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Dennis Whitaker stands outside the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center at 5:47 AM on a Monday in late January, watching his breath cloud in the frigid air. His last rotation here ended in July, and he'd spent the intervening months in pediatrics, then neonatology, learning the delicate art of treating the smallest and most vulnerable patients. Good rotations, both of them. Important work.
But he'd missed the ER.
More specifically, and he's only admitting this to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts at not-quite-six in the morning, he'd missed him.
Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch had been his attending during his first ER rotation, back when Dennis had been a mess of anxiety and Catholic guilt, sleeping in an abandoned hospital room and pretending he had his life together. Robby had seen through all of it, of course. Had bought him beer, given him his phone number, told him to call if he needed anything.
Dennis hadn't called. Not once in six months.
He pulls open the door to the ER and is immediately hit with the familiar sensory assault: the chemical smell of disinfectant mixing with blood and sweat, the beeping of monitors, someone crying in Bay 3, a nurse laughing at the central station. Home, his brain supplies unhelpfully.
"Well, well, well." Trinity Santos appears at his elbow like a particularly smug ghost. "Look who's back. Did you miss me, Huckleberry?"
Dennis had lived with Trinity for months before finally getting his own tiny studio apartment in November. She still calls him at least three times a week to complain about her dating life or quiz him about obscure medical facts at 2 AM.
"Like a hole in the head," he replies, but he's smiling. Dennis accepts the coffee she thrusts into his hands, the cup still warm from the break room.
Trinity's grin widens. "Liar."
He takes a sip to hide his own smile. "Maybe a little."
"Mmhm. You're just in time for morning rounds. Dr. Robby's been asking about you."
Dennis's heart does something complicated in his chest. "He has?"
"Mmhm. 'When does Whitaker start? Is he coming back to us?'" Trinity's impression of Robby is terrible, too high-pitched, wrong cadence entirely. "Very casual. Very normal. Definitely didn't sound like he was counting down the days or anything."
"Shut up," Dennis mutters, but his cheeks are warm.
They join the cluster of residents, nurses, and medical students gathered around the board. Dennis scans the crowd and finds him almost immediately. Tall, broad-shouldered, that particular way he has of standing with his weight slightly back on his heels, arms crossed, looking both relaxed and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Robby's in the middle of assigning cases when his eyes land on Dennis. He stops mid-sentence, his marker hovering over the board.
"Whitaker." There's something in his voice. Pleasure, maybe, or relief. His grip tightens on the marker. "You're back."
"I'm back." Dennis shifts his weight, suddenly very aware that everyone is looking at them. He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting.
Robby's face does something complicated. A smile trying to break through professional neutrality before he seems to remember where they are. "Good. We're down two residents and it's flu season, so I hope you're ready to work." He turns back to the board, but not before Dennis catches the way his eyes linger just a fraction too long. "Santos, take Whitaker with you. Multiple traumas from an MVA coming in, ETA four minutes."
Trinity grabs Dennis's elbow. "Try to keep up, farm boy. Things move fast around here."
Dennis follows her to the ambulance bay, pulling on a trauma gown. His hands remember the motions even after six months away. Yellow gown, blue gloves, face shield. The familiar weight of it settles on his shoulders like an old friend.
"Are you ready for this?" Trinity asks.
The sirens are getting louder. Dennis takes a breath, centering himself the way he'd learned during those chaotic days last summer. "Yeah," he says. "I'm ready."
The ambulance doors burst open.
✩
The shift is controlled chaos. Dennis moves from bay to bay, following Trinity and the other senior residents, assessing injuries, starting IVs, suturing lacerations. A teenager with a tib-fib fracture from the car accident. An elderly woman with chest pain. They catch her STEMI early, get her to the cath lab within twenty minutes of her arrival. A construction worker with a nail through his hand who keeps apologizing for bleeding on everyone.
"It's okay," Dennis assures him as he preps for nail removal. "Blood washes out. Mostly."
He's cataloging medications, checking pupils, calculating drip rates. The part of his brain that used to tie itself in knots with anxiety has learned to run multiple tracks simultaneously. Assessment, differential diagnosis, treatment plan, what the attending is probably about to ask for, all while keeping his hands steady and his voice calm.
It's exhausting. It's exhilarating.
He's charting at the central station, noting the nail removal and tetanus administration in meticulous detail, when a hand lands on his shoulder.
Dennis jumps, nearly knocking his coffee over.
"Easy," Robby says, and Dennis can hear the smile in his voice even before he turns around. "Didn't mean to startle you."
The hand is still there, warm and heavy through the thin fabric of his scrubs. Dennis's shoulder feels like it's conducting electricity. He has a sudden, visceral memory of Robby's hand on the back of his neck during his last rotation, guiding him away from a trauma, steadying him.
This feels like something else entirely.
"Dr. Robby," Dennis manages. "Hi. I mean, sorry. I was just, the nail removal patient is all set. Wound care instructions given, tetanus booster administered, follow-up scheduled with ortho."
Robby's hand slides off his shoulder. Dennis absolutely does not mourn the loss as Robby leans over to scan the chart. He's close enough that Dennis can smell his cologne, something woody and clean.
"Good work," Robby says. "How's it feel to be back?"
"Good. Really good." Dennis risks a glance up. Robby is looking at him with that intense focus he has, like Dennis is the only person in the entire ER. It makes Dennis's mouth go dry. "I, uh. I missed it here."
"Yeah?" Something flickers across Robby's face. "We missed you too. The place hasn't been the same without you."
Before Dennis can figure out what that means, we missed you, or I missed you, an alarm starts blaring from Bay 7.
"Shit," Robby mutters, already moving. His hand touches Dennis's back, just briefly, just enough to say stay alert, and then he's gone, jogging toward the crisis.
Dennis sits there for a moment, his shoulder still tingling, before he shakes himself and gets back to work.
✩
At the end of the shift, Dennis is changing out of his scrubs when Trinity corners him in the locker room. She blocks his locker with her body, arms crossed.
"So," she says, leaning against the lockers with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "You and Dr. Robby."
Dennis yanks his t-shirt over his head, buying time. The fabric gets stuck halfway and he has to wrestle with it. "What about us?"
Trinity doesn't budge. "Don't play dumb. The shoulder touching? The intense eye contact? The way he literally lit up like a Christmas tree when you walked in this morning?"
"He did not..." Dennis finally gets his shirt on and reaches around her for his jeans.
She shifts to block him again. "He absolutely did. Whitaker, I've worked with that man for a while. He doesn't touch people. Like, at all. He's professional to the point of being standoffish. But you? He can't keep his hands off you."
Dennis's face is on fire. "You're imagining things."
"Am I? Remember last summer when he literally grabbed you by the back of the neck and steered you around like a shopping cart? Or when he held your arm to write his phone number on it instead of, I don't know, asking you to put it in your phone like a normal person?"
Dennis does remember. He remembers all of it with embarrassing clarity.
"He's just... hands-on. As a teacher. That's all."
Trinity gives him a look that clearly says you're an idiot, but she lets it drop. "Fine. Believe whatever you want. But for the record? I think he's into you."
"He's my attending," Dennis says firmly, shoving his scrubs into his bag. "He's just being professional."
"Mmhm. Professional. Is that what we're calling it?"
Dennis flees before she can say anything else.
✩
Over the next few weeks, Dennis starts to notice a pattern.
Robby touches him. A lot.
A hand on his shoulder when he's done good work, the weight of it warm and grounding. Fingers at his elbow, guiding him toward a patient who needs attention, always gentle but firm. That thing he does where he stands behind Dennis and reaches around him to point at something on a monitor, close enough that Dennis can feel body heat radiating through his scrubs, and can smell that woody cologne.
At first, it makes Dennis flinch. Not from fear, never from fear, but from sheer unexpectedness.His shoulders jump up toward his ears before he can stop them, his whole body going tense for just a second. He's not used to casual physical contact. His family wasn't affectionate. His brothers punched his shoulder in lieu of hugs. His father shook hands.
Robby always notices. Always pulls back immediately, giving him space, though Dennis can see the question in his eyes.
But Robby touches like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like Dennis is worth touching.
It takes about two weeks before Dennis stops jumping every time. Another week before he starts to expect it, anticipate it even. The absence of Robby's hand feels wrong now, like something missing.
He's in the middle of suturing a forehead laceration, beautiful, tiny stitches that would make his surgical rotation attending proud, when Robby appears at his shoulder.
"Nice work," Robby murmurs, close enough that Dennis can feel his breath on his neck. His hand settles at the small of Dennis's back, steadying him. "You've gotten even better at this."
Dennis's hand doesn't shake, but it's a near thing. He focuses on the next stitch, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from Robby's palm. "Thanks. Did a lot of suturing in peds." He ties off the thread with practiced precision. "Kids are always splitting their heads open."
"Mmm. Well, it shows." The hand stays where it is, warm and grounding, as Dennis finishes the last stitch. "You're going to make an excellent emergency physician, Dennis."
It's the first time Robby's used his first name since he came back. Dennis's hands still, the forceps hovering above the suture. He forgets to breathe for a second.
"Thank you." He sets the instruments down carefully, not trusting his suddenly clumsy fingers. "That means a lot."
Robby's thumb brushes, just once, barely there, against Dennis's lower back before he steps away. "Finish up here and meet me in the break room. I want to discuss your progress."
Dennis watches him walk away, then very carefully sets down the forceps before he drops them.
