Chapter Text
The park across from the hospital was almost empty, nothing but a couple of streetlights flickering and the faint hum of cars drifting by in the distance. Dennis sat hunched over on a bench, elbows digging into his knees, watching little trails of condensation slide down his beer bottle. He hadn’t had a drink in months, maybe longer, honestly, but he couldn’t say for sure. The beer tasted weird, kind of bitter and gross, but he kept sipping it anyway, just because it gave his hands something to do.
Beside him, Robby sat looking way more comfortable than Dennis felt, his arm thrown over the back of the bench, legs sprawled out, beer bottle dangling carelessly from his fingers. They’d both gone quiet a while ago. The laughter died out first, then the talk about their shift and the annoying patients and how someone had managed to make the world’s worst coffee in the break room that afternoon.
Now there was just quiet. Not even the awkward kind of quiet, which Dennis thought he might have actually preferred. Awkwardness at least gave you something to push against, a reason to check your phone or chug your drink and make up an excuse to leave. But this was just easy, sitting next to Robby, and it had been getting way too easy for Dennis for a while now.
He tried not to look, but his eyes still slid sideways, catching a glimpse of Robby staring off across the street at the hospital. The glow from the windows reflected in Robby’s eyes, and he looked so tired, there were deeper lines around his mouth than there had been twelve hours ago, his hair was a mess from running his hands through it all shift, and he’d thrown a hoodie over his scrubs at some point, not even bothering to keep them neat anymore.
Dennis hated that he noticed all these things. He really did. It would have been a lot simpler if his stupid crush had just stayed what it was in the beginning, embarrassing and distant and safely one-sided. Sure, Dr. Robby was hot. Dennis had eyes, he wasn’t blind, but that didn’t have to mean anything.
But then Robby started touching him. Nothing inappropriate or anything like that, just these little things, a hand on Dennis’s shoulder while he checked his work, a palm at the small of his back steering him around a stretcher, fingers squeezing the back of his neck after a brutal case, Robby murmuring, “You did good, kid.” Normal stuff. Mentor stuff. Stuff Dennis had no business replaying in his head over and over while he stared at his ceiling at night.
Maybe he could have gotten over it if Robby hadn’t started looking at him, too. That was the part Dennis couldn’t explain away. Sometimes he’d look up and Robby would already be watching him. Sometimes Robby looked away fast, sometimes he didn’t bother. Neither of them ever said a word about it, of course. Dennis was an MS4 and Robby was the chief attending running his rotation. There were rules and Dennis knew exactly where every line was. Whatever had been building between them for months didn’t change that.
Nothing was going to happen. Dennis had told himself that so many times it didn’t even mean anything anymore. Still, Robby shifted on the bench, his arm brushing a little closer behind Dennis’s shoulders, not quite touching, but Dennis felt the warmth anyway, his whole body noticing and reacting like an idiot. He took another sip of his beer, swallowing down nerves as much as anything else.
“You ever feel like you forgot something in there?” Dennis asked finally, quiet, almost hoping Robby wouldn’t hear.
But Robby just gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Every damn night.”
Dennis smiled a little, relaxing just enough to let himself admit it. “I keep thinking I should be back inside, checking vitals or something. Like my body doesn’t get that I’m off the clock.”
Robby looked at him for real then, his face softer and more open than usual, the tired lines at the corners of his eyes deepening as he smiled. “That’s because you never stop moving long enough to convince it otherwise,” he said, and Dennis felt his heartbeat stutter for a second.
“You gotta let the day go, kid,” Robby said, voice low. “Or it’ll chew you up.” Dennis met his gaze for just a second, maybe two, before he had to look away, suddenly a little overwhelmed by how close Robby felt.
“You make it sound easy,” Dennis said, trying to sound casual but not quite pulling it off.
“It’s not,” Robby replied, taking another drink. “You just learn to fake it better.”
That actually pulled a laugh out of Dennis, real and unexpected, and when it faded, he realized Robby was still looking at him. Dennis felt it before he even turned his head, that feeling of being seen, really seen, and it made something twist in his chest. There it was again, that look, the one he’d spent months convincing himself he imagined. Only now there was nowhere to run. No patient calling, no chart to check, no nurse interrupting, nothing but the empty park, the half-finished beer, and Robby staring at him like maybe he wanted to say something, too.
Dennis’s fingers tightened on his bottle, every nerve ending on high alert. Nothing was going to happen. He knew that. Robby knew that. But even so, Dennis found his eyes drifting down to Robby’s mouth anyway, just for a second, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one thinking about it.
Dennis looked at his mouth anyway. It was one of those mistakes you only realize you’ve made after it’s too late, after your eyes have already lingered for that extra second and you can’t take it back. Robby’s lips were parted a little, still shining with beer, and his beard shifted when his jaw tightened. Dennis caught himself watching that, too, like he hadn’t already hit his daily quota of humiliation. He had to make sure he mortified himself completely.
He wrenched his gaze back up and found Robby watching him. The bottom dropped out of Dennis’s stomach.
Neither of them said a word. For a second, Dennis wondered if he should apologize, like, Sorry, Dr. Robby, I didn’t mean to stare at your mouth like I’ve spent the last three months wondering what your beard would feel like against my face. Yeah, that would definitely fix it.
Instead, Dennis looked down at his beer, took another sip he didn’t want, and scrambled for something normal to say. “You know, Trinity thinks you hate her,” he blurted out, the words sounding a little too loud in the quiet.
Robby blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic but letting it happen. “What?”
Dennis kept his eyes on the bottle. “She says you always give her the worst cases.”
“I give Santos the worst cases because Santos complains about the worst cases,” Robby replied.
“That’s what I told her.”
“Smart kid,” Robby said, and Dennis smiled, despite everything. This was better. This was normal. They could do normal. They’d been doing normal for months now.
Dennis relaxed just a little, rolling the bottle between his hands and picking at the label, peeling it away in little strips.
Then Robby said, “You always do that?”
Dennis blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”
“That,” Robby said, nodding at his hands.
Dennis looked down and realized he’d peeled away nearly half the label without noticing. “Oh.”
“Nervous habit?” Robby asked, voice softer now.
“I’m not nervous,” Dennis insisted, a little too quickly.
Robby’s mouth twitched, and Dennis immediately went back to hating it. “Didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
“I asked a question.”
