Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The sabbatical was good, for what it was. The open skies, the long stretch of road, the vast skies full of stars.

It was good, but it made Robby feel so fucking lonely. The kind of lonely where there’s no one to turn to your left and complain about how goddam lonely you are. It put things into perspective.

And (he admits to himself begrudgingly) everyone was right, three months was too long. By week five Robby felt like he was about to explode out of his own skin. Motel showers couldn’t wash away the accumulation of dirt he felt he collected travelling down the I-90. The rumbling of his bike travelled with him to his queen sized bed with sheets that probably haven’t been washed properly in a long time, making him feel restless anytime he just wanted to sleep.

So yeah, they were right. But it did help. It settled a piece of him that he’d been fighting with for a long time. A piece of him that always felt like getting out of those hospital walls, those city confines, would heal him. It didn’t heal him, it just made him miss all of those people who told him not to go; who told him to wear a fucking helmet.

He calls Jack Abbot on a Tuesday, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere Kansas. They exchange their regular pleasantries, tells him he’s coming home, then asks for an official Doctor Ordered referral to a therapist.

“I’m proud of you, brother” Jacks barely registered voice says into his AirPods, service at a measly two bars.

“Yeah.” Robby kicks the gravel of the gas station his bike is currently refuelling, getting dirt all over his shoes and pants. “I think I’m finally staring to realize that.”

“Good, good. I’m glad. It’s about time.” Jack pauses, sounding hesitant to start the next sentence Robby knows is inevitable to come,

“So what the fuck are you going to do about the farm kid staying in your house?”

* * *

He texts Whitaker the next morning.

They had exchanged a few texts over the last five weeks, stupid stuff like where Robby’s toilet bowl cleaner was kept, or asking what the best Thai food was in the area. He’d respond, then would usually attach a photo of whatever beautiful scenery he managed to take that day.

It was nice, talking to him out of the context of the hospital. Robby thought about him often, in a detached sort of way. Hoping he does well in his residency, imagining what it would be like to get a beer with him. He makes a mental note to ask him for a drink when he’s back; to thank him for taking care of his house while he was away.

Hey Whitaker, apologies for the early message. I’m most likely coming back to Pittsburgh in the next few days.

The early morning sunshine is breaking its way through the cheap motel blinds, the dust motes dancing around in his peripheral. He absent-mindedly wonders if Dennis kept his house clean, dusted his lampshades.

Sends another message, realizing the first one kind of lacked context.

Trips been nice, but I’m ready to come home. That ok with you, kid? Santos still has room for you at hers?

It’s like there’s a worm crawling in his chest when he asks, feeling like a dick for kicking Whitaker out before promised. He wonders if the kid knew he was planning on not coming back, if it was gossip in the break room.

Before he can start to spiral, he gets out of bed and into the shower, leaving his phone on the charger. He’ll miss the freedom of no routine when he’s back, the ability to just see where the day takes him. A routine can be healthy though, when done right. Jack somehow pulls it off; working the night shift and doing the SWAT thing and working out all in between. Asshole.

His phone chips when he’s finally packing up his bag for the day.

hey dr. robby!! no worries about it being early i had to get up for work anyway

Another chirp as he’s reading the first

oh no way!! we’ll all be happy to have you back :)

ahmad is gonna be soooo stoked when i tell him

Robby’s brows furrow, staring at his screen. He likes Ahmad but didn’t think the guy cared for him in particular.

Robby just sends back,

???

haha oops, ahmad guessed 5 weeks in the betting pool, it’s up to like 2k now

Ah, the notorious fucking betting pools. Robby had a feeling there was going to be one about his trip. The bitterness he felt about it before leaving seemingly disappearing over time.

I see. Well hopefully I’ll get a cut of the check on my first shift back.

you can sure as hell try ;) but yes of course it’s okay with me dr robby it’s your house :P i’ll make sure the everything is good b4 you’re back! r u going back to work right away?

Jack had asked him the same thing on the phone call, and while he was tempted to jump right back into the fire, he felt as though he needed to explore the city he’s been living in for a ridiculous amount of time. Go to a museum, try the cluster of new restaurants he walks past on the daily, reconnect with old friends. Maybe finally get laid after his motorcycle induced dry spell.

Not for a couple more weeks. I want to settle back into the city.

cool! well text me when you’re close to home, i’ll get out of your hair

The urge to ask him to stay in his guest bedroom when he’s back trickles into his mind. It would be nice waking up with someone else in the house. He pictures Whitaker in pajama pants, curled up on his couch, asking Robby to join him. Nope, nope. Inappropriate. He switches apps in his phone, adds “need for codependency” to his list to talk about with his therapist.

Thanks, kid. For everything really. I know you probably wanted to stay the full three months.

that’s ok! i’m just glad you’re coming back, i missed you in the pitt. safe travels <3

It’s also real fuckin’ inappropriate that a little text heart is elevating his heart rate so much. He puts his phone in his bag and starts his journey back home.

* * *

Robby stands on his front stoop three days later. It’s chilly out, summer nights no longer holding their heat after the sun dips below the horizon. It’s about nine in the evening, and while the street lamps illuminate his front hall, the rest of the place is dark. Whitaker must have already left. His text he sent a couple hours ago was left unread and not responded to, but maybe he was too busy to answer, or on shift.

Robby shrugs his bags into the hall, excited to grab a glass of water and sleep in his own bed. The restless current he felt beneath his skin before he left, and often times felt on the road, dissipating. He likes his place; his little townhome with his cozy bedroom and office and high ceilings. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, not that it necessarily smells bad, just not nose blind to it anymore.

What he wasn’t expecting, was to see a body on his couch. Turning on the light in his living room he nearly drops his water glass, and Whitaker nearly breaks his neck shooting up off the couch.

“Holy shit! Oh my god —you’re here!”

He looks like a wild animal, wide eyes and frantic breathing, skittering to the corner of the couch. Dennis looks down, clocking that he has no shirt on at about the same time Robby does, and pulls the blanket over his bare chest.

“I hope you at least have pants on, kid.” Robby teases, knowing he probably does, but wanting to hopefully defuse the panic in his eyes with a joke.

“Um, yes, dude. What?” Whitaker looks around confused, “What time is it? I don’t- I don’t even remember falling asleep. I was gonna come here and pack all my stuff after my shift and change the sheets and clean my dishes in the sink. Oh my g-“

The kids breath was getting more rapid, eyes growing wider.

“Hey! Dennis.” Robby walks forward and puts a hand on his shoulder, notes the sleep warm of his skin. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

This seems to calm him down a little. Slumping back into the couch cushions and resting his forehead into both hands.

“I did text you, about two hours ago.” Robby chuckles, pulling out his phone to show him.

Dennis lifts his head, pink cheeks and tips of ears craning to see his screen and sighing out loud.

“I’m really sorry Dr. Robby, we had like three STEMI’s today and a kid who broke his femur but the parents kept grilling me about the chemicals in the fucking plaster for his cast, and the last hour of my shift was-“ He looks at Robby, probably unknowingly smiling at the kids rambling, and cringes.

“I’m ranting at you the second you came home. Jesus. Ok. I’m clearly still tired.”

Robby thinks he looks cute like this, flustered.

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see a familiar face.” Robby says warmly, meaning every word of it, despite it being the unexpected half naked man on his couch. “And don’t worry about the dishes, least I can do after you took care of everything here.”

Dennis stands up, bringing the blanket with him as he does.

“Okay well - I’m going to help you change the sheets. It’s always easier with two people.”

* * *

Dennis flits around his house, packing up belongings that have been scattered around over the weeks he’s been staying. Robby thinks that it’s not particularly a lot, wonders how much time he actually spent here.

Sheets changed, and dishes currently being washed, Dennis pops his head into the kitchen.

“Hey, Dr. Robby, I’m gonna head out now. I just wanted to say thanks for letting me stay here. It’s been nice since it’s a lot closer to the hospital than Trin’s and she brings people over like every weekend so-“

Dennis pauses, cringes again. Robby wonders if this lack of filter is because he’s nervous around him or if the tired of his day is catching up to him. The older man can’t help but smile fondly at it.

