s not prohibited, but it’s frowned upon.”

“Gotcha. Anyway, I need to send Mom proof, she won’t pay me otherwise.”

Robby rolled his eyes. “So, I take it you’re fine with it?”

“Duh,” he said, grabbing his water. “Actually, it’s kind of a relief to know someone’s got him.”

Dennis tilted his head. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Jake turned back to Robby with a smirk. “Because I swear, I was this close, ” he held up two fingers, pressed together, “, to making you a Tinder profile.”

Robby groaned. “Don’t, ”

“Or Grindr should’ve worked too…”

Dennis choked on his laugh, setting down a glass.

“Haha,” Robby said dryly. “For that, you don’t get any of the ice cream for the brownie.”

Jake gasped theatrically. “Hey!”

Dennis nudged Robby in the ribs with his elbow. “Hey, I bought the ice cream. You don’t have a dictatorship over the ice.”

“Tell him… tell him…” said Jake as he reached for more of the casserole.

Robby rolled his eyes. “This is already a mistake. I’ve created a monster.”

Jake grinned wide. “No, no, this is gonna be great. Now I’ve got someone else to gang up on you with.”

Dennis smiled as he reached for a plate, completely game. “Looking forward to it.”

Robby groaned dramatically and poured himself a glass of wine, leaning back against the counter. But as the laughter ebbed, he glanced toward Jake, quieter now. “But… seriously. You’re okay with this?”

Jake blinked, as if the question surprised him. “Robby, you and Mom broke up like… what? A hundred years ago?”

“No, I mean…” Robby rubbed the back of his neck. “Not just us. I meant… you know, the whole bisexual thing.”

“Ohhh,” Jake said, then frowned like it hadn’t even occurred to him that it might be an issue. “That.”

Dennis paused in the middle of pouring a glass of water, watching.

Jake shrugged, totally unfazed. “Man, everyone’s bi these days.”

That made Dennis burst out laughing. Loud and full, like someone had uncorked it from deep in his chest.

Robby lifted his glass to his lips to hide the smile tugging there. “You’re impossible.”

Jake beamed. “But I’m right.”

Dennis pointed at Jake with his water glass. “He kind of is.”

After dinner, the kitchen had mellowed into a quieter version of itself. The plates were stacked, the wine bottle was mostly empty, and the air still carried that lingering comfort of garlic and roasted tomatoes.

Robby was wiping down the counter, more out of something to do than necessity. The dishwasher hummed softly, the leftovers tucked into Tupperware, and the brownie Janey had sent was halfway devoured between two pairs of hands. Jake and Dennis had migrated to the far end of the kitchen island, phones out, sharing memes and playlist recommendations like they’d done it a dozen times before.

Somewhere between a TikTok about alphabetized snack drawers and an in-depth debate about the ranking of Marvel characters, Robby heard Dennis say, “Okay, but Robby once thought a crying emoji after I sent a dog picture meant I was attacked by dogs.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Dennis nodded, grinning. “It was a golden retriever puppy.”

Jake was already cracking up. “No way.”

Robby shook his head from across the room, feigning injury. “It was ambiguous. That emoji’s emotionally manipulative.”

“Sure,” Dennis teased, not even looking over. “Blame the emoji.”

Jake leaned back on the stool, still laughing. “You’re lucky you’re good-looking and emotionally repressed, man. That combo makes people patient.”

Dennis lifted his brows in agreement, and Robby just muttered something under his breath as he set the last plate in the drying rack.

Then he paused.

He could hear their voices continue, light teasing, easy rhythm, but the sound blurred a little, the way memories sometimes do before they form. He leaned back against the sink and watched them: Jake tossing back the last bite of dessert, Dennis reaching over to show him something on his phone, both of them nudging elbows, smirking, matching each other’s tone without even trying.

And Robby just stood there for a second, taking it in.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Something that said: This works.

Not because it was perfect,  because the people who mattered were here. They fit. And it didn’t feel fast or sudden, it felt earned. Like one quiet piece of proof after another, stacking into something solid.

Dennis laughed again, head tipped back, hand dragging across his jaw, and Robby walked over, throwing an arm around his shoulder like it was second nature. Dennis leaned into it without pause, hand resting on Robby’s knee like he belonged there.

Jake looked up, saw them, and grinned. “Okay, gross. Get a room.”

Robby smirked. “This is my place. Technically, they’re all my rooms.”

Jake snorted and slid off the stool, grabbing his phone. “Still. Boundaries.”

Dennis reached for the last bit of dessert and handed it to Jake without looking, and Jake took it without missing a beat.

Robby exhaled, just sitting there between the two of them, it felt right.

Chapter Text

Santos nearly bolted from the chairs the moment Mel appeared, radiating the kind of morning energy that now felt like both a gift and a personal attack. It wasn’t even ten, and Santos already felt like she'd done a double shift.

“Tag, you’re it,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face as she brushed past.

Mel raised a brow. “Rough morning?”

“Chairs,” Santos said darkly. “One at a time, fine, I can even fake sympathy for a papercut with enough coffee. But the coughing lady, the splinter guy, and the kid claiming he’s dying of hiccups? All at once? I almost screamed.”

Mel grinned. “Go breathe. I’ve got it.”

Santos didn’t need telling twice. She ducked into the ER proper, noisy, chaotic, but blessedly familiar.

At the board, she scanned for something with teeth. 

Something she could sink into.

Not easy, something interesting.

“Whatcha got for me?” she asked, hopeful.

Dana didn’t look up. “A mess. Clear beds. School bus full of teenagers on the way, someone thought vodka in water bottles was stealthy.”

Santos blinked. “Seriously?”

“They’re pre-gaming finals like it’s Mardi Gras,” Dana muttered. “Half of them are already puking. I want beds, and I don’t want another trail of stomach acid from here to radiology.”

“On it,” Santos sighed, scanning the board again, just in case something beat a broken wrist.

“Help!” Langdon’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.

Santos moved instantly, rounding the corner to find Langdon and Jesse wrestling with a combative man built like a fire hydrant. Gown half-untied, chest heaving, eyes wild. Security hadn’t arrived. No one was getting close enough to sedate him.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Santos shouted, adrenaline hitting hard.

Mateo slipped in behind her like choreography. The four of them, practiced and fast, got the man down and strapped: arms, legs, chest. He snarled, then sagged with a hiss as Santos delivered the sedative.

The fight drained from him slowly.

Langdon bent, bracing on his knees. “Someone, I don’t care who, get psych down here. Call, page, send a pigeon. Ouija board. I’ll haunt them if they don’t show.”

Jesse laughed, already scrolling through the system. “Copy. Spiritual summoning in progress.”

Langdon straightened, nodding at Santos. “Nice work.”

She nodded back, sweat cooling on her skin. “Better than chairs.”

Mateo checked the wrist restraint. “If that’d been Dennis, he’d be soaked in urine by now.”

Santos snorted. “Not the golden shower he was hoping for.”

Jesse choked on his laugh. “Gross.”

Langdon groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Trauma bonding,” Mateo said.

“You’re welcome,” Santos added.

Mateo gave the restraint a final check. “I’ve got him. Go clear beds before Dana summons a demon of her own.”

Langdon nodded and turned. “You heard the man.”

Santos fell beside him, her pulse still buzzing. Muscles ached, but in a way that made the day feel earned.

“This the fun you signed up for?” Langdon asked dryly.

She rolled a shoulder. “I’ll take it over polite coughing any day.”

He gave a crooked smile. “God help me, I agree.”

They stepped up to the board, scanning side by side.

“I’ll take curtain four,” Langdon said, already bracing for chaos. “You want six?”

Santos nodded, pulse finally slowing. “Sure. Probably another kid who mistook edibles for gummy bears.”

They split, pulling back their respective curtains at the same time, and froze.

Behind both curtains was the same mess spread across two stretchers: two men, each with a fresh black eye, glaring at each other. In the middle bay lay a young woman with a bloody nose and an ice pack on her cheek, already being treated by Dr. Collins, who looked about as done as the patient.

Langdon raised a brow.

Santos deadpanned, “Real-life Twilight.”

Two nearby second-years frowned.

Langdon blinked. “What?”

Santos gestured at the trio. “Love triangle. Two guys, one girl.”

Langdon exhaled through his nose. “Christ.”

The woman sat up with a groan, waving Heather off. “Don’t worry,” she muttered, voice nasal. “I’m never dating either of them again.”

Santos nodded. “Confirmed.”

Langdon crossed his arms. “What happened?”

One guy winced. “I came to bring her soup.”

“She was already eating my soup,” the second snapped, cradling his hand.

“I didn’t ask either of you for soup!” the woman snapped back. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Also concussed,” Heather added, penlight in hand. “Mild. She’s staying a few hours for monitoring.”

Santos glanced between the men. “Do I even want to know how you both got matching shiners?”

“Stepladder,” one muttered. “He tried to push past me. We tripped. Elbow met face.”

“He tackled me.”

“He body-checked me!”

Heather didn’t look up. “They both fell over her cat.”

Santos choked on a laugh, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

Langdon pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do you want to handle this?”

Santos considered. “Ice, Tylenol, maybe a cage match.”

Langdon gave her a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Heather handed off the chart with a shake of her head. “At least it’s not a stabbing.”

“Give it a week,” Santos muttered.

Then the noise spiked again, a hiss, then raised voices:

“I was her boyfriend first!”

“You broke up two months ago! I brought homemade miso, she said it was amazing!”

“I said it was warm!” the woman groaned. “You’re going to make me pop a vessel.”

Santos glanced at Langdon, who looked seconds away from smashing his head into a wall.

The curtain rustled. Dr. Robinavitch poked his head in, sipping green juice, eyes scanning the chaos.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice light but wary.

One of the men pointed at the woman like a prosecutor. “This wouldn’t even be a problem if she’d just picked one of us!”

Robby blinked.

The woman flopped back. “I can’t pick. You’re both emotionally unstable and weirdly competitive about lentils.”

Robby shrugged. “Date both. For all I care. Just keep it down, this is a hospital.”

Silence.

All three stared at him. Then exchanged a long, thoughtful look.

Santos recognized that pause, the kind before someone made a terrible decision. Or a brilliant one. Or both.

“Actually…” one guy said, scratching his jaw.

“…We’ve always been kind of close,” the other murmured.

The woman blinked. “I mean… remember that road trip?”

“Experimenting in college is basically a rite of passage,” one muttered.

“And he’s not that bad…” the other added, eyeing him with a smirk.

“Carpe diem,” the woman shrugged, adjusting her ice pack.

Langdon reappeared, chart in hand. “Okay. What did I miss?”

“Robby,” Santos said flatly, not looking up from her tablet, “just accidentally encouraged a poly relationship.”

Langdon blinked. “He what?”

Sasha poked her head around the curtain. “Wait, seriously? Are they doing it?”

Jesse, back with fresh gauze, burst out laughing. “Well. That escalated quickly.”

Santos sipped her coffee. “They look happier already.”

Indeed, the trio now sat calmly, casting each other conspiratorial glances. The tension had vanished like air from a popped balloon.

Santos checked the woman’s vitals one last time. “Tylenol and observation. If nothing spikes in an hour, discharge them. Let them go home and... cuddle it out.”

She grinned. “A progressive ER is a healthy ER.”

Langdon looked skyward. “We are not starting a dating service.”

“Too late,” Santos muttered. “I already wrote ‘resolved via mutual affection and shared delusions’ in the chart.”

The trio was now politely requesting extra pillows and negotiating who got the middle seat in the Uber.

“Discharge instructions are gonna be a trip,” Jesse said, shaking his head.

As they stepped out, Langdon pulled Robby aside. “You’re not seriously suggesting that was a good idea.”

Robby smiled. “No. I’m saying it shut them up. That’s a win.”

Santos passed them with a snort. “Let’s just hope no one else gets inspired.”

After that, and once they dealt with half a dozen jocks puking their guts out, the rhythm eased, at least as much as it ever did in the ER. Charts were mostly caught up, no one was actively coding, and the team hovered in that strange space between relief and bracing for the next storm.

Santos leaned against the counter at the nurses’ station, finally taking a breath she’d earned after clearing five beds, Langdon three. Not that she was keeping score.

But she was.

Langdon stood beside her, flipping through lab results with a meditative kind of focus. Across the way, Heather passed Robby a tablet and murmured something under her breath.

Whatever Heather said made Robby throw his head back and laugh, open, unguarded, the kind of laugh from someone who truly didn’t care who was watching.

Santos’s brow twitched. Just a flicker. But Langdon caught it.

“Don’t,” he muttered, not looking up from his chart.

She folded her arms. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

Langdon gave her a dry look. “I’ve got two sisters. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

She glanced over at Robby and Collins, still chatting. A little too close.

“He’s not that kind of guy,” Langdon added, voice low. “If you’re implying what I think you’re implying.”

Santos scoffed. “I’m not implying anything. You’re the one implying. I’m just observing.”

Langdon sighed and finally looked at her. “Look, yeah, he and Collins have history. But it’s done.”

Santos turned toward him, slow and deliberate. “Maybe for him. But for her? Not sure it ever really was.”

Langdon hesitated. “She’s not flirting.”

Santos raised an eyebrow. “You guys really don’t notice anything, do you?” She nodded toward Heather. “Feet pointed at him. Head tilted. That smile’s working overtime. She’s in full flirt mode. Like, textbook.”

Langdon followed her gaze. Heather was leaning in a little, one hip against the counter, laughing, soft, drawn-out. Robby, whether he knew it or not, was clearly enjoying himself.

“She’s easing in,” Santos said. “Probably not even thinking about it. Just muscle memory."

Langdon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay, detective. So she’s talking to him. Doesn’t mean she’s trying to steal him from... you-know-who.”

“Voldemort?” Santos snorted but didn’t look away. “Look, to everyone but us, Robby still looks super available. So as far as they’re concerned, he’s fair game. And she thinks she’s got a shot.”

Langdon exhaled slowly. “You’re reading way too much into this. I know Heather. I know Robby. He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t cross that line.”

Santos didn’t respond right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the two of them, narrowing just slightly,like she was watching a car inch toward a red light, deciding whether to brake or blow through it.

“He might not,” she said finally. “But that’s not really the point.”

Langdon frowned. “Then what is?”

She looked at him then, her voice low but steady. “It’s not always about crossing a line. Sometimes it’s about knowing where the line is, and whether the other person even sees it.”

Langdon shifted, arms folding. “Who are you now, the relationship police?”

Santos shrugged, leaning in just a bit. “Someone’s gotta be. Dennis is all in. If this goes sideways, he’s the one who’s gonna take the hit.”

Langdon was quiet for a second.

“And Robby won’t?”

She shrugged again. “Don’t know him well enough to say.”

Langdon gave her a look. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’ve seen it before,” she said, calm. “Some guy thinks he’s over it, just trying to be friendly, keep it casual, and then one night turns into old feelings, and next thing you know someone’s crying in a stairwell like it’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

Langdon looked like he was about to argue.

But then Robby laughed, loud and open, and Heather leaned in, hand on his forearm, smiling just a little too wide.

“I’m telling you,” Frank said softly, almost to himself, like he needed to believe it, “he wouldn’t do that to Dennis.”

Santos gave him a sidelong glance. “Maybe not on purpose.”

Then she drained the last of her awful coffee and set the cup down with a soft clunk.

Langdon exhaled through his nose, still watching across the room. Heather had peeled away now, clipboard in hand, but Robby’s expression lingered.

Santos caught that too.

Without another word, she turned and headed down the hall, leaving Langdon standing there with a gnawing sense of unease.

She didn’t get far before he called after her.

“Why do you care so much?”

She stopped, just past the nurse’s station, but didn’t turn around. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

“I’m looking out for Dennis,” she said at last. “That’s all I’m doing.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow, stepping around the desk so he could see her more clearly. “You know he’s not a kid, right? He can handle himself.”

She turned and the look she gave him wasn’t cold, but it landed hard.

“Sure. He can. But that doesn’t mean he should have to do it alone.” She let out a soft breath. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“You probably had people like that. But I never did. I’ve never had someone like him. Someone who gave a damn whether I was okay or not. Not really."

Langdon didn’t say anything. He knew better than to interrupt when she got like this.

“So yeah,” she went on, her voice quieter now, “I care about him. He’s the first person who didn’t treat me like a problem. Not like a grenade with the pin halfway out. He just… let me be.”

She glanced down the hallway, the direction Robby had gone. Her jaw tightened.

“I don’t care if Robby’s my boss, or the golden boy, or the smartest guy in this hospital,” she said. “If he hurts Dennis, I’ll kick his ass before he can even dial 911. You can tell him that.”

Langdon let out a low whistle, not mocking, just surprised at the weight behind her voice. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise,” she said, eyes locked on his. “And I won’t feel bad about keeping it.”

And with that, Santos turned again, this time, not stopping. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, steady and sure.

Langdon watched her go, then slowly shook his head, murmuring under his breath.

“Robby better not screw this up.”

Because for all his faith in his friend, Frank knew one thing for sure:

Santos didn’t bluff.

And when it came to Dennis Whitaker, she’d go to war.