“You ask questions like you already know the answer.”
“Occupational hazard,” Robby replied, sounding amused.
Dennis rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re annoying.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Robby said, and Dennis could hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m sure,” Dennis shot back, and Robby let out a quiet laugh. Dennis loved that sound. He’d gotten familiar with the different versions of it, the sharp one Robby used at work, the big, booming laugh Dennis had only heard a couple of times, and then this one, quiet and warm and almost like a secret. He’d heard it more often lately and tried not to think too much about what that meant.
The silence fell again, this time heavier, less comfortable. Dennis suddenly noticed everything, the way his knee was almost touching Robby’s, Robby’s arm still stretched out behind him, the faint scent of cologne under all the hospital smells, and, most of all, Robby’s eyes on him. He could feel it, the way you can feel a hand hovering above your skin.
Dennis lasted maybe five seconds before he looked over, only Robby wasn’t looking at his eyes.
Dennis froze, barely breathing, because Robby’s gaze was lower, and then he looked up, and something hot and electric shot right through Dennis’s chest. No. No, he had to be imagining that. The alternative was—
Dennis swallowed, throat tight, and Robby’s eyes flicked down to catch the movement.
Oh.
Dennis forgot how to breathe. There had been moments before, sure. Robby’s hand on his shoulder after a rough case, the time he’d reached around Dennis for a chart and stayed just a little too close, the lingering looks across the department. But Dennis had always found explanations. Robby was friendly, tactile, always attentive with his students, and the ER was crowded, and Dennis had built a wall of reasons because the other possibility was just too much.
But now, sitting here, there wasn’t any explanation that made sense. Not for this.
“You’re shaking,” Robby said, voice suddenly low and gentle.
Dennis blinked, dragged back to the present. “What?”
“You’re shaking,” Robby repeated, softer this time.
Dennis looked down at his hands and realized the beer bottle was trembling, just a little, between his fingers. “It’s cold,” he said, too quickly.
Robby smiled, slow and tired and a little bit knowing. “Sure it is.”
Dennis’s face burned. “Shut up.”
“Wasn’t making fun.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m just noticing,” Robby said, and for some reason, the words landed different this time.
Dennis looked at him, really looked, and saw that Robby’s smile had faded. His hand was still along the back of the bench, but now the space between them seemed to have vanished, or maybe Dennis had leaned in without realizing.
Robby’s eyes searched his face, and Dennis couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at him like that before. Probably not, considering his track record. There had been crushes before, a handful, but nothing real, Dennis was always too busy, too awkward, too convinced there would be time for that later. But college became med school, med school became rotations, and later just kept moving further away.
He was twenty-six and somehow had made it this far without so much as—
Dennis’s gaze dropped to Robby’s mouth again, heartbeat thundering in his chest.
If Robby kissed him… Dennis had no idea what to do. The thought should have made him pull away, should have snapped the moment in half and reminded him of all the reasons this couldn’t happen. But instead, Dennis stayed right where he was.
Robby shifted, just a little, his arm slipping down from the bench so his hand rested close beside Dennis. Dennis watched, barely breathing, and then looked back up. Robby was closer. Not by much, just an inch, but Dennis felt it everywhere.
“You got real quiet on me,” Robby murmured, and Dennis tried to laugh, but it came out thin and shaky. “Thinking,” he managed.
Something in Robby’s face changed, so subtle Dennis might have missed it if he hadn’t studied that face for months. The amusement faded, and with it, the careful line of professional distance Dennis hadn’t even realized Robby had been holding up between them.
Robby looked at his mouth, and this time, Dennis knew he’d seen it.
For a second, everything froze. Dennis could hear the cars in the distance, the buzz of the streetlight above, his own pulse pounding in his ears. He knew one of them should move, should say something, should break the spell before they did something they couldn’t take back. But neither of them did.
Robby leaned in slowly, giving Dennis all the time in the world to pull away. Dennis didn’t. His fingers squeezed tight around the bottle, and his mind screamed that he didn’t know how to do this, that this was crazy, but none of it mattered.
Because then Robby kissed him.
The kiss was soft. That was the very first thing Dennis noticed, almost too gentle to be real. It wasn’t dramatic or desperate or anything like like the embarrassingly few kisses he’d seen in movies and immediately looked away from because watching other people make out had always made him feel vaguely intrusive. No, this was just warm and careful, Robby’s mouth pressed to his with a kind of hesitation that felt like a question, one Dennis wasn’t sure he could answer.
He froze. Absolutely, totally froze, every thought in his head replaced by a single, impossible fact: Robby was kissing him. Robby was actually kissing him. For a whole, dizzy second, Dennis sat there not moving, not thinking, just feeling, the taste of beer lingering on Robby’s lips, the warmth of his breath, the unfamiliar scratch of beard against his own skin. He’d wondered about that before, more times than he’d ever admit to anyone, and now he knew: it was rough, and warm, and real, and—God.
His heart lurched in his chest, panic and hope and electricity tangling together. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something? People moved when they kissed. They kissed back. Dennis tried, shifting his mouth a little against Robby’s, nothing more than a nervous, uncertain press, but it was enough to draw a small, soft sound from Robby, a sound that shot straight through Dennis, all the way down to his toes.
And then Robby leaned in a little closer, like he might touch Dennis’s face, and the panic hit full force. Dennis jerked back too fast, and suddenly there was cold air between them, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a sprint. Robby went still, eyes wide, and for a second neither of them spoke. They just stared, the moment hanging between them, tangled and raw and too big to fit into words.
Dennis’s mind spun. His attending had kissed him. Robby had kissed him. And he’d kissed Robby back, barely, badly, oh God, probably really badly.
“Dennis.” Robby said his name quietly, and somehow that made everything worse, the softness in his voice landing like a punch. Dennis shook his head, not even sure what he was saying no to.
“I just—” he started, but his voice failed him. He saw the change in Robby before he could process it: the warmth in his face slipped away, replaced by something guarded and careful, a wall sliding into place. Guilt, Dennis realised, recognising the look as a terrible, sinking feeling opened in his chest.
“Hey,” Robby said, gentle and careful, like he was talking to someone scared. “It’s okay.”
But that just made Dennis panic more. “No, I know, I just—” He scrubbed a hand over his face, voice rough. “I didn’t think that would actually happen.”
