Chapter Text
For the entire three month duration of Robby's sabbatical, Dennis was lost. He held on for the first two or three weeks, then Robby quit texting him back. Not that Dennis didn't try, he sent photos, and simple “good morning :)” messages. All to no avail.
After a while, he felt like a ghost of himself, haunting Robby’s apartment, and Trinity’s spare bedroom, drifting through the motions of each day as he woke up, went to work, checked on Robby’s things, maybe sent a message into the void that became their texts, went to sleep, and did it all over again.
At first, he and Trinity gossiped and cried and ate ice cream together on the couch watching shitty reality television. She would typically talk about Garcia, because of course the object of her affection didn't ignore her messages to venture to God knows where doing God knows what. Dennis winced at the bitterness in his thoughts. He knew it wasn't her fault, and that if she could will Robby’s presence into fruition, she would in a heartbeat. So, over time, Dennis resigned himself to the bleak routine that was his life.
That was until the night of October 3rd, the day before Robby’s anticipated return to Pittsburgh. Dennis was just getting off shift, changing from his scrubs to his street clothes, a clean pair of jeans and a brown tanktop, a dark leather jacket, a gift from Robby, hung over one shoulder. He felt the dull ache in the small of his back as he stretched, bouncing once on the balls of his feet. He was sweating and flushed from twelve hours of consistent traumas, not enough to drown him but certainly enough to keep him on his toes. Just as he grabbed his cellphone to stuff it in his back pocket, he felt it buzz.
The contact name felt like a kick to the chest, knocking the wind out of him for just a moment. He almost fell to the ground, turning and leaning against the locker for some semblance of stability.
“Mike ❤️:
Hey Den, thanks for the photos. I’ll be back tomorrow. I miss you.”
They had decided on the contact names as a measure of discretion early on in their relationship, if you could call it that. Their relationship which primarily consisted of Robby’s stray touches and praises, the occasional heated glance or flirtatious comment, and one drunken kiss. The night before Robby left.
Trinity took delight in referring to it as a ‘situationship,’ and while Dennis loathed the casual, noncommittal nature of the title, he couldn't help but agree.
Once a symbol of honest-to-god hope of something more, something meaningful, that red heart now only served to steal the air from Dennis’ lungs, leaving him empty and hollow.
Knowing he should take his chances before risking losing Robby’s attention once more, he sent back
“Hey! Of course :) I miss you a lot and I’ll see you tomorrow ❤️”
The heart was a risk he was willing to take, but it put him on edge, each second more agonizing than the next. Dennis saw three little dots. Typing. He watched them for what felt like a small eternity. Then, radio silence.
It was now almost 8pm. Dennis hesitantly tucked his phone into his back pocket, then felt a buzz. More eager than he cared to admit, he grabbed his cellphone and just saw a text from Trinity.
“Trin 🦖👩❤️💋👩: hey huck. is it cool if i have garcia over? she’ll prob sleep over. i’ll buy u and melanoma boba next week”
Ew. Dennis thought to himself. Santos was sensible during their…time spent together. Garcia, however, was incredibly expressive. And loud.
“🫡 I’ll stay @ Robby’s” he typed back. He had stayed in the apartment before, granted it was usually while Robby was home, and only overnight once or twice. Robby had helped him study for med school on a few occasions, which often led to a shared bottle of wine, which led to his hot hands on Dennis’ shoulders and in his hair and along his back. But never deigning to cross the line into something more. Just the thought brought heat to his cheeks, and a jump in his pulse.
Dennis steadied himself, brushing his fingers through his hair and taking a deep breath. The keys in his pocket felt heavier now, and cold against his thigh. He felt another buzz, as Santos liked his message and thanked him. With another deep breath, Dennis stuffed his phone into his pocket, shrugged on his coat and bag, and began his trek to Robby’s apartment.
By the time Dennis arrives, it is almost 8:30. He hesitates at the door, his hand shaking. With a shallow sigh, he steadies himself and turns the key. He takes off his shoes and places his overnight bag on the floor. He kept it in his locker at work. He didn't usually need it, but it helped in situations like these and was a habit still deeply ingrained in him from his time living in shelters and on the street. Compact and efficient, it held basic hygiene items, a pair of sleep shorts and underwear, a pair of socks, a phone charger and portable battery, a (probably stale, but cheap and edible nonetheless) protein bar, and a bottle of water.
He decides to take a shower, trying not to think about the way Robby’s scent fills the bathroom, as hot water and steam cascade down his sore muscles. He dries his hair, runs his fingers through it once more, and puts on his spare clothes and a faded t-shirt he dug out of one of Robby’s dresser drawers. He all but inhales the smell of detergent and cologne, letting the ache blossom in his chest.
With a deep sigh, he flops down onto Robby’s couch. Soft, luxurious even. So much better than Santos’ hand-me-down couch that creaked when you so much as thought about sitting on it. Not that he would ever say that to her. If not to avoid her wrath, then to avoid having to admit there was a part of him that enjoyed their friendship. The stability that came with being her roommate, and the unconditional support that came from being her best friend. His mind wanders to her plans for tonight, inevitably circling back to the plans he wish he had tonight.