“How’re getting home, kid?” He says after drying his hands on the tea towel hanging on the oven.

“Oh, Trinity is here to pick me up. I texted her a bit ago.”

And then it's like a magnet it pulling him towards him, already falling back into his old habits of grabbing Dennis in the ED. Another shoulder grab, now with a shirt in between their skin.

“Whitaker, thanks for not burning down the place. I owe you. Text me the next day you’re off and we’ll grab a bite to eat or something.”

“Ha, yeah. Sure Dr. Robby! That sounds good.”

He didn’t really feel like a doctor at this moment. He felt a little bit like an old pervert. Picturing Dennis sleeping in his bed, using his kitchen, taking his shoes off at the front door after a long day. He wanted to see it for himself rather than just imagine it. Which was horrific, really. Absolutely inappropriate.

Robby really leans into Dennis, hand still gripping on for dear life,

“Oh and Dennis, you can drop the formality. I think sleeping in my bed for five weeks deserves you the right to call me Robby. Or Michael.”

And for some goddam reason, Robby winks at the end of that sentence. He wonders if he’s possessed, or if he needs to get the hell back on that motorcycle and run far, far away.

But the flush Dennis gets before spluttering out his goodbyes and leaving was worth it, he thinks.

* * *

Settling back into Pittsburgh takes a while. Robby feels a little aimless, agitated at the fact that the hospital is right around the corner — but knowing he’s just not quite ready to walk through the doors. He fills his time with anything but medicine.

He likes the art gallery, really takes his time staring at all of the pieces. But trying to decipher art isn’t particularly his specialty. He’s a left brain kind of man.

He also enjoys all the restaurants. He uses trying them out as an excuse to reach out to friends. Dana and her husband try the Italian place with him. Jack and Ellis tag along for a boozy brunch after their night shift.

It’s been nice, but there’s an itch underneath it all. An itch that he thinks is brought on by starting his therapy sessions with Sharon.

He doesn’t not like Sharon; her no nonsense, straight forward approach to therapy has been helpful with his distain for it all. She just has a special ability to dredge up shit he has so expertly packed away.

She started to pick up on the itch, in his latest session. He was jittery for this one, knowing he was going back to work the next day. Robby inquired if everything was going okay—if there was anything more he should be doing. The to get out of here faster wasn’t meant to be implied, but she caught it.

“Michael, you can’t win therapy. There’s no final end goal. There’s things we can work towards, yes. But it seems to me like you’re treating it as if one day you’ll be able to just wipe your hands of it. Move on. You’re doing great so far, in terms of opening up; To me and to new experiences.”

He was taken aback by this — from her. He sort of knew it was true, but wasn’t necessarily expecting her to lay it out that way, or praise him. One of the things he was working on was accepting praise.

“Here — if it makes you feel any better, I’ll give you some homework.” She pauses, he thinks for dramatic effect. The action makes him want to roll his eyes, but he reins it in.

“Do something you’ve never done before. Go out of your comfort zone. I know you won’t write about it in a journal but try to remember enough of it to tell me next time.”

Robby agrees — ends the session feeling hollowed out. A little lighter, maybe.

* * *

His day, or night now he supposes, doesn’t get any less strange. After the session he stops by his local bodega and picks up a few things he knows is missing from his fridge. It’s been a 24 hour operation here since he moved to this area and he’s always been grateful for it. He adds a pack of cigarettes at the counter. Some habits he hasn’t been able to quit.

Robby takes his time walking home. He admires the noise of the city, taxi’s honking, air conditioners buzzing despite it only being 55 degrees outside, the faint jazz music escaping out of basement bars he hasn’t managed to make his way to.

When he approaches his house, he spots a man standing on his porch, knocking on the door. Robby’s front porch light barely illuminates the guys face, making him unrecognizable. Walking up one out of the three concrete steps outside, he inquires

“Can I help you?”

The stranger turns around, and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh- uh, you live here?”

Robby pauses, notes the man looks kinda like him. Grey in his beard, a little stocky. He wonders if maybe he has a long lost brother out there, coming to find him.

“I might… wh-“

“Shit. Y’know this has happened to me before? They give me the wrong address because they’re scared or something.” Then mutters something under his breath, shaking his head. Robby thinks he hears the word twink.

“Sorry. I’ll just go.”

The man abruptly turns away, practically running down the street before Robby can get another word out.

Robby doesn’t know what to make of the whole thing. Date gone wrong? Some kind of convoluted delivery driver scheme? He doesn’t have the energy to ponder the strange masses of Pittsburgh and their intentions. Robby puts his grocery’s down, sits on the stoop and lights a cigarette.

* * *

Robby’s return to work goes okay. He shows up an hour early to deal with some paperwork that Gloria had forwarded to his email; and to meet with her. The way he acted towards her on his last day was not great, and as much as he disdains everything to do with admin at this hospital, he wanted to start fresh with her. Or at least, fresher than he’s been the last few years. Sharon was well aware of this fresh start, and approved wholeheartedly.

He even had a notebook, with bullet points. It felt a bit like presenting to a teacher in 5th grade.

• Better work/life balance
• Therapy
• Taking more time off
• Understanding when certain (personal) cases are too much for him to handle

He thought it was a good start, and Gloria agreed. Welcomed him back, uncharacteristically warm.

The rest of the staff welcomed him back as well. Dana being one of the first, even though she’s already seen him back in Pittsburgh.

“Looking good Robinavitch. You almost look happy to be here.”

Robby cackles, leans against the hub and puts on his flirtiest voice,

“I am, honey. Only for you.” Winks. This one was entirely more playful than the last.

Jack Abbot slides up next, basically bear hugging him from the back.

“Aren’t you glad to see me, brother? After all we’ve been through?!”

Dana clicks her tongue, hiding a shit-eating grin. “You two are the oldest goddam children I know. Start your handovers before HR catches you flirting.”

“Aye-Aye Cap’n.”

Robby see’s a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. Whitaker, just coming in for the day. He has an oversized sweater on and headphones around his neck, and he’s on the verge of clacking his teeth with how cold he looks. Robby does not think of inappropriate ways to warm him up.

He’s talking to Santos, who has been in the night shift rotation lately, according to Jack. She looks totally engrossed by this conversation, a little pissed off. Dennis throws his hands in the air, frustrated.

When Robby approaches, the last thing he hears is “He didn’t even show—“

Santos, noticing his approach, manhandles Dennis to turn around and see their Chief Attending standing there, smiling.

“What’s the goss?” Robby tries, and cringes internally when he realizes it’s probably the wrong thing to say, makes him sound old.

“Dr. Robby, welcome back et cetera et cetera.” He knew he wasn’t going to get a very sentimental welcome from Santos, it just wasn’t in her nature.

“I was just explaining to Ole Huckleberry here a case I want him to take on when I clock out, no biggie.”

She’s a very bad liar, he’s realizing.

“Well alright. Right back to it then. Dennis—“

The kid turns to him, eyes a little wild. It reminds him of the same Dennis on his couch, a couple weeks back. Shirtless and nervous. Robby takes one step towards him and Dennis takes one step back. Dennis blurts out,

“Hey, Dr. Robby. Glad you’re back, we were like totally lost without you here, hah. I’m just going to go put my stuff away!” He says it more like imjustgonnagoputmystuffaway, which Robby shouldn’t find endearing, but very much does.

He quirks an eyebrow at Santos, and she looks just as confused as him.

“No clue, dude.

* * *

There’s a few things he hasn’t brought up with Sharon yet. She knows the general story with Janey and Jake, but hasn't really dug deep into his and Jake’s relationship. Robby knows it will come up once PittFest does. He’s avoiding it on purpose.

Another thing is his love life. Which at the moment, is non existent. He considered the apps, but they always made him feel a little gross.

Before his sabbatical, him and Noelle had their fling. A few dinner dates, a few “dates” not having dinner. She was another thing he was running away from all those weeks ago. He was lonely enough, at the time, to not break it off even though he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

And before Noelle, he had a couple of one night stands trying to get over Heather. Men, women, young, old; Top or bottom. Robby was desperate to figure out what or who he likes after heartbreak; it turns out he likes control. Not in the everyday, that he likes a little more even ground; but in the bedroom, he enjoys escaping the everyday chaos of his unpredictable life by guiding others towards their pleasure. He was good at it too. Making people cum would pacify this voice that he wasn’t good enough. At least he could do that.