Robby watched him, some unreadable mix of emotions flickering across his face, and then he let out a short, disbelieving huff, almost a laugh, if things weren’t so tangled.
“Yeah,” Robby murmured. “Me neither.”
Dennis looked down, clutching his beer bottle in both hands, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He’d forgotten it was even there. His lips still tingled. He pressed them together, just to check, and immediately remembered exactly what Robby’s mouth had felt like. Jesus.
“Did I—” Robby started, then stopped, frowning. Dennis looked up, meeting Robby’s gaze. “Did I read that wrong?” Robby’s voice was so careful, so uncertain, that something in Dennis twisted up tight.
“No,” Dennis said, a little too fast, voice scratchy. Robby waited, eyes steady on him. Dennis swallowed. “No, you didn’t.”
Some of the tension left Robby’s shoulders, not much, but enough to see. “Okay,” he said.
Dennis nodded. “Okay.” Neither of them moved. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so excruciating, two people who could handle trauma patients without blinking, now stuck on a park bench, unable to string two words together after one awkward kiss.
Dennis stared at the ground between his shoes, hyper-aware of Robby’s eyes on him. He could still feel the weight of Robby’s attention, see the moment replaying in his mind.
Then, softly, “Was that your first kiss?”
Dennis closed his eyes. There it was. He thought about lying, just for a second, but Robby had been there, he’d felt the way Dennis had no idea what he was doing. There was no point pretending.
Dennis stared ahead. “Maybe,” he mumbled.
Robby went very quiet, and Dennis risked a glance over. He expected a smirk, maybe a little surprise, but what he saw instead was something that looked almost pained, Robby’s jaw tight, the warmth in his eyes gone under something heavier.
Dennis’s embarrassment faded, replaced by a flicker of worry. “Robby?”
“Fuck,” Robby muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
Dennis’s stomach twisted. “What?”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Robby said, and the words hurt more than Dennis could have imagined.
He looked down fast, heart in his throat. “Oh.”
“No.” Robby leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “No, that’s not—” He stopped, jaw working.
Dennis waited, feeling something fragile balancing in the air between them.
Robby stared out toward the hospital, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough. “You’re my student.”
There it was, the truth Dennis had been avoiding for months, suddenly right out in the open. Dennis’s throat tightened. “I know.”
“I’m supposed to know better.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re telling me that was your first—” Robby cut himself off.
“I didn’t tell you,” Dennis said quietly. “You figured it out.”
For a second, Robby almost smiled for real, but then his expression shut down again.
Dennis could see the war happening in his eyes, want and guilt and something softer Dennis was scared to put a name to. But underneath it all, the same unchangeable facts: MS4. Chief attending. The line they both knew was there.
Robby looked away first. “That’s not the point,” he said, and Dennis hated how much it hurt. If Robby had said he didn’t want this, that would have been easier. Instead, he was saying wanting it didn’t matter.
Robby reached for his jacket, and Dennis felt something cold settle in his chest. “You’re leaving?”
“I think that’s probably a good idea.”
“Oh.”
Robby stood, and Dennis stayed seated, watching him. For a second, Robby just looked down at him, streetlight catching the grey at his temples, exhaustion pulling at the corners of his eyes. Dennis wondered if Robby could still feel the kiss, too.
“You’ll be all right?” Robby asked, voice softer now.
Dennis nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Yeah. I think so.”
Robby hesitated, and Dennis hated the hope that flickered in his chest, the stupid, desperate wish that maybe Robby would sit back down. But Robby just gave him a small, rueful smile.
“Get home safe, okay?”
Dennis nodded again, and Robby turned away. Dennis watched him leave, one step, then another, getting further with every second. The sensible part of him said this was the right thing, the necessary thing. They’d crossed a line, and Robby was making sure they went back before they did something they’d both regret. Dennis should drink his beer, go home, wake up tomorrow and be grateful Robby hadn’t let one moment ruin everything.
But as Robby got farther away, Dennis’s fingers drifted to his lips, remembering the feeling, the warmth, the fact that his first kiss, after twenty-six years of nothing, had somehow been with Robby. And now he was just going to let Robby walk away, like it had all been a mistake.
Something sharp twisted in his chest. No. His bottle clattered onto the bench as he stood up.
“Robby!”
Robby stopped, but not right away. He took another step, shoulders tensing like he’d heard Dennis but was weighing whether turning around was a good idea. Eventually, though, he did, and by then Dennis was already moving, heart pounding, shoes scraping on the pavement as he crossed through the patchwork of orange streetlight just a little too quickly, like momentum was the only thing keeping him upright.
Robby’s face shifted as Dennis approached: first surprise, then a flicker of concern. “Dennis?” he asked, and Dennis stopped right in front of him, suddenly realizing he had absolutely no plan for what happened next. His lungs were burning from sprinting across the path, his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, and Robby was standing there, waiting, expectant and confused.
“Dennis, what—”
“Don’t walk away like that.” The words came out rougher than he meant, but he couldn’t help it.
Robby blinked. “What?”
“You—” Dennis gestured wildly, helplessly, at the empty path behind them. “You can’t just do that.”
“Do what?”
“Kiss me and then walk away looking like somebody died.”
For a moment, Robby just stared at him. Then he closed his eyes. “Dennis—”
“No.” Dennis cut him off, not even sure where the sudden courage was coming from, beer, maybe, or humiliation, or just twenty-six years of wanting something badly enough to chase after it once he finally got it. “You keep saying my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to explain why I’m not allowed to be upset.”
Robby’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it.”
Robby looked away, jaw working. “I thought leaving was what you wanted.”
The anger vanished, replaced by confusion. “What?”
“You pulled away.”
“I panicked.”
“Yeah,” Robby replied, so quietly it barely counted as a word.
Dennis stared at him. “You thought I wanted you to stop.”
Robby gave him a look that spoke volumes. “I kissed you, Dennis. You froze, then practically jumped away from me. What exactly was I supposed to think?”
“Oh.” Dennis rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t—” He faltered, because explaining meant admitting things he’d planned to keep secret forever.
Robby waited.
Dennis looked somewhere around Robby’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want you to,” he said at last.
Robby’s face softened. “Okay.”
“I just didn’t know what I was doing.”
“I know that now.”