✩
"Your progress" turns out to be code for "Robby wants to buy him dinner."
"You've been here almost a month," Robby says, leaning against the break room counter with his arms crossed. "And I haven't taken you out yet. That's a failure on my part."
"Take me out?" Dennis repeats dumbly.
"To eat. To celebrate you coming back to us. To welcome you properly." Robby's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Unless you have plans?"
Dennis's plans consist of going home to his studio apartment, eating ramen, and falling asleep watching old episodes of ER on his laptop. "No plans," he says.
"Good. What are you in the mood for? I know a great Italian place in Lawrenceville. Or there's this sushi restaurant that..."
"Actually," Dennis interrupts, then hesitates. He's going to sound so unsophisticated. So farm boy. But Robby's looking at him expectantly, and Dennis has never been good at lying. "Is there a Golden Corral around here?"
Robby blinks. "A... Golden Corral. The buffet chain."
"Yeah. I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine. We can go wherever. I just..." Dennis trails off, feeling stupid.
"You want to go to Golden Corral," Robby says slowly, like he's testing the words.
"I've never been," Dennis admits. "And I just, I like buffets. You can try a lot of different things, and I eat a lot, so it's more economical, and... sorry. That sounds dumb. Let's do the Italian place."
Robby is staring at him with the strangest expression. "Dennis. Do you want to go to Golden Corral?"
"...Yes?"
"Then that's where we're going." Robby pushes off the counter, grabbing his jacket. "Come on. There's one about fifteen minutes from here."
"You don't have to..."
"I want to," Robby says, and something in his voice makes Dennis believe him. "Besides, I could eat."
✩
The Golden Corral is everything Dennis dreamed it would be.
Rows and rows of food. A carving station with actual roast beef. A salad bar that's basically its own ecosystem. Macaroni and cheese and fried chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans and rolls and...
"Holy shit," Dennis breathes.
Robby laughs, genuine and warm. "Take your time. Get whatever you want. We're not in a hurry."
Dennis loads up his first plate with what he considers reasonable restraint: roast beef, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, two rolls. He sits down across from Robby, who has a much more modest plate of salmon and vegetables, and tries not to inhale everything immediately.
He fails.
"Good?" Robby asks, amusement dancing in his eyes."Good?" Robby asks. He's not even pretending to eat anymore, fork resting against his plate as he watches Dennis with barely concealed amusement.
"So good," Dennis says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. He swallows, wipes his mouth. "Sorry. I eat fast."
"You don't have to apologize." Robby sets down his fork. "Can I ask you something? And you can tell me if I'm overstepping."
Dennis nods, suddenly nervous.
"You said you eat a lot. Is that... I mean, are you eating enough? Generally?"
Oh. Dennis hadn't expected that. "Yeah, I'm good now. I have my own place, and I'm not working two jobs anymore, so I can actually afford groceries." He hesitates, then adds, "It was rough for a while though. Last summer. I was basically living off whatever I could steal from the hospital cafeteria."
Robby's expression does something complicated. "I wish you'd told me."
"You did enough for me already."
"I didn't do nearly enough." Robby leans forward, elbows on the table. "Dennis, if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, you call me. Okay? Even if it's just that you're hungry and don't want to eat alone."
Dennis's throat feels tight. "Okay," he manages.
"Good. Now go get seconds. I want to see what else you're going to pile on that plate."
Dennis goes back up three more times. Fried chicken, pot roast, something that might be ham, more macaroni and cheese, a roll with butter, green beans to pretend he's eating healthy, and on his final trip, soft-serve ice cream with entirely too many toppings.
He's halfway through his ice cream when he realizes Robby isn't eating anymore. He's just... watching. There's something soft in his expression, something Dennis can't quite name.
"What?" Dennis asks, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. You just..." Robby shakes his head, smiling. "You look like a chipmunk when you eat. It's endearing."
"A chipmunk?" Dennis's cheeks are full of ice cream and cookie crumbles, which probably isn't helping his case.
"A very cute chipmunk," Robby clarifies, and Dennis nearly chokes.
He swallows carefully. "Are you calling me cute, Dr. Robby?"
"I think I am," Robby says, not breaking eye contact. "Is that okay?"
Dennis's heart is doing something acrobatic in his chest. "Yeah," he says quietly. "That's okay."
They sit there for a moment, just looking at each other across the table littered with Dennis's demolished plates, and Dennis thinks maybe Trinity was right. Maybe this is something more than professional development.
"We should do this again." Robby's fingers drum once against the table, then still. "Next week? Same time?"
Dennis nods, not trusting his voice to stay steady. "I'd like that."
"It's a date." Robby says it casually, like he hasn't just made Dennis's entire brain short-circuit. He stands, fishing his keys from his pocket. "Come on, chipmunk. Let's get you home."
Dennis floats to Robby's car on a cloud of carbohydrates and confused feelings, very aware of how close Robby walks beside him.
✩
It starts accidentally.
Dennis is charting at one of the computers in the ER, eating a turkey sandwich from the cafeteria because he'd missed lunch and his stomach was starting to eat itself. He's being careful, or so he thinks, but apparently not careful enough, because suddenly there's a presence at his shoulder.
"Whitaker." Robby's voice has that edge to it, the one that means someone's about to get lectured.
Dennis freezes mid-bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. He sets it down carefully. "Yes?"
"Are you eating at the computer?" Robby leans over to inspect the keyboard, and Dennis catches a whiff of his cologne.
Dennis follows his gaze to the telltale crumbs scattered across the keys. "...Maybe?"
"There are crumbs everywhere." Robby gestures at the keyboard, which does indeed have several crumbs on it. And possibly a small piece of lettuce. "What have I told you about eating at the workstations?"
"To not do it?"
"Exactly. Go eat in the break room like a civilized person. And wash your hands before you touch anything else." Robby starts dramatically brushing crumbs off the keyboard and onto the floor, looking genuinely offended by their existence.
Dennis bites his lip to keep from smiling. Robby looks so indignant, his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It's objectively funny.
"Sorry," Dennis says, not sounding sorry at all.
Robby narrows his eyes. "You're not sorry."
"I'm a little sorry."
"Break room. Now." But there's the ghost of a smile tugging at Robby's mouth as he points toward the hallway.
Dennis goes, but he files this information away for future use: Robby is adorably grumpy about workplace hygiene, and watching him get wound up about it is extremely entertaining.
✩
A week later, Dennis accidentally-on-purpose leaves a protein bar wrapper on the nurses' station desk.
Robby finds it within minutes.
"Whitaker!" His voice carries across the entire ER. "Is this yours?"
Dennis looks up from the suture kit he's preparing, the picture of innocence. "Is what mine?"
Robby stalks over, holding the wrapper between two fingers like it's contaminated. "This. This piece of trash that someone, I wonder who, left on a clean workspace."
"Oh. Yeah, that's mine. Sorry, I must have forgotten to throw it away."
"There's a trash can literally two feet away from where you were standing."
"Is there? I didn't notice."
Trinity, watching from Bay 4, is visibly trying not to laugh.
Robby takes a deep breath through his nose. "Dennis. Please dispose of your trash properly. This is a medical facility, not a frat house."
"You're right. I'll do better." Dennis takes the wrapper and makes a show of walking to the trash can, depositing it with exaggerated care. When he turns back, Robby is shaking his head, but he's smiling.
"You're doing this on purpose," Robby accuses.
"Doing what on purpose?"
"You know what."
Dennis absolutely knows what. And he's absolutely going to keep doing it.
✩
Over the next month, Dennis develops rage-baiting Robby into something of an art form.
He leaves his stethoscope draped over a monitor. Robby lectures him about equipment care for five minutes. He "forgets" to return a pen to the proper container. Robby has opinions about organizational systems. He asks increasingly ridiculous hypothetical questions during downtime.
"But what if the patient swallowed a whole chicken? Bones and all. How would we approach that?"
The rest of the ER staff thinks it's hilarious. They start gathering whenever Dennis is clearly about to do something to set Robby off, like they're watching a nature documentary.
"Twenty bucks says Whitaker can get him going in under thirty seconds," one of the nurses whispers.
"You're on," another replies.
Dennis, pretending he can't hear them, innocently asks Robby, "Hey, Dr. Robby, do you think we should stock more of those plastic bedpans? I feel like we're always running out."
"We have adequate bedpan supplies, Whitaker. Our inventory system is carefully calibrated..." Robby stops mid-sentence, catching sight of the gathering crowd. "Are you all really this bored? Don't you have patients to see?"
Everyone scatters, but not before Dennis sees money changing hands.
Robby turns to him, crossing his arms. "You're enjoying this."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"You're antagonizing me on purpose."
"Would I do that?" Dennis asks, eyes wide and innocent.
"Yes," Robby says flatly. "You absolutely would. You're a menace."
But he's smiling when he says it, and his hand lands on Dennis's shoulder, squeezing once before he walks away. Dennis counts that as a win.
✩
The touching has escalated.
Not in a bad way. Just in a way that Dennis is becoming increasingly aware of.
Robby's hand finds Dennis's lower back when he's guiding him through a crowd. His fingers wrap around Dennis's wrist when he's checking his watch during a trauma. He stands close, closer than necessary, when they're reviewing scans together, his shoulder pressing against Dennis's.
And Dennis has started touching back.
A hand on Robby's arm to get his attention. Fingers brushing against Robby's as he hands over a chart. Once, without thinking, he'd grabbed Robby's elbow to steer him toward a patient who was crashing, and Robby had looked at him with such surprise that Dennis had immediately let go.