Robby sighed as he answered yet another email. At this rate, he was going to start sending out an automatic response that just said “The ER isn’t in a popularity contest.”

Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if the board cared more about saving lives or racking up Yelp stars.

He stopped and rubbed his forehead. Yep. The migraine was creeping in again.

One of these days, he was going to take Dana up on her offer and actually use his vacation days, before he drowned in fake smiles and budget cuts.

Coffee.

He got up to make some, unsurprised to find the pot empty, because, of course, no one had bothered to refill it. He measured out the grounds and water, hit the button, and leaned against the counter, knowing the coffee would do very little for the dull pressure building behind his eyes.

His phone buzzed. He groaned, expecting yet another email from Gloria.

But then he saw the name and instantly smiled.

DENNIS ❤️

Guess who’s finally going to cardio next week 😎

DENNIS ❤️

N for cardio I mean 🫀 unless 🍆😈🥵

DENNIS ❤️

2 much? 🫣

Robby smirked, leaned back against the wall, and started typing.

ROBBY:

Of course not. You? Never.

DENNIS ❤️

You said the sweeeeetest thing 😻😻😻

DENNIS ❤️

So cardio?

ROBBY:

You’re definitely gonna crush it 😉

And we should totally celebrate 😏🔥

DENNIS ❤️

noooo, when u text stuff like that I get horny

ROBBY:

🔥🍆💦🥵

DENNIS ❤️

I hate u

Not really but I’m dying to see you 😻😻

ROBBY:

Me too ❤️

DENNIS ❤️

In other news, Rivera and Justin are acting sketchy. Planning something. 🤞 for food, not drinks. I’m a bad drinker.

Robby grinned and typed quickly.

ROBBY:

Are we talking “karaoke machine” bad or “naked in a lake” bad?

A short pause.

DENNIS ❤️

Why choose? Let’s assume both. Want to see? ❤️

ROBBY:

Sure!

DENNIS ❤️

Which one!? 🧐😳

ROBBY:

Why choose? Let’s assume both 🔥

DENNIS ❤️

Baby stopp!!!!! 😩

Robby was still half-laughing when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Reflexively, he slipped the phone into his hoodie pocket just as someone stopped beside him.

“Am I interrupting?” came Heather’s voice.

Robby straightened. “Nope. Just… coffee,” he said, turning toward the machine just as it poured the last of it.

Heather gave him a mildly amused side glance, arms folded. Clearly unconvinced, but not pushing it. “Uh-huh. You looked like you were about to propose to your phone.”

He rolled his eyes. “It was just some discount email thing…”

Heather snorted. “Sure it was.”

He poured a cup for himself and offered her one, which she declined with a small shake of her head.

“So… did you need something?” he asked.

Heather smiled. “Not really. Jesse and Ahmad talked Dana into grabbing drinks after shift.”

Robby nodded. “Yeah, I heard. Pretty sure it was mostly Ahmad doing the begging, though.”

Heather tilted her head, her smile tugging a little wider. “Well, since they’re heading out… I figured maybe you’d want to come too? Thought we could grab a bite first? That little Italian place across the street…”

He hesitated just a beat, keeping his expression relaxed. “That actually sounds great… but I’ve already got plans.”

Her smile faltered, just a fraction, but she covered it quickly. “Right… rain check, then.”

“Sure,” he said smoothly, already reaching for his phone again.

He didn’t type anything new to Dennis. Not yet. But he reread the last message and shook his head, grinning to himself.

DENNIS ❤️

😻

Heather cleared her throat. “Have fun…”

“You too,” he said, not looking up.

Robby didn’t let the exchange linger in his head. He’d been through enough rotations with Heather to know she didn’t take rejection personally.

As he finished his last note and hung his stethoscope on the hook, Robby let out a long, tired breath. The ER had been nonstop, and his legs were starting to feel like someone else’s. He pushed through the double doors and stepped into the fading light. Dusk had settled in, quiet, soft, and a little too pretty for the kind of day he’d had.

Frank was already leaning against the passenger door of Robby’s car, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered. “I was five minutes away from hitchhiking.”

Robby hit the key fob, unlocking the doors with a beep. “Still no luck with the car?”

Frank pulled the door open and slid in with a grunt. “It’s dead. Again. I think it hates me.”

Robby snorted as he got in. “Sounds mutual."

Frank buckled his seatbelt with a sigh. “I swear, I’m one breakdown away from ditching it in the river and walking to work forever.”

“Classic solution,” Robby said, starting the engine. “Murder the car.”

“At this point, it’d be a mercy kill.”

Robby laughed as he pulled out of the lot. The road ahead was mostly empty, headlights cutting through the early dark.

A soft ping broke the quiet. Robby’s phone lit up on the dash.

Frank glanced at the screen. “Dennis. With a heart emoji.”

Robby kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you use emojis?”

“I don’t. He does. It’s kind of his thing. Our thing, I guess.”

Frank gave him a look, half teasing, half skeptical. “Our thing? Wow.”

Robby smirked. “Don’t start.”

“Too late.” Frank grinned. “So it’s official now? Real feelings? Matching mugs? Shared playlists, maybe?”

Robby shot him a glance. “You are way too invested in my love life.”

“I’m bored and emotionally starved. Let me have this.”

Another ping. The screen lit up again. Frank leaned in.

“You’re seriously not gonna check that?”

“Not until you get out of the car.”

“Oh, come on. What’s so secret you can’t text with me sitting right here?” He grinned. “Wait… is it spicy?”

At a red light, Robby turned to him. “What?”

Frank half-shrugged. “Nothing.” Then, mock-serious: “It’s a dick pic, isn’t it? You’re gonna get all flustered and send one back…”

Robby groaned as the light changed. “You’re unbearable.”

Frank smirked. “And yet, here I am. Your favorite post-shift burden.”

“You’re more like a parasite I can’t fluke.”

“Touching..”

He nodded at the phone still glowing on the dash. “Seriously, he’s probably spiraling. Just check it.”

"You're a child..." Robby sighed, unlocked the phone, and handed it over. “Knock yourself out.”

Frank didn’t hesitate. “Let’s see what lover boy’s got for us…”

He read aloud like a bedtime story: “Can’t wait to see you."

He paused, lips twitching. “Aw.”

Then, squinting theatrically: “‘Might steal your orange sweater tonight…’”

Frank tilted his head. “The one that looks so goooood on you…”

Robby rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Frank kept going: “Wardrobe theft now? Is this a milestone?”

Robby muttered, “Frank…”

But he was already grinning. “Oh man, it is. That’s, like, stage four domesticity.”

“Frank.”

“Wait, does he have a toothbrush at your place yet? Or is it pajamas first? Are we talking matching sets?”

Robby groaned.

Frank swooned dramatically: “‘Can’t wait to see you,’” he repeated. “That’s basically a love poem.”

“I swear to God...”

“Ooh, and your reply... lemme guess," scrolled  at what Robby had typed: Fifteen minutes out. You can steal the sweater. Half of the closet if you want.

Frank barked a laugh. “Holy crap. You’re soft. Like, a hoodie-wearing marshmallow. I’m honestly touched.”

Robby snatched the phone back and tossed it into the console tray with a thud. “We done?”

Frank leaned back, triumphant. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not blushing.”

“You’re a little pink. A soft, cozy shade. Just like the sweater he’s gonna steal.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” Frank said, gesturing between them, “here we are. A man and his parasite.”

“I’m going to end this friendship…”

“You won’t. You’d miss me too much.”

Robby shook his head, but the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Frank, triumphant, tapped the window and sighed dramatically. “It’s beautiful, really. Two souls, one sweater.”

Robby rolled his eyes. “You’re so weirdly obsessed with this.”

Langdon shrugged “I’m just happy you won’t end up the tragic subject of some intern’s needle-stabbing revenge ritual.”

That caught Robby’s attention.

His brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Let’s just say someone noticed your little moment with Collins earlier, and she wasn’t thrilled.”

“Santos?”

“Yep. She’s protective. Said if you so much as mess up a single hair on Whitaker’s head, she’d end you and no one would find the body. I’m paraphrasing, but you get the vibe.”

Robby looked genuinely confused. “Why would she even say that? Me and Heather are done.”

“She thinks Collins is still into you. Said there’s... something there. Implied Heather might’ve been flirting.”

Robby blinked. “What? No, that’s...” He paused. Swallowed. “Uh…”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “‘That’s..’ what? What’s with the uh?”

Robby scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I think... maybe she tried to ask me out. Earlier.”

Frank stared. “Seriously?”

“I wasn’t sure at first,” Robby said. “Jesse told her people were getting drinks, and Heather suggested we grab food first. At that diner I like. But it wasn’t a group invite, it was just… her.”

Frank gave him a long look. “And you didn’t think that was relevant?”

“I didn’t say yes!” Robby said quickly. “I told her I had plans. Just… couldn’t exactly say who with.”

“Well, shit…”

“You think she’s interested?” Robby asked.

Frank shrugged. “Would you like that?”

“What? No! I’m just, no. I don’t want to deal with that.”

“What, rejecting someone?”

“Telling someone I just want to be friends.”

“You don’t have to,” Frank said. “Maybe she was just being nice.”

Robby pulled the car to the curb in front of Frank’s building. The engine idled as Frank grabbed his bag.

He paused, door half-open. “Anyway, good luck tonight. Tell Dennis I said hi.”

“You done?”

“Emotionally? Never.” Frank stepped out. “Drive safe, Romeo.”

As the door slammed shut, Robby shook his head and pulled away, already dialing. The phone rang once before Dennis picked up.

“You could’ve just texted,” Dennis said, amused.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”

There was a pause. Soft. Warm. Then Dennis said, quieter, “Damn it, Robby…”

Robby smiled, eyes on the road. “What?”

“You say stuff like that and expect me to be chill?”

“I mean, I can hang up...”

“Don’t you dare. Come in already. I just wanna kiss you like yesterday.”

Robby’s chest ached in the good way. He pressed the gas gently, taking the next turn like he’d been on autopilot the whole time.

“I’m almost there,” he murmured. “And then we can cuddle, alright?"

“You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

Robby’s smile deepened. “I’m hanging up, Dennis…” he said, ending the call.

He turned the last corner, and there Dennis was, standing on the sidewalk outside his apartment building, backpack slung over one shoulder, scrolling mindlessly through his phone like he hadn’t meant to be that obvious about waiting. The moment Robby pulled up, Dennis froze, eyes already softening.

Robby didn’t wait. He threw the car in park and stepped out.

Dennis was on him in a second, backpack forgotten, arms looping around Robby’s shoulders as he kissed him hard, like the day had been too long and he was only now remembering how to breathe.

“I missed you so damn much,” Dennis murmured, his forehead resting gently against Robby’s.

Robby grinned, flushed and a little stunned. “I thought you didn’t like PDA.”

Dennis shrugged, not letting go. “That’s how crazy I am about you.”

Still smiling, Robby broke the embrace just long enough to walk to the car and open the passenger door.

Dennis blinked, then grinned “Seriously?”

“What?” Robby said, feigning innocence. “You brought me flowers, I open doors. That’s how we work.”

“You’re the sweetest man…” Dennis leaned in, kissed him again, softer this time. “So damn charming…”

“Get in the car,” Robby said, laughing.

Dennis tossed his backpack in and slid into the seat. Robby rounded back to the driver’s side. As he pulled away from the curb, Dennis reached across the console and laced their fingers together without a word.

Chapter Text

The shift kicked off with the usual controlled chaos: chart reviews, case updates, three back-to-back consults, and one irate family member shouting in the hallway about pain meds. Robby handled it all with the reflexive calm of someone who’d long ago learned to triage chaos into three mental folders, urgent, non-urgent, and let the nurse wear them down.

By midmorning, the ER was in full swing, humming with the familiar undercurrent of too much to do and not enough time. Robby was finishing up orders on a cellulitis case when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t check it right away, but once he stepped into the alcove near the staff room for a breath, he pulled it out.

DENNIS ❤️:                                               

Room 702 has a grandson who looks like he’s in a ska band.

Robby snorted, thumb poised as he typed back.

ROBBY:                                                         

Good. Maybe he’ll play trumpet during his grandma’s echo.

Another buzz came instantly.

DENNIS❤️:                           

Don’t joke, she already asked if he brought his “musical things.” I think she means his vape. 🙃

Robby shook his head, smiling as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Just enough contact to feel tethered, threaded together, even from separate wings.

He was heading back to the floor when a voice cut in from his peripheral.

“Look at him. It’s so damn cute…”

Robby turned. Langdon was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing the expression of someone who’d been standing there just long enough to enjoy it.

Next to him, sipping what Robby strongly suspected was the last iced coffee from the staff fridge, stood Trinity, face unreadable, but her eyes dancing with mischief.

“I wasn’t smiling,” Robby muttered.

Langdon smirked. “Sure. That’s why you looked like a teenager caught sexting.”

“The same look I have to live with at home, absolutely nauseating,” Trinity said, grimacing. “If I see that grin during rounds one more time, I’m invoicing you for emotional damage.”

“I’m allowed to smile,” Robby replied, walking past them toward the main corridor. Naturally, they followed like wolves stalking a limping deer.

Langdon clicked his tongue. “Oh, I smile. Just not like I’m mentally fantasying with my hot young boyfriend in scrubs.”

“Or out of them,” Trinity added without missing a beat.

Robby stopped. “Could we focus on your actual jobs instead of whatever this... weird friendship is?”

“We’re not friends!,” they both said at once.

Robby raised an eyebrow.

“Please,” Langdon said, scoffing. “This isn’t a friendship. It’s a ceasefire.”

Trinity nodded solemnly. “Truce for teasing purposes only.”

Robby sighed in that long-suffering way that said he regretted every decision leading up to this moment. “Again, why don’t you focus on, just a thought, your patients? You know, the reason you get paid?”

“WHO says leisure is essential for wellness,” Langdon replied.

“This is so leisurish,” Trinity agreed.

“Very funny…” Robby muttered, stiffening slightly as a pair of nurses walked past. “We shouldn’t talk about it. Can we just not?”

“Oh, right… keeping things low,” Santos said. “I forget, you’re the heartbreakingly eligible, definitely straight crown jewel of Pittsburgh General.”

Robby blinked. Then, deadpan: “Perfect. I’ll just add that to my CV…” He rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t have a problem keeping things low. Why do you?”

“I don’t,” Santos said with a shrug. “Just showing my cards to you.”

Robby gave a dry smile, already turning away. “Try not to play them all at once. It’s still early.”

A double trauma cut their conversation short much to Frank’s relief. He didn’t like the direction it had started to take.

So Robby didn’t see Dennis’s message until ten minutes later.

DENNIS ❤️:

I might sneak out early 🏃 and have lunch. Brought you something. You in? 🫣

ROBBY:

Offer still stand?

DENNIS ❤️:

Yeah, please… 😻

ROBBY:

Meet me in 10! 🔝

DENNIS ❤️:

 😻

Robby slipped into the break room, his eyes immediately flicking to the top shelf where the protein bars lived, stocked by some mysterious, benevolent force of dietary foresight, or maybe just Langdon trying not to pass out between double traumas. He grabbed two and a backup granola bar, stuffing them into his pocket, then took a sip from a half-empty water bottle he’d abandoned in the fridge days ago. Stale, but cold enough.

As he headed out, he passed Dana at the nurse’s station, her attention split between a chart in one hand and a blinking alert on the screen in front of her.

“Hey,” Robby said, pausing. “I’m taking ten. Maybe fifteen.”

She glanced up, one brow rising. “Now?”

He nodded, circling his finger vaguely near his temple, then pointed upward, a silent shorthand they’d developed over time. Rooftop.

Dana tilted her head. “You don’t ever get lonely up there? All that sky and no one but your brooding thoughts?”

Robby huffed a laugh. “Nah.”

She made a noise, half disbelief, half understanding. “Right. Well, I’ll hold the fort. Try not to forget we exist down here. And, y’know... have fun.”

“Thanks,” he said, already halfway down the hall, his pulse ticking just a little faster than it should.

The elevator crawled up to the roof level, slow as ever. When the doors finally opened, the chill hit him.

But also him.

He stood at the low wall’s edge, staring out like a man contemplating art or war, or maybe just the next twenty minutes. A small thermos sat beside him, unopened, beads of condensation catching the light. His hair looked different in daylight, softer, maybe. Or maybe Robby was just stupid with the sight of him after too many days of missed moments.

“Hey,” Robby said.

Dennis turned, a smile already tugging at his mouth. “You’re late. I was gonna eat your half out of spite.”

Robby didn’t answer. He crossed the roof in a few quick steps and kissed him, one hand fisted lightly in Dennis’s hoodie, the other braced at his waist. It was grounding. Anchoring. A press of lips that didn’t rush, but didn’t hesitate either, not after how long it had been.

Dennis made a soft, surprised sound, half breath, half moan, and leaned into it, fingers curling into Robby’s scrubs. When Robby started to pull away, Dennis followed, chasing the contact.

“Hey,” he murmured, lips brushing Robby’s. “Mmm, more..."

Robby obliged, deepening the kiss. It turned warmer and delicious slowly. Dennis exhaled into it, relaxing like someone finally sinking into hot water after too long in the cold.