Dennis’s face went hot. “Can we maybe stop mentioning that?”
That finally got a laugh out of Robby, a tiny one, but real. Dennis’s stomach did something embarrassing. “Sorry,” Robby said, though his eyes were still bright with amusement.
“You’re not.”
“No, not really.”
Dennis tried to glare, but Robby just smiled, and for a second, the heaviness between them eased. Not all the way, but enough.
“But that doesn’t change anything,” Robby said.
There it was. Dennis looked down. “I know.”
“You’re still my student.”
“I know.”
“And I’m still—”
“I know, Robby.”
Robby stopped, studying him. Dennis took a shaky breath, the anger gone, replaced by something more complicated.
“I know what this is.”
“Do you?”
Dennis looked up, surprised by the question. Robby didn’t sound patronizing, just tired, maybe even a little scared, an expression Dennis had never seen on him before.
“I know it’s complicated.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I know we can’t…” Dennis hesitated, not sure what word belonged here. Date? Be together? Whatever came after kissing in a park? He had no idea. He’d never made it this far.
Robby watched him struggle.
Dennis let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what I want.” The words felt true in a way that made him ache.
Robby’s face softened further.
Dennis swallowed. “I don’t,” he said, quieter. “I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with any of this.” His eyes betrayed him, flicking to Robby’s mouth. “But I know I didn’t want that.”
Robby followed his gaze. “What?”
“You leaving,” Dennis said, forcing himself to meet Robby’s eyes. “Like it was nothing.”
Something in Robby’s face shifted, the teasing gone. Dennis realised, suddenly, how close they were standing. He’d done that, somewhere in the argument, he’d stepped closer. Robby didn’t move away.
“Dennis…”
“See? You’re doing it again,” Dennis said, and despite everything, Robby huffed a laugh. Dennis tried to smile, but neither of them was really smiling anymore. The air between them stretched tight, full of possibilities and risks.
This time, Dennis understood exactly what was happening. Robby wasn’t going to move. He’d crossed the line once; he wasn’t going to do it again. The next move, Dennis realised with a jolt, was his.
He could walk away. He probably should. He could go back to the bench, grab his stuff, and tomorrow they’d both pretend none of this had happened.
But Dennis didn’t want to pretend. He looked at Robby’s mouth, then his eyes, then his mouth again, and Robby noticed every bit of it.
“Dennis,” Robby warned softly.
Dennis stepped forward. Robby inhaled, and that tiny sound was all the encouragement he needed. He reached out, fingers catching in the sleeve of Robby’s jacket. For a second, that was all Dennis could manage, just holding on, feeling the solid warmth beneath his hand.
Robby looked down at where Dennis was holding him, then back up, waiting. He didn’t help, didn’t pull Dennis closer, didn’t touch him. He just waited.
Dennis’s heart hammered. Okay. He could do this. He’d done it once, technically. He rose up, a little awkwardly, onto his toes and kissed Robby.
It was terrible. He came in too fast, catching the corner of Robby’s mouth before correcting, nose bumping Robby’s cheek. But Robby made a startled sound, and Dennis didn’t pull away. He adjusted, pressing his mouth solidly to Robby’s. Warm. There it was again: warmth, rough beard, that dizzy drop in his stomach. Only now Dennis knew what was coming, sort of. He still had no idea what he was supposed to do next, so he just did the only thing that made sense, he kissed Robby again. A quick press, then another, testing, learning.
Robby stayed frozen for a heartbeat, maybe two. Then Dennis felt hands settle gently on his shoulders, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away, just there, steadying. Dennis’s fingers tightened in Robby’s jacket. Robby’s thumb brushed the side of Dennis’s neck and Dennis made a tiny, involuntary sound against Robby’s mouth.
That was all it took for Robby to break. with a soft exhale against Dennis’s lips before he finally kissed back, properly. Dennis’s stomach flipped so hard he nearly lost his balance. Robby was still careful, infuriatingly so, tilting his head and Dennis followed him instinctively, uncertain but eager, trying to understand the rhythm as it happened.
When Robby pulled away, Dennis nearly chased him, barely catching himself in time. They stayed close, breaths mingling in the quiet, and Dennis realized he was still clutching Robby’s sleeve. He loosened his grip.
“There,” Dennis muttered, his heart was still racing, but somehow he managed, “Now you can go.”
Robby stared at him for a long second. Then a warm, incredulous smile broke across his face. “You chased me down to kiss me again so you could tell me to leave?”
Dennis scowled, cheeks flushing. “It made sense in my head.”
Robby laughed. A real, open laugh.
Dennis’s face burned. “Shut up.”
Robby shook his head, still smiling, but then the smile faded. His hands were still on Dennis’s shoulders, neither of them seemed to notice until now.
“You’re gonna make things complicated,” Robby said, voice soft.
Dennis looked at him, at the exhaustion in his face and the affection he was doing a terrible job of hiding. At his mouth, which Dennis now knew was warm and soft and safe. A shaky smile pulled at Dennis’s lips. “I think they already are.”
Robby exhaled, half a laugh, half a sigh of defeat. His thumbs brushed Dennis’s shoulders once before his hands dropped, leaving Dennis cold. Robby stepped back, and this time Dennis let him.
“Tomorrow,” Robby said quietly.
Dennis’s stomach tightened. “What about it?”
“We go to work.”
The words sobered him. Hospital. Student. Attending. “Right.”
“And we act normal.”
Dennis stared, then looked between them. “Think we’re capable of that?”
“No,” Robby said instantly, and Dennis laughed. Robby smiled despite himself. “But we’re gonna try.”
Dennis nodded. “Okay.”
Robby took another step away. “Get some sleep, Whitaker.”
The use of his surname should have sounded formal, but after everything, it just felt fond. Dennis shoved his hands in his pockets. “You too.”
Robby turned, and this time Dennis didn’t stop him. He watched until Robby disappeared into the trees. Only then did he finally let out the breath he’d been holding, fingers rising to his lips.
Twice. He’d kissed Robby twice.
No.
Robby kissed him once. He kissed Robby once.
For some reason, that distinction mattered. And Dennis, standing alone beneath the streetlight, decided it always would.