"Sorry," Dennis had said. "I didn't mean to..."
"No, it's fine." Robby's voice had been strange. "You can... that's fine."
But Dennis noticed he'd been more careful about touching after that. Not less, exactly, but more deliberate. Like he was thinking about it now.
It comes to a head on a Thursday in March.
Dennis is restocking one of the exam rooms, a mindless task he'd volunteered for because his brain needed a break, when Dana Evans appears in the doorway.
"Whitaker. Got a second?"
Dennis straightens, suddenly nervous. Evans is intimidating on a good day. "Uh, sure. What's up?"
She steps into the room and closes the door behind her. Oh no.
"I want to talk to you about Robby," she says without preamble.
Dennis's stomach drops to his feet. He sets down the box of gauze he'd been holding. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. Well, maybe. Depends on your perspective." Dana leans against the exam table, studying him. "How would you characterize your relationship with Dr. Robinavitch?"
Dennis's hands find his pockets, a defensive posture he can't quite help. "He's my attending. We work together."
"Right. And has he ever been inappropriate with you? Made you uncomfortable in any way?"
"What? No!" Dennis takes a step forward, defensive. "Dr. Robby has been nothing but professional and supportive. Why are you asking me this?"
Dana's expression softens slightly. "Because people have noticed that he treats you differently. The touching, specifically. And I need to make sure everything is above board."
Dennis feels his face heat. "He's never done anything I didn't... I mean, it's not... " He takes a breath, tries again. "He's been a good mentor. That's all."
"Dennis." Dana's voice is gentler now. "I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble. I'm trying to protect both of you. Because from where I'm standing, the way Robby looks at you isn't particularly mentor-like. And if that's something that's developing, you both need to be very careful about how you handle it."
Dennis's mouth goes dry. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." Dana pushes off the exam table, heading for the door. "Just... think about what I said, okay? And maybe talk to him. Clear the air."
She leaves, and Dennis stands there among the boxes of gauze and alcohol wipes, his mind racing.
The way Robby looks at him.
Oh god.
✩
Dennis avoids Robby for the rest of the shift, which is harder than it sounds given that they work in the same department. But he manages it, staying busy with patients, volunteering for every grunt task that needs doing.
He's cleaning out an exam room at the end of his shift when Robby finds him.
"You're avoiding me."
Dennis jumps, the spray bottle slipping from his hand and clattering against the floor. He spins around. Robby is standing in the doorway, still in his white coat, looking tired and confused. There are dark circles under his eyes that Dennis hadn't noticed this morning.
"I'm not..." Dennis bends to pick up the bottle, buying himself a moment.
"You are." Robby doesn't move from the doorway, but his voice is quiet. Hurt. "You've been dodging me all day. Did something happen?"
Dennis straightens, grip tightening on the spray bottle. "Dana talked to me."
Understanding dawns on Robby's face. "Ah."
"She asked if you'd been inappropriate with me. If the touching made me uncomfortable."
"And what did you tell her?" Robby's voice is carefully neutral.
"That you've never been anything but professional." Dennis crosses his arms, defensive. "Was I wrong?"
Robby is quiet for a long moment. Then he steps into the room and closes the door.
"No," he says finally. "You weren't wrong. I've tried to be professional. But Dana's right. I do treat you differently. And I've been... struggling with that."
Dennis's heart is pounding. "Struggling how?"
"I like you, Dennis." Robby says it simply, like he's commenting on the weather. "More than I should, probably. And I've been trying very hard to keep appropriate boundaries, but clearly I've been failing at it if people are noticing."
"I don't mind," Dennis blurts out, taking a step forward before he can stop himself. "The touching. I like it. I like..." He can't finish the sentence, but he's close enough now to see the way Robby's throat bobs when he swallows.
"You like what?" Robby's voice has gone rough.
Dennis takes a breath. They're doing this. They're actually doing this. "I like you too. I have for a while. Since last summer, maybe. I don't know."
Robby closes his eyes. "Fuck."
"Is that bad?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." Robby runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You're a resident. I'm an attending. There are rules about this kind of thing."
"Are there? Actual rules, or just... frowned upon?"
"There are actual rules about attendings having relationships with people they supervise directly. It's a power dynamic issue." Robby looks at him, and there's something raw in his expression. "I don't want to do anything that could hurt your career. Or mine, for that matter."
Dennis hadn't thought about that. "So what do we do?"
"I don't know." Robby moves closer, and Dennis can see the conflict written all over his face. "I should probably request that you be assigned to different attendings. Put some distance between us."
"Do you want that?"
"No," Robby says immediately. "But it might be the right thing to do."
They're standing close now, close enough that Dennis could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. And god, he wants to.
"What if we're careful?" Dennis suggests. "What if we wait until my rotation ends? It's only two more months."
"Two months." Robby runs a hand through his hair, and Dennis tracks the movement without meaning to.
"And then I'll move to my next rotation. You won't be supervising me anymore. It'll be different."
"You'd wait two months?" Robby's hand drops back to his side, fingers flexing.
Dennis nods, then realizes that's not enough. "If you would.”
Robby searches his face for something. Doubt, maybe, or uncertainty. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't seem to find it. "Okay," he says quietly. "Two months. But Dennis..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to stop touching you. At work, at least. Because if I don't, I'm going to do something stupid like kiss you in a supply closet, and we both know that would be a bad idea."
Dennis's breath catches. The thought of Robby kissing him, in a supply closet or anywhere else, makes his knees weak.
"Okay," he manages. "No touching. For two months."
"Right." Robby takes a step back, then another. "I should go."
"Yeah."
Robby makes it to the door before he stops, one hand gripping the frame hard enough that his knuckles go white, like he's fixing to say something but doesn't.
Then he's gone, and Dennis is left alone with the cleaning supplies and the knowledge that Dr. Michael Robinavitch likes him back. His legs give out and he sits down hard on the exam table, pressing his palms to his burning cheeks.
✩
The next two months are excruciating.
Robby keeps his word: no more casual touches. No more hands on shoulders or fingers at Dennis's elbow. They're scrupulously professional at work, keeping regulation distance between them at all times.
It's torture.
Because now Dennis knows. He knows that Robby wants to touch him just as much as Dennis wants to be touched. He can see it in the way Robby's hand twitches toward him before he catches himself. The way his eyes linger a fraction too long.
They do still see each other outside of work, though. Their weekly Golden Corral dinners continue, and Dennis discovers that Robby is as good as his word. He takes Dennis to a different buffet every week. Brazilian steakhouse. Chinese buffet. Indian lunch buffet. A place that's just breakfast foods, all day long.
"You don't have to keep taking me to buffets," Dennis says one evening over feijoada and pão de queijo. "We can go to normal restaurants."
"But you like buffets," Robby points out. "And I like watching you eat."
Dennis pauses with a fork halfway to his mouth. "You like watching me eat?"
"Yeah." Robby doesn't look embarrassed about admitting it. "You get this look of intense concentration, like you're analyzing every component. And you try a little bit of everything. It's..." He stops, seeming to catch himself. "It's nice."
"Nice," Dennis repeats, warmth spreading through his chest.
"Don't let it go to your head, chipmunk."
The nickname has stuck. Dennis pretends to hate it, but secretly he loves it. Loves that Robby has a name just for him.
They talk about everything at these dinners. Medicine, obviously. But also music. Dennis's taste in funk and soul makes Robby laugh until he cries, Dennis has to reach across the table and pat his back, and they both freeze at the contact before Dennis pulls away.
Movies. They're both disaster movie aficionados, and they spend twenty minutes debating the merits of The Towering Inferno versus Earthquake. Family. Robby goes quiet when he mentions he's estranged from his, his fork stilling on his plate, and Dennis doesn't push. Growing up. Dennis tells stories about the farm, animated and gesturing wildly, and Robby watches him with soft eyes.
"I can't imagine growing up in Nebraska," Robby says one evening. "It sounds so... isolated."
"It was." Dennis pushes rice around his plate, not meeting Robby's eyes. "But there was something about the work. My dad used to say this verse, Ecclesiastes 11:1. 'Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days.' It was about planting seeds, trusting the process even when you can't see the results yet.
"That's beautiful," Robby murmurs, and when Dennis looks up, Robby is watching him with something tender in his expression.
Dennis swallows hard. "I think about that a lot now. With patients. You do the work, you plant the seeds, and sometimes you get to see them grow. Sometimes you don't. But you trust that the work matters."
"That's why you're so good at this," Robby says softly. "You understand that medicine isn't just about fixing problems, you see patients as people you're caring for, and not just problems to solve. That's rare, Dennis."
Dennis doesn't know what to say to that, so he just smiles and changes the subject. But he thinks about it later that night, lying in bed in his studio apartment, staring at the ceiling.
Seven more weeks until his rotation ends. Forty-nine days.
Almost as many days as Robby is in years.
He can wait.
✩
Dennis doesn't just wait, though. He lives his life, works his shifts, and occasionally gets dragged out by Trinity.
"You're coming out with me tonight," she announces one Thursday afternoon, barging into his studio apartment without knocking. "No arguments."
"I have an early shift tomorrow."
"So do I. We'll be responsible adults and leave by midnight." She's already rifling through his closet. "Wear the shirt I bought you. The blue one."
"Trinity..."