But Robby was gone. He was nothing but a text on a small screen now. Speaking of, Dennis checks his phone, and tries not to let it hurt when he sees that Robby still hasn't texted him back. When that fails, he heads over to Robby’s bar cart and pours himself a jack and coke on the rocks. Exactly how Robby would have made it. The whisky burns, cut by the sweetness of the soda. Dennis can feel it radiating down his chest. After a second glass, he can feel a buzzing heat all over his body, especially in his flushed cheeks.
He looked down at his phone, at the empty screen. The photo of Robby looking up at him through his reading glasses, a gentle grin on his face. It was about 10:30. Nearly three hours and nothing. Hell, he had waited almost three months for nothing. What's to say that Robby would ever text him back? Or that he would ever see Dennis the way he so desperately wanted him to. The way he needed him to. Maybe it was the weeks of heartache that pushed him to do it, or the liquor surging through his veins, but it was at that moment that Dennis decided if Robby didn't want him (and clearly he didn't), then there was no use in waiting around to be swept off his feet.
Dennis stood up, trying not to give in to the blood rushing to his head and consequential brief lightheadedness. He looked for his overnight bag and dressed himself in the same jeans, tank top, and jacket, with a clean pair of socks and some deodorant. He tucked his wallet and phone into his pockets, and made his way to Robby’s bathroom to tidy his hair. With his bangs framing his face just so, he was satisfied with himself. That was, until he looked down and saw a bottle of Robby’s cologne. He didn't need to inspect it to know that it was expensive, nor did he need to look at the scent to know it was the same one Robby wore every day. Dennis felt a bitter surge of defiance in his abdomen, compelling him to take the bottle and spray it generously all over his chest, his neck and shoulders. He thought about Robby’s hands, roaming everywhere the cologne touched, maybe even his mouth indulging the sensitive skin where his neck and shoulder met. Dennis sprayed a final spritz in his hair and placed the cologne back on the counter. He tidied his things in the living room and cleaned the scotch glass, returning it to its place on the bar cart. Save the bag in the corner, it was almost like Dennis was never there to begin with.
Good. He thought to himself, indignantly. I guess he’ll be happy now. He let the spite carry him out of the door and downstairs as he pulled his phone out and searched for the nearest bar.
Robby had sent him $100 when he left, and through some miracle, Dennis hadn't touched it yet. He fully intended, however, on using it tonight. Ideally to drink as much liquor as his body would tolerate, and maybe even to get laid. Though he held his doubts about the latter. It was too soon, everything too raw. Or maybe Robby would find out, and he wouldn't look at Dennis the same. Dennis tried to convince himself he didn't care, that Robby could go to Hell and that Dennis could fuck as many men as he pleased. But a small part of him still held hope that Robby wanted something more.
That small hope had led Dennis to the decision that he would not be entertaining the idea of going home with someone tonight. Not that he really could, practically speaking. Trinity had already staked her claim on the apartment for the night and there was something very dirty and wrong about fucking a stranger in Robby’s bed. Maybe if he had more of a reason to be pissed and was more drunk, he conceded to himself. The idea of Robby finding out, and of Dennis reminding him that he was wearing his cologne and his jacket when it happened, made something hot pool in his stomach, and down his thighs.
In Dennis’ fantasy, Robby would curse and grab him, dragging him to the bed to be claimed. Robby would fuck him visciously, pulling his hair and marking him up. God, Dennis needed a glass of water. He felt a sense of whiplash, one moment hating Robby and wishing he could just forget about him, and the next wishing he could be under Robby, his hot breath fanning across Dennis’ chest, and his chain dangling in Dennis’ face. Maybe his arms would envelope Dennis’ body while he slowly drove his cock into Dennis’ yearning hole. Or maybe Robby would hold him down with his ass arched in the air, grabbing his hips and pushing his face into the mattress, with Dennis desperately begging and pleading for more. In either scenario, Robby would tell Dennis that he belongs to the older man, he would own him and know his body intimately, almost mercilessly. Then, once he was done taking Dennis apart, he would hold him and kiss him, whispering soft words against his skin. It would be blissful and euphoric, and it would be theirs.
The thought made Dennis’ eyes water for just a moment. He reminded himself of his mission. He was resolute, determined to have a good night and forget about the unanswered texts. The messages that piled up, as he waited for Robby to care.
Dennis arrived at the club at about 11:30. He sat at the bar and ordered a jack and coke. The bar was hot and crowded, the air thick and smoky. On one end, there was a dark dance floor with a dj and strobe lights dancing through the fog. On Dennis’ side, there was a long bar with a few empty stools, and a crowd of people a few seats down, ordering drinks. Dennis took a moment to observe, scanning the room for everything and yet nothing. He noted the bathrooms, exits, an ATM, and a couple tall, obnoxious guys smoking a cigarette in the corner. All in all, nothing he couldn't handle. And so, he drank his cocktail in one fluid motion, smiling at the bartender before ordering another, and a bottle of water.
When he signaled for a third drink, the bartender gave him a soft, knowing look. She had kind eyes, maybe in her late forties with curly brown hair in a bun, with fringes framing her round face.