Dennis managed about three hours of sleep, but even that was generous. He spent most of the night cycling between staring at the ceiling, rolling onto his side to stare at the wall, rolling back, checking the glowing numbers on his phone, telling himself to stop, and then doing it again a few minutes later. Every time he started to drift off, his brain would throw another detail at him. Robby’s mouth, the scratch of his beard, the way his breath had hitched when Dennis kissed him back, Robby’s hand at his neck, that line echoing in his head: You’re gonna make things complicated.
Dennis groaned, dragged a pillow over his face, and muttered, “Shut up.” His empty apartment didn’t offer any sympathy.
By the time he walked through the hospital doors, Dennis had convinced himself of one thing: he could be normal. He was an adult, after all, a med student trained to function under pressure. He’d done chest compressions in codes, watched people die, delivered terrible news without falling apart. Surely he could survive a shift in the same building as a man he’d kissed twice.
Dennis swiped his badge at the clock-in station. It beeped at him. He stared at it.
Robby kissed me.
“Fuck.”
A nurse glanced over. Dennis cleared his throat. So much for normal.
The locker room was empty, a small mercy. He changed quickly, stuffed his bag in a locker, clipped his ID, and paused a second too long in front of the mirror. His reflection looked exactly the same. That didn’t seem fair. Something this catastrophic should have left a mark. Instead, there he was: same stubborn curls, same tired eyes, same mouth. Dennis leaned in, half-expecting something different. Nothing. Of course not. Still, he could remember exactly how Robby’s mouth had felt, warm and soft, the scratch of his beard. Dennis pressed his lips together, immediately regretted it, and muttered, “Jesus Christ.” He grabbed his stethoscope and left.
The ER was already alive: monitors chirping, someone calling radiology, a tech pushing a stretcher. This, at least, was familiar. Dennis felt his shoulders relax. Work was simple. Patients needed things. He knew how to do that.
He rounded the corner toward the central desk and stopped. Robby was there, of course. Same hoodie, same scrubs, same coffee, reading glasses low on his nose while he frowned at the computer. Dennis had seen him like this a hundred times, probably more. It had never been a problem before. Or at least, he’d been better at pretending otherwise.
Robby looked up. Their eyes met, and everything Dennis had tried to bury since sunrise crashed back, bright and immediate. For a second, neither moved. Then Robby’s face shuttered, his shoulders straightened, the glasses came off, and the version of Robby from the park disappeared. “Morning, Whitaker.”
Dennis’s stomach dropped. Not Dennis. Whitaker. Professional. Normal. Exactly what they’d agreed on. “Morning, Dr. Robby.”
Something flickered in Robby’s expression. Dennis almost smiled, apparently he wasn’t the only one who felt the difference.
“Sleep?” Robby asked.
Dennis hesitated. Was that a trick question? “Some.”
Robby’s mouth twitched. “How much is some?”
“Enough.”
“That bad, huh?”
Dennis narrowed his eyes. Robby took a sip of coffee. Dennis’s gaze caught on Robby’s mouth, again, and Robby nearly choked. Dennis jerked his eyes away so fast his neck twinged. Okay. Maybe neither of them was particularly good at normal.
The rest of the team trickled in, the shift started, and for a while, everything was routine: assignments, updates, Robby at the central desk, running through priorities with that clipped, steady voice Dennis could probably mimic by now. “Polytrauma consults first. Airway, vitals, primary survey. If they’re unstable, nothing else matters, you deal with unstable first.”
Dennis stood with the group, tablet pressed to his chest, trying to listen. Really, he did. But Robby was being so normal it almost hurt. His attention moved evenly: Santos, Mohan, Dennis, an intern, back to the board. No lingering looks, no hesitation, nothing.
Dennis had wanted this. They’d agreed: go to work, act normal. But standing here, watching Robby act like Dennis’s mouth had never been anywhere near his, somehow felt worse than anything else.
“Whitaker.”
Dennis jerked to attention. Everyone was looking at him. “Sorry?”
“Bed six.”
Dennis checked the board. Elderly female, hypotensive, labs pending. Right, medicine. His real job. “Pressure’s been dropping since five-thirty,” Dennis recited, forcing his mind to focus. “I’d reassess, check her response to fluids, review labs, and repeat the abdominal exam. If she’s still dropping, I’d want imaging sooner rather than later.”
Robby nodded. “Good.”
One word. Perfectly ordinary. Dennis hated how warm it made him feel.
The group disbanded. Dennis turned for bed six, grateful for the excuse. He’d barely made it a few steps when Robby fell in beside him. Dennis felt his presence before he saw him. That was always the problem.
“Hey,” Robby said, voice softer now.
Dennis glanced over. Robby’s eyes flicked around, checking the department before settling back on him. “You good?”
Dennis almost laughed. “Yeah.”
Robby studied him. Dennis adjusted the tablet under his arm. “You?”
“Yeah.” Neither sounded convincing.
Dennis’s mouth twitched. Robby’s did too. For a second, they were back in that other world. Then someone pushed a stretcher past.
“Coming through.”
Dennis stepped closer to Robby to make space, and Robby reacted like he always did, hand automatically lifting toward Dennis’s lower back. Dennis saw it in the corner of his eye, recognized the move instantly, the gentle touch that had happened a hundred times before. Only this time, Robby’s hand stopped, hovering just shy of Dennis’s scrubs.
Dennis froze. Robby did too. The stretcher rolled by. Neither of them moved.
Dennis stared straight ahead. Slowly, Robby’s hand dropped and something inside Dennis went cold.
“Sorry,” Robby murmured.
Dennis looked over. Sorry, for almost touching him. Yesterday, Robby wouldn’t have thought twice. Yesterday, Dennis would have spent twenty minutes secretly replaying the feeling of that hand. Now, Robby couldn’t touch him at all.
Dennis swallowed. “You don’t have to apologize.”
Robby’s jaw flexed. “No.” His eyes met Dennis’s for a second too long. “I probably do.” And then he walked away.
Dennis stayed put. Around him, the ER kept humming: phones ringing, monitors beeping, someone laughing at the nurses’ station, a patient calling for a blanket. Nothing had changed. Except, apparently, everything had.
Dennis looked down at his tablet. Bed six. Right. He made his feet move, and spent the next several hours working. Robby didn’t touch him again. Dennis noticed every single time.