"Dennis. You've been moping around for weeks. You and Dr. Robby are doing this weird will-they-won't-they dance even though you both already know you will, and I need a wingman. Please?"
Dennis sighs. "Fine. But I'm not staying past midnight."
"Deal."
The bar Trinity drags him to is loud and crowded, music thumping through the speakers. Dennis nurses a beer while Trinity scans the room like a hawk.
"There," she says, nodding toward a woman with dark curly hair and an infectious laugh. "She's perfect."
"Go talk to her then."
"I need an in. Come on." Trinity grabs his hand and pulls him through the crowd.
They end up at the bar next to the woman and her friend. Trinity orders drinks for herself and Dennis, then "accidentally" bumps into the curly-haired woman.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" Trinity says, steadying her. "Let me buy you a drink to make up for it?"
The woman laughs. "You barely touched me, but I'll never say no to a free drink."
Her name is Maya, and she's a graphic designer. Trinity is immediately smitten, and Dennis can tell because she gets this soft look in her eyes that he recognizes from his own face whenever Robby is around.
"So what do you do?" Maya asks Trinity.
"ER doctor at Pittsburgh Trauma."
"No way! That's so cool. Is it like on TV?"
"More paperwork, less drama. Well, usually." Trinity grins. "This is my friend Dennis. He's a resident there."
Dennis waves awkwardly. Maya's friend, Jessica, turns her attention to him, but Dennis politely deflects. He's not interested, and he suspects she can tell because she eventually excuses herself to go find other friends.
Trinity and Maya, however, are deep in conversation. They're standing close now, Trinity's hand on Maya's arm, both of them laughing.
"You want to dance?" Maya asks. "Absolutely," Trinity replies.
She glances back at Dennis. "You good?"
"I'm good. Go."
Dennis watches them disappear onto the dance floor, genuinely happy for Trinity. She deserves this. Someone who makes her laugh like that, who looks at her like she's the most interesting person in the room.
He checks his phone. No messages from Robby, but it's late and he's probably asleep. Dennis types out a message anyway: Trinity dragged me to a bar. She found a cute girl. I'm playing wingman.
The response comes faster than he expected: Good. She deserves someone nice. Are you staying safe?
Yeah. Probably heading home soon.
Text me when you get there.
Dennis smiles at his phone like an idiot.
An hour later, Trinity emerges from the dance floor, lipstick smudged and grinning like the cat that got the cream.
"I got her number," she announces. "And we're getting coffee on Saturday."
"That's great, Trinity."
"She's amazing. Like, genuinely amazing." Trinity loops her arm through his as they head for the exit. "Thanks for coming with me, Huckleberry. I know you'd rather be with your man."
"He's not my man. Not yet."
"Six more weeks," Trinity says. "And then he will be. I'm counting down for you."
Dennis laughs, pulling out his phone to text Robby that he's heading home.
Good, Robby replies. Sleep well, chipmunk.
Six more weeks. Dennis can definitely wait.
✩
The last day of his ER rotation falls on a Friday in late May. It's a beautiful day outside, warm and sunny, spring finally giving way to summer. Inside the ER, it's business as usual: cardiac arrests and broken bones and one memorable case of a man who'd somehow gotten a toy car stuck up his nose.
"I have so many questions," Dennis had said, staring at the X-ray.
"Don't," Robby had advised. "It's better not to know."
At the end of the shift, there's a small gathering in the break room. Dana brings cupcakes, chocolate with blue frosting that gets everywhere. Trinity makes a speech about how much she's going to miss having her roommate slash work husband around, and Dennis has to look away when his eyes start to sting. The nurses give him a card signed by everyone, and he clutches it like it's something precious.
Robby hangs back, watching from the doorway with his arms crossed and something soft in his eyes. Every time Dennis glances over, he finds Robby already looking at him.
When it's over and people start filtering out, Robby catches Dennis's elbow, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of Dennis's shirt. "Can you stick around for a few minutes?"
Dennis nods, his mouth suddenly dry, not trusting his voice. His heart is already racing.
They end up in one of the empty conference rooms, the door closed, just the two of them. Dennis leans against the table, needing something solid to ground him. Robby stands near the window, backlit by the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.
"So." Robby's hands find his pockets. "Two months."
"Two months," Dennis echoes, his fingers curled around the edge of the table behind him.
"You start in trauma surgery next week?" Robby still hasn't looked at him directly, staring somewhere past Dennis's shoulder.
"Yeah. Dr. Kim's service." Dennis shifts his weight, and the movement makes Robby's eyes snap to his.
"She's tough but fair. You'll learn a lot." Robby pauses. "I'm going to miss having you around."
"I'll miss being here." Dennis takes a breath. "But we can still do dinners, right? And now that you're not my attending anymore..."
"We should talk about that," Robby interrupts. "About what this is. What you want it to be."
Dennis's heart is pounding. "What do you want it to be?"
"I want to date you," Robby says simply. "Properly. Not sneaking around or hiding. I want to take you to dinner and hold your hand and..." He stops, shaking his head. "But only if that's what you want too."
"It is." The words come out too fast, too eager, but Dennis doesn't care. "I want that. All of that."
Robby's face transforms. That rare, genuine smile that makes him look years younger. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Dennis takes a step closer. They're alone, the door is closed, and technically Robby isn't his supervisor anymore. His rotation ended ten minutes ago. "Can I..."
He doesn't finish the question, but Robby seems to understand. "Come here."
Dennis closes the distance between them, and then, finally, Robby's hands are on him again. One cups his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone with a tenderness that makes Dennis's breath catch. The other settles at his waist, pulling him closer until there's barely any space between them.
"Hi," Robby says softly, and Dennis can feel the word against his lips.
"Hi." Dennis's hands find Robby's waist, fisting in his shirt.
"I'm going to kiss you now." Robby's thumb strokes his cheek once more. "If that's okay."
Dennis's eyes flutter closed. "Please."
It's awkward at first. Dennis has kissed people before, a handful of fumbling encounters in college, mostly, but this feels different. Important. He's too eager, pressing forward too fast, and their teeth click together.
"Sorry," he mutters, pulling back.
"Don't be." Robby's thumb strokes his cheek. "Let's try again. Slower this time."
They do. Robby tilts Dennis's head slightly, angling it better, and when their lips meet this time it's soft and sweet and perfect. Dennis's hands explore Robby's waist, still fisting in his shirt, and Robby makes a low sound in his throat that goes straight to Dennis's gut.
They kiss until Dennis is dizzy with it, until he has to pull back to breathe.
Robby laughs, pressing his forehead to Dennis's.
They stand there for a moment, just breathing together, and Dennis thinks: this is real. This is actually happening.
"Come home with me," Robby says. "Not for... I just want to spend time with you. Without worrying about who might see us."
"Okay," Dennis agrees immediately. "Yes."
They leave separately, old habits, but Dennis meets Robby in the parking garage. His hands shake as he opens the passenger door of Robby's car. Robby drives them to his apartment in the Strip District, a renovated loft with exposed brick and huge windows. It's exactly what Dennis had imagined: burgundy walls in the bedroom, mahogany furniture, everything neat and tasteful.
"This is really nice." Dennis walks to the windows, looking out at the city lights beginning to flicker on. His reflection stares back at him, nervous and hopeful.
"Thanks.” He hears Robby come up behind him, feels the warmth of his presence even though they're not touching. "Make yourself comfortable. You want something to drink? I've got..." Robby opens his fridge. "Beer, water, some kind of green juice that Dana left here that I'm afraid to drink."
"Beer's good."
They end up on Robby's couch, sitting closer than strictly necessary, knees touching. They talk for hours about Dennis's upcoming rotation, about Robby's cases, about nothing and everything. They kiss again, slow and exploratory, learning what the other likes.
Dennis discovers that Robby likes having his hair pulled, just a little. That he makes this soft humming sound when Dennis kisses his neck. That his hands are possessive, one always anchored at Dennis's waist or the small of his back.
"I should probably go," Dennis says eventually, even though it's the last thing he wants to do. "It's getting late."
"Stay." Robby's fingers are tracing patterns on Dennis's hip. "I have a guest room. Or you can sleep with me. Just sleep. No pressure."
Dennis should probably go home. Should probably take this slow, give himself time to process everything that's happened today.
"Okay," he hears himself say. "I'll stay."
✩
They take it slow.
Dating, it turns out, is something Dennis is catastrophically bad at. He's never done this before, not really. Those handful of college flings don't count. This is different. This is Robby.
Their second official date is at an Ethiopian restaurant, and Dennis manages to spill injera all down his shirt.
"I'm a disaster," he moans, dabbing at himself with a napkin.
"You're eating with your hands for the first time," Robby points out. "There's a learning curve. Here..." He demonstrates the proper scooping technique, and Dennis tries to copy him.
"How are you so good at everything?" Dennis complains.
"I'm almost thirty years older than you. I've had more practice." Robby tears off a piece of injera and uses it to scoop up some doro wat. "Open."
Dennis opens his mouth automatically, and Robby feeds him the bite. It's intimate in a way that makes Dennis's face heat, especially when Robby's thumb brushes his lower lip, wiping away a stray bit of sauce.
"Good?" Robby asks.
Dennis can only nod.
✩
Their third date is a disaster.
Robby takes him to Ruth's Chris at PPG Place, not a buffet, an actual fancy steakhouse with cloth napkins and multiple forks, and Dennis spends the entire meal anxious about which fork to use, whether he's chewing too loudly, if he has food in his teeth.
