Work Text:
“Whitaker?”
Sat on the steps to Robby’s building was Dennis Whitaker, head hanging down in shame or exhaustion maybe, a single backpack his only possession for the night. Robby hadn’t seen him on these steps in months now. Not since…
“Dr. Robby.” His voice was tight, unsure.
“What’re you doing here?” Robby sighed out. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, peering up at the young man who had risen to his feet and started walking slowly down the steps.
“Our apartment had a leak; landlord said we needed to be out for the night.” He sheepishly rubbed at his wrist with his thumb. It was a habit Robby had noticed a long time ago.
He stayed silent, watching Whitaker.
“Ah, um, Trinity, er, Santos went over to a friend’s place but I didn’t have the courage to ask to come with. Thought I’d just wander around but I figured that was a stupid idea. Was probably a stupid idea to come here too.”
Whitaker usually wasn’t this nervous. Robby couldn’t blame him, though. He'd be nervous too if he ended up on his ex’s doorstep.
“I should g-”
“Get inside.”
“What?”
“Let’s go.” Robby didn’t spare another glance, walking up the steps to unlock the front door. He didn’t even look behind to make sure Whitaker was following, only listening out for the soft close of the door as a second set of feet stepped into his home. He removed his shoes and jacket, hanging it on the hooks next to the door before turning to the young man awkwardly fidgeting in place. Robby just stared again until Whitaker toed off his shoes gently.
“Robby, look-” Before Dennis could finish his apology, the man was already gone, walking down the long hallway. All Dennis could do was stand in the foyer, watching his back retreat.
He couldn’t blame Robby if he didn’t want to speak to him. Work was already tense enough, but they were adults that understood innocent people could die if they couldn’t suck it up and work together. Long gone were the touches— squeezes on shoulders, palms spread between shoulder blades, steering guidance into a trauma room. He couldn’t help but regret applying for his internship in the Pitt; maybe they would’ve lasted if they didn’t work together too. Dennis was just glad Robby never reported him to HR, or maybe Robby should be the thankful one.
Dennis had wandered his way to the couch, the cold Pittsburgh night seeping through the cracks around the front door; he couldn’t stand in the entry way any longer. The familiar black leather was worn, only one indent still sagged down, weighed by a heavy body spending evenings watching tv or movies or reading. Dennis sat on the opposite side.
His body was stiff, knees glued together and slightly pulled taut. His sweaty hands pressed against his jeans as he nervously rubbed them. The smells were so familiar: the extinguished flame of some cedar candle, the collection of old books piled on the overflowing bookshelf in the corner, the lingering scent of Robby’s cooking. He made pasta for dinner, the acidity still clinging to the air.
A pile of blanket and pillow dropped next to him, the movement startling him out of this thoughts. Dennis looked from the soft fabrics up to Robby’s neutral expression. It hadn’t changed once all night. He’d rather the man have been angry, upset with his presence, but there was no reprieve.
“You can sleep on the couch. If you need the bathroom it’s- well you know.”
Dennis nodded. The silence was awkward, of course it was. The weight sitting in Dennis’s chest since the steps outside felt like a rock. Maybe he’d ask Trinity to do an ultrasound on him tomorrow, see if he accidentally swallowed one.
“Um, Dr. Robby?” His voice was hesitant, he felt like he was on rotations all over again, that hell of a first day coming to mind. How confident he felt to keep helping even when Robby physically pushed him away. He could feel the man’s metaphorical extended arm all over again, his own stumbling feet. It floated in the tense air between them this time.
It wasn’t enough. Robby didn’t even look at him before exiting in the direction of his bedroom; Dennis knew the house’s layout by heart.
“Robby.” He called more firmly. The man paused in the threshold, a perfect metaphor for the position Dennis had forced him into. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
No response.
Some ways down the hall, Dennis could hear the bedroom door shutting firmly. The silence swallowed him whole.
Robby resisted the urge to punch something, anything. Instead he opted to run a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands that had grown scruffy over time. He knew his facial hair was in similar condition, but sometimes it was hard to take care of himself. At some point there had been someone to remind him to do so, but there was no one to look good for any more. No dates to dress up for, no kisses to keep mustache hairs out of, no body to keep hands moisturized for. His cracked skin stung as he held them under the water, dry from the cold winter settling across the city paired with the constant sanitizing at work.
The man in the mirror across from him stared, silent and waiting. Waiting for what? He wondered. For the breaking point? He’d hit that already. Many times. For him to get his shit together? He doesn’t think he’ll ever get there. Learn to live with it. Learn to accept it. Try to find balance when you can.
The bed’s springs squeaked lightly as Robby sat on the edge, the change into his sleepwear removing any warmth that he had collected under his clothes in the last few hours. The nights continued to get colder, the solitude of his bed unable to provide any relief.
Robby laid back, letting out a sigh until his chest felt like it was caving in, a large, round, pale stone settling in the middle. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, it would all be a dream. Whitaker wouldn’t be 15 feet away, perched on his couch with nowhere else to go for the night. The ache in his chest would be gone, too.