By late morning, Dennis was almost convinced he was getting used to it, —the distance, the effort, the way every accidental almost-touch felt like a minor earthquake. He’d seen four patients, chased two sets of labs, lost an argument with radiology, and eaten half a protein bar while clicking through charts. Robby hadn’t touched him once. No hand on his shoulder, no palm at his back, not even that casual squeeze to the back of his neck when Dennis got something right. Nothing.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on those little gestures until they stopped. That was the humiliating part. Apparently, Dennis had spent months collecting every tiny scrap of contact, a silent catalog of warmth, Robby’s hand bracing the back of his chair, the nudge in a crowded hallway, the squeeze after a good catch. Things Dennis never should have noticed. Things he’d noticed anyway.
Now every absence was a siren, and by eleven, Dennis was annoyed with himself for caring. By eleven-thirty, he was annoyed with Robby, which was unfair, Robby was only doing what they’d agreed. Dennis just hadn’t expected to hate it this much.
“Whitaker.” Dennis looked up from the note he was pretending to finish. Robby stood outside bed nine, chart in hand. “Got something for you.”
Dennis followed him through the curtain, grateful for the distraction. The patient was a construction worker with a gash on his forearm, deep enough to need stitches, but nothing more dramatic. Dennis got to work, falling into the rhythm: questions, exam, clean, anesthetize, close. This he could do. By the time he’d set up the sterile field and pulled on gloves, the ache of the morning faded to something manageable.
Robby took the opposite side of the stretcher. “Talk me through it.”
“Already irrigated. No foreign bodies, tendon and sensation intact. Edges look good.”
“Anesthetic?”
“Done.”
Robby nodded at the tray. “All yours.”
Dennis picked up the needle driver and placed the first stitch, then a second. Robby watched without comment. Normally, Dennis hardly noticed. Today, he felt every ounce of that attention.
Third stitch. Dennis repositioned his needle.
“Angle,” Robby said.
Dennis paused. “What?”
“You’re coming in too shallow.”
He adjusted. “Like this?”
“Little steeper.”
Dennis tried again. Robby watched. “Mm.”
“Mm good or mm bad?” Dennis asked, glancing up.
The patient laughed. Robby’s mouth twitched. “Mm you’re making me nervous with that needle, Whitaker.”
“You’re not the one I’m stitching.”
“Exactly,” the patient muttered.
Dennis grinned, despite himself. “See? He trusts me.”
“He’s medicated.”
“Still counts.”
For a moment, it was easy again, the old rhythm returning. Dennis bent to his work, placed another stitch.
“Better,” Robby said.
Dennis tried not to feel absurdly pleased. He started the next one.
“Watch your wrist.”
He adjusted, a little too much.
“No, don’t—” Robby’s hand moved, then stopped, hovering above Dennis’s gloved hand. Neither of them moved. It lasted a heartbeat, maybe less. The patient didn’t notice. No one walking by would have noticed. Dennis noticed. Robby noticed.
Dennis stared at their hands. Something twisted in his gut.
Then, finally, Robby made a decision. His hand settled over Dennis’s, warm even through the gloves.
“There.” Robby’s voice was low, professional. He shifted Dennis’s wrist a few degrees. “Come in from here.”
Dennis swallowed. “Okay.”
“See the difference?”
Dennis had no idea. “Yeah.”
Robby’s thumb ghosted against the side of Dennis’s hand, probably accidental. Dennis’s pulse jumped anyway.
“Then follow the curve.”
Dennis did, or tried to. His whole world had narrowed to that steady pressure. It was ridiculous, they were both gloved, in a busy ER, after all that had happened. Robby had kissed him twice, no, he’d kissed Robby once, but somehow this, Robby’s hand over his, was what made Dennis feel like he’d been turned inside out.
“Good,” Robby murmured.
Dennis finished the stitch. Robby let go immediately, and the loss was almost worse. Dennis stared at the wound.
“Again,” Robby said.
Dennis placed another stitch, this time at the right angle.
“There you go.”
Dennis risked a glance up. Robby was already watching him, not his hands, but him. It lasted a split second before Robby looked away, but Dennis had seen it. Suddenly, he understood: Robby wasn’t unaffected. He wasn’t finding this easy, either. He’d been avoiding Dennis because this was hard for him too.
Something warm bloomed in Dennis’s chest, dangerous and reckless. He finished the last stitch. Robby checked his work.
“Looks good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Then, before either of them seemed to think about it, Robby’s hand landed on Dennis’s shoulder. A firm squeeze. Familiar. Automatic.
Dennis went still. So did Robby. Their eyes met. Robby’s hand remained, just for a second. Dennis could feel every finger through his scrub top. Yesterday, it would have meant nothing, or at least, they would have pretended it did. Today, neither could pretend.
Robby pulled his hand away. “Dress it,” he said, voice rougher. “Then discharge when he’s ready.”
Dennis nodded. “Got it.”
Robby slipped out. The curtain fluttered closed.
Dennis stared after him.
Dennis made it about six minutes before Trinity found him. He was still finishing his note from bed nine when a coffee appeared next to his keyboard. He blinked at it, then at her. “For me?”
“No. Your computer looked dehydrated,” she deadpanned.
He took it anyway, grateful. “You’re my favorite person.”
“That’s bleak,” Trinity replied, but didn’t move. He felt her eyes on him.
“What?”
“Your face.”
Dennis frowned. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“You look happy. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m not happy.”
“Okay.”
That “okay” was loaded and suspicious, but Dennis ignored it. He sipped his coffee, focusing on his charting. He’d slept three hours, his feet hurt, he had six unfinished notes, and he’d spent most of the morning discovering that Robby withholding even casual touches was enough to ruin his day.
Then Robby’s hand had covered his. He’d squeezed Dennis’s shoulder. Looks good.
Dennis caught himself smiling at the computer screen.
Trinity made a face. “Oh, that’s embarrassing.”
“What?” he said, instantly defensive.
“Whatever just happened in your head.”
“Nothing happened in my head.”
“You looked miserable, then you started smiling at your computer.”
“I had a good case.”
“You put stitches in a guy’s arm.”
“Seven.”
Trinity stared at him. Dennis immediately regretted it.
“Seven?” she repeated, solemn. “Should we call Abbott?”
“Fuck off.”
“Maybe paeds has a sticker.”
He rolled his eyes and took another drink of coffee. Trinity’s gaze narrowed.
