Chapter Text
The emergency department never stopped. It just shifted its weight from one foot to the other and kept moving, like a living thing that refused to sit down. Dennis loved it for that. He loved the certainty of it, the way it did not care how tired he was or what mood he was in. The ED demanded the same thing every day. Show up. Pay attention. Do your job. Be useful. Everything else could come later.
He walked in at 6:58 a.m. with Trinity at his side, both of them still shrugging off the cold from outside. Pittsburgh’s November had cold teeth, the kind that made your knuckles ache when you fumbled with your badge. Dennis clipped his on and immediately reached to straighten it, even though it was fine, even though no one cared if it sat perfectly on his waist. Trinity noticed anyway.
“You’re fussing with your badge again,” she said, like she was catching him doing something embarrassing.
“I’m not fussing,” Dennis replied, too quickly, which always made it obvious.
Trinity’s eyes swept him from head to toe. He was in scrubs, hair damp from a rushed shower, a little too much brightness in his expression for this early in the morning. Dennis felt it, the slight nervous energy that lived under his skin most days, the ED turning it from a jitter into something sharp and usable. He worked better when he was a little keyed up. He liked the edge.
“You’re basically vibrating,” Trinity said, then took a sip of her coffee. “You’re not even trying to hide it.”
“I’m caffeinated,” Dennis insisted, and tried to make himself walk slower, like his legs had not already decided they were sprinting into the day.
Trinity leaned closer, grinning. “You’re just hoping to run into Dr. Robby.”
Dennis made a face. “I don’t hope. He’s our attending, of course he’s here.”
“I was thinking of a more face-to-face collision, Huckleberry.”
Dennis stared straight ahead, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Trinity called him Huckleberry when she was being affectionate and annoying in equal measure. It was one of those nicknames that should have gotten old by now and somehow never did.
He couldn’t help himself. “He’s my attending,” Dennis said, like that explained everything. “That is all.”
Trinity’s laugh was soft, knowing. “Yeah. Sure.”
Dennis’s ears warmed. He hated how easy it was for his embarrassment to show up in his body first, like his skin always betrayed him before his mouth could. He adjusted his grip on his coffee and kept moving toward the central hub, letting the noise of the ED swallow the conversation before Trinity could tease him into a confession he’d already given her months ago anyway.
The board was full. It always was. Monitors chimed in the distance. A gurney squeaked past. Someone was arguing quietly with registration. The smell hit him, sanitizer, old coffee, and the faint metallic edge that clung around the air. Dennis took it in like a breath, like something grounding.
Dana stood at the center of it all, tablet in hand, expression set in the no-nonsense look she wore like armor. She did not glance up when Dennis approached, which was impressive considering Dennis had walked in loudly, practically glowing, like he was trying to announce himself to the world.
“Morning,” Dennis said.
He was bouncing slightly on his heels, adjusting his badge, scanning the board, taking in the noise like it fed him. He nodded at two nurses in quick succession and then leaned over the counter, already smiling like he had won something.
Dana looked up at him.
Dennis grinned wider. “How bad is it?”
Dana’s gaze flicked to Trinity. “Is he always like this?”
“Worse,” Trinity replied, already tapping through the track board on her own iPad. “He got eight hours of sleep and now he’s unstoppable.”
“It was six and a half,” Dennis said.
Dana’s mouth twitched like she wanted to smile and refused out of principle. “Where’s your brain?”
“Present,” Dennis said brightly. “Motivated. Ready to serve.”
Dana made a sound that could have meant anything from approval to disgust. Dennis could never tell with her. He loved her anyway.
He leaned in a little, lowering his voice like he was asking something serious. “Where is Dr. Robby?”
Dana’s expression changed. Not much. Just enough. A sly curve at the corner of her mouth, like she’d already been waiting for the question.
“Trauma One,” Dana said.
Dennis’s chest dipped with disappointment, immediate and irrational. He had wanted to see him right away. It was stupid. He’d see him in five minutes. They always crossed paths. Dennis still felt like he had been cheated out of something.
“Oh,” Dennis said, trying to sound casual and failing. “Okay.”
Trinity’s grin widened. “Aw.”
Dennis’s glare at her was weak. “Don’t.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Trinity replied, which was a lie and they both knew it.
Dana didn’t bother hiding her amusement. “He’s doing something useful. Unlike you two. Pick a patient.”
