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2026 is the year of competence for Dennis Whitaker.
There was no cosmic intervention informing him of the fact, nor did Trinity’s tarot cards tell him this, he just – decided.
After all, it’s the year he starts his residency in the ER of PTMC, one of the best trauma departments in the whole country. He has a solid roof over his head, many friends, and a job where he’s liked just well enough (at least that’s what he hopes). Plus, he feels like he’s good at it. Good with emergencies, good with patients, good at adapting to the everchanging chaos of working in an ER. He loves his job. And he leaves enough of an impression there for the Chief of his department to let him house-sit.
It’s his year.
Except now it’s the end of September, just over two months into his internship, and he's laid in his bed with a broken leg and a broken wrist, sprawled out like some kind of pathetic star fish.
So maybe it’s not entirely his year.
But even though Doctor Al-Hashimi banned him from the ER for a month or two at least, Dennis is still determined to do his best. He spends the time in his bed studying, mulling over books he didn’t even glance at during his time as a med student. If he’s already laid up, he’s hellbent on coming back ten times smarter than before.
He’s also, apparently, willing to beg.
“Please.”
“No.” Trinity scoffs, looking at him like he’s crazy. “I’m not going over to Doctor Robby’s to water his stupid plants.”
“It’s only three.”
“Three too many.”
“Trin, please.” Dennis pleads. And, alright, maybe he is whining at this point. But he’s bedbound and has been the target of her jokes for the better part of the last two days, so he will give himself a pass.
“Nope. I didn’t agree to house-sit for my chief attending. I have boundaries.”
“Come on, I’ll — I’ll pay for all groceries. For a month! Robby won’t even know you’ve been there.”
“For the millionth time: No.” Trinity chugs a water bottle at him, which Dennis barely manages to catch with his healthy arm before it hits him in the face. “Why don’t you ask Abbot?”
He could. She’s not wrong on that front. Dennis has his number now, another surreal thing on the list of weird stuff that happens when you house-sit for your attending. He’s seen Abbot at Robby’s place before, always unannounced, always seemingly without a purpose, and always just casual enough for Dennis to never outright question it. If he had to guess, Abbot misses Robby. As it stands, he’s there to steal the beers out of Robby’s fridge and magically restock them, on top of making Dennis steal the occasional beer and share it with him. It’s a surprisingly normal occasion now, after multiple months. Normal enough that Dennis could not only call Abbot and ask him to water the plants, but be confident in the fact that Abbot would do it (after a bit of ribbing – he’s not too unlike Trinity in that regard, and okay, that part is weird). But –
“I don’t want to bother him with that.”
Trinity snorts. “No, you want your beloved Doctor Robby to call you the best boy on earth, so you want to finish your task with a golden star that you won’t get if you share your work and he finds out about it.”
And well, okay – maybe that’s not too far off. But he’s pathetic enough with a leg and an arm in a cast already, so he won't admit to that.
“I’ll buy all groceries for two months.”
“Do we need to put your fucking brain in a cast, too? I said no.”
“Please.” Dennis whines. He’s pouting now, lower lip almost trembling, eyes extra big and round in the way they used to be when he begged his mom for an extra pancake for breakfast – back then, that worked. Trinity’s face only curls in disgust.
“You look like a sick rat, stop that.”
“Pleaaase.”
“Fucking–” Trinity groans and throws her arms up in the air. “Fine. But you’re buying groceries for three months, and I’m ordering in once every week, too.”
“Deal.” Dennis beams, ignoring the agonised wail of his wallet. “Okay, so the monstera is in the living room, right to the left of when you get into the hallway from the entry, and you’ll need to–”
“Don’t care.” Trinity turns on her heels and heads out of his room. “Text me the code and the address, everything else will be ignored. I’m dropping by on my way back from Garcia’s, so you better not fucking bother me while I’m getting my groove on.”
“You’re the best!” Dennis shouts, craning his neck just in time to see Trinity flick him off in the hallway. He flops back into his pillow with a grin. This is good. With the right instructions, Trinity is gonna keep the plants alive for 1 - 2 weeks with this one visit alone, and if he plays his cards right, he will only need to beg her once more before Robby is scheduled to return. He’s going to come back to a clean house with beautifully watered and tended plants, and – be grateful. Or something like that. It’s not like Dennis hopes for more. It’s a totally normal thing to want his attending to be satisfied with him, a completely appropriate reaction to a completely appropriate task. Maybe it’ll earn him a pat on the back.
That thought does not make Dennis feel warm and tingly.
It doesn’t.
Grabbing his phone from its now mandatory place next to his pillow, Dennis opens his text thread with Trinity and sends Robby’s address and code – along with three paragraphs of a step by step guide to where to find his plants and how to water them.
He purposefully leaves out the names he’s given them.
It takes about five hours for Dennis to get antsy. Or, at least, antsy enough for his books and phone to no longer distract him sufficiently. He tosses and turns in his bed as best as he can, but his movement is limited and the opportunity to really dwell on his choices grows.
He has given Trinity the code to Robby’s house.
The more he thinks about it, the more it feels like a violation of Robby’s privacy. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Trinity – if she’s interested enough to be bothered, she might do some light snooping, but to Dennis’ own knowledge, she’s not going to find anything outrageous about their boss that Robby would mind anyone knowing. Still, he’s letting her into Robby’s home. Begged her to, actually, and all that with no intention of ever letting him know about it, just in the name of making himself look good. Tendrils of guilt creep into him the more he thinks about it, and layering on top of that, cunning and taunting, is anxiety. What if Abbot decides to drop by just during that time? What if one of Robby’s nosy old neighbours, who already had to be briefed on him being there regularly, sees her and mentions it to Robby when he’s back? What if his own lingering paranoia about there being a secret camera hidden somewhere for Robby to check on his house has some truth to it, after all?
For the second time this minute, Dennis checks his phone. No new messages from Trinity ever since the eye roll emoji reaction she’d left to his intricate care manual. At this point, he wouldn’t mind her just dumping a bit of water into the pots and leaving, if it minimises the chance of them getting caught during — whatever that is. Trespassing? Cheating on his house sitting assignment?
He kicks the blanket away from his body in frustration, huffing when his healthy leg tangles in it before the fabric pools at the lower edge of his bed. He’s going to regret this in a few seconds, when he’s back to being freezing cold in their rather poorly insulated apartment, but for now, it gives his restless energy some outlet.