“Did Dr. Robby tell you you did a good job?”
Dennis nearly choked. There it was. She’d known about his crush for months, not because he’d confessed, but because she’d seen him looking. She’d once asked if he planned to “climb Dr. Robby like a retirement-home jungle gym.” He’d denied everything, she’d called him a liar, and that was their routine.
“He said my sutures looked good,” Dennis muttered.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’re such a loser.”
He glared at her. Trinity glanced across the department.
“Speaking of your geriatric crush—”
“He’s fifty-four.”
Trinity turned back slowly. “I didn’t ask.”
“You called him geriatric.”
“Do you know his blood type too?”
“No.” A beat. “I don’t think.”
Trinity looked genuinely appalled. “You’re sick.”
Dennis covered his face with his hand. “Please find something to do.”
“I am doing something.”
“Bullying me isn’t a job.”
“It should be.”
Her gaze drifted over the ER, then stopped. “Huh.”
He should’ve ignored her. He lasted two seconds. “What?”
She nodded past him. “Your boyfriend’s staring at you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dennis said much too quickly.
She raised a brow. He ignored her and looked anyway.
Robby stood at the central desk with Dana, chart in hand, looking directly at him. Dennis’s stomach flipped. Their eyes met for a second before Robby looked back down.
When Dennis turned around, Trinity looked vaguely nauseated.
“What?”
“You two are exhausting.”
Dennis’s heart skipped. “What do you mean, you two?”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean I’ve spent months watching you stare at him like a Victorian woman dying of consumption while he pretends he isn’t staring back.”
Dennis froze. The rest of the noise faded away.
“Wait.”
Trinity sighed. “You’ve seen him looking at me?”
“Oh, don’t look so fucking hopeful. It’s revolting.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A while.”
Dennis glanced across the ER again, the memory of all those moments he’d explained away, Robby’s hand lingering, his eyes finding Dennis, the pauses he’d convinced himself were just wishful thinking. Trinity had seen them too. Before last night.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said.
Dennis looked at her. For once, she wasn’t smiling.
“He’s still your attending.”
The bubble that had been floating in Dennis’s chest popped. “I know.”
“And you’re still his student.”
“I know.”
“And he’s nine hundred years old.”
“Fifty-four.”
“Stop knowing that.”
“You brought it up.”
“You answered in under a second.”
Dennis opened his mouth, then closed it. Trinity nodded. “Exactly.” She shoved away from the counter. “Try not to masturbate over your feedback.”
Dennis stared after her. “Jesus Christ, Santos.”
“Seven stitches, Whitaker!” she called back, flipping him off over her shoulder.
He returned the gesture, then shook his head and turned back to his computer.
While he pretends he isn’t staring back.
Dennis’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He couldn’t help it, slowly, he looked across the ER again.
Robby was already looking at him.
And for the first time, Dennis didn’t have to wonder.
The parking lot was quiet, dusk settling in, the sky washed out and pale above the hospital. Dennis’s backpack felt heavy on his shoulder, his body heavier still, every muscle aching from a day spent running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. But what really left him wrung out was everything he hadn’t said, all the things that had simmered under the surface through a dozen half-glances and aborted gestures.
He could have gone home. Could have turned the other way and let the day end with the simple, sensible act of walking away. Instead, he trailed after Robby, telling himself it was coincidence, that he just happened to be walking this direction, that it wasn’t deliberate until Robby’s truck came into view and Dennis was still behind him.
Robby heard his footsteps and looked back. Their eyes met in the blue-grey light, the kind of look that made Dennis forget what language was.
Dennis stopped, feeling caught and exposed. For a second, neither of them said anything. Robby’s face was shadowed, his eyes searching Dennis’s, something hesitant flickering there between the lines of exhaustion and control.
“Dennis…” Robby’s voice was soft, more a warning than a greeting.
Dennis swallowed. He’d had all day to rehearse what he’d say if this happened. Now, with Robby watching him, his mind had gone blank, his hands twitching at his sides.
“I…” He faltered. Of course. Perfect.
Robby waited, patient and unreadable.
Dennis forced himself to look up, to meet those steady eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said quietly.
The words landed between them, real and impossible to take back. Robby went very still.
Dennis’s heart hammered, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Since the park. The kiss. Both of them.” He felt his cheeks go hot. “It’s just—been in my head, all night, all day. I keep trying not to think about it, and then you—”
He broke off, suddenly shy.
Robby’s eyebrow lifted, just a little. “I what?”
Dennis’s stomach twisted. He wished he could take it back, but instead, the truth spilled out. “You look at me.”
He thought of Trinity’s words, the way she’d said it so easily. He pretends he isn’t staring back.
Dennis’s pulse sped up. “And then I start thinking about it again,” he finished softly.
Robby just stared at him for a long second, jaw tight, something shifting in his expression. Then, as if a decision had finally been made, he let something go and stepped closer.
Dennis’s breath caught. Suddenly Robby was right there, close enough that Dennis could feel the warmth of him, close enough that every thought he’d tried to bury all day came rushing back, unmanageable and bright.
He looked at Robby’s mouth. Robby’s gaze flickered there too, and then up to his eyes.
“Dennis,” Robby said, warning crumbling, voice rough.
Dennis didn’t wait for courage to desert him. He leaned in, and Robby met him halfway, the space between them closing in a heartbeat.
And Dennis fell into it so eagerly it was fucking embarrassing.
His breath caught, lips parting too quickly, hands fisting instinctively in the front of Robby’s jacket because apparently his body’s solution to what the fuck do I do? was simply hold on.
The kiss started slow, deliberate, electric, but Dennis’s pulse stuttered through it. Every movement felt like guesswork, soft brushes of lips, a nervous pause, then another, bolder press when Robby didn’t pull away.
Robby smiled against his mouth, low and fond, catching one of Dennis’s hands and tugging it up. “Hey,” he murmured, guiding it gently around his neck. “Not so stiff. You can hold on.”
Dennis hesitated, then looped his arms around Robby’s shoulders, unsure of how close was too close, until Robby’s hands settled low on his hips, warm and grounding. “There,” Robby said quietly, thumbs pressing into the waistband of his scrubs, pulling him just that little bit closer. “You can touch me, y’know.” He murmured against his lips, his voice warm.