The voices took over in the end, and he gathered that this practice wasn’t necessarily coming from a good place, at the time. He could be a detriment to himself, but he knew enough not to involve others in his downfall.

That was before setting off into the metaphorical sunset. Now he’s getting a little sexually frustrated, being back at work. He comes home to his empty house and  longs for company. Longs for a pretty boy in his bed he can tell what to do.

It’s leaking through to his dreams now. Robby dreams of milky white wrists held over dirty blonde curls. Biting the tips of flushed red ears and licking into the gap of two front teeth.

The biggest problem of these dreams isn’t the sex. Everyone has sex dreams. It’s the intimacy before. And after. Sometimes Robby just dreams of Dennis being in his living room after a shift, giving him a peck on the cheek to welcome him home, enjoying dinner together. It’s devastating, the lack of it.

He knows it can never happen.

***

There’s a night where he wakes up from one of these dreams, and can’t get back to sleep. He desperately tries, because he has to be back at PTMC in about four hours.

A knock on his front door startles him. It must have been a mistake, some drunken idiot stumbling on the wrong house. The doorbell rings next.

Robby shoots out of bed, hoping it’s not anyone he knows, or if someone’s hurt.

He warily opens the door, just a crack, to see who it is. It’s another stranger, who he thought might be the same as the first but he looks slightly different. A little taller, thinner, greyer. Guy is probably a couple years older than he is. Looks innocent enough but, it is still in fact two in the morning.

“Yes?” Robby says stiffly, trying to intimidate the guy a bit, in case he has bad intentions.

“Are you Dee?”

“No, man. I think you have the wrong place.”

“This is 1 Oakhurst right?”

“Yep. Didn’t order anything though.”

The guy scoffs, looks down at his phone and back to Robby, who has opened the door a little more.

“You didn’t, but your boyfriend must have.” The stranger rubs his hand over his face, “Might wanna check his phone.”

“I don’t ha-“

“Look man, no offence, I’m not trying to be a third. Or in some kind of polyamorous situation the kids are up to these days. He claimed he was single.”

“Who did?”

“Your.. You know what, never mind. This isn’t my problem. See ya.”

And just like the last guy, he turns around and leaves Robby completely bewildered on his own front porch. Is Robby living through some kind of alternate reality? Did someone “dox” him like the kids are calling it; putting his address and using his name for.. something? He can’t even comprehend what the end goal of it would be though.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. Calls his therapist in the morning.

***

Sharon asks how his homework is coming along on that phone call, and he admits that he hasn’t done anything out of his comfort zone. Robby hasn’t had the time, with work and seeing old friends and exploring Pittsburgh on his days off.

An opportunity arises during handovers one day. Santos is standing close to Mel, hands on her shoulders, pleading for something.

“Melanoblastoma, please. We kicked ass the last time we sang up there. You can even bring your sad little divorced puppy for moral support  — even though I still kinda hate his guts.”

“He isn’t sad, Trinity. I have to go get my sis- Oh, hello Dr. Robby.”

Robby smirks at the two women. Intrigued by the nicknames, and insults that seem to fly off of Santos tongue, he asks, “Sorry to interrupt, where are you guys headed tonight?”

“Oh that’s great” Mel says, turning to Santos. “Robby can take my place! I’m sure he has a great singing voice.”

Him and Santos look at each other with an eyebrow raised and back to Mel.

“I very much don’t Mel, but thank you.”

“Mhm!”

Mel walks away, clearly more focused on doing her actual job.

“The usual after shift bench beer crew are going to karaoke at Cappy’s tonight. If you feel like joining your little underlings for some scream therapy.”

“Scream therapy?”

“Yeah, helps me release some energy pent up within these fuckin' walls. It’s also fun seeing our coworkers sound like cats getting strangled. Really ups the psyche.”

Robby wonders if anyone has successfully managed to talk to Santos about her professional vocabulary. He knows she hangs around Garcia outside of this place so the odds of it improving are drastically low.

“Interesting. Well, I’ll have to see what time I get out here.”

He’s about to walk away when she adds one last quip, something that definitely doesn’t seal the deal for him going.

“Just come, man. Your plant watering rat killing golden boy will be happy to see you.”

***

The bar is packed when he arrives. Sweaty young people flock around the bar or the stage, watching a man with extremely long hair scream some heavy metal song Robby has never heard and plans to never listen to again. Robby knew he needed to shower after a long shift of hand sanitizer and various fluids leaking through his PPE. He took his time, trimming his beard and putting on his favourite cologne. It felt more like he was getting ready for a date than going out and having a drink with coworkers. He wouldn’t let the reasoning breach his brain, though. He’ll think about it later.

Spotting Donnie, Victoria, Mateo and McKay at corner booth he weaves his way through the crowd. Javadi is the first to spot him, looking up with that wide eyed open mouth expression he sees nearly everyday in the ED.

“Holy shit, you actually came.” They all turn to look at him, similar expressions except for McKay, who just gives him knowing smile.

“Yeah yeah, yuck it up. I’m trying this new thing called work-life balance. I haven’t decided if it’s for me yet.”

Donnie reaches out for a fist bump. “Are you singing? I think I’d pay to see that.” He turns to everyone else at the table, “Five bucks on not singing.”

McKay scoffs, laughing. “We have enough betting at work. I think if we bring it here it turns into a full blown gabling addiction.”

Robby cackles at that. “Hey, at least Ahmad isn’t here. That man has won enough money from the lot of you.”

Javadi gasps, “You knew about that?”

“Victoria, I have my sources. Even on the open road.”

The source in question is suddenly on his right, Trinity behind him; both with arms full of drinks. Robby steps to the side to let them through and put the glasses down.

Santos starts handing them out. “Okay, nepo baby has the vodka cranberry, Donnie with the jack and coke, Mateo, drink better beer. Water for Mckay. Lame.”

Dennis slides up next to him, holding some kind of mixed drink and a low ball glass with whiskey. He looks good, loose pair of jeans and a t-shirt that cuts off a lot higher than his usual outfits. Robby notices the Calvin Klein underwear poking out the top of waistline. Tries not to stare.

“Hey.” Passes the lowball glass to Robby. The smile Dennis has on his face is like sunshine in this dim and damp bar. It’s a little crooked, his eyes are a little squinted as well. He must be tipsy already, and it sends a shiver up Robby’s spine.

“How’d you know what I drink, Whitaker?”

“I lived in your house, Michael.” Oh god, he’s flirting with him. “I know what you drink.”

This is awful. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. This is why he goes home after work and watches television in his pajamas.

Robby can’t help himself, in this moment. He brings the glass to his mouth, making sure he never breaks eye contact with the kid in front of him; takes a slow sip and pretends to savour the flavour of the incredibly cheap whiskey.

“Hm, Whitaker. Seems you do.” Robby gets closer to him then, puts a hand on the back of his neck. It’s a little sweaty. The urge to lick it off is starting to become insatiable. He leans into the shallow of his ear, wanting to make sure no one can hear it over the singing in the background, “Good boy.”

Dennis cranes around, looking at Robby’s face head on. His eyes are wide, pupils blown and assessing if Robby meant what he said. It’s fucking adorable.

After a few seconds of sexually charged disbelief, Trinity interrupts them.

“Huck? Sorry to burst this… moment.” She looks Robby up and down, trying to suss out what’s going on. Robby wishes he had an answer. “We’re up now.”

Dennis, rendered speechless, just follows Trinity. He looks back once, before disappearing into the crowd of people in front of the stage. The expression on his face is blatant. It’s a face he keeps seeing in his goddam dreams. Desperate.

Turning back to the table, everybody is engrossed in conversation. Except for Cassie, who is staring right at Robby. The smirk paired with it makes him think that he’s been caught, which he probably is. She’s always been good at reading people.