“God,” he whispered between kisses, “that’s exactly what I needed.”

Robby pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together, eyes closed. “Me too.”

For a moment, the rooftop held them in its quiet, the sky above, the hum of the city below, and nothing in between but breath and heartbeat.

“Also,” Dennis murmured, his hand gliding over Robby’s back, “I brought you soup. That thermos is not just decorative.”

Robby laughed softly. “Hot soup and a rooftop makeout? You’re spoiling me.”

“Hope you like it,” Dennis said.

Robby uncapped the thermos, expecting something like instant ramen or canned tomato, but was hit with the warm, savory smell of lentil, chiken and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“You did this?”

“Hey…”

“No, it’s just, it smells good…” He took a spoonful, eyebrows lifting as he tasted it. “It tastes even better.”

Dennis flushed and eagerly opened his own. “It’s my nana’s recipe… which I maybe called her for yesterday.”

“You bothered your grandma to make me soup?”

Dennis shrugged. “You said you were sick of cafeteria food and protein bars.”

Robby leaned in and kissed him, slow and warm. “You’re so good to me, you know that?”

“Well, I didn’t do it just out of the kindness of my heart,” Dennis said as Robby raised an eyebrow, chewing what he thought might be white beans. “People say food’s the way to a man’s heart.”

Robby grinned, opening the thermos wider. “Well, let me tell you, you’re speeding down that road.”

“I’m glad.”

“Hope I get to thank your nana one day for the recipe,” Robby said.

Dennis ducked his head, hiding a smile as he stirred his soup, not trusting his voice at the idea of Robby wanting to meet his family.

They stayed like that a few more minutes, pressed together under the wide sky, eating in companionable silence.

“So I was right,” Dennis said eventually, still chewing.

“About?” Robby glanced up mid-bite.

Dennis turned his phone toward him. A message thread blinked brightly back, Geriatric Avengers.

Just as Robby focused, a new message popped up from Rivera:

RIVERA💅:

Drinks on me tonight. We’re giving Dennis and Brianna the send-off they deserve 😊

Below it, a flurry of heart reacts, thumbs-up, and celebratory GIFs exploded across the thread. Justin’s contribution was a grainy Vine clip of someone cartwheeling through a bar.

Robby chuckled, handing the phone back. “Sounds fun.”

 “Yeah…” he said but didn't sound conviced.

Robby studied him for a second. “Not your thing?”

Dennis gave a half-shrug. “Kinda, it's just. Loud, crowded, sweaty. Everyone pretending to have more fun than they actually are."

Robby nodded. “You should go only if it feels right. A drink doesn’t have to mean getting wasted. Sometimes it’s just blowing off steam with people you get along with.”

Dennis tilted his head slightly. “I mean I like the drinks running and the music, but I suck at the whole mingling thing. You’ve seen me... I make eye contact too long and forget how arms work. Remember my first day in the ER?” He groaned at the memory.

Robby nudged him. “You looked cute.”

“Yeah, sure…”

“You did. Looking back, I think you destabilized me.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow. “I was your gay awakening?”

“Don’t get too smug, but yeah…” Robby smiled around another bite. “My advice? Mingle a little. Take a few drinks. Send me silly selfies. And if it gets to be too much... fake an emergency and bail.”

Dennis laughed under his breath. “You say that like it’s not your actual game plan at every department holiday party.”

“Because it is,” Robby said, smirking. “Also, you need a break, Den. You’ve been running nonstop. Packing, planning, thinking about what comes next. You deserve a night off. You’re young, you shouldn’t be home by 8 p.m. on a Friday unless you want to be.”

Dennis leaned his head back against the wall, letting the breeze ruffle through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to hang out. I just wish there was a middle ground, you know? Between going hard or disappearing completely.”

Robby bumped his shoulder gently. “Maybe tonight, that’s you. Show up, hang out a bit, then Irish exit. No one will blame you.”

Dennis toyed with the edge of the thermos lid, fingers tapping in a rhythm that didn’t match anything in particular. After a quiet moment, he said, “I wish you could go with me.”

Robby looked over, surprised. “To the thing tonight?”

Dennis nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “You’re great at socializing. People like you.”

“I’m just a good actor,” Robby said. “I pretend really well. You’d be fine.”

Dennis glanced at him, half-dubious. “You sure?”

“Dennis,” Robby said, setting his thermos down. “You’re smart, decent, and you don’t start fights in the group chat. That already puts you ahead of half the people going.”

That pulled a soft, reluctant laugh from Dennis.

“And hey,” Robby added, lighter now, “if you don’t like it after an hour, you can always come by.”

Dennis blinked. “Come by?”

Robby shrugged, his eyes calm but steady. “Yeah. Swing by my place. Stay the night.”

A beat passed.

Dennis blinked again. “Wait, again?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Robby said quickly, suddenly unsure.

Dennis sat up straighter. “No, I, yes. Yes, of course I want to.” He cleared his throat, smiling through a sudden wave of nerves. “Sorry. Just making sure I didn’t hallucinate that."

Robby smirked. “You didn’t. And for the record, the soup tasted good,” he added, “almost as good as the chef.”

Dennis leaned his head against Robby’s shoulder, finally relaxing into the contact. “You’re so sweet.”

The wind curled around them, quiet and easy, like the city had dialed itself down just for them.

Dennis stood just outside the entrance of the dimly lit bar, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the cool night air brushing against his neck. He checked the address again on his phone, The Backroom, and exhaled. It wasn’t exactly a dive, but it wasn’t polished either. Music pulsed low from inside, a soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses drifting out every time the door swung open.

He wasn’t nervous, not really. Just… acutely aware that this was the kind of social setting where he usually felt like a malfunctioning robot pretending to understand human banter. He straightened his denim jacket and pushed the door open.

Inside, the place glowed with warm amber light, the kind that made everything look a little softer, a little slower. Bottles lined the bar in mismatched rows, catching the light like old stained glass. A couple of houseplants drooped in the corners, clearly fighting a losing battle.

Dennis spotted them, Dr. Rivera’s group, clustered around a long wooden table near the back. A few nurses, two interns soon residents, and Brianna were already halfway through their drinks, laughing at something she’d just said. Rivera sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, dark beer in hand, looking entirely at ease.

He navigated his way over, one awkward step at a time, and gave a small wave.

“Whitaker!” Rivera called, raising her glass. “Look who made it.”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, sliding into the nearest empty chair. “Figured I’d come see what everyone looks like when they’re not sleep-deprived and stress-sweating.”

A few chuckles went around the table.

“Bold of you to assume we’re not still stress-sweating,” Brianna said, handing him a menu.

“Fair point,” he said, flipping it open.

“You drink beer?” she asked, already eyeing the options like a sommelier with a vendetta. “Or do you want something that tastes like juice and poor decisions?”

He grinned. “I’ll take the amber ale. Figure I’ve earned one.”

“Look at you,” one of the interns said, raising her eyebrows. “Didn’t peg you as an amber guy.”

“Honestly, I didn’t peg myself as a drink-in-public guy. So here we are.”

Rivera leaned over slightly, her voice low but easy. “Seriously.... no pressure. You don’t have to drink to hang. No one’s keeping score.”

Dennis nodded. “Thanks. I think I just needed to not feel like I was still technically on call.”

“You’re not,” she said. “We left our pagers at the door. This is Switzerland.”

The server dropped off his beer, and Dennis took a small sip. He blinked, surprised.

“Oh. That’s… actually good?”

Justin grinned. “Welcome to the dark side. We have malt.”

“That sounded way dirtier than you meant it to,” someone muttered.

“It always does with him,” another nurse added.

The table burst into laughter.

As the drinks flowed and the bar noise rose, the conversation drifted and tangled the way it does when no one’s steering. They joked about Rivera’s famously ruthless rounding times (“I swear her watch beeps five minutes before the hour”), about Brianna’s collection of color-coded pens (“She highlights feelings”), and a nurse told a story about a patient who tried to tip her with a jar of pickles and a $2 bill.

“I took it,” she said flatly. “He said it was 'for emotional labor.’”

“Was the pickle jar full?” Dennis asked.

“Half. Maybe. I didn’t check for floating things.”

“You’re braver than I am,” he said, taking another sip of his beer.

At one point, Rivera lifted her glass.

“To surviving geriatrics,” she said. “Still vertical, mostly sane, and not fired.”

They all raised their drinks, glasses, bottles, tumblers, and Dennis’s half-finished pint.

“To not getting fired,” someone echoed.

“To not crying in the supply closet... this week,” someone else added.

Laughter again.

Dennis clinked his glass in and smiled, the kind of smile that felt like it might stick around this time.

As the night stretched on, the nervous buzz in Dennis’s chest faded into something easier. He still wasn’t the loudest at the table, but he was present. At some point, beneath the table, he slipped his phone out and typed a quick message.

DENNIS:

 Not kidnapped by anyone, yet. 😏

 Rivera’s chill. Drinks are okay. 🍺🍺

 You were right. 🙃

BAE 😻:

Obviously.

Have fun. Don’t let Brianna bully you into dancing.

 Unless someone records it 👀

Dennis rolled his eyes, smiling faintly, and tucked the phone away again.

For once, he wasn’t watching the clock. He wasn’t trying to game out an escape route or a reason to leave. He was just here, part of it. And that was enough.

Wedged comfortably into the long bench, Dennis nursed his third beer. A warm hum buzzed behind his eyes, enough to take the edge off, not enough to lose his balance. He didn’t feel like a guest in someone else’s story anymore.

He was halfway through laughing at something Brianna said, something about charting “vital signs of the soul” and assigning everyone an “existential heart rate”, when Justin clapped his hands together and stood like a magician revealing the final trick.

“Round of shots! On me!” Justin declared, pointing at the bar as if it had challenged him to a duel.

The table whooped and cheered.

“God help us,” Rivera muttered, already finishing her beer.

Dennis blinked and stood too, more out of instinct than excitement. “I’ll go make sure he doesn’t set the place on fire.”

“Tell the bartender he’s not allowed to order anything blue,” Brianna called after him.

Justin was already halfway to the bar, hips bouncing to the music, loudly telling someone nearby that this round was “medically necessary.”

Dennis caught up just in time to see him get distracted by a tall woman in a red halter top. She laughed at something he said, and Justin leaned in like he’d just delivered the punchline of the century.

Dennis rolled his eyes and took over ordering: eight tequila shots, plus a tonic water, something to remind his body that hydration existed. While the bartender got to work, Dennis turned slightly to give Justin a little space to work his doomed magic.

He didn’t expect the light tap on his wrist.

“Dennis?”

He turned, and blinked.

Leo.

Black button-up rolled at the sleeves, hair tousled like they’d been mussed on purpose. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. He looked good, more relaxed than Dennis ever saw him at the hospital.

“Hey,” Dennis said, his voice catching slightly before he got control of it. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Came with friends,” Leo said, glancing over his shoulder. He motioned back with a slight lift of his hand.

Instinctively, Dennis followed the gesture, but the crowd had thickened. The group Leo meant was somewhere in the haze of moving bodies, laughing voices, and shifting light, but Dennis couldn’t make out a single face. Just silhouettes and the occasional flash of a drink raised in the air.

He squinted, gave up, and smiled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Leo grinned, then looked him over with soft amusement. “You look good.”

Dennis huffed a short laugh, glancing down at his old T-shirt and lived-in jeans. “I look like I forgot this wasn’t a laundromat.”

Leo tilted his head. “You look great.X

Dennis felt the compliment settle somewhere in his ribs.

Leo raised his glass slightly. “Let me get you a real drink?”

Dennis shook his head with a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’ve already hit my quote-unquote limit,” he said, lifting his now-empty beer glass. “And I’ve got a tray of regret waiting, shots for, like, six people.”

Leo chuckled, raising his brows. “You sure? I could...”

Dennis held up a finger, half-grinning. “I’m sticking to tonic water from here on out. For survival.”

Just then, the bartender set the tray down: eight tequila shots lined up like a dare, and a single glass of tonic water off to the side like it had wandered in by mistake. Dennis reached for the tray,

But a sharp voice behind him cut through the buzz.

“You misogynist gym rat!”

He turned instinctively, just in time to see the woman in the red halter top slap Justin hard across the face. The smack echoed. A couple of people at the bar gasped. Others just turned to watch with mild curiosity, like a show had started.

Justin stood blinking, more stunned than hurt. “Wait, I, what?”

“You think telling me I have a ‘hegemonic body type’ is a compliment?!” she snapped.

“I meant, like, Greek statues! Not, ” He flailed. “It was an observation!”

“Don’t ever observe me again,” she spat, then turned on her heel and stalked off, heels cracking the floor like punctuation.

Dennis stared at him, slack-jawed. “What the hell were you even trying to say?”

“I read this paper once on body narratives in Western art,” Justin muttered, rubbing his cheek. “I thought I was being insightful.”

Dennis sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

He turned back toward the bar, his pulse ticking up, and immediately scanned for the drinks. For a second, he panicked. The tray wasn’t where he’d left it. But then, just to the left, he spotted it, slightly shifted down the counter, but miraculously untouched.

He exhaled in relief and reclaimed it, gripping both edges. His tonic water sat there like a lifeline. He took a long sip, then gave Leo a tight, apologetic smile.

“I should, uh, get these back before someone else starts quoting Plato.”

Leo stepped closer, voice soft but direct. “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

Dennis hesitated. “They’re waiting for the drinks.”

Leo nodded once, but didn’t step back. “Yeah, but… I mean, we could hang out. Talk a bit more. Just us.”

That made Dennis pause, tray balanced in his hands, throat tightening around words that didn’t quite come.

Leo added, quieter now, “I’ve been meaning to catch you outside of work. You’re always slipping away.”

He reached out, fingers wrapping lightly around Dennis’s forearm.

It wasn’t rough, but it was too much.

Dennis flinched before he could help it. Not a full recoil, just a sharp twitch, like he hadn’t expected to be touched.

He pulled his arm back gently. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Really... I gotta go. They’re waiting.”

Leo raised his glass with a soft laugh. “Still… good to see you, Dennis.”

Dennis hesitated for a beat, not unfriendly, just not quite leaning in either. “Yeah,” he said with a crooked grin. “You too.”

With the tray balanced carefully in his hands, he navigated back toward the table, dodging couples and stray elbows. Brianna spotted him halfway and leaned out of her seat like she was expecting an incident.

“Did Justin die?”

“Not yet,” Dennis said, lowering the tray with practiced care. “But he did get slapped for comparing a woman to an ancient Greek statue. And not in the flattering way.”

“Oof,” someone muttered. Brianna just grinned.

“Classic Justin,” a nurse said, picking up a shot. “Let’s toast to whatever god of social restraint he doesn’t pray to.”

The table broke into laughter again, and Dennis sat, sipping his tonic water with a rueful grin. Despite the chaos, and unexpected cameos, it had turned out to be a pretty good night.

And somewhere in his pocket, he felt his phone buzz.

BAE😻:

Home yet? Or should I start calling bars pretending to be your worried husband? 🤨

Dennis smiled and, under the table, typed back:

DENNIS:

Not yet. But you’ll get your worried-husband moment soon. 😏

He hit send, the bar’s laughter swirling warmly around him. After a few more jokes and bets, he gave in, against his better judgment, and had a couple of tequila shots.

Which proved to be the wrong thing to do.

A few minutes later, the edges of his vision were a touch soft, and the inside of the bar felt like it was swimming in too much warmth and too many voices. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, trying not to make a face. Maybe the tequila hadn’t been the brightest idea.

He wasn’t drunk, exactly, but he wasn’t not drunk either. It felt more like his body was caught in a slow, invisible sway he couldn’t quite control. Like gravity in the room had quietly tilted a few degrees to the left.

He was an idiot.

One shot. Just one, maybe two. Okay, three, if the lemon drop Brianna had forced on him counted. But it was supposed to be harmless, right? Everyone was laughing, the vibe was good, and Rivera had given the green light. Still, now that the buzz had settled into nausea, he regretted it.

He stared at his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. He blinked a few times and took a stolen gulp of ginger ale from the designated driver. It helped settle his stomach, barely.

He typed:

DENNIS:

can u pikc em ?

He stared at the message for a second, then hit send.

Robby’s response didn’t come immediately. A full minute passed before his screen lit up:

BAE😻:

Wow. Too wasted to call a taxi?

Dennis winced and typed back, slower this time:

DENNIS:

dotn great dizi, noo uber

Maybe it was the typos, the lack of emojis.Or maybe just instinct. Either way, Robby was already putting on his shoes and looking for his keys when he texted again:

BAE😻:

Address! I’ll text when I’m outside.

Dennis’s fingers barely managed to input the address. The moment it was sent, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, letting the condensation from his tonic water glass press into his palms.

“Hey.”

Laurent, one of the nurses, was the first to notice. “Are you okay?”

“Not really…”

The group shifted. Rivera was already moving, kneeling in front of him.

“Look at me,” she said. Her tone was clinical but caring. “Your eyes are unfocused. Did you drink something else?”

“No…” he slurred.

"Are you sure?" she said something not sitting right with her.

"Same as Eric...Erica," Rivera looked at the girl who was tipsy but didn't look even close as Dennis was.