Trinity’s attention sharpened immediately, like Dana had tossed her a toy. She scrolled, eyes bright with interest, and Dennis watched her do it with the familiar affection he pretended he didn’t feel. Trinity loved the ED in a different way than Dennis did. Dennis loved the people. Trinity loved the chaos.
“I’m taking North 2,” Trinity declared. “Syncope. Could be something cool.”
Dennis made a face. “Or it could be dehydration.”
Trinity shrugged. “Still cool if I get to yell at cardiology.”
Dennis snorted, then watched her move away, already in work mode. Trinity had this switch. One second she was making fun of Dennis for being pathetic over his attending, and the next she was focused, blunt, steady. Dennis admired it. He also knew she used it to protect herself, the way she always did.
Dennis turned back to the board, scanning options. Chest pain. Abdominal pain. Fever. Laceration. Possible fracture. A couple of walk-ins that looked minor, which meant they were probably going to be dramatic. He was still reading when Dana tapped his tablet with two fingers.
“Central 8,” she said. “Chest pain. And then South 12, Abdominal pain. Get moving, Bloodhound.” Dennis huffed at the nickname. Dana didn’t even look up. “Find the patient. Do your job.”
Dennis tried not to grin like an idiot, it was stupid how validating it felt working here. He tucked the feeling into his chest like a warm coin and headed for Central 8.
The first patient was exactly what you wanted in the ED, not literally of course, but he was clear. A middle-aged man with chest pain, enough risk factors to make Dennis’s stomach tighten, but stable vitals and no dramatic presentation. Dennis introduced himself as Dr. Whitaker, shook the man’s hand, sat down instead of looming over the gurney, and listened. He asked the right questions quickly, but he asked them with warmth. He watched the man’s shoulders relax as Dennis explained the plan. EKG, troponins, chest X-ray, serial evaluation. Dennis didn’t linger, but he didn’t rush. He moved like he had purpose, which he did here in the ED.
He stepped out and ordered what he needed, then moved to South 12, where abdominal pain turned into gallstones and a nauseated patient who kept apologizing for throwing up. Dennis reassured her, got the ultrasound ordered, adjusted meds, and kept going. There was always another room. There was always another person who needed something.
It was exhausting.
It was perfect.
By late morning he had repaired a laceration on a teenager’s eyebrow, talked a patient through a panic attack that presented as chest pain, and convinced a stubborn older man to stay for observation when he clearly wanted to leave. Dennis liked the pace, the way his nervous energy became useful. He liked the moments when everything went right, when the plan made sense, when labs confirmed what he suspected, when a patient thanked him like he’d done magic instead of medicine.
He didn’t pretend it wasn’t validating. He loved being good at this.
He brought his chest pain case back to the central hub because he needed attending sign-off to continue the plan. He found Robby there, hoodie on, sleeves rolled, hair slightly messy in a way that looked normal instead of curated. Robby was standing close to the screen, scanning the board with that steady focus that made Dennis feel like the air around him changed.
Dennis’s mouth went slightly dry, which was ridiculous. He’d worked with Robby for months now. They were close. They teased each other. Robby touched him all the time. It was not new.
The crush was not new either.
Dennis had a big, fat, humiliating crush on his attending and he knew it. He’d known it since his MS4 rotation when Robby had gotten them through the nightmare that was Pitt Fest. Dennis had told himself it would go away. It had not. It had gotten worse. It had gotten deeper and brighter and more embarrassing, like his body had decided Robby was everything he could possibly want and refused to shut up about it.
He still denied it out loud when anyone mentioned it, because he had dignity somewhere. Allegedly.
Robby looked up and his gaze landed on Dennis with immediate recognition. His expression softened in a way that was subtle enough no one else would clock it, but Dennis did. Dennis always did.
“What’ve you got, Dr. Whitaker?” Robby asked, voice dry.
Dennis’s shoulders straightened automatically. “Central 8. Fifty-six-year-old male. Pressure-like chest pain since early morning. No radiation, no diaphoresis. EKG nonspecific. Troponins pending. Risk factors include HTN, smoking, family history.”
Robby leaned in to look at Dennis’s tablet. His hand came up without thought and settled at the back of Dennis’s neck, fingers warm, firm. It had started as purely professional. A guiding touch. A clap on the back. A hand at the shoulder when Dennis was in the way. Somewhere along the line the touches had lingered. Somewhere along the line Dennis had started leaning into them without even meaning to.
They’d talked about it once, awkward and half-laughing, Dennis trying to play it off, Robby acting like it was normal and then touching him again because apparently it was normal. Dennis had nearly combusted. Trinity had nearly died laughing when Dennis told her later.