“I-“ Robby starts. Throws back the rest of his whisky. “Bathroom”

The front door is closer, though. Robby bursts into the cold autumn night and takes a giant breath of fresh air. Cigarette smokers turn and look his direction, but ultimately pay him no mind. The urge to scream is creeping up and he can’t get his hands off his hair, pulling it as stress relief.

He went too far. The setting and the outfit and the fucking Huckleberry of it all is making him go crazy. Jackson by June and Johnny Cash stream through the cracks in the door of the bar, and Robby can’t stand to hear them singing together. Not that they’re bad, they’re actually quite good.

Robby leaves, says goodbye to nobody.

***

Robby is completely fed up when it happens for the third time. Another stranger a his door, about a few nights after the bar. A couple people just left his place, watching the dreaded Penguins lose another game. He’s full, content, a little pissed off at the game but he’s never really been one to dwell on sports losses.

The knock, he assumes, is Jack coming back for something he forgot. He usually forgets his keys, or his wallet, or his phone. Robby spots none of these things as he walks to the door and opens it, to yet another stranger. Who looks suspiciously like him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Robby can’t hold back his tone this time. He’s freaked out, alright? Three times this is happening?

“Oh! Uh- hello. You’re not Dennis.” The guy looks nervous as hell and Robby still can’t seem to care. Especially if he’s bringing up Whitaker.

“Dennis, like- Dennis Whitaker?”

“You know what, I actually never got his last name.”

“He’s a doctor — we’re both doctors. I’m his boss.”

Robby doesn’t really understand why he needed to clarify this to a random person. It’s pretty damning information with the way he thinks about the kid.

“Yeah, yeah he’s a doctor!”

“Okay. Great. Glad we’re on the same fucking page. What do you want with him?” Robby’s patience for this is wearing real thin.

“He… well. I’ve been..” He hesitates, kind of assess Robby. “seeing him? I used to see him.”

“You used to see him. Here? At this house?”

Is this why Dennis needed to change the sheets so desperately that night?

“No man, we’d usually go to his apartment when his roommate was out. He asked me to come over tonight and sent me his address, this is where it took me. I just assumed he moved.”

Robby starts laughing.

It takes over him, this ugly sardonic laugh. Mystery fucking solved. This entire time, Dennis was unknowingly sending booty calls to his house. There’s an ugly, possessive feeling washing over him. Did he bring his little fuck buddies over here and pretend they were Robby? Did he get fucked into his mattress by some goddam look-alike’s? He didn’t think the kid had it in him, honestly. Quiet little church mouse inviting over men twice his age, letting them have their wicked way? It’s insane. It is absolutely ridiculous. It’s making him feel more alive than anything has in a long, long time.

This stranger turned metaphorical lightbulb over his head is just standing there, eyes wide and watching him lose his mind.

“Oh god. Are you good, man? What did I say?”

“Not on you. Sorry. Just, can I deal with this? With Dennis? I think we need to have a chat.”

The roles are reversed this time, the stranger on his front porch looks very confused. Looks a little hesitant with how quietly mad Robby is, but agrees, and leaves.

Robby grabs the keys to his truck, shoots Dennis a text. It’s time to clear some things up.

What’s your address, Whitaker?

???

hey robby

it’s late.. why do you want my address?

it’s 1 Oakhurst Cir, Pittsburgh, PA 15215

Robby can tell he’s just copy and pasting it, probably from his fucking notes app on his phone. That sardonic laugh bursts out again, he can’t believe how obedient this kid is; sending the address before even getting a reply.

Nope. Try again.

nope?? that’s me and trins address, Michael :P

Robby is absolutely fuming now. Using his first name like this is all some kind of joke.

No, Dennis. That’s my address. Send me your actual address so I can come over and tell you all about your little fucking friends that have been turning up at my house lately.

Chapter Text

Dennis is fucked. Well, it’s actually the opposite as of late. He has been desperately trying to move on and failing quite spectacularly at it.

It had all started because he knew he needed to get himself out there. His catholic guilt small town Nebraskan sexual and emotional repression was getting a little tiring, as per Trinity Santos.

The pining for Dr. Michael Robinavich was just plain pathetic, but he wasn’t quite aware of that one yet.

He tried Bumble at first. Went on a couple of dates that never went anywhere — with women who were definitely the kind his mother would approve of. Dennis didn’t really feel much of a spark, or anything at all, really. It was starting to become nearly impossible to plan dates around his schedule, and he hadn’t had sex since the start of med school.

It was a drunken hookup when he had first switched majors; his dorm mate at the time had noticed he had swapped the biblical tombs for medical texts as his Friday night reading — asked if he wanted to join him for a frat party. Dennis had been wary at first, not really into the party scene (or had been to any parties since his senior prom), but ultimately agreed because— why the hell not? He finally felt as though he could drop the Christian Farm Boy Persona and live a little.

Dennis had gone, kind of hated the entire thing but drank through the overwhelming sense of you don’t belong here, got set up with a girl by his dorm mate, and just kind of went with it. That’s what you did in college right? The girl was nice enough, if not shy like him; but it never lead anywhere. They didn’t even exchange numbers. After that experience he had just given up trying, not seeing the point when there was just so much else going on.

Finishing school, trying to save as much money as he could working shitty retail jobs, then his rotations full of 12 hour shifts and living in the hospital didn’t exactly open up any opportunities for him.

Dennis started feeling frustrated. Sexually, mostly. But he also started noticing couples walking down the street, looking into each other's eyes and holding hands; he just yearned.

Dennis complains about this to Trinity one day at work, after mentioning that she’ll probably spend the weekend at Garcia’s again; tries to ask her how she can find something so casual with such ease.

Then Trinity points out something that should have been obvious, but was actually kind of revolutionary for him.

“Huck, there’s apps just for hookups — you know that right? It doesn’t seem like you want a committed relationship; if you did you would have locked down that fuckin’ farm girl by now.”

Dennis throws up his hands, “Okay, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not like that with Amy. She just lost her husband and father of her newborn. I’m helping out.”

“Ugh whatever man. You should just download Grindr.” She says with a smirk and eyebrow waggle. Dennis doesn’t really know why she’s smiling like that, or what Grindr is, but he decides to check it out anyway. He downloads it on shift but doesn’t get to open it until he’s sitting on the couch next to Trinity that night, watching Love Island or some other trashy reality tv show they use to decompress.

He sets up his account pretty much exactly like his Bumble was, but blanches when he gets the home screen. The first thing he sees is a chest. A hairy, hairy set of pectorals.

Dennis wasn’t in like, total denial. He’s always sort of known he’s attracted to men. Boys in school, usually a couple years older than him, would catch his eye. But Broken Bow wasn’t exactly throwing a pride parade, so he shoved those thoughts in a little box inside his head that he would only sometimes open; usually under his sheets late at night. He never intended to make it a thing. The pectorals on his screen are probably going to make it become a thing.

He shoves his phone in Trinity’s face. “Trin, this is a gay hookup app! Wh-why would you tell me to download this?”

“Hmm Huck. I wonder.” She has a sick, smug look on her face, sitting there with a ginormous blanket around her shoulders.

Dennis feels his eyes start to burn and looks away from her. He didn’t really expect her to root around his deepest darkest secret box with an app and hairy man boobs but she somehow always finds a way to dig deep into his skin.

“Dude. Woah. Hey, look at me.” She adjusts herself, seemingly shaking the snarky thing she wants to say about his wandering sexuality.

“I thought you knew what Grindr was and suggested it as a joke, kinda. I might have had an inkling — of this.” She swayed her hand around his general vicinity. “But I didn’t think it would affect you this much.” The burning behind his eyes starts turning to tears and he desperately tries to get them to go back in. She continues, “I’m sorry dude. You know you can tell me anything, right? Okay, maybe not anything but this is a safe space and all that.” Dennis can tell she’s trying her hardest to be sincere. “Unless I’m reading this completely wrong and it’s a homophobia thing, which wouldn’t be cool at all and I’d probably have to kick your ass to the curb. I’m really hoping it’s not that.”