“Okay. Party’s over. I’m taking you home.”

When he started to shake his head, she cut him off.

“You can crash at my place. I have a guest room, Whitaker. I can’t just...”

“My boyfriend is picking me. Fine… imma fine.” he mumbled, holding up his phone "He's coming..."

She glanced at the screen, it was already unlocked.

An update from the boyfriend: ETA 5

She nodded and asked someone to grab him some water.

Dennis mumbled something almost inaudible. 

"Sorry..." He said again after a few sips of water.

“You’re not ruining anything,” she said gently, brushing her fingers through his curls. “It’s fine, Whittaker.”

The phone buzzed again.

BAE😻:

Outside

“He’s here,” Rivera said, grabbing her phone and jacket. She turned to the group.

“I’ll be back. He just had too much to drink.”

A chorus of “Feel better” and “Take care, man” followed as she helped him toward the door.

“I’m fine… I can do it alone…” Dennis mumbled, trying to pull his things from her gripe "I can...."

“Quiet. You can barely stand,” she said, her voice slipping into no-nonsense doctor mode. “I want to talk to your boyfriend. Maybe he needs a little guidance in treating, ” 

She stopped midsentence.

Because standing by the car, hoodie up, phone in hand, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, was Michael Robinavitch.

She froze.

He looked surprised. Not guilty, just surprised. Like he genuinely hadn’t expected to see anyone. And from the look on his face, he hadn’t.

And then it hit her.

Not all at once, but in sharp, jarring pieces:

Bae wasn’t a cute nickname.

Dennis hadn’t texted the wrong person.

Dennis groaned softly. Robby stepped forward without hesitation, catching him just as he stumbled.

“Can you get the door?” he asked quietly.

Rivera nodded, her feet moving before her brain caught up.

Robby helped Dennis into the passenger seat with a practiced ease that didn’t come from guesswork. He buckled the seatbelt. Tucked him in. Dennis murmured something, barely audible.

“It’s me, Den... You’re okay,” Robby said softly.

Dennis nodded vaguely, his head tilting like gravity was winning.

Then Robby turned to her, palm out.

Wallet. Phone. Keys.

He didn’t say much.

He didn’t need to.

And suddenly, Rivera wasn’t just watching someone help.

She was watching someone step up.

Her hands didn’t move. Her heart didn’t either, it just thudded in her chest like it wanted out.

She didn’t speak right away.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t accuse.

But the math was already doing itself:

Michael Robinavitch.

Dennis Whittaker.

1:00 a.m.

Bae 😻.

The way he touched him.

The way Dennis leaned.

The car. The calm. The care.

Robby lifted Dennis’s things again, a quiet gesture.

“His things?" he said.

She hesitated. Then handed them over.

But not before saying, low and flat:

“Michael…” That tone again, the one she used whenever he tried to convince her to skip seminars back in school.

Robby froze. Barely. But she saw it.

“Michael, please,” she began, folding her arms like armor. “Please tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Irina…” His tone was placating.

“That’s a student, Michael.” Her voice sharpened. “That’s a student,” she pointed to Dennis sleeping form.

He didn’t flinch. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do know…” She blinked at him. “Are you sleeping with Whittaker?”

“Dating him,” he corrected, sharper than he meant to.

Her breath caught. “Jesus. Michael!” she trailed her hand through her hair.

“Keep your voice down," he hissed.

“Don’t you dare shush me, ”

“It’s not what you think,” Robby said, stepping between her and Dennis. “It’s not a fling. Or some messed-up thing. I care about him.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “He’s twenty-seven. And a freaking student. Our student…”

“Not anymore,” he said quietly.

“That doesn’t make it better,” she snapped. “You don’t get to hand in your ID badge and opt out of ethics just because you want to hook up with him, ”

“Irina, ”

“What?!”

“You know me. You’ve known me for decades,” he said. “Do you honestly think I’d risk my job, my license, for a fuck?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He winced, just slightly. She caught it instantly.

A thought crossed her mind like a lightning strike.

“Tell me he didn’t get every cushy hospital rotation because of you. Or that job in the lab…” Her voice sharpened, brittle with disbelief. “Because if I find out you pulled strings for him, Michael, I don’t care that we’re friends. I swear to God, I’ll report you.”

“I didn’t.” His voice was low but steady. “You know I wouldn’t do that. Irina, you know me.”

She stared at him, hard. He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.

“I thought that…” She stopped. Exhaled. “God.”

“This isn’t ideal,” Robby said quietly. “I know that. But you don’t just… choose not to fall for someone.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, defeated. “Fall for someone? You mean fall in love?”

“I care about him.” He swallowed. “It’s not illegal. I just… care about him, I like him."

She looked at him, and for the first time that night, she didn’t see arrogance, recklessness, or lust.

She saw fear.

And gentleness.

And something so raw and fragile it made her chest ache.

She hated it.

Because it was real. And she knew it.

She ran a hand down her face, voice flattening. “This is the part where you ask me not to tell anyone, isn’t it?”

He shook his head.

“This is the part where I ask you, as a friend, not to destroy the only good thing I’ve had in years.”

He nodded toward the car, eyes glistening.

“That stubborn, shy man in the passenger seat? He’s the first person in a long time who’s made me believe I might get another shot at being happy.”

She didn’t answer. Just looked past him, to Dennis. Slouched in the seat, flushed and drowsy, a little dazed but present. 

She breathed in.

Breathed out.

Everything stilled.

She didn’t say she was okay with it.

Didn’t say she approved.

Didn’t forgive.

It was unethical.

It was reckless.

It was risky, for both of them.

But something shifted behind her eyes.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low. Tight.

“Fine. I’ll keep your secret.”

Robby nodded. Relief flickered in his face, but he didn’t relax, no fully.

“But Robby,” she added, stepping in close, voice cold and pointed, “don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t,” he said, and meant it.

“You better not.”

Then she turned and walked away. No goodbyes. No glances back.

Just back into the bar, back to the noise, the music, the comfort of something less complicated, and mumbling something about needing another drink.

Robby exhaled and gently placed Dennis’s things in the back seat. He slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door with a soft thud, the quiet suddenly deafening.

He glanced at Dennis, slumped against the window, barely conscious.

Groaning, Robby leaned back against the headrest and let his head fall with a dull thump.

For a long second, he just sat there, breathing, staring at the ceiling.

Then he turned his head. Looked at Dennis again.

That stubborn little frown, even in sleep.

Robby leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

Dennis mumbled something unintelligible.

Robby smiled, tired and fond, and reached up to cradle the mess of curls at the side of his head.

“The things I do for you,” he whispered, kissing his temple.

Then he straightened, started the engine, and drove them home.

Chapter Text

Robby shifted slightly, the warmth wrapped around him making it hard to move. Dennis’s arm was draped across his waist, one leg slung heavily over his. 

He tried again, more carefully this time, to slide out from under Dennis’s clingy sprawl.

“Mmf,” came Dennis’s muffled protest from the pillow.

Robby chuckled softly. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to keep cuddling, but I really have to pee.”

Dennis let out a groggy sigh, followed by the quietest mutter: “Next time just use a catheter…”

Robby snorted. “Not how that works, Dr. Whitaker.”

Still, Dennis loosened his grip, just enough for Robby to wriggle free. He padded to the bathroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes, still smiling.

By the time he returned, the early morning light had shifted, pouring through the half-open curtains in golden streaks across the bed. Dennis was sprawled exactly where Robby had left him, though somehow even more tangled now. His hair was a chaotic mess, sticking up in tufts like he’d been dragged through a wind tunnel. His t-shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of soft skin above the waistband of his sleep shorts.

Robby paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

It wasn’t just that Dennis looked good, though he definitely did. It wasn’t the curve of his side, or the long stretch of his back, or even the way his mouth parted slightly in sleep, like he was halfway through forming a thought. It wasn’t just the comfort Robby felt looking at him.

It was the calm.

He’d always imagined desire as something urgent. A rush. A thrum beneath the skin. With Dennis, it was there, God, yes, but from the start, it had felt different, almost natural. He didn’t feel the usual impatience, wasn’t calculating the moment they’d move past soft kisses and wandering hands.

Instead, he felt content. Enchanted, even, by the fact that this gorgeous, funny, sharp-eyed man had fallen asleep in his bed and wrapped around him like a koala. There was no tension in it, it would happen, when it happened.

And the wildest part, he realized, standing there in boxers and a tee, was that he didn’t care when. Or how. What mattered was him .

And honestly, Robby already knew, from the way Dennis melted into his arms, from the heat in their kisses, from the way he instinctively curled toward him in sleep, that when it did happen, it would be good.

Better than good.

Robby crossed the room and gently brushed a curl off Dennis’s forehead. Dennis stirred, eyes squinting open.

“Did you seriously just stare at me like a creep?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Robby grinned. “No. I stared at you like a romantic creep.”

Dennis groaned and pulled a pillow over his face. “You’re unbearable.”

Robby leaned down and pressed a kiss to the sliver of skin near his waist. “You’re lucky I’m also charming.”

Dennis peeked out from under the pillow. “Debatable,” he muttered, making grabby hands. “Come back…”

Robby shook his head, amused, but obliged. As soon as he lay down, Dennis hugged him close.

“Did you sleep okay?” Robby murmured, threading his fingers through Dennis’s curls.

“Mhm,” Dennis hummed. His hand slid under Robby’s shirt, caressing his chest. “Best pillow ever…” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

“I’m glad. You were so wasted yesterday. How much did you drink?”

Dennis groaned, head barely lifting from Robby’s chest. “It was just… a few beers.”

Robby raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

Dennis continued, voice hoarse, eyes still closed. “Then shots. Erica and Laurent were trying to outdrink each other. And then they dared Dr. Rivera…”

He let out a low, scratchy laugh. “She actually did one. Straight-faced. No chaser, I think Laurent cried after that."

Robby smiled faintly. “Sounds fun.”

Dennis laughed, then suddenly stopped. The shift was instant.

His brow furrowed.

His lips parted.

His eyes snapped open wide, startled.

“Oh my God,” he breathed.

Robby straightened. “Dennis?”

Dennis sat up so fast the pillow hit the floor. “Oh my God.”

Robby reached for him instinctively, but Dennis was already dragging a hand through his hair, staring ahead, panic blooming across his face like a bruise.

“She…” His voice cracked. “Dr. Rivera. She saw me, she saw us.”

Robby stilled.

“She saw me drunk,” Dennis said, voice rising. “She saw me with you. Oh my God, Robby.” His gaze snapped to him, wild and horrified. “Please, please tell me that didn’t happen. Tell me she didn’t see me like that. That I didn’t..”

He cut off mid-sentence, like the thought itself knocked the air from his lungs.

“I outed you.”

The words dropped.

“I outed you…” he whispered. “Because I was stupid and loud and drunk, and now she knows. Oh my God, I dragged you out of the closet…”

“Dennis...”

“I yanked you out of the closet!” His voice cracked, high and frantic. “And she looked at you like she knew. Like she was doing the math in her head and it added up..."

“Dennis, stop...”

“She knows,” he said, eyes wide. “And she’ll tell everyone...”

Robby reached out, calm and steady, and gently took his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Dennis was trembling now. “I didn’t mean to. I swear to God, I didn’t mean to. Baby, I would never...”

“You didn’t,” Robby said, firmly.

Dennis blinked, confused. “I… what?”

“You didn’t out me,” Robby repeated. “That’s not what happened.”

Dennis swallowed. “Then what did happen?”

Robby let out a breath and sat beside him. “She saw. Yeah. She figured it out. But she didn’t freak out. She didn’t scream or make a scene. She just… saw you needed help. And I helped. That was it.”

Dennis stared at him. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

Dennis dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus Christ.”

“Also,” Robby added dryly, “she wasn’t thrilled, but Irina’s not going to say anything.”

Dennis looked up, squinting. “Irina?” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Don’t tell me you sleep with her too…”

Robby smiled. “You look so sexy when you’re jealous.”

He leaned in and kissed the tip of Dennis’s nose.“But no. Irina and I went to med school together. Same study group. That’s why I asked her not to say anything.”

“She won’t?” Dennis frowned. “Because she’s super strict about rules. And I don’t want you getting in trouble over me.”

“You won’t. I trust her, okay? She won’t tell anyone.”

He paused, then added with a teasing grin, “And the only trouble you’re in is if you don’t get up and brush your teeth so I can kiss you. Morning breath is definitely real.”

Dennis grinned, bolting from the bed and nearly tripping over the blanket in the process.

He returned less than a minute later, barefoot and smug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mouthwash,” Dennis announced triumphantly.

Robby didn’t look up from where he was lazily scrolling through his phone. “Bare minimum hygiene. I’m overwhelmed.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, then climbed onto the bed, crawling forward until he was straddling Robby’s lap.

That got Robby’s attention.

“Oh,” he said, mouth twitching. “So this is happening now.”

Dennis looped his arms around Robby’s shoulders, settling onto his lap with practiced ease. “Figured since I ruined your life last night, the least I could do is give you a proper good morning.”

Robby chuckled, slipping a hand around his waist. “This your idea of an apology?”

Dennis leaned in, brushing their noses together. “Mm-hmm. It’s also a bribe. Let me keep dating you and I’ll make this a daily thing.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Robby murmured, his hand sliding lower to rest against the small of Dennis’s back, holding him close. “And clingy.”

“You like me clingy.”

“I like you horizontal,” Robby said, trying to roll them over.

Dennis locked his knees around Robby’s hips like a human seatbelt. “Nope. I’m in charge now.”

Robby huffed a laugh, eyes darkening with something softer. “You’re the worst.”

Dennis kissed the corner of his mouth. “You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

Dennis kissed him again, properly this time. Slow and not nearly as innocent as it started.

Robby made a quiet sound in his throat, hands tightening at Dennis’s hips. “This was supposed to be breakfast.”

Dennis grinned against his lips. “It is . Dessert first.”

“You’re the dessert?”

“Obviously.”

Robby laughed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Dennis trailed a kiss along his jaw. “Mm. But what a way to go.”

The cereal bowls had long since been rinsed and left to dry in the sink, and the morning light had shifted, warmer now, edging toward late. Robby had already showered, thrown on a pair of sweatpants, and slipped into the small laundry nook to start a load, scrubs, socks, the occasional forgotten hoodie tossed in with the easy rhythm of routine. He didn’t think much about it. Just another weekend morning, slow and quiet.

When he stepped back into the bedroom, he paused, caught mid-step by the sight in front of him.

Dennis stood in front of the closet, back turned, flipping through hangers and drawers with the kind of determined frown usually reserved for complex charts. He wore only his boxers, muttering to himself as he pulled out a sweatshirt far too big and a pair of joggers that slouched comically when he held them up.

Robby leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, amused. He didn’t speak right away, just watched.

There was something oddly tender about it: Dennis, barefoot and sleep-soft, navigating Robby’s closet with careful hands and quiet caution.

He wasn’t just getting dressed.

He was trying not to take up too much space.

And somehow, that hit Robby harder than it should have.

“Planning to start a fashion show in there or…?” he finally called out.

Dennis groaned and turned, holding up another sad-looking pair of pants. “Okay, first of all, I warned you I was staying past noon to avoid my apartment and its terrifying list of adult responsibilities. Second, your clothes are not made for me. I look like I’m twelve playing dress-up.”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Robby laughed, walking over to take the pants from his hands. “But you’re also terrible at picking. Come here.”

Still grumbling, Dennis watched as Robby crouched by the lower drawers, the ones rarely touched, and rummaged through them. He pulled out a pair of old navy sweatpants and a faded university T-shirt, worn soft with age. The letters were cracked, the fabric thinner than it used to be.

“These might work,” Robby said, standing and handing them over. “They’re from college. I keep them for sentimental reasons.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow over the top of the shirt. “You’re letting me wear your nostalgia?”

“I’m letting you be part of it,” Robby said.

Dennis blinked, the joke catching in his throat and settling into something quieter. He looked down at the shirt again, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. It was soft, lived-in. A little stretched at the collar. The logo faint and faded across the chest.

It shouldn’t have hit him like that.

It was just a shirt.

But it wasn’t just a shirt.

“Oh,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “So this is your sentimental phase. Soft and romantic before 10 a.m.”

Robby smirked. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“You’re usually more of a sarcastic-grunt-and-point kind of guy in the morning,” Dennis teased, tugging the shirt over his head.

“Only before coffee,” Robby deadpanned, crossing the room.

He opened the top dresser drawer, half-empty, shirts in mild disarray from a week of shifts. Without saying much, he bent to the drawer below and began shifting things around, clearing space with the kind of quiet care that didn’t need explaining.

Dennis glanced over just as Robby straightened. “What are you doing?”

Robby didn’t look up. “Making room.”

“For what?”

“For your stuff,” he said simply. “Next time, just bring a few things and leave them. You don’t have to pack everything up every time.”

Dennis blinked. The shirt had just settled against his skin, still warm from Robby’s hands. “You’re sure?”

Robby turned to him, calm and steady. “Yeah. You’re here all the time anyway. Makes sense.”

Dennis stood there for a second, processing. “You’re really just gonna give me a drawer.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Dennis said, quieter now. “It just… feels like a thing. A real thing.”