"You're being weird," Robby observes halfway through the meal.
"I'm not being weird."
"Dennis. You've barely touched your food. You love food."
"This just feels really fancy." Dennis sets down his own fork, giving up the pretense of eating. "I don't know if I'm doing it right."
Robby sets down his fork as well. He reaches across the table, his hand covering Dennis's. "You want to know a secret?"
Dennis turns his hand over, lacing their fingers together. "Sure?"
"I don't actually like places like this. They're stuffy and pretentious and the portions are always too small." Robby's thumb strokes across his knuckles. "I'd much rather be at Golden Corral watching you eat your weight in mac and cheese."
Dennis laughs despite himself, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Really?"
"Really. So finish your overpriced steak, and then let's get out of here and go somewhere fun."
They end up at a diner at 10 PM, splitting a plate of cheese fries and a chocolate milkshake with two straws. It's perfect.
"Better?" Robby asks.
"Much better." Dennis steals a fry from Robby's side of the plate. "Sorry I was weird earlier."
"Don't apologize. I should have realized formal restaurants aren't your thing."
"It's not that. It's just..." Dennis struggles to articulate it. "I feel like I'm always trying to catch up with you. You're this accomplished doctor with your own place, your motorcycle, your fancy espresso machines and all that. Meanwhile I'm still figuring out how to be a person."
"Dennis." Robby's hand covers his on the table, warm and solid. His thumb strokes across Dennis's knuckles. "I like you because of who you are, not who you think you should be. The fact that you're still figuring things out? That's not a bad thing. That's called being in your twenties."
"You don't think I'm immature?" Dennis's voice comes out smaller than he intended.
"I think you're twenty-seven. And you're doing great." Robby squeezes his hand once before letting go, and Dennis immediately misses the contact.
Dennis turns his hand over, lacing their fingers together. "Thanks."
"Besides," Robby adds, "you keep me young. Last week you made me listen to Chaka Khan for an hour straight."
"You loved it."
"I did," Robby admits. "Even though I had no idea white boys in Nebraska were listening to funk in the 2000s."
"Just this white boy," Dennis grins. "I'm special."
"You really are." Robby says softly, and Dennis's heart does a somersault.
✩
They're six weeks into dating when Dennis brings it up.
They're at Robby's place again. They're always at Robby's place, because it's bigger and nicer and has actual furniture beyond a futon and a folding table. They're watching a movie. Or pretending to watch a movie. Mostly they're making out on the couch like teenagers.
Robby's hand is under Dennis's shirt, palm flat against his stomach, and Dennis is straddling his lap, grinding down in a way that's probably going to leave them both frustrated if they don't take this further soon. His skin feels electric everywhere Robby touches him, hypersensitive in a way that makes his breath catch. He can feel Robby's heart pounding against his own chest, the heat of him seeping through their clothes.
"Robby," Dennis pants against his mouth, fingers tangling in Robby's hair.
"Mmm?" Robby's lips trail down his jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below his ear that makes Dennis shiver and press closer.
"I want..." He pulls back just enough to look at Robby, both of them breathing hard. "Can we go to your bedroom?"
Robby goes still beneath him. His hands settle on Dennis's hips, steadying rather than restraining, and he pulls back just enough to meet Dennis's eyes. "Are you sure?"
Dennis nods, then realizes that's not enough. Robby needs to hear it. "Yeah. I'm sure. I've been sure for a while now, I just..." He swallows hard, feeling vulnerable in a way he hasn't since those early days sleeping in the abandoned hospital room. "I wanted to wait until I was ready. And I'm ready."
"Okay." Robby's thumbs stroke gentle circles against Dennis's hip bones, grounding him. His eyes are so dark they're nearly black, pupils blown wide with want, but there's something else there too. Tenderness. Care. "But Dennis, I need you to know we don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. We can stop at any time. And we're going to go slow."
"I know." Dennis leans his forehead against Robby's, breathing him in. That woody cologne mixed with something uniquely Robby, warm and safe.
"And you need to tell me if something doesn't feel good, or if you want to stop, or..."
"Robby." Dennis kisses him, trying to pour everything he's feeling into it. All his trust, all his want, all the love he hasn't quite found the words for yet. When he pulls back, he holds Robby's gaze. "I trust you. I want this. I want you."
Robby searches his face for another moment, and Dennis lets him look. Lets him see the certainty there, the desire, the nervous excitement thrumming through his veins. Finally, Robby nods. "Okay. Come on."
They make it to the bedroom, kissing the whole way, and Dennis is already pulling at Robby's shirt before they reach the bed. His hands are shaking slightly, adrenaline and anticipation making his fingers clumsy with the buttons.
"Eager," Robby observes, amused, covering Dennis's hands with his own to still them.
"Shut up. I've been thinking about this for months." Dennis flushes, heat creeping up his neck.
"Have you?" Robby pulls Dennis's shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His hands map Dennis's chest slowly, reverently, like he's memorizing every detail. His palms are warm and slightly calloused, and Dennis arches into the touch. Robby's thumbs brush over his nipples, and Dennis gasps at the spike of pleasure. "What have you been thinking about?"
Dennis's face is on fire, but he's committed now. His voice comes out rough, barely above a whisper. "Your hands. Your mouth. What it would feel like to have you inside me."
Robby groans, deep and guttural, and the sound goes straight to Dennis's core. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm trying to go slow, and you're making it very difficult." Robby walks him backward until Dennis's legs hit the bed, and the solid presence of him, the barely restrained want, makes Dennis's knees weak. "Lie down."
Dennis does, propping himself up on his elbows to watch as Robby strips off his own shirt. He's seen Robby shirtless before. They swam at the pool and changed clothes next to each other. But this is different. This is for him. The late evening light slants through the window, catching on the dark hair scattered across Robby's chest, the defined muscles of his shoulders and arms. Dennis wants to touch, to taste, to map every inch of skin.
Robby crawls over him, settling between his legs with a care that makes Dennis's chest tight. The weight of him is perfect, grounding, and when their bare chests press together, skin to skin, Dennis makes a sound he didn't know he was capable of making.
"Okay?" Robby asks, voice rough.
"More than okay." Dennis wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.
It's slower now. Robby's hands roam over his skin, learning every plane and angle, and Dennis feels himself relaxing into it. The nervousness is still there, fluttering in his stomach like trapped birds, but it's overshadowed by want. By trust. By the absolute certainty that Robby will take care of him.
"You're beautiful," Robby murmurs against his mouth, and Dennis's breath hitches.
"I'm really not."
"You are to me." Robby kisses down his neck, across his collarbone, taking his time. Each press of his lips feels deliberate, worshipful. "Can I?"
Dennis nods, not trusting his voice, and Robby makes quick work of his jeans, pulling them off along with his underwear. The cool air against his heated skin makes him shiver. Dennis is hard and leaking, and he should probably be embarrassed about how turned on he is, but Robby is looking at him like he's the most incredible thing he's ever seen. Like Dennis is a gift he can't quite believe he's been given.
"Gorgeous," Robby says, voice thick, and wraps a hand around him, stroking slowly.
Dennis arches into the touch, gasping. The sensation is overwhelming, Robby's hand warm and sure, and for a moment Dennis thinks he might come just from this. "Fuck, Robby..."
"I've got you." Robby's other hand reaches for the nightstand, retrieving lube and condoms with practiced ease. The sight of them makes everything suddenly very real, and Dennis's heart kicks into overdrive. "We're going to make this good for you. I promise."
And he does. God, he does.
Robby takes his time opening Dennis up, one finger, then two, then three, all while pressing kisses to his thighs, his hip bones, anywhere he can reach. He's murmuring constant reassurance, telling Dennis how good he's doing, how perfect he is, and Dennis clings to the words like a lifeline. The stretch burns at first, unfamiliar and almost too much, but Robby is patient, waiting for Dennis to adjust, asking if he's okay every few moments.
"I'm okay," Dennis gasps when Robby's fingers brush against something inside him that makes stars explode behind his eyelids. "I'm, fuck, I'm really okay."
"Good." Robby does it again, intentionally, and Dennis nearly comes apart. "That's so good, Dennis."
By the time Robby finally pushes into him, Dennis is shaking with want, his whole body wound tight with anticipation. Robby goes slowly, so slowly, his face tense with the effort of restraint. Dennis can see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the way his arms tremble with the strain of holding back, and something about that, about knowing Robby wants him so badly but is still putting Dennis's comfort first, makes his chest ache with emotion.
"Move," Dennis gasps when Robby is fully seated inside him. The fullness is overwhelming, bordering on too much, but in the best possible way. "Please, Robby, I need..."
"I know. I've got you." Robby's voice is strained, his control clearly hanging by a thread, but his touch remains gentle. One hand cups Dennis's face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. "I've got you."
He starts to move, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen, and Dennis sees stars. It's awkward and clumsy in the way first times always are. Dennis doesn't know where to put his hands at first, settling for gripping Robby's shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Robby has to adjust the angle twice before he finds Dennis's prostate, and when he does, Dennis actually cries out, the pleasure so intense it's almost painful.
But it's also perfect. Perfect because it's them. Perfect because Robby is murmuring praise into his ear, telling him he's doing so well, he's so good, so perfect. Perfect because Dennis has never felt so safe and wanted in his entire life. Never felt so completely seen and accepted.
"You feel amazing," Robby breathes against his neck, and Dennis can feel the words as much as hear them, vibrating through his whole body. "So perfect. So good for me."