It’s when he’s reaching for his phone charger on the bedside table that the familiar rattle of the front door being unlocked sounds. Dennis shoots up so quickly he almost gets dizzy with it.
“Trin!”
His roommate doesn’t answer. There’s some more shuffling at the door, the rustling of clothes and the jingling of her keys, and then, there’s footsteps – from more than one person. Dennis frowns.
“Did you bring Garcia?”
The steps draw closer, and then Trinity is standing in the doorframe, stilted and vaguely pissed with an expression of “this is your fault, you stupid idiot” on her face that he’s intimately familiar with. It doesn’t make any sense until the figure behind her follows.
It’s decidedly not Garcia.
“D-doctor Robby?” Dennis squeaks.
Robby stands in his room like a vision straight out of his best dreams. His hair is windswept and his bear is more grown out than usual, both also streaked with more grey hair than Dennis remembers him having. It’s an unfairly good look, especially paired with the slight tan and the significant decrease of worry lines around his face. He’s wearing a fucking leather jacket, old and worn and way too fucking sexy on him. For one brief second, Dennis wonders if this is a dream of his – though if it were, Trinity would not be there, and Robby would look less like he just caught Dennis blundering in front of a patient.
“I’ll just leave you to it.” Trinity mutters, waving awkwardly at the exit before backing out of his door. Dennis’s eyes follow her, panicked, but the glare he gets in return is merciless.
“Thank you, Doctor Santos.” Robby speaks in return, never taking his eyes off Dennis. The familiar gravel in his voice has Dennis shiver, and he fiddles with the hem of his shirt nervously.
“Santos wasn’t exaggerating when she talked about your little accident. You’re looking a little — stranded, Whitaker.” Robby drags his eyes over his body and Dennis follows his glance, only now realising that he’s essentially half naked, only covered with an old T-shirt and short pants that do not seem appropriate for his current predicament. He almost doubles over to pull his blanket in with his healthy arm, barely managing to free it from its tangle and drape it over his body for some sense of modesty.
“U-uhm–” He stutters, frantically curling in on himself. “You’re back early, Doctor Robby.”
“That I am.” Robby quips, seemingly unimpressed by his struggles. “And imagine my surprise when I come back home to find Santos digging through my vinyl collection with no care in the world.”
Fuck. That collection is the one thing he hadn’t considered when evaluating Trinity’s snooping probability.
“I am so sorry–” He starts, voice embarrassingly cracking on the very first syllable.
“I guess I didn’t forbid you from bringing her over.” Robby muses. “I just didn’t consider you handing off your tasks to someone else.”
“It was only for the plants.” Dennis blurts. “I can’t – I can’t really move like that, and I didn’t want to let you down, so–”
“Whitaker.” Robby interrupts. Dennis’ mouth snaps shut. Nausea forms in his gut, simmering. “It’s fine. Though unconventional, I appreciate the effort.”
“S-so you’re not…angry?” Dennis asks, carefully. Robby shakes his head, and he looks almost amused. It makes no sense to him. If he’s not here to fire Dennis on the spot, then what is he doing in his room?
“You’ve really gotten yourself into quite the predicament here, haven’t you?” Robby muses, his eyes continuing his journey over Dennis’ body. It’s clinical, not unlike how Robby would look at a patient. It still makes Dennis squirm. “An arm and a leg. That’s tough.”
“Hah, uhm, y-yeah.” Dennis chuckles nervously. It comes out high pitched and jarring, even to his own ears. “It doesn’t really hurt, or anything, it’s just – bothersome to get around.”
And that it is. It’s a mild way of saying that it’s an absolute pain in the ass, and that even with the slim wheelchair and the crutches they borrowed from the hospital, Dennis has a hard time balancing himself through the narrow hallways into their bathroom without putting any weight on his broken bones. He tries to keep the trips to a minimum, but with the way Dennis almost absentmindedly sips at his water bottles when reading, it’s a fairly regular struggle. Then there’s all the tasks he now has to do one handed, tasks that he never before considered in need of two hands until now. He’s slow, inefficient, and in need of more help than his roommate, who’s usually either asleep or strung out from her shifts, can provide for him. Not that he’s complaining – all things considered, Trinity has been a saint.
“Santos told me about that too.” Robby admits. A strange look crosses his face, and he clears his throat. “Which is why I’m here.”
“O-oh?”
“The plants look good. Better than when I left them, from what I could see.” Robby scratches at the back of his neck. “And the house is pretty fucking clean, too. Hell, even Abbot said you’ve been keeping him good company when he’s been bored. All in all, you did a pretty good job, Whitaker.”
“Thank you.” Dennis forces out, flustered. Out of all the ways he’s been imagining (hoping) to hear this, being stranded on his bed in his own room during it hadn’t been one of them. It feels good, regardless.
“I won’t have to be back at work for a few weeks, and unlike you, I have an accessible guest room with an ensuite bathroom.” Robby shrugs and presses his lips together, glancing out of the window that’s behind Dennis’ bed. He looks almost – flustered. It entrances Dennis so much that it takes him a few minutes of pent up silence to process what he just said.
“Oh, no– I really, really couldn’t.”
“I think you can.”
“No, really, I – that’s very generous of you, Doctor Robby, but I couldn’t possibly impose –”
“Look, Whitaker.” Robby sighs and runs a hand through his beard, the strands now so long that his fingers almost disappear in it. Dennis follows the movement, enraptured. “I owe you one. You don’t have to see it that way, but I do. Besides, Abbot will be on my ass if I come back early and brood at home, he’s gonna think I’ll be getting stupid ideas. You’ll give me something to do, and you can catch me up on everything Abbot and Dana refused to tell me in the past few weeks. Meanwhile I can give you decent food and ensure you don’t break another leg, so I can have one of my best residents back by the time I return. Just take it.”
Best resident echoes in Dennis’ head, over and over again, forming a giddy loop. He’s supposed to be fighting back, but instead, he’s just distracted. By Robby’s appearance, his voice, his words, just by him. It’s a bad, absolutely terrible idea to subject himself to that for days to weeks in a row.
“If you say so.”
Apparently, he’s into terrible ideas now.
“Great. So where’s your bag?”
It only takes about half an hour for Dennis to pack and be transported into Robby’s truck, where they stow the wheelchair and crutches onto the backseat. It’s followed by his backpack, old and almost bursting at the seams with his stuff – whilst not being homeless and getting paid some money meant buying some new clothes and a few books, he still hasn’t quite gotten around to replacing that old thing. He’s going to have to, now that Robby has stared at it with no small amount of disdain that makes Dennis want to crawl back into his bed and die.