“No, no. I’m not homophobic, Trin. I’ve literally been your wingman in the lesbian club?” Dennis tries to get out as fast as possible, the last thing he wants Trinity thinking is that he’s a bigot. “It’s — just not something I’ve ever said out loud. Or really, accepted. In my head, I guess. I could never - at home. I think you know that.” He glances at the chest on his phone. The guys name is apparently Eddy. “I don’t even know what to do… with this.”

“I do know that. I didn’t exactly come from an accepting family either. But we’re out on our own, kid. We can do whatever the fuck we want.” She grins like she’s a kid in a candy store. It’s sweet.

“And you don’t have to face it all now. Or label it. It’s daunting, at first. Shit, my first date with a girl I nearly pissed myself with nerves beforehand.” She chuckles, then curls up a little more in the couch. He appreciates how soft everything is in Trinity’s apartment; warm lighting, big pillows and blankets, her demeanour when it’s just them two. “It’s easier when you’re not alone in it either.”

Dennis appreciates the sentiment, and has never really felt this ease of opening up until now. A little bit of community, right under his own roof.

“Why don’t you just explore a little? I’ve gotten pretty good at filtering out the jackholes on dating apps. I’m sure there’s some dude on there that you’re drawn to.”

Dennis feels hesitant, but not totally opposed.

“Yeah, alright.” He hands his phone to Trinity and asks,

“Can you look at my profile first? I have a feeling you’ll want to change some stuff.”

* * *

The first guy Dennis goes out with is from Hinge. Grindr was just a little too much to start with. Grant was a nice guy, newer to the city as well, originally from Idaho. His grandfather was a potato farmer which was what compelled Dennis to swipe on him in the first place. Common ground and all that.

Grant worked in I.T, lived in an apartment with two cats, and was greying a little in his short hair and stubble. The smile lines around his mouth were handsome. He felt more of a spark with him than any of the girls he’d dated beforehand, so he took him home. Explored, as Trinity put it.

It was all just fine, though. He knew it wasn’t love, and it just pushed past the surface of lust. Grant was decent in bed, guided Dennis with stuff he wasn’t confident in and would get them both through the finish line. It just lacked… something.

“He’s boring, Den. Just cause he’s pleasant and gets your rocks off doesn’t mean you have to get married.” Trinity tells him, leaning against the hub, staring at the board for something exciting. “You’ve gone on what? Three dates? Move on.”

“Yeah, I know that but-“

“There’s like three hundred thousand people in Pittsburgh, Fuckle. Broaden those repressed horizons.”

* * *

He never wanted to be one of those guys, the love it and leave it type, but Dennis couldn’t keep lying to himself about Grant. Their communication just sort of fizzled away, and Dennis couldn’t say he had any qualms about it. On lonely nights, Grindr was opened, scrolled through for about 20 minutes, then put away.

While the desire for companionship was put on the back burner, finding priorities in other aspects of his life took over. Working on Amy’s farm was starting to shape his body in ways he had never experienced before; Arms filling out, chest taking shape and his legs were no longer little sticks that rattled around in his jeans. He no longer dressed like a kid displaced from a small town; he finally found his style.

By the time Dennis graduated and started his residency, his confidence in the pit was exponentially higher than when he started. His bedside manner was less timid, he didn’t avoid certain cases in fear of not knowing what to do, and he could stand up for himself to his superiors when he knew he was right about a diagnoses. He felt good, confident in his own skin for the first time in his life.

He’s not the only one who’s noticed. The pit has finally turned lull after a non-stop afternoon. Everyone is catching up on charting, getting test results back, cleaning up pools of blood or other bodily fluids on the ground — when Mohan swings her chair around, stares at the side of Dennis’s head.

He looks over, curious. “You good, Samira?”

He’s always admired Mohan. She’s the perfect balance of headstrong and soft with patients. He’s never understood the slo-mo nickname, it’s always felt like such a misstep of character. The lessons he’s picked up from her are things that aren’t in any medical textbooks—and he feels bad now, not having thanked her for it.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say that - I’ve just been noticing how well you’re doing, here. I don’t really know how much you care about my opinion but I was just watching you today — not to sound creepy or anything.” She has a small smile on her face, maybe a little embarrassed to be sharing, but so deeply genuine. “I observed how much more confidence you have with patients. And you haven’t had to switch out your scrubs in like, weeks either.”

“I’m never gonna live that down, huh?”

“Nah. It’s not too bad of a thing to be stuck with. At least it showed you were really getting into the job.”

She continues, “Just one other thing I- uh noticed.” She looks around, trying to find the words in thin air. “Only cause it happened to me as well.” Dennis has no idea where she’s going with this. Feedback in the job isn’t bad, but the little defensive prickle behind his sternum starts to thrum.

“Okay um, we’ve all had crushes on our attending’s, right? It’s like, a fact of the emergency department. We pretty much all pick one. Some people have a couple.” What? Dennis is confused on when they started talking about crushes.

“And just - this confidence, Dennis. Kind of just… melts away when it comes to Dr. Robby.”

Huh? Now we’re talking about Dr. Robby? “What do you mean by that?”

“You sort of um, go soft around the edges? It’s not crazy noticeable or anything, and it is kinda cute, but it reminds me of the Dennis that first started here. I don’t want you to… back track or anything.” She plays with her ponytail, waits for Dennis’s gaping mouth to say anything.

He thinks back to all the instances of working around Dr. Robby. It does feel different, but that’s normal right? The guy is his chief attending, he wants to make a good impression. Dennis lets Robby - guide him. The hands on his back, shoulder and neck are just a nice helping hand to get Dennis in the right direction. The warmth that moves down from those spots throughout his entire body is just — admiration. Admiration of how gentle Robby can be sometimes, how he can command a room with just his voice, how his forearms flex when he’s transferring a patient onto a bed.

Oh no. The realization hits him like a freight train. Dennis has a crush on his boss, and he’s apparently down so bad that his coworker noticed. How humiliating.

Dennis tries to come up with some kind of defensive retort. No Samira, I’m not horrifically attracted to someone who should just be my mentor, that’s insane or Samira, I’m not even gay so it’s not even possible for me to have a crush on Dr. Robby. They all die on his tongue when he see’s how kind she’s being about it. She’s just looking out for him and lying to her gentle face seems wrong.

“You’ll get over it. Or get under someone else.” She smirks, trying to defuse some of the pained embarrassment Dennis is sure is plastered on his face.

God. He hopes so.

* * *

He’s was getting really good at ignoring it, this longing. This Robby shaped flaw that was so nicely pointed out to him. The nervousness he feels around Robby doesn’t go away, but he controls it as much as possible. He works on cases with other attendings, avoids Robby in the break room, tries not to jump out of his skin when the older man presses a hand in various places on his body.

But then the fourth of July happens. All systems down, Louie dying, Langdon back from rehab, Robby seemingly breaking apart at the seams.

When Robby walks into the break room all complimentary, shushing him, calling him Doctor, and staring into his soul like Dennis means something to him — he folds, like usual. Yes, I’ll live in your house Dr. Robby. Yes I’ll water your plants and dust your bookshelf and think of us living together forever and ever.

He can tell that Trinity is hurt by the assumption of what this is. She masks it with bitching him out and jokes filled with vitriol, but he can see where she fills in the blanks: you’re replacing me. But he could never do that, their bond has only gotten stronger since Dennis opened up to her, and he doesn’t want his stupid infatuation coming in between that. Admit that you like having me as your roommate. They agree to split custody and she pretends it doesn’t make her happy.

Robby’s place is a nice townhouse in a good neighbourhood. The years of earning an attending’s salary evident in the furnishings and decoration. Tall ceilings and fancy appliances make him feel like he isn’t meant to be here, like he’s squatting. It’s lived in though, cozy amenities strewn about. Little messes in corners that Robby has probably lived with so long he no longer notices them.

Dennis finds himself discovering new pieces of Robby every time he stays here. There are reading glasses in almost every room in the house. His books are in standard alphabetical order but Dennis chuckles when he notices that half of them are from the library. Worries about his late fees.