The praise does something to Dennis, unravels something deep inside him that he didn't know was wound tight. He wraps his legs around Robby's waist, changing the angle, and they both groan at the sensation.
"Touch me," Dennis gasps, and Robby immediately wraps a hand around him, stroking in time with his thrusts.
Dennis comes with a broken cry, Robby's name spilling from his lips like a prayer, his whole body going rigid with pleasure before the tension releases all at once, leaving him boneless and shaking. Through the haze, he feels Robby follow, feels him shudder and still, his face buried in Dennis's neck.
They lie there for a long moment, both trembling, both trying to catch their breath. Dennis's skin is sticky with sweat and come, and he can feel Robby's heart hammering against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of his own.
Finally, carefully, Robby pulls out and disposes of the condom. He returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning Dennis with gentle, efficient movements that somehow feel more intimate than anything that came before. Dennis watches him through heavy-lidded eyes, feeling wrung out and oddly emotional.
When Robby is done, he tosses the washcloth aside and climbs back into bed, pulling Dennis against his side. Dennis goes willingly, tucking his face into the crook of Robby's neck and breathing him in. The scent is different now, saltier, earthier, but still fundamentally Robby.
"How are you feeling?" Robby asks softly, one hand running through Dennis's sweat-dampened hair.
Dennis takes inventory. His body aches in new places, a pleasant soreness that he knows will remind him of this tomorrow. His mind feels quiet for the first time in weeks, all the anxious chatter finally settled. And his heart...
"Good," he says finally, the word inadequate for the fullness in his chest. "Really good. That was..."
"Yeah." Robby presses a kiss to the top of his head, and Dennis feels the gesture all the way down to his toes. "You were amazing."
"I didn't do anything."
"You trusted me." Robby's arm tightens around him. "That's everything."
Dennis tilts his head up to look at him, finding Robby already watching him with soft eyes. There's no expectation there, no demand for more. Just tenderness and care and something that looks a lot like love.
"Thank you," Dennis whispers.
"For what?"
"For being patient. For making it..." He struggles to find the words. "For making it feel safe. I've never... I didn't know it could be like that."
Robby's expression does something complicated, a flicker of pain crossing his face before it settles into something softer. "It should always be like that," he says quietly. "You should always feel safe. Always feel cared for."
Dennis's throat feels tight. He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just nods and tucks himself back against Robby's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
"I mean–holy shit," Dennis breathes after a long moment.
Robby’s now grinning like a fool. “That good, huh?”
"Amazing. Incredible." Dennis props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Robby with wonder. "Can we do it again?"
Robby laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and into Dennis's, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Give me like twenty minutes. I'm not young anymore."
"You're not that old." Dennis traces idle patterns on Robby's chest, following the lines of dark hair.
"I'm fifty-two. That's ancient."
"You're perfect," Dennis corrects, leaning down to kiss him. It's soft and sweet, without the urgency of before, and when he pulls back, he finds Robby looking at him with such open affection that it steals his breath. "You're absolutely perfect."
They lie there in the growing darkness, trading lazy kisses and softer touches, and Dennis thinks about how far he's come. From the terrified farm boy who thought he'd never deserve this, to here. To this moment, this bed, this man who sees all of him and doesn't look away.
"What are you thinking?" Robby asks, fingers carding through his hair.
"That I'm happy," Dennis says simply. "That I didn't know I could be this happy."
Robby pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Good. You deserve to be happy."
And lying there in Robby's arms, sated and safe and utterly content, Dennis finally believes it.
✩
They do it again that night. And again in the morning. And several more times over the next few weeks as they figure out what they like, what works, what makes the other completely lose it.
Dennis discovers that he loves being pinned down, loves the weight of Robby on top of him. That he gets off on praise, on being told he's good, he's perfect, he's doing so well. That Robby can make him come just from his voice and his hands, no other stimulation needed.
Robby discovers that Dennis is stronger than he looks, that he can manhandle Robby just as well as Robby can manhandle him. That Dennis is naturally submissive but will absolutely take control if given the opportunity. That he makes the most incredible sounds when Robby fucks him slow and deep.
"That was really good," Dennis says one morning, sprawled naked across Robby's chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over Robby's ribs.
"It was," Robby agrees, his own fingers tracing patterns on Dennis's back, raising goosebumps in their wake.
"I was worried it wouldn't be. Because I've never..." Dennis's voice trails off, suddenly vulnerable again despite everything they've shared.
"I know." Robby's hand stills, pressing flat against the small of Dennis's back. "But Dennis, sex isn't about experience. It's about communication and trust. And we have both of those." He pauses, and Dennis can feel him smile against the top of his head. "Plus, you're a very fast learner."
Dennis huffs a laugh, warmth spreading through his chest. He props himself up to look at Robby, finding him already watching with those dark, tender eyes. "Have I mentioned lately that I really like you?"
"Once or twice." Robby pulls him down into a kiss, slow and sweet. "The feeling's mutual, chipmunk."
Dennis settles back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of Robby's heartbeat, and thinks he could stay here forever.
✩
Three months into their relationship, Dennis realizes he's in love with Robby.
It hits him during a completely mundane moment. They're at another buffet, a Brazilian steakhouse this time, and Robby is describing a complicated trauma case from that morning, his hands moving animatedly as he talks. The late afternoon sun is streaming through the window, catching in his dark hair, and he's smiling, relaxed in a way he never is at work.
And Dennis thinks: oh. Oh no. I'm in love with him.
"You okay?" Robby asks, pausing mid-story. "You're staring."
"I'm fine. Just listening."
But he's not fine. He's terrified. Because love means vulnerability, means the possibility of loss. And Dennis has already lost so much. His home, his certainty about his faith, the version of himself that thought he could be the person his parents wanted him to be.
What if he loses this too?
He doesn't say anything. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that.
He goes to work in the trauma surgery department, where Dr. Kim runs her service like a military operation and expects perfection. He sees Robby for dinners and movie nights and lazy Sunday mornings.
And the whole time, the words sit on his tongue, heavy and unspoken.
Trinity notices, of course.
"You're being weird again," she observes one day when Dennis is over for lunch. She's moved into a one-bedroom apartment now that Dennis is gone, but she still keeps his favorite snacks in her pantry.
"I'm always weird."
"Weirder than usual. Is everything okay with Dr. Robby?"
"Everything's great. Perfect, even."
"So why do you look like you're about to throw up?"
Dennis sets down his sandwich. "I think I'm in love with him."
Trinity's face lights up. "Oh my god! Huckleberry! That's amazing!"
"Is it? Because it feels terrifying."
"Of course it's terrifying. Love is terrifying. But it's also the best thing ever." She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand, and the gesture is so unlike her usual sarcasm that it makes Dennis's throat tight. "Have you told him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because..." Dennis struggles to articulate it. Dennis stares down at their joined hands. "What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I say it and everything gets weird?"
"Dennis. That man is head over heels for you. Trust me. I've seen the way he looks at you."
"That doesn't mean he loves me."
"Okay, so worst case scenario. You tell him you love him, and he says he's not there yet. Then what?"
Dennis considers this. "Then... I guess we keep dating? And maybe he falls in love with me eventually?"
"Exactly. It's not the end of the world." Trinity picks up her own sandwich, taking a bite. "But my money's on him saying it back. Probably immediately."
"You think?"
"I know."
✩
Dennis decides to tell him.
He plans it out carefully. He'll make dinner, something impressive but not too complicated. He'll set the table nicely. Light candles, maybe. And over dessert, he'll just... say it.
The plan falls apart immediately.
He burns the chicken. The rice is somehow both mushy and undercooked. The vegetables are fine, but only because you literally cannot mess up steamed broccoli.
"This is a disaster," Dennis mutters, staring at the wreckage of his kitchen.
His phone buzzes: On my way. ETA 10 minutes.
Dennis looks at the burnt chicken, the terrible rice, the sad broccoli. Fuck it.
He orders pizza.
✩
Robby arrives to find Dennis stress-eating pizza directly from the box, still in his work scrubs, surrounded by culinary carnage. There's a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek.
"Bad day?" Robby asks, setting down his bag. He doesn't comment on the disaster zone that is Dennis's kitchen.
"I tried to make dinner." Dennis gestures helplessly at the burnt chicken in the sink, the ruined rice. "It went poorly."
"I can see that." Robby surveys the damage, and Dennis braces himself for judgment that never comes. Instead, Robby rolls up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. "Come on. Let's clean this up together."
Dennis feels something loosen in his chest at the easy way Robby says together.
They work side by side, scraping burnt food into the trash, loading dishes into Dennis's tiny dishwasher. It's domestic and comfortable and everything Dennis loves about being with Robby.
And suddenly the words are right there, climbing up his throat, demanding to be said.
"I love you."
Robby drops the plate he's holding. It hits the edge of the sink and shatters.
"Shit..." Robby stares at the broken ceramic, then at Dennis. "What did you say?"
Dennis's heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might crack his ribs. "I said I love you. And I wasn't going to tell you like this. I was going to make this nice dinner and say it over dessert or something romantic, but I burned everything and ordered pizza instead, and now I've just blurted it out while we're doing dishes, and..."
Robby closes the distance in two strides and kisses him.
It's not their usual kiss, slow and exploratory, taking their time. This is urgent, almost desperate, Robby's soapy hands cupping Dennis's face, backing him against the counter. When they break apart, Robby is smiling so wide it looks like it hurts.