Trinity helps with the packing, much to Dennis’ surprise and relief, meaning he doesn’t have to send his boss to the bathroom to fetch his toiletries. She doesn’t say much, but the pointed looks she gives him that only grow more expressive when Robby isn’t looking tell him that she will be sending a message or two to him as soon as he has left the house. Personally, Dennis doesn’t feel like she has the right to complain. He might have set her up to be caught snooping in their attending’s house, but she sold him out to said attending, helping him cart Dennis over to his place so the guy can fulfill some caretaking role that is definitely either fodder for the best wet dream or the most humiliating experience of Dennis’ life.
Right now, sitting on the made up guest bed with his stuff and the wheelchair next to him, having been given the stilted instruction by Robby to “get comfortable and settle in”, Dennis is very sure his experience will be the latter.
The guest room is one of the few ones he hasn’t really been in regularly. With no plants to water and no regular occupants to cause any disturbance, he’s merely dusted off the shelves every few weeks, at best. Still, the room is oddly familiar. It’s decorated in a style Dennis has come to recognise as distinctly Robby’s. Comfortable, with deep and saturated colours, high quality furniture and sparse decoration. It’s not overcrowded, but it isn’t impersonal, either. Much to Dennis’ detriment, he likes it. Too much, probably, considering that after this little stunt is over, he most likely will never be seeing it again. This right here might be the final taste into Robby’s deeper, more personal life. It’s a little too tempting to get lost in it.
Dennis has just finished unpacking the final things in the bathroom (which, just as Robby said, is indeed wheelchair accessible) when there’s a knock on the door. Robby’s head pokes in, giving him a tired smile.
“I’m pretty beat from my day on the road, so I was thinking about ordering in. Does pizza sound good to you?”
“Pizza sounds amazing.” Dennis breathes out. In all honesty, he can’t remember the last proper meal he’s had. “I’ll pay you back.”
Robby scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “Forget about it. I know my salary, and I know yours too. Taking money from you would be exploitation, really. Do you – want to join me for dinner? Or would you rather eat in your room?”
Your room. Dennis doesn’t need the fluttering in his chest to tell him that this is a dangerous notion.
“It’s your house, Doctor Robby. I’ll do whatever creates the least work for you.”
“Then be honest with me, and move around freely. There has to be some merit to you already knowing this place, don’t you think?”
Robby grins, subdued but earnest. Dennis can’t help but smile back, even as he nervously rocks back and forth in his wheelchair.
“I just don’t want to be a bother.”
Robby raises his eyebrows. “And you know how it is to work with patients who say that, don’t you?”
“But I’m not your patient.” Dennis protests.
“For now, you are. So, pizza here or on the couch with me?”
The answer should be this room, for multiple reasons. First and foremost because Dennis seems to have a knack for embarrassing himself in front of Robby, and second because Dennis cares too much about embarrassing himself in front of him. But then he catches a glimpse of the tan on Robby’s face, and the fading scar above his eyebrow that Dennis is pretty sure is new, and he wonders.
“With you, then. If you really don’t mind.”
“So.” Dennis starts, as they’re sitting on the couch in the living room, their freshly delivered pizza steaming on the couch table. “How was your sabbatical, Doctor Robby?”
“You can call me Robby, you know?” Robby takes a sip of his beer. “We’ve already gotten this far, Whitaker.”
“Robby.” Dennis sounds it out, trying his best to keep his voice even. He’s done this before, sat here on Robby’s couch with a beer in his hand, with Abbot - Jack, on his insistence - sharing outrageous stories of his night shifts in order to get Dennis to try them out at least once. It hadn’t been nearly as thrilling as this. “Will you answer my question?”
“It was fine.” Robby shrugs. “Just me, my bike, and the open road. Sure beats having Gloria in my ear about satisfaction ratings.”
“Then why did you come back earlier?”
Robby falters, pizza slice halfway up to his mouth.
Smooth, Dennis. Real smooth.
“Straight to the point, huh?” Robby laughs, the sound mirthless and bitter. “I felt like coming back. Is that good enough for you, Whitaker?”
Dennis flushes and averts his gaze. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Robby doesn’t answer, but he resumes eating. Dennis picks up a slice of his own pizza and joins him. The pizza is good, hot and rich in flavour. It’s a clear difference from the places Dennis is used to ordering from, and he once again tries not to wonder about what Robby paid for what Dennis considers a simple margherita. They fall into a semi comfortable silence, until Robby flips his pizza box shut and leans further back into the couch.
“Over two months at my place, you must have formed an opinion on my taste. Is it what you imagined from an attending’s salary?”
“Oh, I don’t – really judge like that.” A lie. Robby grins knowingly.
“So what’s your non judgemental opinion?”
“It’s a nice place.” Dennis admits, peeling at the label of his beer bottle. “It’s comfortable. Homely.”
“Homely.” Robby repeats. He sounds almost surprised. “I haven’t heard that one before. Usually people tell me to put up more pictures.”
“People? Or just Abbot and Dana?”
“They’re the main culprits, yeah.” Robby laughs. “There used to be more, but I guess I got rid of some of my biggest critics.”
It’s impossible to miss the sadness in his voice. Dennis thinks back to the basketball hoop on the porch, and the scared teenager latching onto Robby during the day of the pittfest shooting, never to be seen in the ED again afterwards.
“Well, I mean it. It has a touch to it that’s very you. In the best way. You also have an excellent taste in plants.”
Robby scoffs, but the wrinkles around his eyes soften again. “They’re ordinary houseplants, Whitaker.”
“They’re special.” Dennis protests. “I’ve never seen someone get as many leafs as Lily, and Violet—”
“Lily?” Robby interrupts, amused. “Violet?”
Dennis flushes. “Uhm, yeah. I kind of gave them names. Flower names. Lily, Violet, and, uhm, Rose. I thought it’d be funny.”
“Funny.” Robby repeats. His lips twitch.
“Yeah, y-you know. Flowers, but not really flowers. I, uhm, kind of got attached.”
Robby stares at him, face awfully blank and unreadable. Then, he bursts out laughing. It’s nothing like the laughs Dennis has heard from him before, amused and short. Robby throws his head back, eyes crinkling so hard they disappear entirely, and his chest shakes with uncontrollable giggles escaping him. Dennis burns, both with embarrassment and desire.