Robby’s thumb brushed once at Dennis’s collar, casual. Dennis’s pulse jumped and he pretended it didn’t.
“Plan?” Robby asked.
“Serial trops, repeat EKG, chest X-ray, likely admit for observation,” Dennis replied, voice steady even though his nervous system was doing something ridiculous.
Robby nodded slowly. “Good. Make sure you document the shared decision making. He might fight you on staying.”
Dennis’s mouth curved. “He already tried.”
Robby’s gaze flicked to him. There was something amusing there, something fond. “And you won? Congrats, kid.”
Dennis felt the praise like a physical thing. Warm. Immediate. He tried not to look too pleased and failed, because he always reacted when Robby praised him. It was his worst quality and also, he thought privately, his best.
A nurse called from down the hall. “Dr. Robby, Trauma Two.”
Robby’s hand stayed at Dennis’s neck for half a beat longer than necessary, then slid away. As Robby moved past him, he guided Dennis out of the way with a hand at his lower back, fingers pressing gently. Dennis felt the touch through his scrubs like it left a mark.
“Keep moving,” Robby said quietly, then disappeared into Trauma Two.
Dennis stared at his tablet for a second longer than he should have. He forced himself to breathe normally and returned to work, because the ED did not care that his attending was super hot.
Princess bumped his shoulder lightly when she passed, not enough to disrupt him, just enough to get his attention.
“You’re in a good mood,” she said.
Dennis looked up, smiling. “Good chest pain case. Clean. Straightforward.”
Princess’s eyes flicked in the direction Robby had gone. “Uh-huh.”
Dennis pretended not to notice. Princess moved on with a smirk and Dennis returned to charting, trying to keep his focus where it belonged. It was easy to get pulled into Robby, into the way Robby made him feel competent and wanted. Dennis hated how much he craved it. He hated how much he needed praise. He also knew he worked better when he got it. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant.
The morning rolled into afternoon without pause. Dennis saw more patients, presented another case to Robby quickly in the hallway, got another “Nice catch” when he noticed a subtle neuro deficit that changed the workup. Each time Robby praised him, Dennis felt it in his bones. Each time Robby touched him, guiding him past a stretcher with a hand at the waist, Dennis felt his brain short-circuit in a way that was both thrilling and humiliating.
At some point, Dana shoved a granola bar at him.
“Eat,” she ordered.
Dennis blinked. “I’m fine.”
Dana’s stare could strip paint. “Eat.”
Dennis took it and shoved it into his pocket, because that was what he always did when someone told him to eat. He told himself he would. Then the ED happened. Then it was hours later and he realized he hadn’t.
Around early afternoon, he finally remembered he had a sandwich in his bag. He pulled it out at the central hub and started unwrapping it with a kind of guilty urgency, like he was hiding contraband. The workstation was in the center of everything, not calm at all, but it was where Robby’s presence tended to orbit, and Dennis liked having an excuse to be there.
He took one bite and immediately heard Robby’s voice behind him.
“Why do you love getting crumbs on my workstation so much?,” Robby said, dry as ever.
Dennis looked down at the desk. He hadn’t even started dropping crumbs yet. That was the beauty of it. Robby was already annoyed, like his body had learned Dennis’s habits and decided to complain in advance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dennis said, innocent as a saint.
Robby leaned on the counter beside him, coffee in hand. “This workstation deserves better.”
Dennis took another bite, deliberately over the desk. “It builds character.”
Robby’s eyes narrowed with faux irritation. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”
Dennis chewed slowly, enjoying himself. “Maybe I like to keep you humble.”
“Humble,” Robby repeated, eyebrows lifting.
Dennis nodded solemnly. “If you get too comfortable. You might start thinking you run this place.”
Robby’s mouth curved into a real smile, quick and warm. “I do run this place.”
Dennis snorted softly. “Dana runs this place.”
Dana’s voice carried from a few feet away without her looking up. “Damn right.”
Robby huffed a laugh and Dennis felt his chest lighten. He loved this, the ease, the playfulness. He loved that Robby let him be ridiculous. He loved that Robby looked at him like Dennis was entertaining instead of annoying, like Dennis was something Robby chose to have near him.
Princess and Perlah were at the hub too, charting and pretending not to watch. Dennis could feel their eyes flicking up, the quick whispers in Tagalog that he couldn’t translate and didn’t need to. He ignored it. Robby ignored it. That was their silent agreement. Let them talk. The ED always talked.