"I love you too." He says it breathlessly, his forehead pressed to Dennis's. "I've been in love with you for months. Probably since that first night at Golden Corral when you ate four plates of food and looked so happy about it."
Dennis laughs, giddy with relief. "Really?"
"Really. I've been trying to figure out how to tell you without scaring you off." Robby's thumbs stroke his cheekbones. "You beat me to it."
"I almost didn't. Trinity had to give me a pep talk."
"Remind me to thank her." Robby kisses him again, softer this time. "I love you, Dennis Whitaker. Even though you're a terrible cook."
"Hey!"
"It's true. That chicken was a crime against food."
"Okay, it wasn't that bad..."
"It was actually smoking when I walked in."
Dennis groans, burying his face in Robby's shoulder. "I'm never cooking for you again."
"That's fine. I'll cook. Or we'll order out. Or we'll go to buffets where you can eat your weight in other people's cooking." Robby's hand runs through his hair. "I don't care what we eat, as long as I'm with you."
Dennis lifts his head, finding Robby watching him with such open affection that it makes his chest ache. "I love you," he says again, because he can now. Because Robby loves him back.
"I love you too, chipmunk."
They order more pizza and eat it on Robby's couch, Dennis tucked against his side with Robby's arm around his shoulders. Every so often Dennis holds up his hand to look at the ring, and every time he does, Robby kisses his temple. Dennis thinks this might be the happiest he's ever been.
✩
Three months later, Trinity officially starts dating Maya. "So Maya and I are official," Trinity announces over lunch one day. They're at a café near the hospital, taking advantage of a rare overlap in their schedules.
"That's great!" Dennis says genuinely. "I'm happy for you."
"Thanks. She wants to meet you properly. Not just bar-Dennis. Actual Dennis." Trinity stabs at her salad. "Double date?"
"A double date?"
"Yeah. You, Robby, me, Maya. Dinner. Something fun. Come on, it'll be cute."
Dennis considers it. He and Robby have been together for months now, and everyone at the hospital knows. Why not? "Okay. Yeah. Let me check with Robby, but I'm in."
"Excellent." Trinity grins. "Maya's going to love you guys. Fair warning though, she asks a lot of questions. She's very curious."
"What kind of questions?"
"Oh, you know. How you met, how long you've been together, what it's like dating your former attending." Trinity waves her fork. "Normal stuff."
The double date happens two weeks later at a Thai restaurant. Maya is just as warm and funny as Dennis remembers from the bar.
"So you're the famous Dennis," Maya says, grinning. "Trinity talks about you constantly."
"All good things, I hope," Dennis replies.
"Mostly complaints about how you steal her snacks and leave crumbs everywhere," Trinity says, but she's smiling.
Maya and Robby hit it off immediately, bonding over their shared love of disaster movies.
"Wait, you've never seen The Poseidon Adventure?" Robby asks, looking scandalized.
"It's from the seventies!" Maya protests.
"It's a classic!"
"We're watching it," Trinity declares. "Next movie night. All of us."
Dennis watches the three of them bicker good-naturedly and feels something settle in his chest. This is his life now. Good friends, good food, someone to go home with at the end of the night.
Under the table, Robby's hand finds his, squeezing gently.
Yeah. This is everything he needed.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
One year later, Dennis is finishing his second year of residency. He's back in the ER for another rotation, and this time when Robby's hand lands on his shoulder, no one bats an eye. The staff knows they're together now, have been for over a year, and while there were some raised eyebrows at first, everyone's gotten used to it.
Besides, as Trinity points out, "You two are sickeningly domestic. It's like watching someone's grandparents flirt. I can't even be scandalized."
Dennis doesn't care. He's happy.
He's good at his job now. Confident in his assessments, quick with his hands, able to run a trauma bay without supervision. He still carries his patients with him, remembering the faces and names of the people he's helped along the way.
He's cultivating his garden, one patient at a time.
They've kept up their buffet tradition too. Every Friday night without fail, unless one of them is working, they go somewhere new. They've exhausted most of the Pittsburgh area buffets and have started venturing further out, making day trips of it. Last week they drove an hour to try some seafood buffet that Robby had found online. Dennis had eaten so much crab that he'd fallen asleep in the car on the way home, and Robby had to half-carry him up to their apartment.
Their apartment. Dennis still gets a little thrill every time he thinks about it. He'd moved in six months ago, and his clothes now hang next to Robby's in the closet, his toothbrush sits in the holder next to the sink, his medical textbooks are scattered across the coffee table. It's home in a way nowhere else has ever been.
"Dr. Whitaker?" A nurse pokes her head into the supply closet where Dennis is restocking. "We've got a multi-vehicle MVA coming in. Dr. Robby wants you in Trauma 1."
"On my way."
He jogs to the trauma bay, where Robby is already gowned and gloved, reviewing the incoming information on the radio.
"Whitaker." Robby's eyes crinkle at the corners, the only indication that he's smiling under his mask. "You're with me."
"Always," Dennis replies, and means it in more ways than one.
The ambulance doors burst open, and they get to work.
It's a complicated case. A family of four, multiple injuries, one patient coding as they wheel through the doors. Dennis and Robby work in tandem, moving around each other with practiced ease, a choreography they've perfected over months. Dennis intubates while Robby gets vascular access, their hands moving in sync. They call out vitals and medications without looking up, trusting each other completely. When Dennis needs a size seven ET tube, Robby is already holding it out before he can ask.
At one point, they switch positions seamlessly, Robby's hand briefly touching the small of Dennis's back as he moves past, and Dennis feels the familiar warmth of that touch even through his gown.
Two hours later, all four patients are stable and heading up to various units. Dennis strips off his bloody gown and gloves, suddenly exhausted.
"Good work," Robby says, doing the same. His hair is sticking up where his surgical cap had pressed it flat, and there's a smudge of something on his jaw. Dennis reaches up without thinking to wipe it away.
"You too," Dennis replies. "That was intense."
"It was." Robby catches Dennis's hand before he can pull it away, squeezing once. "You hungry? I know a place."
Dennis laughs. "You always know a place."
"I've been doing research. There's an Indian buffet about twenty minutes from here. Supposed to be incredible."
"It's Tuesday."
"So? We can have two buffet nights this week. Consider it a celebration."
"Of what?"
Robby's expression shifts, something nervous flickering across his face. "Of us. Of you. Of this." He gestures vaguely around the ER. "Of everything."
There's something in his tone that makes Dennis's stomach flip. "Robby..."
"Let's get changed first. Then food. Then we'll talk."
✩
The Indian buffet is, as promised, incredible. Dennis loads his plate with samosas, tandoori chicken, saag paneer, naan bread, and at least four different things he can't identify but that smell amazing. Robby watches him with that soft expression he gets, the one that makes Dennis feel like the most important person in the world.
"What?" Dennis asks around a mouthful of naan.
"Nothing. Just thinking about the first time I took you to Golden Corral." Robby picks at his own food, which is unusual. Robby always eats, always cleans his plate. "You looked so happy. Like someone had given you the best gift in the world."
"You did give me the best gift," Dennis says. "You saw me. Really saw me. Not the farm boy trying to pretend he had it all together, but just... me."
"Dennis." Robby sets down his fork. His hand goes to his pocket, and Dennis's heart stops. "I've been trying to figure out how to do this for weeks. I had a whole plan. I was going to take you back to the first Golden Corral, the one where this all started, and I was going to wait until dessert, and I had this whole speech prepared..."
"Robby," Dennis breathes.
"But I can't wait anymore." Robby's hand trembles slightly as he pulls out a small box, setting it on the table between them. "I love you. I love watching you eat." His voice cracks. "I love the way you purposefully annoy me at work. I love how you care for your patients like they're your own family. I love waking up next to you every morning and coming home to you every night. I love everything about you, and I want to keep loving you for the rest of my life."
Dennis's vision is blurring with tears. He blinks them back, but more come. Several other diners have noticed what's happening, watching with interest, but Dennis can't look away from Robby's face.
"Dennis Whitaker." Robby opens the box with careful fingers. "Will you marry me?"
"Yes," Dennis says immediately, not even looking at the ring. "Yes, of course, yes."
Robby's face breaks into the widest smile Dennis has ever seen. He opens the box, revealing a simple gold band, and slides it onto Dennis's finger. It fits perfectly.
Dennis launches himself across the table, nearly knocking over both their plates, and kisses Robby in the middle of the restaurant. Around them, people start clapping.
"I love you," Dennis says against his mouth. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, chipmunk."
They sit back down, both grinning like idiots, and Dennis stares at the ring on his finger in wonder.
"When did you... how long have you been planning this?"
"About three months," Robby admits. "I bought the ring the day after you moved in. Trinity helped me pick it out."
"Trinity knew?"
"Trinity's been threatening to tell you for weeks. I'm surprised she managed to keep it quiet this long."
Dennis laughs, wiping at his eyes. "We're getting married."
"We are." Robby reaches across the table to take his hand, thumb brushing over the ring. "Think you can put up with me for the rest of your life?"
"I think I can manage," Dennis says softly. "As long as you keep taking me to buffets."
"Every week. For the rest of our lives. I promise."
✩
Later that night, back in their apartment, Dennis lies in bed with his head on Robby's chest, staring at his ring in the dim light from the street outside. He keeps tilting his hand, watching the way the gold catches the light. Robby's fingers are carded through his hair, playing with the curls absently.