“How about we give it a rest for a minute, darlin’?” She asked with a smile. Her accent was thick, and it reminded him of home. For just a moment, he could almost feel the Nebraska air, the sun on his back after a long day in the field.
“Yes ma’am,” he answered earnestly and quickly. She seemed pleased with his answer and returned a moment later with a simple sandwich, meat, cheese, mayonnaise, and mustard. “Why don't you eat this for me, baby? On the house. And have some of your water, but slowly.”
This woman was a godsend, compassionate and patient. And Dennis was starving. He nodded and ate the sandwich, taking a few sips of his water here and there to wash it down. She reminded him of Dana in a way, firm and insightful, but gentle and kind. He felt bad for making her take care of him, and would have told her as much had he not thought about her reaction.
Tsk tsk. Don't worry about it, sugar. Just don't want you gettin’ out of sorts. Be careful. He indulgently imagined the woman saying, as he collected his trash and wiped his face. He tossed the trash in the bin at the end of the bar, and returned to his seat.
He ordered a regular coke this time, and was signing the receipt to close his tab, leaving a very generous tip, of course, when he felt a warm hand along the side of his waist. He nearly jumped out of his skin and looked up at the source of the contact. A tall man with a slender, but clearly very strong build, was looking down at him with steely blue eyes and a grin. His hair was jet black, slicked perfectly behind his ears. His face was sharp and angular, much like the rest of him, He was wearing a simple burgundy button-down tucked into black slacks. Dennis almost didn't recognize him outside of scrubs. Almost.
“Dr. Park!” His voice slurred more than he'd care to admit. That much whiskey would do that to a man, he supposed. “Dr. Whitaker. Quite a surprise to see you here.” Park said carefully.
Dennis felt a blush creep across his cheeks. He wasn't exactly known for his drinking, and in fact he really didn't drink unless it was with Robby. He pushed the thought aside and replied sheepishly “Yeah, I don't really get out a lot.”
Park all but licked his lips, placing his hand more firmly on Dennis’ waist now, slowly dragging it down toward his hip.
“I never said it wasn't a pleasant surprise, Dr. Whitaker.”
The blush on Dennis’ face deepened. Noticeably, if the reaction in Park’s eyes was a good indication.
“Let me buy you a drink, Dr. Whitaker.” He said with a smile, his eyes shifting for just a moment to Dennis’ lips.
Dennis hesitated. Initially, he denied Park’s offer, but Park insisted, and before Dennis stopped him, Dr. Park said “I’ll be right back. Is tequila okay? I’ll get you a double.” He raised his eyebrow at Dennis, turning slightly to walk away. Dennis glanced at his glass. “It's fine, really, Dr. Park. I was just leaving-”
“Dr. Whitaker,” Park’s tone was stern, authoritative. With one fluid motion, he looked into Dennis’ eyes, down the length of his body, and back up to his face. Then, he bit his lip. Slowly. Intentionally.
“I insist. It would be my pleasure.” Dr. Park finished.
Dennis’ eyes widened, a flush radiating from his cheeks to deep within his abdomen. He wasn't particularly attracted to Dr. Park by any means, but never in his life had a man, or anyone for that matter, looked at him quite like that. Like they wanted to devour him, and lick the plate clean. Dr. Park took Dennis’ silence as an opportunity to once more offer the drink, before walking to the other end of the bar. He spoke with a man briefly, shook his hand and smiled. They exchanged a few more words and a final handshake before the gentleman left. Then, he flagged a bartender down, presumably to order Dennis’ drink. Figuring it impolite to stare, even if Park couldn't see him, Dennis made a conscious effort to look away, surveying the room once more, as the crowd began to grow. He looked at his phone briefly. It was about 1:00 now, and still nothing from Robby.
Park returned and handed Dennis the drink. Dennis tried not to think about Park’s warm fingers brushing Dennis’ own, a stark contrast against the ice cold glass. They talked for a while, mainly about the hospital and Dennis’ experiences in the ED. Thankfully, Park seemed to have moved on from his advances toward Dennis. He even bought him another double shot of tequila and some soda to sip on. Just as Dennis started to honestly enjoy the conversation, Park asked him exactly why he was out, given that Dennis didn't drink. It was a fair question, but Dennis couldn't shake the feeling that it was a loaded one.
“I-umm. I was just, um. My roommate was busy and she needed the apartment and I figured I would kill some time.”
Park hummed. “Right. So you can't return to your apartment tonight?” Dennis shook his head. He omitted the fact that he fully intended on returning to Robby’s apartment.
“So why don't we go to mine instead?” Park smiled, and Dennis could see the sharp edges of his teeth against his full, pink lips. Dennis considered it. Considered the anger and bitterness he had for Robby not hours prior. He almost said yes. Almost let himself be whisked away by this handsome man.
But then he considered the hope. The deep desire he felt to belong to Robby. He knew it was delusional. They weren't even dating, let alone exclusive. But in that moment, Dennis was willing to take his chances. So, he looked at Park, took a deep breath, and said “No, I can't.”