Robby leaned closer to the screen, scanning something. Dennis watched his profile, the familiar lines of his face, and felt the thought rise again, the one he tried not to touch too often.
Robby was interested in him.
Dennis didn’t know why he believed that so firmly. There had been moments lately, small hesitations, the way Robby’s gaze lingered on Dennis’s mouth, the way Robby’s hand stayed at Dennis’s neck a fraction too long. But Dennis knew he was capable of building entire emotional narratives out of scraps of body language. He was good at reading people, but he was also very good at wanting things.
Robby seemed to be building up to say something, jaw tightening slightly, breath caught halfway between decision and retreat. Something that might shove them over whatever invisible line they kept circling. He didn’t know what the line was, exactly. He just knew he was tired of orbiting it like a planet that never got to crash.
A nurse called out, “Dr. Robby, Trauma Two.”
Robby heaved a sigh. He looked briefly irritated, then resigned, like the ED always interrupted him at the worst moments because of course it did. His hand brushed the back of Dennis’s neck as he moved away, thumb pressing gently, and Dennis had to swallow around the sudden tightness in his throat.
“Later,” Robby said, low enough that it felt like a promise.
Dennis stared at his sandwich like it might answer something.
Then Dana appeared at his shoulder like a threat.
“South 19,” she said. “Possible broken nose. Go.”
Dennis shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, chewed too fast, and grabbed his tablet. He left the hub still tasting bread and wanting something he did not know how to ask for.
South 19 was quieter than the rest of the department, tucked slightly away, but not enough to escape the noise. The man inside sat upright on the gurney, tissue tucked under his nostrils, dried blood along his upper lip. His nose was swollen, slightly crooked. He looked uncomfortable but not dramatic, and Dennis appreciated that immediately. There was something easier about patients who weren’t trying to perform their pain.
The nurse was finishing vitals when Dennis stepped in.
“Hey,” Dennis said warmly, sanitizing his hands. “I’m Dr. Whitaker. I hear you got punched.”
The man gave him a quick, sheepish smile. “Yeah. Silas Brenner. Some asshole at a deli got me.”
Dennis chuckled. “At a deli.”
Silas shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. He was mid-thirties, taller than Dennis, broader in a way that suggested he was built big without trying. Not buff. Just larger. His clothes were plain, office-worker casual. He looked like the kind of guy who had a boring job and a normal life and had wandered into the wrong morning.
Dennis started his questions, efficient but personable. “Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“A little.”
“Vision changes? Double vision?”
“No.”
“Any nausea or vomiting?”
“No.”
Silas answered smoothly. Nothing evasive, nothing strange. Dennis nodded, tapping into his tablet, and moved closer to examine the nose. He warned Silas it would be uncomfortable, then palpated carefully, checking for crepitus and instability. Silas’s eyes stayed on Dennis’s face the entire time. Not in a way that was hostile. Not even particularly creepy, not yet. Just focused. Like Dennis’s presence had narrowed Silas’s attention in a way Dennis couldn’t explain.
Dennis told himself it was nothing. Some patients locked onto their doctor when they were anxious. Some people needed a focal point to stay calm.
Still, the intensity made Dennis’s skin prickle.
He leaned in to inspect inside the nostrils for septal hematoma. Silas drew a deeper breath as Dennis got close, slow and controlled. Dennis ignored it and did his job, then straightened.
“No septal hematoma,” Dennis said. “That’s good. But I do think it’s fractured. We’ll confirm with imaging.”
Silas nodded. “Okay.”
Dennis continued, still polite. “Any other pain? Jaw? Teeth? Facial numbness?”
Silas shook his head. “No.”
“Alright.” Dennis paused, then asked casually, “Police involved at all?”
Silas laughed lightly, like Dennis was being overly responsible. “No. Dude hit me and bolted. I’m not chasing him down over a sandwich.”
Dennis smiled, though the answer left a small, uneasy gap. “Fair enough.”
Silas’s eyes stayed on him. “How long have you been a doctor?”
Dennis’s shoulders straightened a little automatically. “First year resident.”
Silas’s smile widened. “So you’re new.”
Dennis smiled back. “New enough to still double check everything.”
Silas’s gaze flicked down to Dennis’s badge for a second, then back to his face. “Dennis,” he said, testing it like it was a familiar word already.