He shuffled under the covers, the feel of silken sheets against his skin a reward from his long day. A long day of caring for people, pretending everything was fine, and caring for someone by pretending it was just fine.
He closed his eyes and listened for any movement: floorboards creaking, the fluff of a pillow, maybe even the closing of a front door. He drifted off before he could hear any of them.
Dennis was trying to quiet his mind enough to sleep, but there was nothing he could do to stop the millions of thoughts running through it. Being back in such a familiar place after so long was bringing back memories. He wondered if it would be the same once he finally returned home at some point. Thoughts that would haunt him, lingering smells and tastes resting on the outskirts of his senses. Every time he shut his eyes, they stung, forcing themselves back open to stare at the white ceiling. The dark walls around him felt claustrophobic. This was such a bad idea. Turning up at his ex’s when he had nowhere else to go. He should’ve gone with Trinity or called Cassie or Mel. Hell, he could’ve hiked back to the hospital and spent another night on the 8th floor. Anything would’ve been a smarter idea than this.
But he didn’t even realize where he was heading until he was gazing up at a front door he knew all too well. A front door he had once dreamed about having a key to. A front door he couldn’t even muster up the courage to knock on. That’s how he’d ended up wallowing on the steps where Robby found him.
The embarrassment crawled around his skin, pulling it tight and knocking his breath away. He rolled off the couch, mindlessly making his way to the bathroom. He didn’t have to search for it at all, he knew exactly where he was headed. The cold splash of water electrified him, quieted his brain for a moment. He only focused on the wetness dripping off his skin, plinking into the porcelain below.
His heart pounded in his chest. What if Robby could hear it?
He took a glance over his shoulder, but of course there was no one in the doorway. The disappointment shocked him, if only slightly.
The days of Robby checking on Dennis in the middle of the night were long gone. The light sleeper following him to the bathroom or the kitchen, worried if nightmares or illness plagued him. It was an odd habit he’d taken note of. Robby’s need to care for others never ended. It was honestly admirable.
But there was no one standing in the threshold to dote anymore, no matter how badly he wanted it.
He needed to know if he was still awake.
Dennis’s steps were light as he padded from the bathroom to Robby’s bedroom, the hard wood floor cool to the touch. The door creaked on its hinges just slightly and he paused, listening for movement inside. After a beat of nothing, he pushed it open fully, the light from the hallway cascading over Robby’s sleeping form.
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, but not fully— he needed an escape. He felt like a little kid, standing at the foot of his parents’ bed to tell them he threw up. He felt like a creep, a stalker entering an unwanted place for his own pleasure. What was he doing?
He couldn’t help himself, it all felt surreal, he couldn’t convince himself that it wasn’t a dream.
He stepped closer, the floorboards absorbing his weight, recognizing his walking pattern. The bed creaked as he put his knee on it, felt like he was climbing a gurney for CPR. He was the only one at a loss for breath, though.
“Dennis?” Robby’s groggy voice rang out in the silence. He lifted himself up onto an elbow, rubbing at his eyes with the other hand. He probably thought he was dreaming— or having a nightmare.
Dennis slowly crawled up the bed, no exact destination in mind, not even sure what he was doing. He sat himself next to Robby’s hip.
“What’re you doing?” The man’s hand came down to stroke the top of his thigh, exposed by his boxers. It was instinctual, Dennis knew that. A touch they often used to find themselves connecting through. It didn’t stop the chill that ran down his spine. Or the anticipatory curling in the bottom of his stomach.
“I missed you.” The words came out instinctually. He hadn’t allowed them to escape. He didn’t say them. He didn’t know who said them.
“We’re not doing this right now.”
“Right now?” Dennis couldn’t stop the hope from leaking through in his voice. It was cruel, truly.
Robby’s slow circles on his thigh stopped, his hand remaining in its place. The hope was excruciating in nature, laughing in his face, but remaining unmoving.
“Dennis.” His voice was scolding. He felt like a kid when his dad would catch him laying in the barn instead of mucking out the stalls. When his mother would notice he hadn’t actually prayed, too eager to dig into his lunch.
But there was nothing he was supposed to do in this moment. Maybe things he shouldn’t be doing. He often did things he shouldn’t.
Dennis placed his hand on top of Robby’s, pushing down until the warmth connected with his thigh again. Robby’s hand squeezed.
“I’m not doing anything.” Dennis stated indignantly. All he did was get on the bed, it was Robby who was touching, Robby who was staring, Robby who was insinuating that there was anything more going on between them.
“I told you to sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not sleeping right now. I’ll sleep on the couch later.” He knew he was being petulant, acting like a child who was told no.
The older man sighed, sounding jaded and worn. Over fifty years on this earth, a big portion spent in an emergency room would do that to any person. Dennis couldn’t see him very well with the muted glow from the hall’s sconce being the only source of light. He wanted to see his big brown eyes, the wrinkles that lined his skin, the gray hairs that dotted his facial hair. He reached out, not as hesitantly as he should have. His hand landed on the side of Robby’s face, his beard tickling his skin. Robby’s own hand came up to grab Dennis’s wrist.
He waited for the man to pull him off, but it never came. Instead, he watched as Robby’s head turned into his palm, breathing in and leaving a gentle kiss in the center.