“S-sorry.” Robby wheezes, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes when he straightens again. “That might be the silliest thing I’ve heard in weeks.”
“I didn’t have much competition with you on the road, if I had to guess.” Dennis throws back. It’s sassy, sassier than he should be with his boss, but maybe it’s the loose mood or the beer that makes it seem right. Robby huffs.
“Hey, no distracting. I talked to you about boundaries before I headed off, and you basically adopt my plants while I’m gone. You’re really something, Whitaker.”
“In all fairness, I do my best work when I care.”
“That you do.” Robby glances at him, eyes soft with something that Dennis could almost describe as fondness. He motions towards the monstera, Lily, standing unassumingly in the corner of the room. “Do you think you’ll be able to bid them goodbye after this?”
“Well.” Dennis swallows the rest of his beer and ignores the dull ache in his chest. “I guess I’ll have to.”
The next few days turn out to be surprisingly normal. It’s almost unsettling how quickly they fall into a routine despite Dennis’ unshakable feeling of being a burden and Robby’s elusiveness. Dennis still stays in his room as much as he can, stuck to his laptop and books in order to study or feeding Trinity bits of information via text in order to satisfy her need for gossip. There’s also a decent amount of time spent looking at Lily, who had magically appeared in his room one morning, much to his abashed delight. Robby seems to busy himself around the house in the meantime, always tinkering with something in a different corner. But he’ll show up at the door to the guest room for every meal, asking Whitaker to join him. Sometimes, they’ll eat in silence, only interrupted by Dennis’ futile attempts to offer to do the dishes or pay for groceries. Sometimes, they will talk about work, or their hobbies, any topic that isn’t Robby’s road trip and his return. After some meals, they linger on the couch, peaceful and quiet. Dennis will feel Robby’s gaze on him, heavy and full of something they both don’t speak about. He tries his best to ignore it.
With the bathroom being wheelchair accessible (“You’re welcome, kid.” Abbot jokes when he visits, giving Dennis a friendly nudge on the shoulder. He doesn’t linger long enough to decipher the other comments Abbot drops around him, but based on the hushed conversation he hears from his room, Abbot and Robby end up talking for a long time. It’s about the sabbatical, he figures.), Dennis is spared the humiliation of having to ask Robby to help him get changed and clean himself. It still takes about four times longer than it would with two healthy arms and legs, but he manages. Robby’s right about one thing: his mishaps reduce significantly, and he doesn’t take another fall for ten days.
Maybe it’s that security that makes him a little careless. Or maybe it’s the allure of an accessible bath tub, equipped just well enough for it to theoretically enable him to take a hot and steamy bath instead of wiping himself off with a wet cloth like he’s been doing for weeks at this point. He finds himself taking that bath all the same, both of his casts balanced awkwardly on the edges of the tub while he engulfs as much of his remaining body as possible. The heat is delicious. He soaks up the feeling of it for a good twenty minutes before he leisurely starts cleaning himself. By the time he’s done and draining the tub, the water has already started turning cold.
It’s when he reaches for the towel, draped on the edge of the tub and ready for him to use, that he realises getting in the tub was a lot easier than getting out of it will be. On the way in, he’s been able to slide into it more than anything. Now, even with the towel drying most of his body, he’s wet and slippery, and the leverage of the bars on the edges of the tub and the wall only do so little in providing stability. Dennis twists his body until his legs are dangling out of the tub, and then attempts to use his healthy arm to push himself out. It takes about four failed attempts for him to abandon that approach. Apparently, his workout regime doesn’t quite cover the upper body strength he’d need to pull that off. Cursing, he realigns himself, swinging both legs back into the tub for a more neutral position.
It takes him about four more positions before he gets even close to escaping. He ends up pushing himself up on his healthy leg, keeping the other deliberately stretched out so he doesn’t actively put any weight on it, whilst he uses both of his elbows (the one perk of breaking “only” his wrist) on the edge of the tub to hoist his upper body upwards. He works himself up inch by inch, and with the last remaining bit of strength, he manages to sit on the ledge, officially freed. With a big sigh of relief and a much quieter cheer, he slumps into himself.
“I’m so not bathing again.” He mutters to himself as he reaches for the wheelchair with his clothes piled on the seat, positioned slightly away from the tub.
He moves too quickly.
It’s just one second, one miniscule move of putting too much weight on his healthy foot that’s still in the very slippery bathtub, and his leg gives out from underneath him. He topples forward towards the wheelchair with a yelp, desperately trying to grip anything nearby, to no avail. With no leverage to save himself, he falls over himself and slips out of the bathtub, crashing onto the tiled floor between his wheelchair and the tub. He lands with an audible smack and a dull pain spreading through his ribs, the impact causing him to groan.
Fuck.
He barely has any time to collect himself before footsteps echo down the hallway into the guest bedroom, quick and urgent.
“Whitaker? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine–” Dennis groans, unable to keep the pain out of his voice. “Just took a small fall, it’s alright.”
“That didn’t sound alright–” Robby sounds worried, almost panicked. Dennis barely has enough time to cover himself with the towel he luckily dragged out with him during his fall before the attending bursts into the bathroom, wide eyed and alert. “What the hell happened here?”
“I took a bath.” Dennis pushes himself back up onto his elbows, hissing as the movement jostles what will undoubtedly be about three new bruises all over his torso. “Didn’t end so well.”
“Jesus Christ, why would you–” Robby curses and crouches down in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”
“It’s – a bath, Robby.” Dennis forces out. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t dare to, in case he’s forced to explain just why this is so awkward to him. He hopes it’s self explanatory. “I was stupid, I get it.”
“It’s not about being stupid.” A hand lands on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Where does it hurt?”
“My ribs. And my left temple, just a bit. No more damage to arms and legs, I think. Only a few bruises, really. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Robby sighs. “I’ll need to check you over. Let me help you get dressed and then we can get you back to bed.”
“No.” Dennis yelps. Robby stares at him, exasperated.
“Whitaker–”
“No.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“You’re my boss.” Dennis shoots back, glancing up just long enough to see an unreadable expression cross Robby’s face. “I know I was stupid, but — I can’t let you see me like that.”
Robby sighs. The hand slips away from his shoulder, and Dennis feels the cold in its wake instantly. “I’ll step out for you to get changed. You will let me help you get back in the chair and on your bed.”
“Deal.”