Dennis made a startled sound, half-breathless, and rose onto his toes to meet him, the height difference forcing him to tilt up, mouths meeting again in a rush of nerves and heat. The tension that had been building all week cracked open, dizzy and sweet, and Robby deepened the kiss, slow, sure, coaxing him to follow.
“Easy,” Robby murmured when Dennis pressed too hard, too fast. He softened the kiss with a small laugh, voice slipping between instruction and teasing warmth. “Don’t chase it. Just— yeah. Like that.”
Dennis tried again, gentler this time, finding the rhythm as he went. His fingers flexed against the back of Robby’s neck, unsure but wanting, and Robby rewarded him with a quiet hum that seemed to vibrate right through both of them.
Robby broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against his lips, voice rough and low, “Fuck… what have I done to you, huh, sweet boy? Insatiable.”
Dennis’s chest fluttered at that, half from thrill, half from nerves. He didn’t even know if he was doing it right, but Robby sounded wrecked, and that had to mean something good. So he leaned in again, a little breathless, standing on his toes to reach, tasting the words right off Robby’s mouth, letting the spark flare into something messy and alive. He loved the way Robby’s beard tickled against his skin, the rough brush of it against his cheek and lips making his' heart stutter all over again.
Robby’s hand came up, brushing Dennis’s cheek, gentle at first, like he knew, before sliding back down to his hips, pulling him in tighter until their bodies fit neatly together. Dennis leaned into it automatically, grateful for the touch, for the direction. The city lights bounced off the parked cars, traffic a low hum somewhere far away, but all Dennis could feel was Robby, and the dizzy, undeniable pull of everything unspoken between them.
Dennis kissed sweetly, though uncertainly, as if learning by instinct. Gentle presses of his mouth, tentative flicks of his tongue. He caught on around the time Robby licked behind his teeth, a shiver running through him before he dared to press back, more insistent this time, teeth grazing skin in clumsy mimicry.
Robby purred his approval, a smile curling against Dennis’s lips when Dennis made a startled, needy sound, half-whimper, half-moan, and tried again, deeper.
Robby tilted closer and murmured, “That’s it. Don’t think about it, just feel.”
The next kiss lingered longer. Dennis followed his lead, tentative flicks of tongue, the faint hitch of breath that betrayed how unsure he was. He got bolder when Robby sucked on his tongue, a small noise escaping him, surprised by how much he wanted.
By the time Robby’s teeth caught gently on his lower lip, Dennis was trembling, pressing back in a messy, eager imitation.
It unraveled fast after that. Tongue against tongue, teeth against lip, Dennis never expected to like the heated, tangled taste of someone else, but Robby tasted way too good to ignore. He leaned closer, pressed in, heart hammering, caught in the dizzying mix of heat, nerves, and something urgent he couldn’t name.
Robby groaned low in his throat, a rough, ragged sound that made Dennis shiver, and for a moment the world narrowed to the press of their bodies, the slick taste, the spark of connection. His chest burned, pulse racing, mind spinning, and then, finally, Robby leaned back, breath ragged, eyes dark and unfocused. For a second, he just stared, like he couldn’t quite believe what they’d done.
Then he huffed a shaky laugh, resting his forehead against Dennis’s. “Fuck, we have to stop,” he said, voice gone rough around the edges. “We’re still in the parking lot.”
Dennis blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted. His heart was still hammering, the cool night air doing nothing to calm it. “Right,” he said, but the word came out like a question. He didn’t move.
Robby tried to take a step back, but Dennis followed, fingers tightening at his jacket. “Dennis—”
“Just—one more,” Dennis murmured, tilting up again before he could think better of it.
Robby caught his shoulders, half-laughing now, half-desperate, holding him at arm’s length. Robby’s restraint cracked audibly in the small sound he made, a low groan that slipped out before he could stop it, his head tipping forward like gravity had won. For a heartbeat, he almost gave in, mouth hovering a breath away from Dennis’s. Then he caught himself, hands coming up fast to Dennis’s shoulders, pushing him back a fraction.
“Dennis,” Robby muttered, half-laughing, half in pain.
Dennis blinked, dazed and flushed, still on his toes.
Robby’s voice softened, fondness breaking through even as he steadied him. “Kid, you’re standing on your toes,” he said, the words rough with affection. “You’re gonna fall over if I let you go.”
“Then don’t,” he murmured, almost pleading. Dennis could tell his persuasive skills had failed before the words were halfway out of his mouth.
Robby just stood there a second, jaw tight, every muscle in his body caught between wanting and restraint.
Dennis’s fingers had found the front of Robby’s jacket without him even realising, bunching the fabric as he drifted in closer, eyes heavy, attention fixed somewhere south of Robby’s mouth. Everything in him felt wired and weightless, like he was moving on instinct alone. Robby took a step back, then another, until his back hit the passenger-side door with a solid thud.
A low groan escaped him, a sound that seemed half frustration, half surrender. Dennis blinked up, breathless, finally noticing he’d just backed Robby up against his own truck in the middle of the hospital lot.
Dennis barely hesitated, he swayed closer, like the warning hadn’t even registered. Robby let out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a groan, rolling his head back against the window. Twenty-four hours ago, Dennis had never kissed anyone. Now Robby couldn’t get him off fast enough to even open the door.
Robby shifted, hand fumbling behind him, searching blindly for the latch. His fingers found it with a decisive click. He caught the door before it could swing out.
“Get in,” he said, voice low and rough.
Dennis froze, staring. Robby jerked his head toward the passenger seat. “Passenger side. Now.”
That finally cut through the haze. Dennis flushed, ducked his head, and scrambled awkwardly into the truck, legs barely fitting before Robby swung the door shut behind him. The click left Dennis abruptly alone, the cab suddenly silent except for the sound of his own unsteady breathing.
What the fuck was he doing? He stared through the windshield, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. He’d just chased his attending across a parking lot, kissed him until he’d backed him against his own truck, and then climbed inside the way he’d been told. Jesus.
He watched Robby’s silhouette move around the front of the truck, deliberate, jaw set, keys clenched in one hand, his composure gathering itself again with every step. Dennis’s heart thudded. For a second, Robby paused by the driver’s side, and Dennis felt panic flicker, what if he changed his mind, what if he just walked away?
But then the door opened, and Robby got in.