"I never thought I'd have this." Dennis's voice is barely above a whisper. He presses his palm flat against Robby's chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "A home. Someone who loves me. A future that actually feels... bright."
Robby's hand stills in his hair, then tightens slightly, pulling Dennis impossibly closer. "You deserve it." His voice rumbles through his chest, into Dennis. "You deserve all of it and more."
"I used to think I had to earn love. Had to be perfect, had to prove myself worthy." Dennis tilts his head up to look at Robby. "But you just... loved me.” Dennis's eyes sting with tears. "You saved me, you know. In every way a person can be saved."
"No." Robby cups his face gently. "You saved yourself. I just... helped you see that you were worth saving."
They lie there in the dark, holding each other, and Dennis thinks about how far he's come. From that scared, guilty farm boy who didn't know where his next meal was coming from, to this. A career he loves, friends who support him, a man who sees him and loves him anyway.
Cast your bread upon the waters. He'd planted the seeds, done the work, trusted the process. And now, finally, he gets to see the harvest.
Like a farmer tends his crops, Dennis tends his patients. And Robby tends to Dennis. And now, for the rest of their lives, they'll tend to each other.
It's not the life he planned when he left Nebraska all those years ago.
It's better.
So much better.
₊✩‧₊Twenty Years Later₊✩‧₊
Dennis wakes to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window and the smell of coffee drifting up from downstairs. He stretches, feeling the pleasant ache of a body that's been well-used and well-loved for nearly fifty years. The house is quiet in that particular way it gets on Sunday mornings, peaceful and still.
Their house. They'd bought it fifteen years ago, after Dennis had finished his residency and started as an attending at PTMC. A small craftsman in Lawrenceville with a front porch and a garden out back where Robby grows tomatoes every summer. It's nothing fancy, but it's theirs.
He pads downstairs in his pajamas, the stairs creaking in familiar places under his feet. Robby is in the kitchen, hair more silver than dark now, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls through something on his tablet. He's wearing the threadbare Pitt sweatshirt that Dennis keeps threatening to throw away but never does.
"Morning," Dennis says, wrapping his arms around Robby from behind and pressing a kiss to his temple.
"Morning, chipmunk." Robby tilts his head back for a proper kiss. "Coffee's fresh."
Dennis pours himself a cup and joins Robby at the kitchen table, the same one they've eaten breakfast at for years. There are rings from coffee mugs and a small burn mark from when Dennis had set a hot pan down without thinking. Evidence of life lived.
"Trinity texted," Robby says, showing Dennis his phone. "She and Maya want to do dinner next week. That new Italian place downtown."
"Sounds good." Dennis takes a sip of his coffee. Trinity is Chief of Emergency Medicine at PTMC now, has been for five years. Maya's graphic design business had taken off about a decade ago. They'd gotten married the same year Dennis and Robby had, a joint celebration that had lasted well into the night.
"Also, your mom called yesterday while you were at work. I forgot to tell you." Robby sets down his tablet, giving Dennis his full attention. "She wants to know if we're coming out for Thanksgiving."
Dennis considers it. His parents are in their eighties now, still on the farm but letting his brothers do most of the work. His relationship with them has softened over the years, especially after they'd come to his and Robby's wedding. His mother had cried, and his father had shaken Robby's hand and said, "You take care of my boy."
"We should probably go," Dennis says. "We haven't been back since last Christmas."
"Then we'll go." Robby's hand finds his across the table, their matching wedding bands catching the morning light. After all these years, the gesture is as natural as breathing.
They'd gotten married at the courthouse six months after the proposal, just the two of them and Trinity and Maya as witnesses. Simple and perfect, exactly like them. They'd gone to Golden Corral afterward, because of course they had.
"What do you want to do today?" Dennis asks.
"Farmers market?" Robby suggests. "Then maybe that bookstore you like. Dinner at home tonight. I was thinking of making that pasta thing you love."
"Perfect," Dennis says, because it is. Their Sundays have looked like this for years now. Quiet domesticity, grocery shopping and cooking together, reading on the couch with Dennis's feet in Robby's lap. It's nothing extraordinary, but that's what makes it precious.
Robby retired from PTMC two years ago, much to everyone's dismay. "I've been doing this for thirty years," he'd said. "It's time to let the young people take over." Dennis had another five years before he could even think about retirement, but that was okay. They had time.
These days, Robby volunteers at a free clinic twice a week and spends the rest of his time reading, gardening, and perfecting his pasta sauce recipe. He'd taken up woodworking last year and made Dennis a beautiful bookshelf for his birthday. It sits in their living room, filled with medical journals and the mystery novels Dennis has become addicted to.
"I need to work on my statement for that medical student mentorship program," Dennis says, finishing his coffee. "The one I told you about. They want me to talk about my journey or whatever."
"You should tell them about sleeping in the hospital," Robby says, a smile playing at his lips.
"Absolutely not. That's mortifying."
"It's humanizing. It shows where you came from." Robby stands, taking both their mugs to the sink. "Besides, you're not that scared kid anymore. You haven't been for a long time."
Dennis watches him rinse the mugs, this man who'd seen him at his lowest and decided he was worth loving anyway. Robby's hair is almost entirely silver now, and there are more lines around his eyes, but he's still the same person who'd bought Dennis beer and given him his phone number all those years ago.
They've built a life together, brick by brick, day by day. A life full of Friday night buffets and lazy Sunday mornings. A life of inside jokes and comfortable silences. A life where Dennis comes home from a hard shift and Robby has dinner waiting, where Robby has a nightmare and Dennis holds him until he falls back asleep.
"Come here," Dennis says, and Robby comes, letting Dennis pull him close. Even now, after all this time, the touch still feels like magic. Like coming home.
"I love you," Dennis murmurs against Robby's neck.
"I love you too, chipmunk."
They stand there in their kitchen, sunlight warming their shoulders, and Dennis thinks about the younger version of himself who'd been so scared and alone. He wishes he could tell that kid that it gets better. That all the hard work pays off. That love, real love, is waiting just around the corner.
But that kid wouldn't have believed him anyway. He'd had to live it to understand.
"Ready to face the day?" Robby asks, pulling back to look at him.
"With you? Always."
They get dressed and head to the farmers market, hands linked as they walk through the stalls. They buy fresh vegetables for the week, flowers for the kitchen table, a loaf of bread from their favorite baker. They stop for lunch at a small cafe and share a sandwich, something they've done a thousand times before and will do a thousand times again.
Later, at the bookstore, Dennis finds a new mystery novel while Robby browses the history section. They pay together and walk home as the afternoon sun slants golden through the trees.
That evening, Dennis sits at the kitchen table working on his statement while Robby cooks. The house smells like garlic and tomatoes and home. Every so often, Robby comes over to read what Dennis has written, offering suggestions or just pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
They eat dinner on the back porch, watching the sun set over Robby's tomato plants. The evening is warm, summer holding on just a little longer before giving way to fall. They talk about nothing and everything: a patient Dennis is worried about, a book Robby is reading, whether they should repaint the guest room.
After dinner, they do the dishes together, Dennis washing while Robby dries. It's a routine they've perfected over years, moving around each other with practiced ease. Dennis hands Robby a plate and their fingers brush, and even after all this time, it makes him smile.
They end the night on the couch, Dennis reading his new mystery while Robby works on a crossword puzzle. Robby's feet are tucked under Dennis's thigh, and every so often one of them will say something, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Seven letter word for contentment," Robby says.
Dennis thinks about it. "Pleased?"
"Too short." Robby taps his pen against the paper. "Wait. Satisfied."
"That works."
Robby fills it in, then sets the puzzle aside, leaning his head back against the couch. "You know what I was thinking about today?"
"What?"
"That first night I took you to Golden Corral. How nervous you were. How happy you looked when you saw all that food."
Dennis dog-ears his page and sets the book aside. "I was so nervous. I thought you were going to realize how pathetic I was and change your mind about me."
"Never." Robby reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Even then, I knew. You were special. You are special."
"We should go back sometime," Dennis says. "To that Golden Corral. For old times' sake."
"Friday?" Robby suggests.
"It's a date."
They sit there in the quiet of their living room, the house settling around them, and Dennis marvels at the life they've built. It's not flashy or exciting. There are no grand gestures, no dramatic declarations. Just two people who chose each other, every single day, for twenty years.
Cast your bread upon the waters, and after many days, it returns to you.
Dennis had planted the seeds all those years ago, when he'd been scared and alone and convinced he'd never amount to anything. He'd done the work, trusted the process, let Robby help him believe he was worth something.
And now, here he is. A respected attending physician, with a home and a husband and a life full of quiet joy. The harvest had been abundant beyond anything he could have imagined.
"Bed?" Robby asks eventually, stifling a yawn.
"Yeah."
They lock up the house, turn off the lights, and climb the stairs together. In their bedroom, they go through their nighttime routine with the ease of long practice. Dennis brushes his teeth while Robby sets his reading glasses on the nightstand. Robby plugs in his phone while Dennis sets the alarm.
They climb into bed, the mattress dipping under their familiar weight. Dennis curls into Robby's side, head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The same heartbeat he's been falling asleep to for twenty years.
"Love you," Dennis murmurs, already half asleep.
"Love you too, chipmunk."
Dennis drifts off with a smile on his face, surrounded by the warmth of Robby's arms and the security of knowing that tomorrow will look a lot like today. And the day after that. And the day after that.
For the rest of their lives, just as they'd promised.