It does get to a point of snooping though. He can’t sleep after a shift gone overtime, a motorcycle collision leaving Dennis’s blood thrumming with adrenaline that he can’t seem to shake. He just wants an Advil for his aching head and the first place he checks is the medicine cabinet. The usual suspects are in there, contact solution, old bottle of antibiotics, toothpaste and mouthwash. No Advil though, so Dennis checks the kitchen, no luck.

Dennis sends a quick text,

hi dr. robby, just wondering if you have any ibuprofen? no worries if not!

Robby’s bedside drawer was where he eventually finds some. Right next to a bottle of lube. That’s normal, right? Most guys have lube. Dennis has his own at home. However, most guys wouldn’t be picturing how their boss uses it.

He imagines Robby, in this big bed, getting comfortable. Pulling down his boxers, just under his balls, grabbing hold on his hard cock. Dennis imagines it’s big, circumcised with a ruddy head. It makes Dennis’s mouth water. Robby probably starts off dry, just as Dennis does when he lays back against the headboard and pulls his dick out of his pajama pants, to create some delicious friction. The scent of Robby’s laundry detergent surrounds him, and he wishes it was coming from the soft sweaters Robby always wears, not the empty pillow beside his head. Dennis pictures Robby reaching for the lube now, coating his hand with slick and slowly reaching back down, squeezing harder this time. He wonders what Robby thinks about as he’s doing this - if he recalls the tight squeeze of previous partners around him, or an open mouth, being filled to the hilt with him.

Dennis’s hand is speeding up his over his cock now, the build up collecting in his lower abdomen. He imagines what Robby’s face would look like when he’s about to come; crow footed eyes squeezed shut, split slicked mouth parted and panting. Can’t stop thinking about his soft belly contracting with pleasure, dark hair leading down, down, do-

Dennis’s fantasy gets cut short by the loud ringing of his phone. Dennis wanted to ignore it, seeing as he was so, so close but the thought of it being an emergency makes him pause, check the caller I.D.

It’s Robby. Of course it is. Dennis wonders if there’s some cosmic curse placed upon him, getting him into these situations. But he doesn’t want to let the call go ignored in case it’s something urgent, so he picks up the call with his cock still in his hand and slightly out of breath.

“Hello?” He tries to sound as normal as possible, but it comes out more like a squeak. “Whitaker, hey.” Robby gravelly and low voice makes a spurt of pre-come leak out of Dennis’s tip. “Did you manage to find the Advil?”

Robby sounds tipsy over the phone and the background noise sounds like he just stepped out of a bar. Dennis wishes his whisky breath was blowing on his ear, rough beard scraping against his neck. The whine forming in his airways is threatening to bubble out.

“Yep! It was in your uh-“ Dennis knows he has to lie now. Exposing where it was would make him sound like a perv, rooting around in Robby’s bedside table where he keeps his personal things hidden away. “It was under the sink?” Dennis has never been very good at lying.

Robby answers; tone of voice smooth and so so sexy, “Hm. Good.” and Dennis knows he’s fucked. Robby attempts to start a new sentence, not knowing this conversation is actively killing Dennis, but Dennis quickly interrupts.

“Thanks for checking in Dr. Robby, igottagobye!” He’ll feel guilty about the fast farewell after, but the only thing Dennis can think of is Robby holding down hips, hand stripping his cock and whispering You’re so good, honey. You’re my good boy; Then has the most soul shattering, life changing orgasm.

TLDR: fucked.

* * *

Mohan’s words rattle around his head. Dennis needs to get over it, and quickly. Robby had texted him that he’ll be home in the next couple days and the thought of him being home, being back at work, makes Dennis feel like he needs to do something, anything to get his mind off his Chief Attending. He tries Grindr again; the fantasy played out a few nights ago rattling around his head. Maybe he just needs to find someone more assertive, someone who will tell him what to do and empty his head from all the thoughts of Robby. Let someone else take his place.

The thought of bringing anybody to Robby’s place gives him the ick, though. It feels disrespectful and frankly, too personal. He opens Grindr and scrolls for a little while, eventually comes across DOM (Dennis assumes that’s his preference rather than his name), 49, 2 miles away; opens his profile. The photos of him have half a face and absolutely no clothes. Dennis can tell he’s trying really hard to be hot, and he’s almost succeeding.

After a few exchanged messages and a very thorough shower, Dennis is on his way to his first Grindr hookup. Dennis thought he would be a lot more nervous but he mostly feels resolve. Acceptance in the fact that this is the best way to move forward. He shoots Trinity a quick message for safety purposes, sharing his location and getting on the bus.

The guy is more handsome in person, a little more rough around the edges than his perfectly curated profile. Dom never asks for his name and Dennis doesn’t tell him. He uses pet names throughout the whole thing. Wow baby, you’re so tight. I can’t believe how pretty you look with my hands around your throat, slut.

It’s a lot, but not in a bad way. He’ll never see the man again and the floating sensation Dennis had never experienced before sticks with him on throughout the awkward goodbye kiss, the walk to the bus stop and into Robby’s front door.  Dennis knows he needs to tidy up around here, fold up all the blankets that have accumulated on the couch and pick up his clothes in the bedroom. He sits on the couch to catch his breath, relax a little before getting to the task at hand. Dennis doesn’t even notice his phone falling out of his pocket when he slumps over in sleep.

* * *

Dennis comes to as violently as he went out. At first, he’s in and out of dreams; sleeping on the couch at his apartment, that Trinity is walking through the door after her shift with takeout and a shitty DVD from the bootleg movie kiosk down the street, but something is off. He feels sore all over his body and this couch is definitely more comfortable than the one they picked up off the side of the road. There isn’t any shitty reality TV playing in the background.

Right. He’s at Robby’s, and Robby is standing right in front of him. Cue freaking out. Cue covering up his fucking nipples.

He lies, again. Says some bullshit about work being busy because how do you explain to the guy you’re practically in love with oh yeah i’m this tired because i got destroyed by some older guy named DOM from Grindr because I can’t get you off my mind without sounding like a total sleaze. And he feels so guilty that he hasn’t done any cleaning up around Robby’s place that he offers to change the sheets with him, forgetting he’s been sleeping on the other side of his Robby fantasy induced wet spot. Dennis tries to casually run ahead of him and rips everything off the queen sized bed before he can see. Humiliating.

It’s a miracle Dennis doesn’t ask to stay another night when Robby is so kind to him, thanking Dennis a little too much, and cornering him against his front door. You can call me Robby, or Michael.

Dennis is going to call the vet, see if they can euthanize him.

* * *

It’s probably not healthy, using sex as a coping mechanism. But Dennis is miserable, and the last no strings hookup he had was fun before Robby came crashing through his own front door almost immediately after it. Knowing Robby is back in Pittsburgh but not at work, not anywhere in his life, is making him feel lost. Before, Dennis felt he could always text Robby, make up something he “couldn’t find” around his house as an excuse to text him, but it felt off limits now.

He needed a distraction. He shoots Trinity a text, asking if she’ll be home tonight.

staying at yo’s, gtg

So eloquent. But it’s exactly what he wanted to hear. It wasn’t exactly like the last time in the way he searched for someone on Grindr, the sexual frustration building up in him and needing a release. He was lonely and wanted someone he could have a drink with before getting shoved down into his mattress.

Evan, 42, less than a mile away and online now had a profile where he actually showed his face instead of a floating torso. Some more posed pictures mixed in but he seems like he was looking for more of a connection. They match and Dennis messages him,

hi handsome

Evan replies almost immediately after. The excitement in Dennis was increasing.

Hi pretty. What’s a good boy like you doing in a place like this?

It felt good, someone else giving him attention. He never felt like he needed it, praise; especially from friends, family. It would make him squirm being in a spotlight like that. His last hookup made it clear he likes it in the bedroom, though.

oh you know, looking for someone to share this bottle wine with, if you wanted to come over for a drink? :)

I could be up to a lot of stuff if you’re there with me. Address?

Dennis sends his address and immediately gets up to get ready. Shower, set up the bottle of wine with some glasses, tidy the living room. It feels a little performative, like he wants this to go differently than what it really is. He’s been lying a lot recently, so it can’t hurt to lie to himself a little. As if this isn’t just a last minute hookup because he’s sad.