“It is a real thing,” Robby said. “At least it is to me.”

Dennis didn’t respond right away. He just nodded slowly, like his brain was catching up with his heart. Then he tried for a smile, crooked, a little shaky.

“Damn. Next thing I know, you’re gonna hand me a key.”

Robby laughed under his breath. “Keep brushing your teeth with my mouthwash and stealing my hoodies, and I might.”

Dennis snorted, stepping closer, bare feet quiet on the floor. The oversized shirt hung a little crooked, somewhere between pajamas and something he might sleep in again tomorrow.

“Thanks,” he said, softer now. “For the clothes. For… the drawer. For letting me be here.”

Robby met his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“Still feels like I should.”

Robby reached out, fingers curling gently around Dennis’s wrist.

“You’re not a guest, Dennis.” His hand slid to the back of Dennis’s neck, thumb brushing slow circles just below the hairline. Grounding them both in the quiet certainty of it.

“I like having you here,” he added simply.

And Dennis, who had spent so long bracing for doors to close, for someone to say too much, just nodded, breath shaky but sure. “I like being here…”

Then, without hesitation, he stepped into the space between them and framed Robby’s face in both hands. His thumbs swept gently along Robby’s cheekbones as he kissed him, deep and anchored, like something he’d been holding onto for too long.

Robby inhaled sharply, body jolting in surprise before melting into the kiss, lips parting with a soft sound that sent heat spiraling through Dennis’s chest.

When they pulled apart, flushed and breathles Robby blinked up at him, dazed and smiling. “Jesus,” he murmured. “I should’ve done that a week ago if this is what I get out of it.”

Dennis laughed, and gave him a gentle shove.

Robby dropped onto the bed without protest, grinning, arms falling open like an invitation. Dennis followed, slow and deliberate, knees sinking into the mattress, hands bracketing Robby’s waist as he settled on top.

The shift in weight made Robby groan, fingers sliding instinctively up Dennis’s thighs.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You feel good.”

Dennis didn’t answer. He just kissed hi, harder this time. No holding back. His hips rolled forward, grinding just enough to pull a gasp from both of them, messy and perfect.

“Good to know…”

He moved lower, trailing kisses across Robby’s cheek and jaw, brushing over stubble like he was trying to memorize it. Robby tilted his head back, offering more, hands sliding up under Dennis’s shirt, exploring skin he’d only imagined until now.

Dennis found the spot just below his ear and sucked gently.

Robby groaned, his grip tightening at Dennis’s waist. “You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, hips twitching as Dennis rocked against him.

Dennis smiled “I’ll go slow.”

He kissed his way down Robby’s throat, tasting salt, tongue flicking just enough to draw a shiver. Their shirts twisted between them, impatient hands tugging until Robby pushed Dennis’s up and off. Then he reached for his own.

Dennis helped, dragging his fingers across Robby’s stomach, feeling the sharp hitch of breath beneath his touch.

Bare now, chest to chest, it changed everything.

Dennis leaned in again, slower this time, mouth open as he kissed down Robby’s ches, reverent, greedy. He licked along his sternum, kissed the soft patch of hair there, then traced his ribs with steady fingers. His hands spread wide, grounding himself in the shape of him, every breath under his lips like a gift.

Robby let his head fall back to the mattress, fingers threading into Dennis’s hair.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

Dennis just hummed in reply, then pressed his mouth to the dip of Robby’s hip, biting gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. He looked up, eyes dark and blown.

“There’s something I’ve been dying to do…”

Robby swallowed hard. 

Dennis tugged at his shorts and slid them down, pausing just long enough to take him in, not with detachment, but with awe. Then he move, unhurried.

And Robby shattered.

His hand flew back to Dennis’s hair, breath catching on every shift of heat and pressure.

“Den…” he whispered, hips lifting into the rhythm.

But then Dennis did something with his tongue, something unfair, and rhythm gave way to chaos. Every nerve lit up.

Sparks.

Stars.

The sounds Dennis made, needy, unashamed, only pushed him closer to the edge. Robby fisted the sheets, moaning openly now, raw and undone.

He’d never thought of himself as loud in bed.

But Dennis had a way of changing that.

He wanted to look down, to see, but his eyes squeezed shut from the intensity. The pressure was building, fast and high.

“Dennis, stop…” he groaned, breathless. “Come here…”

Dennis sat up, flushed and smug. “Should I rinse my mouth or…?”

Robby pulled him into a kiss before he could finish. It was messy and unfiltered, and so good. Tasting himself on Dennis’s tongue felt indecent.

He didn’t care.

“You’re really good at that,” he murmured, nipping gently at Dennis’s bottom lip.

Dennis chuckled, eyes darker now. “Thanks…” He licked his lips. “Do you have…?”

“Condoms?” Robby offered.

“Lube?” Dennis clarified.

“Yeah. Both.” Robby reached into the drawer and tossed them onto the bed, handing over the lube. “You want to take the lead?”

Dennis hesitated for half a second, then kissed him again, slower this time. “Maybe next time. I was actually hoping you would… unless you don’t want to?”

Robby shook his head. “I do. I just didn’t want to assume.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m younger?”

Robby gave a sheepish nod.

Dennis smiled, voice soft. “I want you.”

“You do?”

Dennis kissed him again, harder this time. “God, Robby. You want me to spell it out?”

His grin turned wicked “I want you to fuck me.”

Robby groaned, wrecked. “Yeah… okay. Yeah.”

Dennis pushed up slightly. “Then I guess I should lose the pants.”

Robby propped himself on one elbow just enough to watch as Dennis peeled off the rest of his clothes. Flushed skin, sweat-damp, completely confident.

They’d touched before, handjobs, grinding, teasing, but never this .

Never everything .

And it had never felt like this .

Not until Robby was standing above him, watching this man, this stunning, trembling, want-drunk man, laid bare beneath him. Dennis’s pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from kisses, hair a little wild from Robby’s fingers.

Robby tilted his head, eyes dragging over every inch.

“C’mere,” he said, voice rough, grabbing Dennis by the wrist and tugging him back to the bed.

He leaned in close, breath hot against Dennis’s ear. “And just so we’re clear…”

Robby rolled his hips against him, slow and deliberate.

Dennis moaned, a sound that vibrated in Robby’s spine.

“I want to fuck you.”

Dennis tried to nod, but words failed. His whole body answered for him, hips lifting, legs spreading, need pulsing off him like heat.

Robby kissed him again, hungry, claiming, then moved down, dragging his mouth over every inch of skin. Every kiss was a vow. Every bite, a promise. He sucked a bruise into Dennis’s hipbone, bit gently at his inner thigh, then kissed the spot in apology.

Dennis squirmed, gasping, whispering his name like a prayer.

He was already shaking, hands gripping the sheets, desperate.

“Robby, we can do slow later ,” Dennis panted, as Robby licked up his sternum, nuzzling into the sparse hair there. “Please…”

He fumbled for the lube, pressing it into Robby’s hand like an offering.

Robby raised a brow. “You want me to prep you, or show me how you like it?”

Dennis gave a shaky laugh. “Easy,” he breathed, coating Robby’s fingers. Then he turned onto his stomach, smooth, confident, and goddamn devastating .

He presented himself without hesitation: chest down, ass lifted, legs parted just enough to be inviting.

Vulnerable.

Ready.

And fuck, Robby had to pause.

And then swallow hard.

Dennis, laid out like that, all flushed skin and trembling want, was sin made flesh. His back arched slightly as he settled into position, head turned to the side, cheek against the pillow, lips parted and already swollen. His thighs trembled, but with hunger.

With need .

He needed him.

He was asking for Robby to fuck him.

“Dear Lord…” Robby muttered, mostly to himself, because how was he supposed to hold it together, looking at him like this?

He let his hands drift slow and reverent, down the strong line of Dennis’s spine. Lower, over the swell of his ass, spreading him gently with practiced fingers. Dennis let out a sharp gasp and pushed back instinctively, like his body couldn’t wait.

Robby leaned in and kissed the small of his back, then lower, mouth brushing just above the cleft. He sucked lightly at the skin there, claiming it. Dennis whimpered, loud and broken, already squirming beneath him.

“Fuck, Robby,” he moaned, voice thick. “Please… touch me already, baby…”

That, the petname said like a prayer, punched through Robby’s gut like fire.

He pressed a slick finger inside, slow and careful. Dennis tensed, just for a second, then melted into the mattress with a shuddering exhale.

“I can take it,” Dennis whispered, voice trembling. “Keep going. Don’t stop…”

Robby kissed the length of his spine, then eased in a second finger, curling them slightly. Dennis jolted, hips jerking forward, mouth falling open in a groan that turned into a whine.

“Oh God, fuck, Robby, yes…”

“Yeah?” Robby murmured, coaxing the rhythm. “Right there?”

Dennis nodded, frantic, breath catching every time Robby hit that perfect angle.

“Right there... baby, please... more.”

Robby added a third finger, working him open with deliberate care. Dennis moaned into the sheets, hips rocking back, thighs shaking beneath him.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” Robby breathed, heat and awe mingling in his voice. “You ready for me?”

“ Need you,” Dennis gasped, fists twisting in the sheets. “Now. Robby, please, I need you inside me... now. ”

Robby didn’t make him wait.

He slicked himself up, lined up behind him, and pressed in, slow, steady, deliberate. The moment his head breached, Dennis let out a sound, deep, guttural, desperate.

For him.

He arched, fists gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him tethered.

“Fuck…” Robby groaned, every inch dragging into tight, molten heat. “You’re so fucking tight, so good, you feel... …”

Dennis gasped, voice shaking. “Holy shit... oh my God,  yes yes, baby, give me all of it..."

Robby stilled halfway in, hands clutching Dennis’s hips like he needed to anchor himself. Dennis trembled beneath him, legs already shaking, but he still pushed back, greedy for more.

“You okay?” Robby asked, low and fraying at the edges.

Dennis laughed, barely . “Don’t you dare stop don’t you fucking stop... fill me, baby... please…”

So Robby did. Inch by inch, unrelenting, until he was buried to the hilt. Dennis sobbed, actually sobbed, his back arching, head thrown back in a moan that filled the room.

And then Robby pulled out, almost completely, and slammed back in, hard.

Dennis screamed.

“Robby... fuck... yes...”

He was unraveling and Robby didn’t stop. He gripped Dennis’s hips tighter, drove into him harder, deeper, again and again, until Dennis was shaking, babbling into the sheets.

“Please... baby... fuck me... harder...don’t stop... I’m yours... I’m fucking yours, ”

“You feel that?” Robby growled, leaning in to bite at his shoulder. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

Dennis cried out again, whole body bowing into it, pushing back like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed more, needed all of it.

Robby flipped him, instinct taking over, fast and firm, needing him close.

He pulled Dennis into his lap, dragging him down by the waist. The stretch hit immediately, sharp and hot.

Dennis gasped, breath punching out of him. His thighs trembled as he straddled Robby, legs wide, fingers clutching at his shoulders, chest flushed and slick with sweat. His breath came fast and ragged, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate .

Robby’s cock was still slick, still hard, and Dennis reached back with one trembling hand to line them up. Then he lowered, slowly, taking him again, inch by inch.

And they both moaned at the first drag.

Dennis’s mouth dropped open, his back arching as he sank deeper, trembling all over. When his hips finally met Robby’s, he let out a sound so raw, so broken, it sent a jolt straight through Robby’s chest.

“F-fuck, Robby, oh my, ”

Robby just watched. Hands firm on Dennis’s ass, spreading him wide, steadying him. Dennis folded forward, muscles tight and shivering, overwhelmed but still moving. His thighs trembled around Robby’s hips, and when he started to roll them, slow, grinding, precise, Robby lost his breath.

“Just like that, yeah like that..." Robby murmured, voice low, reverent. His thumbs dragged along the curve of Dennis’s ass. “Fuck, look at you…”

Dennis couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak.

Only sound came, deep, ragged moans, each breath a stuttering surrender. His hands slid from Robby’s shoulders to his chest, palms splayed wide, searching for anchor. His hips rocked, slow and sure, grinding down in rhythm, chasing that perfect drag, that sweet spot deep inside him.

Robby could feel every quiver, every clench. He slid one hand up Dennis’s spine, slick with sweat, then back down, cupping him with a rough squeeze.

Dennis whimpered.

“You’re so fucking deep,” he gasped, hips moving faster now. “So deep,  Robby... More, more..."

Robby groaned, hips twitching up to meet him. But he didn’t take over, he let Dennis lead. Let him ride .

His other hand wrapped around Dennis’s cock, stroking in time. Dennis cried out, hips jerking, his movements unraveling into something desperate.

“Yes, yes, like that, fuck me, don’t stop...” He moaned between every word, shameless and open. “I wanna come on your cock..."

Robby’s breath hitched. He held tighter, barely holding back.

Dennis sat up straighter, thighs shaking, body arching. His cock slid against Robby’s stomach, leaving heat and slick between them.

“Fucking ride me,” Robby growled. “Take it. You look so fucking good, don’t stop...”

Dennis let out a strangled, wrecked sound, half moan, half sob. Then he dropped down, deep, grinding.

Not bouncing anymore.

Just grinding .

Slow.

Deep.

Filthy.

Hips rolling in tight, brutal circles, dragging Robby against that spot inside him again and again.

“Fuck, fuck... I’m gonna come..." Dennis gasped, tears in his eyes. “Baby... please... I need it, ”

“You’ve got it,” Robby rasped. “Come for me now."

And Dennis shattered .

His body seized, cock twitching, spilling hot between them, his hole clenching tight, pulling Robby deeper. He sobbed, loud and unrestrained, shaking in Robby’s lap as he came.

Robby couldn't hold back.

He grabbed Dennis’s hips and thrust up, hard, deep, snapping his own hips fast as his orgasm tore through him. He came with a growl, buried inside him, cock pulsing through the aftershocks.

They stilled.

Robby still inside.

Dennis trembling, collapsed forward, forehead pressed to Robby’s neck, breath ragged against his skin.

The room was thick with heat, the air heavy with sex and sweat. They clung to each other, skin sticky, hearts pounding.

Dennis whispered, barely audible "That's was…”

Robby kissed his shoulder. “I know."

They didn’t move.

Just stayed, wrapped around each other, 

Robby’s hands didn't left Dennis’s hips, he just wanted somehow to keep touching his boyfriend.

Eventually, Dennis let out a breathy laugh against his skin. “Holy shit.”

Robby smiled, breath still unsteady. “You okay?”

Dennis lifted his head, just barely, enough to meet his eyes with a dazed, flushed grin, hair a mess and lips kiss-swollen. “ Me ? You were the one growling into my neck. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Robby smirked, eyes half-lidded. “Didn’t know you had those noises in you.”

Dennis flushed deeper, swatting at his chest. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously.” Robby shifted under him with a slow, lazy roll of his hips, and Dennis jolted. “I thought we were gonna get evicted. You were loud .”

“I was not !” Dennis tried to sound outraged, but the heat in his face gave him away.

Robby grinned wider, wrecked and smug. “Den, the walls were shaking. I’m shocked the neighbors didn’t knock. Or start filming."

“You’re the worst,” Dennis muttered, groaning as he dropped his forehead to Robby’s shoulder.

“You don’t hate it…”

He didn’t. Not even a little. He stayed there, curled in close, arms draped around Robby’s neck, breath still a little shaky.

His whole body ached in the best way. 

Robby’s fingers traced gentle shapes on the small of his back, and the air shifted, softening, settling.

“I really love seeing you like that,” Robby murmured. “Completely undone and monw.”

Dennis huffed, embarrassed, but there was no real bite in it. “You gonna start writing me poetry now?”

“If I thought it’d get me round two, I’d have a sonnet ready by sunrise.”

Dennis leaned back just enough to look at him, and found the teasing starting to fade. 

“I’m really happy,” Robby said.

.

Dennis blinked. “Yeah?”

Robby nodded. “Yeah. I know this isn’t just about sex, but… being with you like that,  God , Dennis. I’ve never had anything feel like that.”

Dennis’s throat went tight. The sincerity in Robby’s voice hit him harder than expected.

“I can’t wait for you to be done with your rotation,” Robby added, fingers still moving in soft, absent circles against his back. “I want to tell people. I want everyone to know we’re together.”

Dennis stared at him, breath catching somewhere in his chest.

“You really want that?” he asked, quieter now.

Robby didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I want to hold your hand in public. I want to show up places with you and never have to pretend we’re just friends. I want the normal stuff. Coffee runs. Sunday mornings. Grocery shopping. All of it, with you .”

Dennis didn’t answer right away. He was still looking at Robby like he couldn’t quite believe him, but like he wanted to. .

“You’re serious.”

Robby’s smile softened. “Ywah.”

Dennis leaned down, brushing their noses together. “You’re gonna regret saying that when I start dragging you to meet my family and every strange diner in Broken Bow.”

Robby grinned. “As long as I’m going as your boyfriend, I’ll survive.”

Dennis laughed, warm and breathless, and kissed him again, this time slow. 

When they finally pulled apart, Dennis stayed close, resting his forehead to Robby’s, eyes closed, smile still there.

“So…” he murmured. “You think we’re actually getting out of this bed today?”