Dennis felt a small jolt of discomfort and immediately told himself he was being ridiculous. His name was on his badge. Patients read badges all the time. People can call him Dennis if they want to. It was normal.
It just sounded different in Silas’s mouth.
Dennis pushed the thought away and explained the plan. “I’m going to order a CT to make sure there aren’t any other facial fractures. Then we’ll manage your pain and talk about follow-up. Sound good?”
Silas nodded. “Whatever you say.”
Dennis stepped out to order imaging and meds, then moved on to the next task because there was always a next task. He tried not to think about Silas. He told himself he was overanalyzing. He told himself he was tired, that his brain was always looking for patterns and meaning, and sometimes it invented it.
That was one of Dennis’s problems. He could be so sure of his own instincts and then immediately doubt them if he couldn’t justify them logically. It made him good at medicine and terrible at trusting himself.
He saw another patient, presented briefly to Robby in the hallway, got a quick approving nod and a touch at the back of his shoulder as Robby moved past him. Dennis glowed in spite of himself. Then he walked by South 19 again and felt Silas’s eyes on him before he even looked.
He did look, because he hated not knowing.
Silas’s head was turned toward the door, gaze tracking Dennis through the glass like Dennis was the only movement worth following.
Dennis’s stomach dipped. He forced himself to keep walking.
It’s nothing. He’s bored. He’s waiting.
CT took forever. It always did. The ED could run at full speed for hours and still be held hostage by imaging. Dennis checked on two more patients, ordered labs, adjusted meds, and answered a nurse’s question about discharge instructions for someone else. When radiology finally called, Dennis felt relief that was disproportionate to the situation.
He headed back to South 19, rehearsing his calm, friendly discharge speech in his head. He could do this. He was good at this. He was not going to let some vague, unprovable bad feeling make him weird.
Silas looked up the moment Dennis stepped in, as if he’d been waiting specifically for that.
Dennis smiled anyway. “Alright, Silas. CT confirms a nasal bone fracture. No other facial fractures, which is good. We’re going to manage your pain, and ENT will follow up. Usually they let the swelling go down first, then they can do a reduction if needed.”
Silas listened attentively, nodding at the right places. He wasn’t combative. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t difficult. He was, on paper, a normal patient.
Dennis didn’t know why his body still felt a little tense.
He went through instructions, thorough but not long-winded, because Dennis did not linger. He did not like lingering. He liked moving forward. He liked closure.
Silas waited until Dennis paused and then said casually, “You get coffee around here?”
Dennis blinked. “Sometimes.”
Silas smiled, charming, almost shy. “Let me buy you one. As thanks.”
The offer was normal enough that Dennis had no clear reason to dislike it. Plenty of patients flirted. Plenty of people asked. Dennis usually handled it with a laugh and a gentle decline. It wasn’t a big deal. This shouldn’t have been a big deal.
And yet, Dennis felt that cold, sludgy feeling in his gut again, heavier now because he still couldn’t justify it. He hated that. He hated not being able to point to a rule that had been broken.
He forced his voice warm. “That’s sweet. I’m flattered, but I’m not really looking to date.”
Silas laughed softly, and there was something about it that felt slightly too affectionate, like Dennis had said something cute instead of something final. “You don’t have to call it that.”
Dennis kept his smile in place, polite. “Still no.”
Silas held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay. I tried.”
Dennis nodded, relieved he wasn’t pushing, and immediately suspicious of his own relief. He hated that he felt like he’d just avoided something, even though Silas had done nothing except ask him out and accept the answer.
Silas’s attention flicked down to Dennis’s sleeve. He reached out and brushed at a tiny piece of lint, casual and harmless. “You’ve got something right there,” Silas said.
Dennis’s skin crawled.
It was a small touch. Innocent on the surface. The kind of thing people did all the time.
Dennis still felt his body stiffen, and he hated himself for it. He hated that he couldn’t relax. He hated that he was suddenly aware of his pulse, of the air in the room, of the space between them.
He forced himself not to flinch. He stayed polite. He stepped back slightly anyway, disguising it as repositioning.
“Thanks,” Dennis said lightly.
Silas smiled. “No problem.”
Dennis finished the instructions quickly, promised pain meds, confirmed follow-up, and stepped out with his chest tight. In the hallway, he paused and tried to talk himself down like he was his own anxious patient.
It’s a guy with a broken nose who asked you out. You said no. He accepted. End of story.
Why do you feel like this?
Dennis hated that question most of all, because the answer was always the same. I don’t know. Which meant he immediately followed it with, Then you’re being dramatic.