Less than a mile away should mean that Evan is here by now. Dennis looks out the window facing the street and doesn’t see anyone standing outside of his building. Weird. He opens the app to see if maybe the guy messaged him, telling him to come get him at the front doors because their buzzer only works half the time.

Dennis opens the app to see that his account is blocked. Shit. Was he too forward? Too presumptuous in offering alcohol instead of just a quick fuck? Dennis knows it was only a couple of messages, but he feels pathetic in admitting to himself that he was excited.

He opens the bottle of wine and brings the whole thing to the couch. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He wants to call Robby. Tell him what happened and see if he’d placate him. Tell him he’s way too good for these guys.

The wine burns as it goes down.

* * *

Robby being back at work is distracting. The fantasies and warm touches of when Dennis fled Robby’s home keep flashing in his mind every time he works alongside him. It’s difficult to avoid him in this setting but he forces himself to act like he’s confident in working alone, or the ability to work well with every attending except Robby. And he just looks so content in being back here.

Dennis is incredibly happy for him. It’s obviously better to see him like this than the broken down version that left on July 4th, or the crumpled frame Dennis found in Peds, but he can’t help admit to being jealous. Jealous of anyone in Robby’s immediate circle that he gets to smile with, get late night drinks, hangout on his couch. The feeling of possession lives underneath his skin when it has absolutely no right to.

Dennis goes to the club, alone. The constant bumping of bodies helps him take his mind off the loneliness growing inside. A couple guys try to dance with him, young guys with abs and backwards hats, shirts off and naked chests sparkling in the blue lights. Dennis spots a good-looking guy at the end of the bar that is more his type, sitting with an older woman. Buys him a drink and walks over when the bartender points to him,

“Thanks for the drink, sweetheart.” His beard looks really soft. The vodka in his bloodstream making Dennis want to climb in his lap.

Dennis gets closer to the guys ear, trying his hardest to be seductive. “Did you want to go dance?”

The guy smiles sweetly at him, maybe a little awkwardly, and pats the empty barstool beside him. “I’m not much of a dancer but you’re welcome to come sit.”

He does, and they talk for a while. Dennis talks about his job, Harry talks about how he’s visiting the city from Toronto. Harry is charming, sly smiles and slight touches get Dennis all flustered, which Harry notes is just adorable. He really thinks this is going somewhere, but when Harry’s friend flags him down, tells them that she’s leaving, he goes with her. Says in a hug, more friendly than anything, “It was nice talking to you sweetheart but long distance isn’t exactly what I’m looking for. Best of luck with your residency.”

He takes an uber home, drunk, dejected. Is he really that awful that he can’t even successfully bring anyone home anymore? Does he perpetually have something stuck in his teeth or is his personality just that shit? The voice in his head says that it’s not true, it’s just bad timing or something.

Sitting on his couch, feeling touch starved and inhibitions low enough, he opens Grindr.

It’s lively tonight, lots of options to choose from. Michael (hah), 51, less than 1 mile away. Dennis sends him a message, telling him he can host and not caring what the guy wants from him, anything would be better than sitting alone, drunk in his apartment, after fucking up this night so terribly.

He waits for Michael. And waits, and waits and waits. Anger is rising up in him now. Throws his phone across the room when he sees he’s blocked again. What the fuck is wrong with these guys?

It’s nearly four in the morning before Dennis calms down enough to go to bed. He has to work in the morning so he sets his alarm for 6:15. He’ll probably be late but there’s nothing in the world that could make him care in this moment.

* * *

Dennis is exhausted in the morning, trying to keep his head down and focus so he doesn’t slip up with any patients. Javadi notices though, says something to him as he’s walking back from South 16, looking at the board for anything else. “You look awful.”

Dennis gives her a face, probably a sneer with how he’s feeling. “Great, thanks.”

She puts her dictation microphone down, “Sorry! I mean like — tired?”

“Are any of us not tired?” It’ coming out way more snippy than he wants to, filter apparently left in the bed he peeled himself out of.

“No… I mean. This is coming out wrong. You look extra tired today — and we haven’t even had anything traumatizing happen yet.” She’s speaking like she can’t figure out what’s going to come out next. “What I’m trying to ask — is if you’re okay.”

“Mhm, yep. Peachy.” She looks at him with that wide eye, disbelieving look. Every time she does it Dennis pictures her saying bitch are you serious? As a heart attack, Victoria.

Santos walks up, finishing off her case that’s kept her here after a long night shift. “He’s pissy because he has no game.”

Dennis has, of course, told her all about his strew of rejections lately. She’s being a lot nicer than he was expecting her to be about it. Guess that’s over.

“Game? Who are you trying-”

Trinity interrupts, not wanting to expose the exact details of Dennis’s shortcomings, which he appreciates. “I got good and bad news for karaoke tonight. Mel’s out. Robby’s in.”

That, he doesn’t appreciate. The meddling she often loves to do. He gives Trinity a hard look, “Guess I’m out too then.” Dennis hears a huh? come from Victoria.

“Nope, you’re coming. It’s my first night off in forever, I’m dragging your farmers only dot com ass out by your gold boy curls. You’re done moping.”

* * *

Tequila is necessary for this outing, and while he’s surprised Trinity doesn’t join him for the fourth shot before leaving, the world being a little bit more blurred when they walk into the bar helps his nerves immensely. He sits with the other PTMC crew, asks what they want from the bar and meets Trinity after she submits their name for a song. He hates singing, especially to a crowd this size, but he feels like he needs to try something new. Get out of this miserable rut he’s been in.

Maybe that explains why when he see’s Robby, looking so put together and devastatingly hot, he flirts with him like he would anyone else in a bar. He’s sure the tequila helps. He expects nothing to come out of it but he can feel their tension around his whole body. The jolt of lust in his lower abdomen when Robby murmurs “good boy” into his ear. Does he actually have a chance? Dennis tries to search his eyes for any semblance of an answer, but gets interrupted.

He spends the whole time singing scanning the crowd for him. Hoping he’s looking at Dennis making a fool of himself on stage.

They get off stage, giddy with the applause, and beelines is back to the table. McKay steps out of the booth as he’s getting back, pulls him aside.

“You were great up there.” Dennis feels a sense of calm around McKay, who always seems to know what to say in a crisis. He’s enjoyed working with her on the street team. “Robby said he was going to the bathroom, but I saw him leaving. Hasn’t come back in.” He feels caught, now. It’s not as if Dennis has confided in her about his desperate crush on Robby, but everyone knows she’s incredible at reading people.

“Okay I’m — I’ll be right back.”

Dennis bursts out of the bar, fresh air hitting his face. Looking around the front, the side alleyway, down the street to the nearest bus stop — Robby is nowhere to be found.

The night air makes the tears cold against his flaming cheeks. He’s embarrassed himself, once again. Having hope is starting to make Dennis feel like this is all pointless. Like he’s just destined to be alone for the rest of his life. Sad gay boy from rural Nebraska, desperately looking for someone to fill the void of his loneliness, and the one person he feels like could make him so fucking happy is just — his boss. Looks at him like a stupid kid. Trusted him to take care of his dying plants but can’t stand to be around him for one night.

He bums a cigarette off a girl talking to her gaggle of friends. The nicotine makes his head spin.

* * *

“How about that boring dude? Uh, what was his name? Greg?” They’re both at home, Dennis is wallowing and Trinity is eating a microwave burrito before she has to get ready. She’s meeting up with some of her med school friends and the invitation wasn’t passed along. Dennis was fine with that, content to just play video games in his underwear until he passed out alone, again.

“He’d probably ditch me too.”

She quirks her eyebrow, “Good lord Huckleberry. Welcome to modern dating, I guess.” Modern dating is a stretch, he thinks. He can’t even get anyone to come over for a hookup.

“Yeah, I think I might be good on that.”

She gets up and takes her plate to the sink, calling over her shoulder, “Just message him for fucks sake, what have you got to lose?”

“My mind, Trinity. I’m losing my fucking mind.”

But he listens to her, as usual. The whim of other people seemingly being the only thing he can manage these days. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right?