Robby made a low, content sound, fingers tightening at his waist. “Not a chance.”

Dennis chuckled, melting into him again “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Chapter Text

Monday 12:00

Dennis stood outside the elevator doors, one hand fisted in his scrub pocket, the other tightening briefly around the folded orientation packet he’d been given. His new cardio assignment felt heavier than its twenty-page count. 

He tossed his head back and leaned against the cool metal doors, exhaling hard through his nose. Five minutes. Just five minutes with Dr. Rivera. Long enough to apologize, enough to say thank you, for not saying anything, for not reporting Robby.

That moment in Robby’s arms still looped in his mind like a film reel: slurred words, unsteady feet, the soft pressure of Robby’s hand against his back. And her, Dr. Rivera, standing at the edge of it, her clinical eyes seeing everything. The panic that followed had clawed its way into his chest and hadn’t really left since.

He ran a hand down his face.

Pull yourself together. She’s not going to bite.

The elevator dinged behind him. He stepped in, alone, and jabbed the button for the right floor. As the doors closed, he rubbed the back of his neck, wanting, aching, to message Robby. But he knew better. Robby was tied up in a security meeting that would probably drag on for hours. Something about new protocols and badge policies after last week's patient incident. And this was just Monday. It was going to be a brutal week, graveyard shifts for three nights straight, paper-thin sleep, the hollow ache that came from living more in hospital halls than at home.

Maybe he wouldn’t even bother going home between shifts. The on-call rooms weren’t comfortable, but at least they didn’t require navigating traffic or pretending to be okay in his own kitchen.

By the time he reached the seventh floor, he was already rolling his shoulders, fighting the preemptive exhaustion curling at the base of his spine. He rounded the corner toward the nurse’s station.

“There he is,” someone called.

Dennis forced a smile. “Morning.”

“Feeling better?” asked Erica as she caught sight of him. “After Friday, we got worried…”

“Yeah, it was okay. Definitely a better weekend.” He gave a small wave, then kept walking before they could ask anything else.

He moved with purpose now, past the station, past the half-shuttered med closet, and the break room with its stale coffee smell. He knew Dr. Rivera’s routine well enough: lunchtime in her office, quick salad from the café, admin tasks, a moment of peace carved out in her otherwise strict, impossibly organized schedule.

He reached her door, hesitated. Then knocked anyway.

“Come in.”

He pushed the door open slowly.

She was behind her desk, typing one-handed while holding a fork in the other, eyes focused on her screen. A soft jazz playlist hummed from the small speaker tucked beside her inbox tray. When she looked up and saw him, her expression didn’t shift much. But it did shift.

“Whitaker,” she said simply. “I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought you started your cardio block with Dr. Ezenwa.”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Yeah. I’m… I did. I just... I wanted to talk to you. If that’s okay.”

She set her fork down, wiping her hand on a napkin. “All right. Go ahead.”

He swallowed. “It’s about Friday night.”

She didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I was drunk,” he said. “And I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to make things weird. Or uncomfortable for you.”

“It’s fine,” she said, calm as ever. “You’re not the first student I’ve seen too far gone after a party. You won’t be the last.”

He gave a tight, awkward smile. “Still. I’m sorry you had to deal with me.”

She shrugged slightly. “You didn’t puke on my shoes. I’ll take that as a win.” Her tone cooled a notch. “Although, I will say, you’re the first I’ve seen escorted home by the chief of emergency medicine. Who, until recently, was also your supervisor.”

Dennis opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She didn’t wait. “I’ve been thinking all weekend,” she went on, voice calm but edged. “Trying to wrap my head around how Michael, who used to carry policy binders during rounds and once reported himself for signing a chart out of order, would start a relationship with a medical student.”

“It didn’t happen until after the rotation ended,” Dennis said quickly. “Nothing happened while he was supervising me. We were careful. We are careful.”

Rivera studied him for a long beat. “How long?”

“A few months. Since after I finished in the ER. It just… happened.”

She sighed through her nose and leaned forward slightly. “Look, it’s not my business what you do off-hours. And I trust Michael not to hand out perks just because you’re his boyfriend.”

“He wouldn’t,” Dennis said firmly. “And I’d never ask him to. That’s not what this is.”

“Good,” she said, leaning back. “Then let me ask you something, have either of you actually thought about what happens if this comes out?”

Dennis straightened. “We’re not breaking any rules. We’re both adults. It’s mutual. We’re not in the same department anymore.”

A beat of silence.

Then Rivera let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Oh, Whitaker,” she said, shaking her head. “That's ... naive.”

Dennis blinked. “What?”

“You think consent is what matters to the board?” she said, voice sharper now. “You think the hospital cares that you waited until after the evals were done? That you meant well? That is a cute love story? That’s not how this place works. What matters is risk. Optics. And right now? You’re a liability.”

He looked away, jaw tightening.

“If someone hears something, one nurse, one admin sees a text on his work phone, overhears a private joke, you’re exposed. You could be flagged. Pulled from your rotation. You think cardio is safe? One complaint and you’re out. Maybe out of the hospital entirely.”

His voice came out quiet. “And him?”

Her expression hardened. “He’s faculty. If there’s even a hint of exploitation or favoritism, they’ll open a disciplinary review. Could suspend him. If the board thinks he crossed a line, he could lose his license.”

Dennis felt something in his chest cave. “He’s not using me. And I’m not using him.”

“I believe you,” she said, softer now. “But it doesn’t matter. The institution doesn’t care about your intentions. It cares about liability. Reputation. Lawsuits.”

She paused, letting it sink in.

“I’m not telling you to end it,” she added. “That’s not my call. But… I like you, Dennis. You’re a brilliant student, and you could be an incredible doctor one day. So I’m saying this as a friend: you need to be absolutely sure this is something you’re willing to defend. Because if it ever blows up, you’ll have to.”

Dennis nodded and turned toward the door.

His hand was already on the handle, fingers curled around the metal, when it hit him, vivid and uninvited.

Robby, shirtless in the morning light, leaning against the kitchen counter, cereal bowl in hand, spoon halfway to his mouth. Sleep-mussed hair. Bare feet. That crooked smile.

They’d spent the whole day wrapped in blankets, warmth, everything that made the world finally feel right.

Robby had looked up mid-bite and said, “You always stare like I’m about to vanish.”

And Dennis had whispered, “Because I’m scared you will.”

Then don’t blink , Robby had said, smiling like sunrise.

Dennis let go of the handle.

He turned back.

“Dr. Rivera.”

She looked up from her monitor.

“I know what this could cost,” he said. “My rotation. His job. Everything.”

Her eyes stayed steady on his.

“But he’s worth it. I’ve never met anyone like him. I won’t again.”

He swallowed. “Even if all I get is one more second of that smile... it’s worth it.”

She didn’t answer.

He nodded once and left, not noticing the small, private smile tugging at her lips as the door clicked shut behind him.

Monday 17:00

Robby was halfway through his overly sweet coffee, staring at the peeling label on the vending machine, when the words came back to him, sharp and useless.

“It’s not viable.”

That’s what Gloria had said. When he brought up the idea of increased security on the floor. Not just for staff safety, but for patients, too.

Not viable.

He hadn’t expected instant agreement, but he hadn’t expected a stone wall either.

He flexed his hand, still a little sore from where it had smacked the conference table. Not hard enough to do real damage, just enough to remind him how close he'd come to losing it.

He took another sip of coffee. 

Five minutes , he told himself. Just five minutes to cool off before I go back out there.

That’s when the door opened and Langdon walked in, looking rumpled in the way only a man who’s been fending off twenty tasks at once can manage. His hair was sticking up like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times, and his expression said someone had tried his last nerve.

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Rough morning?”

Langdon didn’t answer right away. He went straight to the fridge, opened it with unnecessary force, and stared inside for a beat too long, like he was willing it to offer something better than disappointment.

Finally: “I got cornered at the nurse’s station.”

“By?”

“New third-year. Bright-eyed, full of questions, zero sense of boundaries. I swear, if I hear ‘real quick question’ one more time, I’m going to legally change my name and move to Canada.”

Robby chuckled into his cup. “So what’d you do?”

“Sent her to Collins. Told him she thrives on interruptions.”

“Evil.”

“Efficient,” Langdon said, grabbing a yogurt and dropping into the chair across from him. “So. How’s life?”

“That’s your opener?”

Langdon gestured with his spoon. “You want small talk or the illusion that I care deeply about your schedule?”

Robby smirked. “Really selling the friendship here.”

Langdon shrugged. “Mel brought this, by the way,” he added, holding up the yogurt. “Did I tell you she and Abby are friends now?”

Robby blinked. “Wait, really ?”

“Yeah. They’ve been texting. Abby thinks she’s great.”

“Huh.”

Langdon grinned. “Now they’re both into this whole ‘no processed food’ thing. Mel’s doing dairy. Abby’s got a kombucha starter on the kitchen counter that’s probably alive. I think it growled at me yesterday.”

Robby made a face. “That’s horrifying.”

“It is. But Abby’s the happiest I’ve seen her since… me being in rehab. So I’ll take it. Even if my fridge smells like a biology lab.”

He paused. “Also, Abby’s trying to set Mel up with one of her brothers. It's new and terrifying.”

“And you’re just… letting that happen?”

“Do I look like a man in control of anything?” Langdon asked, deadpan. Then: “Anyway, what about you?”

Robby started, “CT’s still backed up, and pathology’s, ”

Langdon cut him off. “No. Not work. You.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even pretending anymore.”

Langdon shrugged. “I texted you Saturday. Didn’t hear back till Sunday afternoon. That tells me something.”

Robby sighed. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“Am I wrong?”

He tried to shrug, but it came out too self-conscious. “Things are good.”

Langdon stared at him. “That’s it? Good, you want me to believe you act like this for good?

Robby finally set his cup down "What you want me to tell you Frank? He is amazing, he He makes things feel light. Not like I’m carrying the world all the time.”

Langdon nodded slowly "Well that actually sounds nice."

But then Langdon tilted his head. “So… what about the big stuff?”

“What big stuff?”

Langdon raised an eyebrow. “You know. The big word.”

Robby made a face. “Love? I don’t know. Isn’t it too soon?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… maybe? I gave him a drawer.”

Langdon blinked. “Wait. You gave him a drawer?”

“It was logical,” Robby said quickly. “He’s stayed over a few nights. It made sense. He offered me one too. I just.. I stayed a couple times at his and Santos’s, and when we are there I feel like I'm sneaking around with his terrifying big sister in the next room. It’s… weird.”

“First of all hilarious , you mean,” Langdon laughed. “Second, Abby never gave me a drawer. I had to stake one out like a dog marking territory. It was pathetic.”

Robby laughed, warmth creeping into his voice. “Yeah, well. Dennis didn’t ask. He was just looking for a clean shirt, and I thought, why not just give him the space? And… it felt right.”

Langdon leaned back, grinning. “See? That’s huge.”

Robby nodded slowly. “It felt… good.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow "Okay now I'll be the one being honest because you were talking about logistics and feelings. I was talking about sex.”

Robby choked on his spit. “Seriously?”

Langdon grinned, wicked. “What? We’re adults. You gave the man a drawer, I just hope he showed his appreciation.”

“Stop,” Robby groaned, laughing despite himself.

Langdon shrugged. “Just making sure both the emotional and physical drawers are getting used.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet here you are. Talking to me about your feelings.”

“Reluctantly.”

Langdon raised his yogurt cup in salute. “Just how I like it.”

“…It’s just been refreshing,” Robby said after a moment “Being with Dennis. Yeah, he’s young. There’s a lot I mean, a lot of energy involved. But it’s good.”

Langdon peered over his spoon "You have to give me more than that."

Robby exhaled "Fine, is fucking hot."

"Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Robby laughed, shaking his head. “I mean we've been taught about anatomy, and all those erogenous zone and all that sensitive spots crap. But let me tell you he's the vivid example, is really,  really good."

Langdon grinned, practically gleaming. “It’s gotta be the youth, I remember being that young..."

Robby looked at him "You are thirty four."

"And the back of a octogenarian," he deadpan "So like I was saying, all that vitality. Flexible hips. Eagerness to explore... geometry.”

“Geometry?”

“You know angels and the sacred art of core engagement.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Langdon just waggled his spoon. “And yet, you’re the one glowing like you just came back from a yoga retreat-slash-honeymoon suite.”

Robby sighed, leaning back “You really want to know?”

Langdon perked up instantly. “Oh, absolutely.”

Robby nodded solemnly. “But remember you asked for this.”

Langdon smirked. “Bring it on.”

“I thought it might be weird at first,” Robby said, suddenly serious. “You know… when the swordplay arrived.”

Langdon immediately raised his spoon like a fencing foil. “En garde.”

“Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“But yeah,” Robby continued, ignoring him, “I thought I’d bolt when it stopped being hypothetical and started showing up in bed. I didn’t.”

Langdon tilted his head. “You didn’t even blink, huh?”

“Nope. It wasn’t about a thing happening. It was about him. And once I figured that out, it was easy to want all of it. No overthinking. Just… instinct.”

Langdon nodded, a rare flicker of sincerity crossing his face. “That’s… actually beautiful.”

Robby gave a thoughtful pause, then smirked. “Oh, I’m not done.”

Langdon blinked. “What?”

“We take turns,” Robby said casually.

Langdon frowned. “Turns?”

Robby nodded. “Roles. Rhythm. You know who’s driving the ship that night.”

Langdon held up a hand. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”

“Dennis is... surprisingly commanding when he wants to be,” Robby went on, as if narrating the weather. “But he’s also mmm, receptive. Equal opportunity explorer. The man treats anatomy like a guided tour.”

Langdon squinted. “Robby.”

“He reads the room, and know how to handle a man like me... He knows shit" Robby continued smoothly. “Like, if I tilt my head back a certain way? That’s the signal. He just knows, it's impressive. The man’s got range. And the noises? Pornographic level..." he said the last part like whispering a secret.

Langdon was already grimacing. “I’m begging you to stop.”

“He’s also got this one move uses his mouth and his thumb in a kind of...” Robby made a vague swirling gesture. “...counter-clockwise motion? You’d think it’s a gimmick, but it shouldn’t work that well.”

Langdon recoiled like he’d touched something hot. “Robby.”

“Core strength, the timing, the fingers... I well, sometimes I don’t know if I’m being seduced or studied, thoroughly, if you catch my..."

Langdon covered his ears. “I take it back! I take everything back.”

Robby grinned like the devil. “That was the point.”

Langdon slowly lowered his hands. “You did all that just to make sure I never ask about your sex life again.”

Robby sipped his coffee, smug. “Mission accomplished.”

Langdon stared at him in horror. “You’re a menace.”

“You poked the bear, Frank.”

Langdon groaned. “I was not prepared for all that."

Robby clapped him on the shoulder. “Next time, just say ‘I’m happy for you’ and move on.”

Langdon muttered something that sounded like a prayer.

“And people say I’m emotionally unavailable.”

Langdon scowled. “You’re emotionally unhinged.”

But Robby was already smiling to himself, satisfied.

He knew exactly what he was doing. And Langdon would never bring it up again.

Monday 22:00

Dennis was putting on his shoes, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, listening as Robby ranted about politics and budgets being wasted on the wrong things instead of what really mattered, people.

“...just asking them to listen, just…” Robby sighed.

“I’m listening,” Dennis said, tying his laces.

“I know. Are you almost ready for your shift?” Robby asked, and Dennis could hear rummaging in the background of his voice.

“Yeah. Trini is heating up some leftovers for me to take.”

“Aww, look at you…”

“Don’t start. This is gonna cost me our firstborn, but I’ll take it.” He stood up, grabbing his bag.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off? I still can....”

“Baby, we shouldn’t draw attention. Keep it low.”

“Whatever Irina told you…”

“She’s right. I love what we have, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You’re not, and if you are, you’re worth it.”

Dennis paused, softening. “You’re so perfect, you know that? I can’t wait...”

“If you’re done flirting with your boyfriend,” Trinity called out, “your thing’s ready.”

He heard Robby chuckle. “Why do I feel like dating you comes with a curfew?”

“I’ve got emergency stairs,” Dennis said. “You can sneak through my window.”

“I’d definitely pull a muscle.”

“I’ll give you a very thorough massage after. Real hands-on.”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish… Go. Text me when you get there, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, you worrier.”

“And you’re still on for tomorrow? We can always...”

“Not a chance. See you, okay? Bye.” He hung up, a smile lingering on his lips.

As always, talking to Robby left him feeling lighter.

Happier. 

But when the call ended, something still hung in the air, quiet and unnamed. A space where something else could have been said. Should have been, maybe.

Maybe but maybe was too soon.

He stared at the phone for a moment longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the screen.

Then he shook his head, shoved it into his pocket, and headed into the kitchen.

Trinity was there, boxing up his lunch.

“Don’t make a habit of this,” she muttered, sliding the bento box toward him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Did you get the money?”

“Yeah… Even though I told you it wasn’t necessary, yeah, I did.”

“I just don’t want to be dead weight,” she said. “I’m trying to cover as much as I can.”

“I know. But I didn’t ask you to.”