He headed back toward the hub and found Robby charting at the central workstation, shoulders relaxed in that steady way that made Dennis want to lean into him. Robby looked up as Dennis approached, eyes narrowing slightly like he was reading Dennis’s face.
“What’s up?” Robby asked, quiet.
Dennis tried to shrug, casual. “South 19. Broken nose. Guy’s fine.”
Robby’s gaze held. “You look weird.”
Dennis huffed a laugh. “Thanks.”
Robby didn’t smile. “Did he do something?”
Dennis hesitated. He didn’t want to make it a thing. He didn’t want to sound dramatic. He didn’t want to hand Robby a situation that wasn’t real enough to justify itself.
“He asked me out,” Dennis admitted, keeping his tone light. “It was… fine. I said no. But he’s a little much.”
Robby’s expression shifted into something sharper, protective. “You want me to take over?”
Dennis shook his head, though relief washed through him at the offer. “I can handle it. I’m just uncomfortable doing discharge instructions with him. I’ll do the paperwork. I just don’t want to go back in there.”
Robby watched him for a beat, then nodded once. “Okay.”
He reached out and patted Dennis’s arm, a steady touch, and Dennis felt his body settle a fraction. He hated how much that helped. He also didn’t want it to stop.
“I’ve got it,” Robby said, simple.
Dennis nodded, letting the gratitude sit in his chest without turning it into something embarrassing. “Thanks.”
Robby’s eyes softened briefly. “You good?”
Dennis forced a smile. “I will be.”
Robby didn’t press. He never pressed when Dennis didn’t want to talk. He just stayed close, steady, like an anchor. Robby stood and guided Dennis out of the way with a hand at his waist as someone hurried past with a cart. The touch lingered, familiar. Dennis felt his face heat and pretended it was nothing.
Robby headed toward South 19.
Dennis went back to work.
He tried to let it go.
He saw another patient. He presented quickly to Robby in the hallway. He got a brief, approving “Nice” that made Dennis’s chest lift. He returned to charting. He kept moving, because movement was what he did when his brain started looping.
When Silas finally emerged later with discharge paperwork in hand, Dennis spotted him before he wanted to. Silas paused at the edge of the hub, gaze searching, and the moment his eyes found Dennis, his face softened with something that felt too intimate for a stranger.
Robby stood at Silas’s side, posture controlled, expression neutral but intense. Robby didn’t look mad. Robby looked like he was paying attention in a way that made Dennis feel both safe and guilty for needing it.
Silas didn’t seem to care about Robby’s presence.
His attention stayed on Dennis.
“Thanks again,” Silas said, voice pleasant, normal. “You took good care of me.”
Dennis swallowed. “No problem.”
Silas smiled as if they shared something. “Seriously. Thank you, Dennis.”
Dennis’s stomach tightened. He nodded anyway, because what else could he do?
Silas’s gaze lingered half a beat too long, then he added, softer, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Robby’s eyes flicked toward Dennis, quick.
Dennis forced a polite smile. “Hopefully not,” he said lightly, trying to make it a joke. “I’d like you to stay out of the ED.”
Silas laughed, and it was a little too warm. “I’ll try.”
Then he turned and walked out through the sliding doors like he belonged there.
The ED kept moving around Dennis. Phones rang. A nurse called for meds. Dana barked orders. Princess and Perlah glanced after Silas with expressions that had shifted from amused gossip to something more uncertain, like even they had felt the air change.
Dennis looked down at his tablet, fingers hovering over the screen.
Nothing dramatic had happened. No line had been crossed that he could point to and name. Silas had been charming. Polite. Normal.
Dennis still felt that cold, sludgy unease under his ribs, persistent as a bruise. He tried to tell himself he was overthinking again. He tried to tell himself he was tired. He tried to tell himself this was the ED and people were strange and intense and complicated, and it didn’t mean anything.
But Dennis had learned to trust patterns in medicine, even when they didn’t make sense at first. He had learned that the body sometimes knew things before the brain caught up and his body was still tense long after Silas was gone.
Dennis kept working anyway, because that was what he did. And because part of him believed this was already over. Another weird patient story. Another mildly uncomfortable interaction.
A blip in a busy day. Dennis didn’t know yet how wrong that was.
He only knew that when Robby brushed past him a little later, hand at his lower back, grounding him without even thinking, Dennis breathed easier.
Dennis hated how much he needed that.
He loved it anyway.