Robby hands him the clothes from the wheelchair, then he stands near the door and pointedly turns himself away. It’s not near enough distance to be put between him and Dennis’ soon to be very exposed private parts, but he sits upright and abandons the towel to shimmy into his clothes anyway. It takes a lot more wiggling than usual, and the dull pain that throbs through his torso doesn’t help.
“Done.” He chimes weakly when he’s halfway decent. Robby’s on him in a second, and together, they manage to get Dennis back into the guest bed.
“Thank you.” Dennis sighs out as he slumps into the sheets. “And sorry for the bother. I just—”
“ –wanted to feel decent again?” Robby smiles, small and weirdly uncertain. He’s still hovering at Dennis’ bedside, seemingly unwilling to back off.
“Yeah.”
Robby nods. “Fair enough. Still, you’ll need to have me take a look at your torso.”
“There’s no need to, really–” Dennis protests.
“Whitaker.” Robby interrupts. It’s stern and demanding, not unlike his crisis mode voice when they are in the ER. It unfortunately works on Dennis, and he goes pliant.
“Alright.”
“Thank you.” With a sigh, Robby takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Pull up your shirt, please?”
Dennis complies after a brief second of hesitation. There’s no outright bruising yet, but he can already spot a slight discoloration on his skin in at least two different places. Robby seems to catch them too, judging by the way his eyes linger there, face pulled into a frown.
“That’s a nasty fall you had there.” He murmurs, not looking at Dennis as he gently reaches out towards the spot on his left ribcage. Callused fingertips run over his skin, featherlight and gentle in the way they trace the area. Ungloved and outside of the hospital, the touch feels more intimate than professional. Dennis’ breath hitches. “Any trouble breathing?”
“N-no.” Dennis chokes out. It doesn’t help his case, especially when Robby’s hands still and he looks up at Dennis with raised eyebrows. Like this, they’re so close. It makes his heart stumble in ways utterly unrelated to his fall. Robby, in the meantime, seems oblivious to his internal battle.
“You said your left temple hurts, right?” He squints at the offending spot, clearly missing his glasses that have probably been abandoned somewhere near the couch table (Dennis sees them there all the time these days), and leans closer. His hands abandon Dennis’ torso, and before he can consider whether he should mourn or celebrate the loss of touch, a firm hand takes a hold of his chin to tilt his head to the side, the other gently feeling out his temple.
They’re even closer now. Robby’s still examining his probable injury, but Dennis has no good reason to stare at the man in return. He should close his eyes, let the man do his job so he can be left alone to his hopeless feelings that have been growing with every extra second he’s spent here. Instead, he’s entranced by the sight. Robby had trimmed his beard and hair, much to Dennis’ detriment, returning to a more familiar look Dennis has come to know from him. He hadn’t dyed his grey hairs, however, and up this close, Dennis thinks he can count every single one of them. He can also see the mole on Robby’s eyelid, a rare treasure that’s usually hidden from his view. He cherishes it. There’s no other way to describe it, the reverence that creeps into his bones even below his quickening breath and speeding heart rate. Robby is beautiful. He’d probably disagree, flush so hard it’d reach the tips of his ears or get angry at Dennis for mocking him, but Dennis is sure he’s never felt more earnest about anything in his life.
The urge to lean forward and close the gap between them is unbearable.
He’s probably been staring quietly for too long, because within one glimpse Robby’s eyes flicker from his forehead down until they’re eye to eye. His eyes widen, like he’s just realised how close they’ve gotten, like he hasn’t closed the gap himself. The grip on his chin tightens just so, and Dennis’ lips part automatically.
Robby wrenches himself back. Whatever openness just graced his face makes way for his usual professional demeanor. “You’ll have a small bump on your head, if I had to guess. I’ll get you some ice for that. If you feel any nausea or dizziness – well, I probably won’t have to tell you. You’re a doctor after all, aren’t you?”
Dennis blinks. It takes him a few seconds to answer, still reeling from the sudden change of tone. The room feels a lot colder, all of the sudden. “U-uh, yeah. I’ll let you know.”
“Good.” Robby averts his gaze with an odd sense of finality, one that makes Dennis want to scream in protest.
Look at me again, he thinks. Don’t back out now.
Dennis stays quiet. He lets Robby bring him an ice pack before taking a much needed nap, and takes an extra painkiller when he’s awake again. That evening, Robby doesn’t offer him to join him on the couch.
Dennis eats in his room.
The fall marks a setback, in more ways than one.
Injury wise he’s gotten mostly lucky: other than the bruising on his torso and a small bump on his temple, he escaped unscathed, but it’s painful enough for him to feel. He also finds himself subconsciously bracing more – tasks that he’s perfected enough to do in a few minutes take longer again, like he doesn’t dare to push his limitations. It’s frustrating.
Almost as frustrating as Robby’s change in behaviour. He’s still taking care of Dennis, providing him with food and offering to help him get around, but the emotional distance he’s putting between them is so stark and obvious it’s laughable. Dennis won’t claim to know Robby, not in the way Dana or Abbot do or the way Collins did, but he’s intimately familiar with Robby’s bad coping skills. Of course he’d draw back after they had gotten so close. It’s ironic, really, how their reactions turned out to be polar opposites of each other.
At first, Dennis had been apprehensive. He’s been lenient enough with himself to admit that he finds Robby attractive, and that maybe he has a little bit of a crush. Harmless. A somewhat appropriate amount of feelings for a man he admires and connects with. Absolutely within the range of his control, and he had intended to keep it on that level. It had been Robby who bulldozed over all of that, by offering him to house-sit and then again by bringing him into his house and taking care of him. By inviting him onto his couch, sharing beers and stories. By handling him so carefully, like he is something precious. Now, Dennis realises, the part of him that felt the shame has turned quiet. There’s an odd sense of peace now that he’s surrendered to his feelings.
He’s in love with Robby. That, no matter his doubts and hangups, is undeniable and perhaps has been inevitable from the start.
But either Robby hadn’t noticed the lines he had crossed until now or hadn’t thought they’d quite get there, and however he might feel, he evidently wants no part in it. It’s infuriating, because Dennis is still right there, bound to bed by his injuries and Robby’s noble sense of justice that won’t allow him to send Dennis back to Santos early, even if it’d make the avoiding thing a whole lot easier.
Dennis doesn’t want it to become easier. If he keeps playing his part, passive and pliant to Robby as he’s used to, Robby will succeed in his pursuit of distance. Dennis will heal eventually, and without any real necessity for him to be here, Robby is going to send him home. They’ll only see each other at work again weeks later, with a blank slate and new walls for Robby to pull up in the meantime. Dennis wants to tear them down instead.