He didn’t let it go. “Once I get the residency, we’ll split everything, rent, bills, groceries, all of it. Fair and square.”

“Huck,” she said, a gentle warning in her voice. “It’s fine. Just pay what you can, and I mean it.”

Dennis nodded, falling quiet for a moment. Then, with a sly smile creeping in, he shifted gears.

“So…” he said, dragging out the word like a pivot. “A little bird told me there was some laughter echoing through Trauma Two today. Something about you and Dr. Garcia. You and Yolanda getting official, or still pretending you’re just coworkers who happen to flirt in every supply closet?”

Trinity rolled her eyes. “Didn’t know your boyfriend turned into a gossip.”

“He didn’t. But Langdon did."

She narrowed her eyes. “Since when do you and Langdon talk?”

“I don’t. But he’s Robby’s friend, and told him, and I happen to enjoy it when Robby… shares things with me.”

She gave him a slow, knowing once-over. “Oh, I’m sure he shares plenty.”

Dennis blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to, ”

“You came home Saturday night walking like your hips had been reassembled,” she cut in, triumphant. “You sat down like every chair was a medieval torture device. I had to actively stop myself from picturing what Robby did to break you like that. You owe me for the trauma.”

He threw up his hands. “First of all, you’re just assuming we had sex...”

She raised an eyebrow.

“...which is a great assumption,” he admitted with a grin. “But not the point.”

She smirked. “You’re dying to talk about it.”

He tried to look innocent and failed.

“Okay, but hear me out. It was insane. Like, actual fireworks. I’ve never been so thoroughly, let’s say, researched , in my life.”

“Dennis!”

"I swear Trini, he  has a PhD in anatomy and an advanced degree in creative applications. I didn’t even know my body could bend like that.”

She made a face. “ Not in front of my salad. ”

He laughed, grabbing his lunch off the counter. “You asked!”

“No, I judged. There’s a difference,” she said, pointing at him. “Now get out of here, Captain Can’t-Sit.”

He glanced at his phone and groaned. “Shit, I’m late.”

“As always,” she said, waving him off. “Go. And tell Loverboy: no more injuries unless you’re on PTO.”

“Deal!” Dennis called over his shoulder. “But tomorrow? I want a full Yolanda breakdown.”

She smirked. “If you can sit long enough to hear it.”

Tuesday 04:00

Dennis scrubbed at a stubborn ring of residue inside a graduated cylinder. The lab was quiet this late just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant churn of the HVAC system. He liked it this way. Rows of drying glassware, the scent of ethanol and soap, the soothing repetition of cleaning and tagging it grounded him.

Dr. Vance had been surprisingly chill about letting him skip data entry lately, and Dennis was grateful. In the hierarchy of intern grunt work, this was the sweet spot. Something about contamination protocols meant no one was supposed to hover nearby or force awkward small talk.

Best of all, no one had said a word about the headphones.

He’d found a playlist on one of those algorithm-heavy apps, just called hot girl cleaning vibes, and it turned out to be full of Doja Cat and the best of Destiny’s Child. The rhythm gave the routine a weird kind of purpose, like he was doing something cooler than just cleaning glass.

Then movement beyond the glass-paneled door.

A voice, muffled.

Dennis blinked, glancing toward the hallway. He tugged out one earbud, then the other. The door cracked open, and someone stepped inside.

Leo.

Dennis blinked again. Leo leaned casually in the doorway like he’d wandered into a photo shoot, lab coat over dark jeans, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

Dennis paused the music. “Didn’t see you coming,” he said, offering a quick, half-smile.

Leo stepped closer, grinning. “With those moves?” He nodded toward Dennis’s gloved hands. “Not hard to believe.”

It was light, teasing, but something simmered under the surface.

Dennis gave a quiet laugh and peeled off one glove. “Thought Ben was on tonight,” he said, glancing over. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

Leo shrugged, still smiling. “Swapped shifts. Felt like a change.”

Dennis turned back to the drying rack. “Ah. Cool.”

A beat passed. Leo didn’t leave. 

“I didn’t see you at the bar after we talked,” Leo added, tone casual, body language just relaxed enough to feel practiced.

Dennis looked up. “Yeah. I didn’t stay long.”

Leo’s smile tugged a little wider. “I looked for you. Was thinking about offering a lift. Figured we could catch up.”

The words hung there.

There was something behind them, an implication Dennis couldn’t quite name, but felt all the same. The easy tone had started to fray, and something heavier had slipped into the silence between them.

He kept his voice even when he said “My boyfriend picked me up.”

That landed.

Leo’s smile stayed, but the energy behind it dimmed.

“Gotcha,” he said.

Dennis reached for another rack of glassware.

Leo cleared his throat softly. “You hungry after your shift? There’s this place that does a pancake flight. Like, six kinds of syrup. Thought it could be fun.”

Dennis turned slightly toward him, polite but worn thin. “That sounds good, but I think I’m just gonna crash. I’ve been running on like four hours of sleep this week, so…”

Leo let out a small, mock-suffering sigh. “Raincheck?”

Dennis smiled faintly. “Sure.”

Leo lingered a second longer, then gave a small nod and backed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

Dennis stood still for a moment, then slipped his earbuds back in. 

By the time the clock finally hit 6 a.m., Dennis practically sprinted out of the lab. He peeled off his scrubs in the changing room, swapped them for jeans and a hoodie, gave his hair a quick check, and spritzed himself with cologne, more to shake off the antiseptic than out of vanity.

Outside, the early morning air was crisp and biting.

He stuffed his hands into the hoodie and walked with purpose, head down, toward the nearby park. The streets were mostly empty, the sky just beginning to shift from night’s gray to dawn’s softer blue. In the distance, he spotted a lone figure standing beneath the bare branches of a tree.

Dennis smiled.

“Morning,” he called out softly.

Robby turned, his posture easing the moment he saw Dennis. Dennis didn’t stop walking, just tilted his head in a silent invitation to follow. They began to stroll, not far from the edge of the park but far enough from the hospital that no one would spot them or ask questions. Robby matched his pace. It was quiet, easy, familiar.

When the last trace of the hospital faded behind them, Robby leaned in and kissed him.

Dennis sighed, a soft, satisfied breath.

It didn’t matter that he was tired or that the wind stung his cheeks.

When they pulled apart, Robby looked at him with a little smirk, eyes still crinkled with sleep.

“What?” Dennis asked, brows lifting.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” Robby said, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dennis glanced down, realization dawning. “That’s why I couldn’t find my mints in the pocket.”

Robby chuckled. “Come on,” he said, nudging him gently. “Let’s get you something to eat. I had, like, half a coffee and that was it.”

Dennis reached for his hand. “You’re risking your gastritis for me,” he said with mock solemnity.

Robby grinned and threw an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to Dennis’s temple. “And they say romance is dead.”

Dennis leaned into him, smiling so wide it made his cheeks ache. But it was a good ache, a warm one.

They found a corner diner two blocks from the park.

Dennis sank into the booth by the window, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of Robby’s hoodie, which still smelled faintly of his detergent. Robby slid in across from him and immediately snagged two menus, handing one over with a flick of his fingers.

“You want sweet or savory?” he asked, already peering over the top of his.

Dennis blinked at the question like it required advanced calculus. “I think… I just want something with carbs and no emotional demands.”

“So… pancakes.”

Dennis pointed at him. “Yes please.”

They ordered fast, pancakes and eggs for Dennis, an everything bagel with cream cheese for Robby, and two massive mugs of coffee. The server didn’t even bat an eye at how bleary they both looked.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Dennis cupped his hands around his mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. Robby watched him, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“You okay?” he asked after a while.

Dennis nodded. “Yeah. Just… end-of-shift brain fog. I was elbow-deep in soap suds for like three hours.”

“I know the feeling,” Robby said, sipping his coffee. “I did a few extras yesterday. Didn’t know I could hallucinate while still technically conscious.”

Dennis laughed softly, gaze drifting to the window. A few early commuters passed by, bundled up against the cold. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“You kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Dennis glanced back at him, lips twitching into a slow smile. “Even if I’m dead on my feet and forgot to properly brush my hair?”

Robby leaned forward, voice low and easy. “You could show up in a hazmat suit and I’d still kiss you.”

That earned him a faint blush. Dennis ducked his head. “You’re such a sap.”

“Takes one to date one.”

Their food arrived in a flurry of clinks and steam, and for a while, they just ate. Robby tore into his bagel like a man possessed, while Dennis drizzled syrup over his pancakes with precise, almost reverent focus. Between bites, he felt his body slowly return to itself, muscles unclenching, shoulders dropping, brain finally quieting down.

Robby nudged his foot under the table.

“So,” he said, nudging again, “I guess this counts as our breakfast date after all.”

Dennis gave a sleepy grin. “This doesn’t count. This is survival food.”

“Good to know that.”

They ate the rest in comfortable silence, with Robby stealing bites of Dennis’s pancakes and Dennis mock-glaring at him every time.

Robby broke the quiet first, tearing another bite from his bagel. “So,” he said around a mouthful, “anything interesting happen during your shift? Besides the world’s longest soap-scrubbing session?”

Dennis smirked, finally reaching for his fork. “You’re just fishing for gossip.”

Robby didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Obviously. The difference is, I have way better sources than you,” he took another sip of coffee “So nothing interesting?” hw asked again.

Dennis let out a small laugh, then shrugged, too casual. “Not really.”

But his brow furrowed faintly, betraying him.

Robby noticed, he always did. “What?”

Dennis didn’t look up right away. He cut into his pancake instead, letting the syrup pool across the plate. “Leo asked me out again.”

That made Robby pause mid-sip, one brow rising slightly over his coffee cup. He didn’t say anything at first.

Dennis sighed, more tired than annoyed. “I already told him no. Twice. And told him I have a boyfriend. I didn’t say it was you, but still.” He shook his head. “I swear I’m trying to be nice about it, but…”

Robby set his mug down gently. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”

Dennis looked up quickly. “No. Not, ” He hesitated. “Not like that. It’s just… why is ‘no’ never enough? Why do some people act like you owe them a reason for not being interested?”

Robby didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around Dennis’s, lifting his hand to kiss the back of it.

“This is the kind of thing that would be avoided if I just came out, isn’t it?” Robby murmured.

“What? No,” Dennis said quickly. “We agreed to wait. It’s not about that, I don’t care if people know it’s you.”

Robby frowned slightly. “I don’t love the idea of my boyfriend feeling cornered.”

“Cornered is a stretch. He’s just… persistent. It’s annoying, not threatening. I can handle it.” Dennis shrugged. “Besides, in a few months, I’ll be out of there. Finally getting paid to be a doctor.”

Robby laughed. “Don’t expect a big check. We do it for the people, definitely not the paycheck, at least those four years...."

"At least then my family can stop sending money,” Dennis said. “And I can actually pay my half with Trini.”

Robby hummed. “Gotta ask, The Pitt. That your top choice?”

“Perhaps.”

“You wound me.”

Dennis glanced around, then leaned in with a quiet smirk. “So what I’m hearing is, you want me under you at work too?”

Robby’s smirk deepened, eyes gleaming. “Only if you promise to keep your mouth busy while you’re down there.”

Dennis choked on his coffee.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Robby said, grinning wide. “Didn’t mean to ruin your breakfast. Unless you’re still hungry.”

Dennis coughed into his napkin, eyes watering. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” Robby hummed, eyes dragging over Dennis’s face. “Unbelievable is what you sound like when you moan my name into the mattress.”

“Robby, ” Dennis hissed under his breath.

Robby leaned forward, voice low and full of wicked delight. “God, the things I’d let you do to me if we weren’t sitting in a diner. I swear, I’d be begging in under a minute.”

Dennis flushed instantly, eyes darting to the nearby tables.

“I mean, I love you under me,” Robby went on, smug and slow, his gaze darkening. “But when you’re on top? In charge? Sweaty, riding me like you’re trying to wreck us both, fuck, the view’s too good. It’s almost unfair, your flushed face, your co...”

Dennis’s hand shot across the table and clapped over Robby’s mouth, his face scarlet, eyes wild.

He made a desperate noise, nearly knocking his fork off the table as he fumbled for it.

Robby sat back, sipping his coffee like nothing had happened. “So… anyway. How’s your pancake?”

Dennis stared down at his plate, visibly trying to pull himself together "You’re evil.”

Robby nudged his ankle under the table, grinning. “And you’re so hard right now.”

Dennis let out a quiet groan. “Pure evil."

“You started it.”

Dennis clenched his jaw, trying to keep his face neutral. “You keep talking like that, and I will drag you into the stalls, and I won’t care if we get kicked out.”

Robby grinned and turned back to his bagel. “Tempting, but I’m not really into being arrested for public indecency. Call me old-fashioned.”

They settled into a brief lull, Dennis poking at his pancake, Robby sipping his second cup of coffee. 

Then Dennis yawned, wide, unapologetic, jaw-cracking.

Robby blinked. “Okay. I was going for hot, not boring.”

Dennis smirked through the tail end of the yawn. “No, no, your filthy mouth is deeply entertaining. I just haven’t slept properly.”

“Because of shifts?”

Dennis shook his head. “Because I keep staying up late for you. And getting up early to see you.”

Robby’s smile softened, crooked, touched with something quieter. “Can I see you again tomorrow?”

Dennis didn’t even hesitate.

“I’ll keep making bad sleep decisions just to see your gorgeous face,” he said, standing and tossing some bills on the table. “But next time, I’m showing up after a nap… and with less self-control.”

Before Robby could respond, Dennis leaned across the table, hooked a hand behind his neck, and dragged him into a kiss. A real one slow, toe-curling and unapologetically public, not really caring who was there to see, too focused on the lips pressed to his.

When he finally pulled back, Robby was breathless and grinning stupidly.

“Jesus,” he murmured, dazed. “If that’s what sleep deprivation gets me, I’m buying you a double shift.”

Dennis just winked, already heading for the door. “Text me when you get home. And don’t say anything naughty.”

Robby called after him, “No promises.”

Tuesday 10:00

Robby was moving on autopilot, bouncing between beds, updating charts, checking vitals. His scrub sleeves were pushed up, collar slightly skewed, hair doing its usual post-stress flop. He looked like every other overworked resident on the floor.

Except for the smile.

It wasn’t big or obnoxious, but it was there. 

McKay clocked it the moment he passed her by the meds cart.

She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, no. What the hell is that?”

He paused, blinking. “What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

She squinted. “You are. Like, real smiling. In this economy?”

Robby shrugged, reaching for a chart. “I had breakfast.”

McKay gave him a flat look. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He made a wounded noise. “I had a handful of peanut M&Ms at four a.m. and two sips of cold coffee. My legs are cramping. I think my soul is leaving my body through my shoes.”

“Try something with protein,” Robby said mildly. “Egg sandwich, maybe. Or oatmeal.”

She glared harder. “If I go near oatmeal right now, I will cry in public."

He held up his hands, amused. “Suit yourself.”

McKay sighed, dug into her pocket, and came up with a crushed packet of crackers. She tore it open and bit into one with the kind of energy usually reserved for passive-aggressive door slams.

Collins looked up from the nurses’ station, clocked the dynamic, and leaned in from her seat. “Whatever that breakfast was, it must’ve been good. You came in early and haven’t snapped at anyone. And I swear I heard you humming.”

Robby flushed slightly. “I wasn’t humming.”

“You were,” McKay said, chewing loudly.

He glanced between them, gave a small huff of laughter, and looked back down at the chart in his hand. “What, people aren’t allowed to be in a decent mood anymore?”

“Not in this hallway,” McKay muttered.

“Definitely not on this shift,” Collins added.

Robby just smiled again.

McKay raised an eyebrow. “I don’t buy it. You don’t smile like that for oatmeal.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just flipped the page and said, “Maybe you’re eating the wrong kind of oatmeal.”

McKay rolled her eyes. “You’re being annoying. Stop being annoying.”

“Stop being happy,” Collins corrected, grinning. 

Robby shook his head and walked off toward the next bed, still smiling. 

McKay’s pager buzzed mid-eye roll, dragging a groan from her as she snatched it off her hip.

“Of course. Code Brown. Because the universe hates me,” she muttered, grabbing gloves and trudging toward the far hallway.

Robby watched her disappear around the corner, then looked back down at the tablet in his hands. Before he could refocus, Heather appeared beside him, sliding a patient file into the rack with a neat flick of her fingers.

“So,” she said casually, “what was in that magical breakfast of yours?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been grinning all morning. Very suspicious.” She leaned lightly on the counter, one eyebrow raised. “Thought maybe I should try ordering the same thing.”

Robby smiled faintly, hesitating. “It’s more of a... one-time recipe.”

Heather tilted her head. “So, breakfast sometime? Could be fun. Maybe I can convince you to share the secret.”

He looked at her for a moment. Heather wasn’t flirting not quite. But there was an opening in her tone, like testing waters.

Robby let out a quiet breath and remembered his own words, what he’d told Dennis.

Be honest.

Or at least part of it.

He met her gaze. “Breakfast as friends?”

Heather didn’t answer right away. “Maybe. We could… pick up where we left off. Try it different this time.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “You were pretty clear back then. You said you wanted to focus on your residency. That it wasn’t the right time.”