He scrolls down various messages and group chats and opens his and Grant’s conversation, from the end of May. Five months ago. He reads the last message sent,

Hey Dennis, you around? There’s a nice farmers market opening this weekend I was going to try out if you want to join me. 😊

Another message, the Monday after.

I guess not.

Dennis feels bad about the ghosting, thinks that the last couple months might be karma for treating this guy like shit; wonders if he’ll even agree to see Dennis again. The sense of incoming rejection doesn’t hurt any less but he feels almost like he deserves it, at this point.

Hi grant. i’m really sorry for being so distant. can I make it up to you? Come over in about an hour and we can have a drink at my place then go out, all on me.

Then attaches his address. It’s ballsy to send it before even getting a reply but he wants to just put his phone down and not obsessively check it.

* * *

Twenty minutes go by before he hears a vibration on the table.

New message from Dr. Robby

New message from Grant Hinge

Why the hell is Robby messaging him?

No, Dennis. That’s my address. Send me your actual address so I can come over and tell you all about your little fucking friends that have been turning up at my house lately.

No. Nonono this can’t be happening. That can’t mean- Grant? He flips to Grants text.

Hey. I showed up at the address you gave me and some guy answered the door and said he was your boss? I don’t know what’s going on but he seemed super… weird about it. This is just a little too much for me but I wish you the best.

Ok, so this was happening. Dennis’ heart rate skyrockets, his hands are clammy, and his face is burning. He bolts up the couch and finds Trinity in the bathroom, who is brushing makeup onto her eyes.

“Trin- help me.”

She turns as fast as she does when they get a trauma in the ED. Drops the eyeshadow palette she’s holding into the sink. “Oh my god, what happened Den? Jesus christ, are you okay?”

She approaches him and takes his carotid. “Hello! Earth to Huck?”

“My life is ending. I’m going to lose my job—oh my god what if he tells my paren-“

“DENNIS.” He looks up at her with wide eyes. He knows he’s fully panicking, but maybe she’ll be able to help if he just spits it out.

“I’ve been sending the wrong address to hookups.” That doesn’t even cover the gravity of the situation, but thats all he can manage.

“Oh-kay? That sucks and explains why they haven’t been showing, but why are you flipping your shit?”

He doesn’t know if he can get the words out. They get stuck for a second with how deranged it sounds. “I’ve been sending them to Robby’s house.”

Trinity’s eyes explode. It looks like she’s about to crack up and that just makes Dennis start panicking more. She turns around, he thinks to rein herself in.

“Okay. That’s… not great. Really fucking bad actually.” She pauses, stares at Dennis for a moment, but she can’t contain herself anymore; cackles. “It’s not funny, Trinity! He’s going to report me and I’m going to have to move to a deserted island for reject losers or he’ll tell everyon-“

She’s holding his face now, squishing his cheeks a little bit. “Calm down dude, you didn’t actually do anything wrong. He can’t report you for attempting to have a sex life. You fucked up, yeah. I’m assuming he was confused as hell but if i’m not mistaken those guys you’ve been talking to are all like, Robby wanna-be’s. I’d be flattered if I was him.”

“You cannot be serious. He said he was coming over here! He’s going to come yell at me and like, shame me or or or-”

“Aren’t you like, into that though?”

Dennis puts his head in his hands and groans. He is, kind of. And it’s entirely Robby’s fault. Robby standing over him, Robby whispering in his ear, telling him he’s a good boy over a drink. It’s the only thing he’s been able to think about for the last couple of weeks and that in itself is ruining his life.

“He’s jealous, dude. And while I don’t necessarily condone your boss getting all dom daddy on you, I know you’ve been a pining little shit. This is your chance. Send him our actual address you idiot.”

Dennis tries not to wince at the term ‘dom daddy’ and asks, “What if you’re wrong? It’s not like anything has been going right for me lately!”

“Eh, I’m not wrong. I see the way he looks at you. You had your hand in a chest cavity yesterday and Robby was staring at you like you were reading love poetry to him. It’s kinda gross.”

“Just, here.” She guides Dennis to the edge of the tub to sit down. Takes his phone, types what he assumes is their apartment number to Robby. “Watch me mess up doing my hair until he gets here and I’ll be your middle man. I’ll see if he’s gonna do one of the three.”

“One of the three?”

“Flee, fight, or fuck.”

“I hate you so much.” Dennis so thankful for her in this moment. She’s joking around — but her, just being with him, eases the persistent thrum of anxiety. “Thanks, Trin.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock on their front door. Dennis’ pulse is elevated again, breathing getting heavier with every second they don’t answer.

“I got this. Gimme a sec.”

Dennis stays in the bathroom at first. He can hear the door opening and faint voices, Trinity’s voice sounds calm and collected while Robby’s — not so much. He’s desperate to know what they’re saying but can’t bring himself to step into the hallway. A door latching and footsteps — then Robby, at the end of his hallway. He’s wearing a soft black and pepper pullover, dark blue jeans, and still has his boots on. He looks good, put together. His face, however, is a mosaic of emotions. It’s angry, then softens for a second when he see’s Dennis, probably looking scared. Maybe they can have a civil conversation about this? Dennis starts walking towards him.

“Aht aht aht. Stay there.” He freezes halfway across the hallway. The need to touch Robby right now is making him want to disobey, to run towards him and beg forgiveness on his knees.

“Robby, I swear to god it was a mistake. I saved your address to my phone because I was sick of it autofilling Trins and-“ Robby’s face is back to that quiet rage. His chest rising and falling more rapidly as he stands there.

“How long?”

“How… long what?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, kid.” Robby advances, splaying a hand on Dennis’s chest — crashes him into the wall behind. Heat blooms within Dennis; In his face, the tips of his ears, all the way down to the bottom of his stomach. It’s a miracle Dennis’s cock doesn’t fill the way it does now every time Robby grabs him in the ED.

“How long were you getting fucked” His face gets closer, “in my bed?”

Holy shit. He was jealous. Robby thinks Dennis has this wild sex life while he was gone on his motorcycle trip across America. The anxiety he felt was quickly turning into giddiness. Or maybe just horniness.

“I…”

“What were you doing sweetheart? Bringing these old perverts over there and what, huh? Playing house?”

He’s speaking into Dennis’s neck now, firm hand still on his chest. Dennis has never been so hard in his life and has never been so speechless. The air from his lungs doesn’t seem to be leaving; only little gasps in every time Robby’s lips hover over the column of his throat.

“Were you taking them to my bed, pretending it was me fucking you open? Hm? Did you get your pretty boy cum all over my sheets?”

A traitorous moan escapes Dennis’s lips “No-“

“No to which question, Den? Speak up.”

“I never- at your house.”

“Oh so here, then? You invited your little fuck buddies over here while Santos was gone? What was it then, Whitaker? You just needed a Daddy to take care of you?”

This pissed Dennis off a little. Tries to push away from Robby. He didn’t need a daddy. He just wanted someone to take care of him, and Robby hadn’t been filling the spot.

“I needed to forget you. You left for weeks after manhandling me for basically a year, then tell me to take care of your house after lecturing me about ‘boundaries’? Fucking karaoke, Robby? You can’t just - call me a good boy then pretend I don’t exist afterwards! It isn’t fair.” Dennis knows he sounds like a brat. Like a lovesick puppy begging for attention.

Robby chuckles then — it’s not a happy one. It sounds dark, sardonic and so goddam hot. “Fair. Right. Was it fair when you brought me that drink looking so goddam sly; sleeping on my couch half naked? How about when you were basically flaunting your booty calls at my front door? Booty calls that look suspiciously just like me.”

Dennis lights up from the inside. He worries that if he opens his mouth a beaming light would shine out. Robby’s hand moves from his chest and is now gripping Dennis’s jaw.

“Have you forgotten about me yet, baby?” Robby’s fingers trace his mouth, which is open and panting. Robby’s thumb, pressed right against his slick tongue. Robby’s entire body pressed against him, putting pressure on his cock so good it’s making his head spin. Robbyrobbyrobby is all his mind can supply.

Dennis supposes it’s kind of ironic that he now gets this choice, now. Flee, fight or fuck.

He chooses the third.