So, despite the odds, despite the million reasons why this is a horrible idea, starting with their power imbalance and ending somewhere with Robby’s fucked up issues and Dennis’ own complexes that he hasn’t even scratched the surface of, Dennis decides to take the leap.
Well. Not literally, of course.
“Dinner’s ready in five. I made lasagna.” Robby informs him, door barely open enough for his voice to carry through. The smell of food floods Dennis’ room, curling invitingly around his nose. Robby makes good lasagna.
“Great!” He chimes, pretending to be unaffected by the physical distance. “I’ll be outside in a minute.”
Robby hesitates. “...I’ll bring you the food again, Whitaker. No problem.”
“But I want to have dinner with you.” Dennis insists, pulling at his wheelchair to position it next to his bed. “I haven’t left this room in days, I could really use some company.”
“I really don’t–”
“Please?” He doesn’t need to fake the desperate plea that swings in his voice. Behind the door, Dennis swears he can hear Robby sigh. Then, the door opens fully, revealing Robby’s already turned back as he marches down the hallway.
“I’ll set the table. Don’t hurt yourself moving onto the couch.”
First win, secured.
Feeling emboldened, Dennis hoists himself into the wheelchair with more ease than he has in days, wasting no time to roll himself over to the living room. The TV is on mute, showing some ice hockey game that Dennis supposes Robby has been watching before. The flashing lights give the room a dimly lit and surprisingly cozy atmosphere. Carefully, Dennis parks the wheelchair in its designated place next to the couch and lifts himself out into the cushions.
“That was quick.” Robby comments, entering the room with two beer bottles in his hands. His face is carefully blank when he places the bottles on the couch table.
“I’ve had some practice.” Dennis shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “I promise I took no extra risks.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Robby disappears into the kitchen, giving Dennis plenty of time to assess the beer with a worried glance. He wonders if he should ask for water instead. Whilst beer might make them both a bit more loose, he doesn’t want to give Robby another excuse to dodge this confrontation by calling Dennis drunk or inebriated. Dennis knows what he wants. And if fate is on his side, he’s going to get it.
By the time he has decided that one beer won’t do any harm, Robby is back with their food, two plates of steaming lasagna with cutlery. Once everything is laid out in front of him, Robby takes the free spot on the couch. He’s tense as he sits down, scooting further towards the edge than usual. Not that it does much: the couch isn’t small, but they are still sitting close enough that Dennis could easily reach for him if he wanted.
He doesn’t. Instead, he thanks Robby for the food and eats. Lasagna isn’t the hardest meal for him to eat with one hand; usually he can separate bites with his fork instead of using the knife. It hadn’t taken long for Robby to pick up on what he can and cannot eat with one hand, and ever since, he’s wordlessly adapted his cooking choices. It’s a silent act of care, even now.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, how long is your sabbatical for? The three months have been up for some time now, if I’m not mistaken.” Dennis asks, when it’s clear that Robby won’t initiate their conversation as usual.
“You’re not.” Robby confirms. “I’ve extended my leave. I’ve been meaning to since the start, anyway.”
“But you’re coming back, right?”
Robby smiles, small and bitter. “Yeah, I’m coming back. Soon.”
“Good.” Dennis can’t help but answer. “I mean, I’d get it if you wanted to stay gone, but we all miss you.”
“You do?” Robby asks, lighthearted, but clearly not convinced. “From what you’ve told me, Doctor Al-Hashimi adapted just fine in my absence.”
“That doesn’t mean we don’t want you back.”
Robby shrugs. He still doesn’t look at Dennis, opting to take a sip of his beer instead. “Don’t let nostalgia dull your judgement, Whitaker. Loyalty is a noble thing, but not always necessary.”
“This isn’t about loyalty.” Dennis frowns. “Is it so hard for you to believe that we care, simply for you as a person?”
“You barely know me.” Robby scoffs.
“I live with you.”
Robby flinches, the movement so suppressed that Dennis would have missed it if he wasn’t watching him like a hawk. Then, he starts collecting his dishes. “I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”
“Robby–” Dennis sets his plate down, panicked.
“Good night, Whitaker.”
“Stop!” His healthy hand clutches at Robby’s arm, too tight, too desperate. He can’t help it. “Don’t run. Please. I can’t chase you. I physically can’t. Don’t – use that against me, please. I just want to talk.”
Robby stares at where Dennis is holding him, his expression darkening. “I don’t see why we need to talk.”
“That’s a lie.” Dennis protests. “You’re always trying to lie your way out of things, but you’re a horrible liar.”
“Whitaker.” Robby reprimands, sharply. It would have been enough to send Whitaker running with his tail tucked between his legs, but he can’t run away right now, either, and the desperation fuels him enough to keep pushing.
“Why did you come back early from your sabbatical?”
“What–”
“You obviously don’t want to go back to work yet. I don’t think you would have even without me here. So why come back? You had all the time in the world.”
“You’re way out of fucking line, Whitaker.”
“I think it’s because you don’t actually want to run. It’s your default, to bottle up every fucked up thing that happens to you until you can’t, and then you try to outrun them because you feel like there’s nothing better for you to do. But you don’t want to leave anything behind, do you? You ran from work because it was ruining you, but that feeling followed you either way. I think you knew it would. You talked about not coming back, after all.”
“You know nothing about me–”
“But you did come back. You came back to your house, to Abbot, to Duke, to all your other friends. To me. You went as far as letting me live here with you, no, actively making me live here with you. Because deep down, you want a reason to stay. You want to come back. You want to be at work again, spend time with your friends, just without that darkness. But Robby, for that darkness to go away you need to stop running.”
“Whitaker.” Robby stares at him, wide brown eyes wet with unshed tears, stunned and wounded. This time, his name comes out less like a reprimand and more like a plea.
“I know it’s scary. I’ve – I’ve run away from a lot of things too, in my life. But I’ve also run towards things, new things that make me better, that make me happy. And right now, I’m running again, running towards you.” Dennis leans in, even if the distance he can close is insignificant with only two functioning limbs. “Because I know there’s something there, and if there’s one thing you don’t avoid in your life, I’m begging you for it to be this one.”
“Dennis.” Something in Robby’s face breaks, shattering and crumbling away into little pieces. Beneath that, there’s that fondness that Dennis has seen directed at him before, disbelieving, devoted. “I’m not good for you.”