“I know,” she said, not defensive, just honest. “I meant it. I still do. But, ” She paused, fingers curling slightly against the counter. “A lot’s changed, after what happened."

His expression softened instantly. “Heather... I know that was rough. I can’t imagine what that felt like.”

She nodded, not quite looking at him. “It was.”

Robby reached out and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I meant what I said back then. I’ll always be here if you need someone. You know that.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, searching. But then his hand dropped back to his side, and something shifted in his expression still gentle, but firm.

“But… as a friend.”

Heather stilled for a second. “Right.”

“I’m not trying to make things awkward,” Robby added. “I just don’t want to give the wrong idea.”

She folded her arms loosely, brow furrowing. “This about someone else?”

“Yeah,” he said, steady.

Heather blinked, surprise flickering there, but kept her voice even. “Didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”

“It’s pretty new. Not really everyone’s business, so... yeah.” He gave a small, sheepish smile. “But it’s someone good.  Good enough that at makes all the crap around it feel a little less heavy.”

“So we’re just friends.”

“We’re good friends, Heather,” Robby said, meaning it. “Let’s stay that way.”

She hesitated a moment longer. “Sure… I’m happy for you, then.”

He smiled again. And with that, he turned and stepped back into the corridor, heart a little lighter for having said it out loud.

Chapter Text

The ambulance bay door groaned as Robby shoved it open with his shoulder. Cold air slapped him sharp and far too awake. He stepped outside and let it burn through his lungs. Then leaned back against the brick wall, exhaling.

The sky was shifting: dark blue bleeding into a washed-out orange. The breeze, light as it was, sliced across the back of his neck like a scalpel.

Five hours left.

Five more.

He’d felt done by hour three. 

His phone had buzzed earlier. A message from Dennis, something dumb and sweet: 

<<Don’t die before your break. That’s an order, Doctor.">>

It had actually made him smile. Now? That felt like it happened in a different lifetime.

Behind him, the door creaked again.

Dana stepped out, arms crossed like she was holding herself together. Her scrubs were wrinkled, hair shoved into a knot, a pencil stabbed through it like a white flag. She looked like she hadn’t sat down in twelve hours.

She let out a long breath, like she’d been holding it since sunset.

“Please don’t stroke out on me,” she muttered without looking at him. “I’m way too tired to fake CPR.”

She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it with a flick of her thumb, automatic, practiced.

Robby gave a dry laugh. “This week’s been brutal,” he said, rubbing his face. “Gloria’s on a rampage. These reviews? I swear she’s got a dartboard with my name on it.”

Dana groaned. “She bleeds red ink. Probably sleeps with a Sharpie under her pillow.”

He laughed again, this time with a little more life. Then his voice dropped. “I’m wrecked, Dana. Brain’s actual mush. I forgot how to spell ‘respiratory’ earlier. Just stared at it like it was ancient Greek.”

She looked over, her cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. You need a break.”

He scoffed. “Sure. Just gotta clone myself and sedate the original.”

“Doesn’t have to be a whole production,” she said. “Take a weekend. Go somewhere quiet. Eat something warm. Sleep. Bring that cute boyfriend of yours.”

Robby blinked. “Wait how do you...?”

Dana didn’t miss a beat. “Robby. Come on. I’ve known you how long? You think I didn’t notice the puppy-dog eyes every time Whitaker walks into a room?”

She took a drag, then pointed the cigarette at him like a chalk pointer. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

He raised a hand. “I wouldn’t dare.” Then quieter: “It’s that obvious?”

She stepped closer, smirking. “Your pupils practically spell his name. Dennis.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

She shrugged, all innocence. “Relax. I haven’t said anything. I think I’m the only one who knows. Well... maybe Frank.”

“Yeah. And Santos. And, ugh, Rivera.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Rivera? Seriously?”

“There was that party a few weeks ago. Dennis got absolutely hammered. I picked him up around two a.m. Rivera was there. She saw the whole thing. And, well... she’s not an idiot.”

Dana winced. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Mmhmm.”

A beat of silence.

Then he nudged her with his elbow. “Alright, seriously. How’d you figure it out? I mean, it was supposed to be a secret. A badly kept one, sure, but still a secret."

She shrugged, cigarette between two fingers. “Little things. You going out of your way to help him get that job in the lab…”

“Hey, I’d do that for anyone who needed it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she said, waving the smoke off to the side. “But you bent over backward and made it look like he did it all himself. Then he ends up basically your golden retriever on-call, and you look at him like you’re about to book a full physical. No scrubs included."

“Dana…”

“Oh, come on. Every time he walks into the ER, your whole mood lifts. We get the goofy smile, the sudden pep. And then the two of you vanish into a trauma room for ‘ten minutes’ to do... what, exactly?”

“We talk,” Robby said, a little too fast. “We’re professional.”

“Sure,” she said flatly, clearly not believing a word of it. “But lately, aside from this hell-week, you’ve been floating. Like someone handed you a Nobel Prize and a full-body massage. That type of peace only comes from one of two things: spiritual awakening, or sex with someone way too good-looking for you.”

Robby rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks going red. “Well. Shit.”

Dana grinned and bumped her shoulder into his. “Your secret’s safe. Just... use it, alright? Let him be your break. You don’t have to grind yourself into dust every shift. We’d rather have you at a hundred percent four days a week than dragging your corpse around all seven.”

He looked over at her, and something in her voice landed in his chest. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Dana said, nodding. Then she sighed and flicked ash toward the edge of the curb. “Alright. Back into the fire.”

Robby followed her inside.

Dennis had barely stepped out of the lab after dropping off some samples when his phone buzzed ,  an internal message from Dr. Ezenwa:

<<Meet me outside ER. Case just came in. TOF with GAT. Good study material.>>

His stomach flipped at the acronym stew ,  Tetralogy of Fallot with gastroenteritis? ,  but he didn’t hesitate. He stripped off his gloves, dropped them into the nearest biohazard bin, and hurried toward the ER.

Outside the emergency entrance, Dr. Ezenwa was already waiting, composed, white coat, tablet in hand.

“Doctor,” Dennis said, slightly winded.

“Come,” Ezenwa replied, not looking up, already turning away.

Dennis caught up. “What’s the story?”

“Six-year-old. Known Tetralogy of Fallot. Uncorrected. Cyanotic spells at home. Dehydrated. Vomiting, listless. Parents waited too long to bring him in,  they didn’t recognize how severe it was.”

Dennis nodded, “So the gastroenteritis tipped him into a tet spell?”

“Perhaps,” Ezenwa said. “Now we stabilize, and you will learn what you can. This is how a gut bug unmasks cardiac issue. One domino falls, the rest follow.”

They pushed through the ER doors, and stepped into the storm.

The noise was immediate and alive.

Cardiology is neat , Dennis thought, heart pounding. This is anything but.

He stayed close to Ezenwa, who moved through the chaos like he belonged to it, nodding to nurses, trading clipped glances with residents. Dennis tried to copy his calm, his rhythm, but he felt like he was walking on marbles.

"Huckleberry!” Trinity shouted as she and Langdon wrestled a seizing patient into a bay. Her sleeves were pushed up, jaw clenched, sweat shining at her temple.

“Hi,” he managed, barely registering the details  young man, soaked in sweat, limbs jerking. Langdon muttered something about getting Ativan.

They passed Mel behind a curtain, gently adjusting a nasal cannula on an elderly woman. Her daughter sat beside her, wide-eyed and frozen. 

“Focus,” Ezenwa said under his breath.

“Right,” Dennis replied, blinking it off.

They stopped at Room 4.

A small boy lay on the stretcher, maybe six, maybe younger. An oxygen mask covered his face. His skin was pale, his lips and fingertips tinged blue. His chest rose and fell too quickly under the thin blanket, each breath an effort.

Beside him sat his mother, holding him with one arm, the other wrapped tightly around a little girl curled in her lap. She looked maybe eight or nine. She clung to her mother’s waist like an anchor, her cheek pressed against her shoulder, eyes wide and silent, too silent for her age.

The stuffed elephant she held looked almost as worn out as the boy.

The father stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed tight over his chest, like if he let go of himself, he’d fall apart.

“This is Alex,” Ezenwa said quietly, stepping forward. “Hi, buddy.”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered. He didn’t speak, but his fingers twitched under the pulse oximeter. A nurse was threading an IV; a resident beside her adjusted the oxygen flow. Monitors blinked and beeped in a language everyone in the room could read and none of it said stable .

Dennis’s gaze slid to the girl in the mother’s lap. She didn’t say a word. Just pressed her face into her mom’s shirt, fingers clenched around the stuffed elephant like she knew she couldn’t fall apart.

“Vitals?” Ezenwa asked, eyes still on the child.

“SpO₂ was 71% on room air, now 85 with blow-by,” the nurse answered. “BP’s low, eighty-four over fifty. Heart rate’s in the one-sixties and rising.”

“Electrolytes?”

“Still pending. BMP’s running. Fluids are in, dextrose with normal saline bolus. He’s starting to respond, but it’s slow.”

Ezenwa gave a small nod, then turned his head slightly toward Dennis without taking his eyes off the boy.

“Observe everything, listen and then ask."

Dennis nodded. 

Without missing a beat, Ezenwa asked, “Dennis. What are the four cardinal defects of Tetralogy of Fallot?”

“Ventricular septal defect, pulmonary stenosis, right ventricular hypertrophy, and... Uhh overriding aorta,” Dennis replied immediately.

Ezenwa pressed his stethoscope to the boy’s chest, brow furrowed as he listened.

“And the mechanism behind cyanotic spells?”

“Decreased pulmonary blood flow and increased right-to-left shunting through the VSD,” Dennis said. “Usually triggered by dehydration or stress, like now.”

“Correct. Long-term management?”

“Stabilize first, oxygen, fluids, sometimes beta-blockers to reduce outflow obstruction. Then complete surgical repair. Ideally before one year of age, which uh.... uh, is not the case.”

Another nod from Ezenwa ,  not praise, exactly, but acknowledgment. Then he glanced toward Dr. Collins, who was overseeing vitals.

“I’ll take over,” he said.

Collins stepped aside without a word.

Ezenwa looked back at the boy one last time before turning to the parents. The mother hadn’t moved, she sat hunched on the stretcher, arms wrapped around both her children. The daughter was still curled in her lap, clutching the worn-out elephant.

“Ma’am. Sir,” Ezenwa said gently, lowering his voice. “Can I speak with you both outside for a moment?”

They looked up, startled. The mother instinctively pulled her daughter closer, as if preparing for something to be taken from her.

“She can come with us,” Ezenwa added quickly, his tone calm and steady. “Just a few minutes. I want to walk you through what’s happening.”

The little girl looked up at her mother, then her father, then slowly climbed down from her lap, still clutching the elephant. She didn’t speak. One small hand brushed against her mother’s hip as if to anchor herself.

The parents rose, one on either side of her. They looked exhausted, stunned, but followed Ezenwa without protest. The girl walked between them, small sneakers flashing softly with each step as they left the room together.

Dennis followed them into the hallway.

This time, his eyes weren’t just on the parents. The father clutched a balled-up jacket in both hands. The mother’s eyes were red-rimmed, her knuckles white around her purse strap. But it was the girl, Ana, maybe eight, that held his attention.

Her face was blotchy, streaked with old tears. But there was something else. Her chin looked flushed ,  not just from crying, but fresh. Red. And from this angle, Dennis thought he could see the faintest effort in her breathing. 

Ezenwa began speaking to the parents, voice even and calm.

“Your son is stable now. He’s receiving fluids and oxygen. He’ll be admitted to cardiology, where we’ll monitor him closely and coordinate next steps, including a surgical consult.”

The mother nodded quickly, tears welling again.

“We... we didn’t know it was this serious,” the father said, more to the floor than to anyone else.

“This condition is often diagnosed early,” Ezenwa replied. “Sometimes before birth. But it can also be missed, especially if symptoms are subtle. It’s not your fault. What matters is that you brought him in. We’ll take it from here.”

He continued speaking, but Dennis wasn’t listening anymore.

He crouched down on one knee, at eye level with the girl.

“Hey,” he said gently, smiling. “I’m Dennis. What’s your name?”

She blinked, sniffled. “Ana.”

“Ana. That’s a lovely name.” He kept his tone light, steady. “Did you help your brother when he got sick?”

She nodded, solemn. “I told Mommy he was blue.”

“Then you’re a really good big sister.” He paused. “Hey… can I ask you a couple silly questions?"

Ana hesitated, then nodded again.

“When you run around at recess or at the park, do you get tired faster than your friends?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Ever feel out of breath when you’re playing? Or your heart beating really fast?”

Ana glanced up at her dad, then back at Dennis. “Sometimes I get dizzy,” she mumbled. “And I have to sit down.”

Dennis’s brow furrowed slightly. “Does it ever hurt right here?” He tapped his own chest gently, just left of center.

Ana nodded.

That was enough.

The mother noticed his face. “Is something wrong?” she asked, alarm creeping in.

“Likely nothing,” Ezenwa said, calm and measured. “But your son’s condition has a genetic component. I’d like to check on her too, just to be safe.”

The father nodded immediately, already bending down to lift Ana into his arms. She clung to him, elephant still in hand, and the family turned to head back toward the room.

“Good finding,” Ezenwa said, glancing at Dennis part proud, part impressed.

Dennis stood, brushing off his knees. He tried not to look surprised. Ezenwa didn’t hand out compliments unless they were earned.

Beside him, the doctor shifted his clipboard under one arm. “With any luck, it’s nothing more than a rash,” he said, watching the family disappear behind the ER doors. “But you trusted your instinct, so good job."

Dennis looked up. “It was in the study material you sent.”

“Well. Good that you actually read it, then,” Ezenwa replied, tapping something into his tablet. Then he paused and looked directly at him. “Good medicine takes both, knowledge and instinct. Don’t forget that, Whitaker.”

“No, sir,” Dennis said, and meant it.

But even as he answered, his attention was already pulling toward the nurse by the nurses’ station, coordinating transport and admissions for both children. He stepped over to clarify something, nodding along, speaking quietly.

Behind him: “Dr. Ezenwa.”

Robby’s voice.

Dennis turned to see him striding up,  hair a mess, scrub top rumpled like he’d been wearing it for days.

He looked like hell. Dennis wanted to reach for him, just something small, a hand on the arm, maybe, but held himself back.

“Mind if I steal your student for five minutes?” Robby asked, already sliding into pace next to them.

Ezenwa raised an eyebrow. “Only five?”

“I’ll try to return him mostly intact,” Robby replied, deadpan.

Ezenwa shrugged. “He’s all yours. Diagnosis is done. No scalpel, no harm.” Then, to Dennis, “Find me when you’re done. I’ve got more material for you.”

Dennis nodded eagerly as Ezenwa walked off, coat flaring slightly behind him.

“Mr. Whitaker?” Robby said, tilting his head just slightly.

Dennis barely held back a grin and fell into step beside him. Robby was already heading down the hallway toward an empty consult room. It wasn’t unusual for staff to borrow one another for help, or just to breathe, but Dennis knew Robby’s walk well enough by now to see what others might miss. 

Robby pushed the door open, stepped inside, and waited for Dennis before quietly closing it behind them.

Dennis leaned back against the edge of the examination table, letting his shoulders drop a little in the stillness. The sudden quiet felt like a held breath finally exhaled.

“Hey,” he said gently. “How are you holding up?”

Robby let out a long breath and dragged a hand down his face. “Trinity texted you?”

“She said you were in hell,” Dennis said, stepping closer. He reached up and cupped Robby’s cheek, his stubble a soft scrape against his palm. “And I was worried about you. So worried…”

“I’m fine. No panic attacks,” Robby said with a tired half-smile.

“I didn’t think, ”

“Hey. It’s nice knowing you care…”

“Obviously.” Dennis smiled, thumb brushing lightly over Robby’s cheekbone. “How are you really? And don’t minimize it.”

Robby’s shoulders sagged another inch, something uncoiling just beneath the surface. “Tired. I’m trying to do right by the patients, the nurses, the doctors, the board…” He hesitated. “And you.”

“You are,” Dennis said softly. “You’re doing right by everyone.”

He stepped in closer, resting both hands on Robby’s shoulders. “Baby, hey. Look at me.”

Robby lifted his gaze, weary but open.

“You’re doing the best you can. You can't control everything, even if I know you wish you could. The place is still standing. That’s already a win.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Robby. He nodded, and Dennis gently nudged him to sit. Robby perched on the edge of the exam table, and a moment later, leaned forward, resting his forehead against Dennis’s chest. His arms wrapped loosely around Dennis’s waist.

Dennis held him close, one hand moving instinctively to the back of Robby’s head, threading slowly through his hair, fingers brushing through the strands of gray woven into the dark. His other hand settled at the curve of Robby’s spine.

He rested his cheek against Robby’s crown and closed his eyes; thankful to be the one Robby trusted enough to fall apart with.

“I wish I could do more to help you. I’d do anything for you not to lose,” Dennis whispered, voice low and warm.

Robby’s face stayed pressed against his chest, breath steady but taut. Dennis could feel it in every muscle, the way Robby was holding himself together even now, wound tight beneath the surface.