“I think you should let me decide that.” Dennis musters a small smile despite his nerves. “And I’ve kind of already decided that you are.”
“I’ll ruin you.” Robby’s voice cracks. “I’ll ruin your career, and your potential, and your ability to ever trust someone again. I know I will.”
“And I know you won’t. You’re a good man, Robby. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you.” He lets go of Robby’s arm only to reach towards his hand, intertwining their trembling fingers. Robby lets him. “You just need to face it head on.”
“I can’t.” Robby shakes his head, looking simultaneously heartbroken and torn. Dennis untangles their hands, tries not to think too hard about the broken noise that escapes Robby’s throat, and instead reaches for his face. He cups Robby’s cheek, the beard beneath his hand feeling softer than he imagined it would, and pulls him in. Robby follows his guide, wide eyed and terrified, until their lips meet.
It’s barely a kiss. It’s a dry brush of lips, constantly disrupted by both of their shuttered breaths, and with Dennis still being mostly immobile on the couch, the angle is off. But Robby falls apart in an instant, crumbling into himself before surging back to life. Two strong hands find Dennis’ waist, and then Robby is properly on him, pushing Dennis back into the cushions and bringing their lips together again.
Robby chases his mouth with a desperation that has Dennis’ eyes fluttering shut and turns his brain off in an instant. Their lips meet, over and over again, and soon Robby’s tongue is pushing into his mouth and Dennis is being devoured. He succumbs to it, whines whenever they part even for a second to get some air, but Robby keeps on coming back.
Suddenly, Dennis wants to be everywhere. He frantically runs his hand over Robby’s face, smoothing over his beard, his wrinkles, tangling in his hair and sliding down over his neck to the back where he grabs onto the broad muscle. He wants so much more, wants to use both of his hands to haul Robby in and never let him go again, but caught like this, the only thing he can do is awkwardly raise his healthy leg to wrap around Robby’s waist and pull them flush together. Their hips collide, just forceful enough to make them both moan.
“Wait–” Robby gasps, pulling apart just enough for them to look at each other. He looks positively wrecked, pupils dark and blown with his hair standing out in every direction. Dennis did that.
Dennis can’t help but groan in protest, uselessly pawing at Robby’s back to pull him back in. “No waiting.”
“Dennis, just a minute–”
“No.” Dennis shoves his hand under Robby’s shirt, pushing it up just enough to expose his stomach. It’s full of hair, solid with muscle and a slight pouch of a belly. He moans at the sight. “I’ve waited long enough, let me–”
“I’m not saying we should stop, just–” Robby trails off, flushed and flustered. It’s a good look on him, Dennis decides. He wants to spend the rest of his life being the cause of that. “You’re injured, sweetheart.”
“I know.” Dennis cries. The need is unbearable, and with every second his frustration grows. He’d rather spend five hours buttoning all of his shirts one armed than be deprived of the opportunity to fully touch Robby any longer. “That’s why you can’t pull away. Please, Robby, I need you, please–”
Robby groans. His head falls onto Dennis shoulder, heavy breaths wracking his frame. “I don’t want to hurt you any further.”
“You won’t.” He hiccups. “I swear. Just stay like this and fuck me, please.”
The grip on his hips tightens painfully. “This is a bad idea, Dennis.”
“We’ve just had that talk.” Dennis’ hand creeps lower, reaching for the hem of Robby’s sweatpants and toying with the strings. “I’ll be extra careful, I promise.”
Robby sighs. For a second, he slumps against Dennis, putting delicious weight on his body, before he straightens himself again. He catches Dennis’ hand, intertwining their fingers again as if to make up for the additional distance. “Not here, we’re going to need more space than that.”
“If you make me get into that wheelchair, I don’t think I can get it up again.”
It’s a lie, probably, because right now he can’t think of any scenario where Robby, naked and willing, wouldn’t get an instant hard on out of him, but it makes Robby laugh either way. He pushes himself up from the couch, using their intertwined hands to pull Dennis back into a seated position as well.
“You’re going to hold on to me now.”
Dennis nods frantically, not even sure what exactly Robby is up to but willing to accept anything that will get them closer to being naked at this point. Robby guides his arm around the crook of his neck before untangling their hands, and then he leans down further to get his own arms underneath Dennis’ back and legs. In one fell swoop, Dennis is lifted off the couch in a fucking bridal carry, the display of raw strength sending a fresh round of blood into his groin.
“Fuck, yes.” He mutters. The new angle gives him the perfect opportunity to lap on Robby’s neck and jawline, exposed and just waiting to be marked up by him. He barely notices them making their way into the bedroom until he’s placed on the bed, forcing him to part from Robby. The man helps him scoot up until he’s in the middle of the bed, spread out on the sheets. Robby hovers over him, looking down with a mix of hunger and yearning.
“Hi.” Dennis breathes. Robby smiles in return.
“Hi.”
“Will you fuck me now?”
Robby laughs. “Yes, you menace.”
Dennis tugs him down by the front of his shirt, and they’re onto each other within seconds. The kiss already feels more familiar this time, but it’s still exhilarating to get a taste of Robby, and he chases that high with each swipe of their lips. He shoves at Robby’s shirt, bunching it further up his chest. Robby seems to get the message, breaking their kiss to take it off and toss it carelessly into a corner of the room. They undress frantically (or Robby does for both of them, spurred on by Dennis’ encouraging goading), and Dennis only takes a brief moment to soak in the sight of a naked Robby before they’re on each other again, kisses turning more sloppy with need as they grind their hard cocks together.
“Lube.” Dennis mumbles against Robby’s lips. Robby reluctantly pulls back and reaches sideways for the nightstand, and Dennis wastes no time burying his face in Robby’s armpit in the meantime.
“Condoms?” Robby chokes out, somewhere torn between a suggestion and a question. Dennis shakes his head rapidly against his skin.
“No. Want to feel you.”
“That’s a safety hazard, Doctor Whitaker.”
“I haven’t fucked anyone in months, and I know for a fact that you haven’t for the past few weeks at least, either.” Dennis protests, but Robby’s already halfway on top of him again, holding only the bottle of lube in his hand and looking very unconflicted about it. He uncaps the tube and squirts the liquid onto his fingers, and Dennis moans all over again at the thought of those being inside him.
“Tell me if it hurts, yes?”
Dennis nods and spreads his legs as best as he can, hoping it’ll suffice as an answer. It seems to be enough for Robby, who kneels between his legs and carefully brings a finger to his hole to prod at it. Then, finally, he pushes one finger inside. It’s a much bigger stretch than Dennis would get from his fingers, and he can’t help but push his hips down at the thought of that.
“You’re so eager.” Robby breathes. He sounds almost amazed, glancing down on Dennis like he’s a fucking art piece. The attention makes Dennis squirm with a multitude of emotions, so he grabs at Robby’s arm and tries to pull him down again. It works. Robby bends over and their lips meet again, deep and open. He gets so lost in the kiss that he barely notices the second finger working him open.
With Robby back on top of him, his cock is now resting on Dennis’s stomach, hot and heavy and so fucking tempting that Dennis can’t help but take it into his hand and give it an experimental stroke. Robby moans into his mouth, loud and unabashed, and he stutters for a second before he works his fingers with more urgency, which makes Dennis pick up a steady pace on his cock.
“Careful.” He pants into Dennis’ mouth. “If you do too much of that, I won’t last long.”
It’s an appealing thought, making Robby cum just with his hand, but ultimately, he complies and eases up. He roams his hand over Robby’s chest and belly again, marvelling at the feeling of hair and fat beneath his palm. Robby works a third finger in, earnestly stretching him open now, and Dennis jolts when he brushes over his prostate.
“Fuuuck–” He moans, his neglected dick giving a pathetic twitch on his stomach. Robby laughs, and his voice is deep with a mixture of lust and delight.
“There, huh? Good to know.”
He doesn’t angle for that spot again, instead slowing his pace to stretch Dennis out more languidly, teasing. Dennis groans in frustration and gives Robby’s lower lip a hard tug between his teeth. Robby stills, and Dennis can feel the smirk curling against his mouth.
“Please.” He begs. “I’m ready, just – please. Need you.”
“You keep saying that.” Robby comments, half teasing, half in awe. But he complies and carefully pulls his fingers out of Dennis to reach for the lube again. Dennis can hear him slick himself up, and the slide of lube over flesh and the breathy groan Robby gives will probably be seared into his mind forever. He reaches for Robby’s bicep, fingers curling just over his tattoo (amor fati, Dennis recalls – and he’s pretty fucking inclined to agree, right now), trying to ground himself when the blunt head of Robby’s cock nudges against his hole. Robby pushes in, slow and measured, but no amount of preparation could have stopped the breath that is punched out of Dennis’ chest at that feeling. His fingers grip Robby tight enough to bruise, but Robby doesn’t protest, instead he wordlessly eases himself in until they settle.
For a good minute, they don’t move. The room falls silent, broken only by their harsh breathing, as they adjust. This, right here, Robby inside of him and their foreheads pressed together, this is all he ever wanted. Deep down there’s more, of course, there’s a myriad of more romantic and loving things he wants with Robby, but in this very moment, he can’t recall any of it. Right here, right now, this is the only thing that matters, the only thing that’s real.
His eyes flutter open again to meet Robby’s that are already staring down at him, soft and trusting beneath all the hunger. Dennis can’t help but smile.
“Move?” He whispers, and Robby follows.
It’s an awkward angle, even as Robby hoists Dennis’ healthy leg up to give him better leverage, and the thrusts fall short and almost clumsy in an attempt to not jostle Dennis too much. But he’s moving, fucking into him with steady need, and it’s perfect. Dennis keens, high pitched and uninhibited, and Robby seems to soak it up, judging by the way he presses their foreheads together, keeping their eyes locked like he’s trying to stare into his soul.
It might actually be working.
They both won’t last much longer, both too emotionally spent and low on stamina, so Dennis lets go of Robby to stroke his own cock, pushing him further towards the edge. Robby slaps his hand away with a grunt and replaces it with his own instead, the touch so remarkably different from his own that Dennis’ eyes roll to the back of his head.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Robby moans against his mouth, where their lips meet in semblances of a kiss, both too on edge to deepen it further. “Doing so well for me.”
Dennis nods, frantic and eager, alternating between pushing his hips further onto Robby’s cock and into his hand. Robby shifts his hips just so that he brushes against Dennis’ prostate again, and it doesn’t take more than two hard thrusts for Dennis to cum. His orgasm hits him in full intensity, and for a while there’s nothing but pleasure and Robby, Robby everywhere, and the dim sensation of stuttering hips and warmth filling him up.
Time passes, slow and in a haze. The first thing Dennis registers again is when Robby pulls out with a hiss and collapses next to him onto the mattress, mainly because the loss of warmth makes him frown in discontent. But Robby pulls him into his side, pressing their bodies as close together as they can from that angle, and, alright. It’s not the same, but it’s good.
Dennis twists his head and blinks up at Robby, soft and sleepy, and Robby returns the smile. He looks – happy. For once, Michael Robinavitch looks genuinely, unconditionally happy.
“I love you.” Dennis murmurs. The arms around him grow rigid.
“You’re pretty fucking high on endorphins now, sweetheart.” Robby mumbles back, chuckling in a way that almost hides his anxiety.
“No.” Dennis denies. “I mean, yeah. But the high on endorphins part of me is thinking about how good I’m going to fuck you when my arm and leg are functioning again. The love thing comes from a different place.”
Robby sighs. There’s tension creeping into his face again, but the adoration is not quite gone from his face, and it’s just enough for Dennis to resist the urge to roll out of bed and break his other limbs. “Dennis–”
“You don’t need to say it back.” Dennis blurts out. He can feel the anxiety now too, creeping up his stomach and tainting the beautiful bliss he was in just a few seconds ago. Alright, maybe a love confession after sex isn’t the best way to go with an avoidant guy like Robby. He still doesn’t want to regret it. “I’m not expecting you to. I just wanted you to know.”
Robby stays quiet for an agonising amount of time. Then, like he’s come to a conclusion to an internal battle, he softens again and cups Dennis’ cheek. “It’s not about a lack of feelings, Dennis. But we’re moving pretty quickly here.”
“I know. I can slow down, if you want. Just – we are moving somewhere, right?”
“Yeah.” Robby answers. He places a gentle kiss on Dennis’ lips, and, like magic, every shred of anxiety and worry leaves his body. “We’re moving somewhere.”
Dennis is pretty sure he can work with that.
(It doesn’t take another two days before Robby tells him he loves him back. And maybe Dennis should also worry about them moving too fast, but the thing between them feels settled enough that he’s fine with that.
Abbot and Trinity still respectively won’t let them hear the end of their sappinness.)