Dennis could feel his heart skip a beat. Maybe Trinity should run an ECG for him too.
Another kiss, and another. Robby had begun to pepper kisses all over Dennis’s palm, his thumb slowly stroking circles into his wrist. Both of the man’s hands were on him, Dennis noticed. He was the one touching, he was the one teasing, he was the one keeping them tied together. He could feel the tug of his arm as Robby pulled it, his kisses trailing up the limb, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.
The room was quiet, the sole noises being Robby’s kisses and Dennis’s breath growing heavier. His arm was pulled until it couldn’t go any farther, Dennis falling forward and catching himself on the bed. Robby’s own hand followed suit, wrapped around to grip at his thigh and hold him steady. Dennis hovered over him, watching as he kissed like a madman— starved. He was firm and deliberate, every new press lighting Dennis’s skin like an iron. But the trail moved slow, not hesitant, as if he thought he could scare Dennis off if he didn’t go slow enough.
Dennis’s gaze was transfixed, he was worried if he looked away, Robby would stop. The touch was everything to him right now— a lifeline.
As the position grew uncomfortable, Dennis dared to shift around, still worried it would burst the bubble they found themselves in. He gently moved his leg over Robby, lowering his hips until he was fully seated on the older man. He paused, lips hovering over Dennis’s bicep. His eyes stared up, big and brown and lidded. It was seductive, and Dennis immediately recognized what kind of situation they found themselves in— what kind of situation Dennis had cornered them into.
Robby was at the threshold, and this time he stepped back into the room.
His resolve snapped, Whitaker’s wide blue eyes like a lake he wanted to drown in. Propelled by pure adrenaline, Robby sat upright, grabbing Whitaker around the middle as he smashed their lips together. The younger man’s hands immediately came to cage Robby’s head between them, fingers cold against his skin. Their teeth and tongues clashed as they hungrily kissed, panting breaths being passed back and forth.
The pressure of Whitaker’s body being fully seated on Robby’s lap had him going crazy. The familiar weight sent his mind racing with memories. Thoughts of late nights together, ending with intimate embraces as they drifted off to sleep, only to still be smiling in the morning. But those memories were distant now, shrouded in a dark curtain, almost obscured to the point that Robby couldn’t see them anymore.
In this second, Robby didn’t care about the memories, about how badly he wanted those moments back. He had Whitaker in his hands, and for now, he wasn’t going to let go.
Robby’s grip on his waist was bruising, apathetic to the soft skin there. Their kisses bounced between hungry and languid, rough and sensual like they couldn’t make up their minds.
The first roll of Whitaker’s hips was like ice in Robby’s veins. It crossed a line of question: were they really going to do this?
After months apart, months playing professional, months of medical talk only, were they going to cross this line again?
It felt like the first time all over again when the touches got too much and they found themselves in Robby’s bed somehow. The apprehension and guilt from knowing they did something they probably shouldn’t have, but the thrill and elation at getting what they finally wanted.
This time it wasn’t just the hospital’s boundaries they were pushing, though— it was their own. Their relationship’s own. If it could even be called a relationship. They felt more like strangers than ever, but not when Robby’s hands were roaming Dennis’s back like he already knew every muscle and freckle.
Dennis couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him when his back hit the bed, Robby using his strength to flip them over. By no means was Dennis a skinny little thing, but Robby easily towered over him. It was something the young man found attractive as soon as his own shoulder was used to steer him into a trauma bay. That was until the nights spent arguing in this very room, Robby making sure he was commanding and threatening with the way he loomed over Dennis. But when they were tangled in the sheets, height didn’t really matter. It was back to sending a strike of want down his spine, much to his dismay.
Their breaths were audible in the quiet night along with the wet sounds of the kisses they shared. Robby’s hand traveled up his thigh, teasing his fingers just past the hem of his boxers’ leg. The touch sent shivers all through his body, and he could feel himself grow even harder. He placed a hand on the back of the man’s neck, pulling him even closer as he tongued into his mouth, hot and wet.
His other hand reached up, needing to confirm his suspicions. As soon as Dennis’s palm made contact with Robby’s hard dick in his sleep pants, the man’s hips dropped into the touch. A deep moan sounded, making Dennis’s head feel fuzzy.
It was a blur of motion as Dennis reached out and pulled Robby’s pants and underwear down in one swift motion, his own boxers getting the same treatment. Their movements were hasty; if they thought about it too much, they would stop. They really should stop, but the burning sensation left behind by his touches was intoxicating.
The cold air had Dennis’s dick twitching, but it was soon remedied as Robby dropped his hips until their hard-ons were pressed together. They simultaneously moaned out, grinding against the others’ warmth.
Dennis vaguely paid attention as Robby dug into the drawer next to him, looking for something that Dennis hoped he hadn’t used in months. The snap of the lube cap was familiar, as was the sensation of Robby’s middle finger pressing at his entrance. The man sat back for a better angle and Dennis couldn’t tell if he wanted to look or not. He was afraid if he opened his eyes, it wouldn’t be real. That he’d be back in his room in Trinity’s apartment, the walls covered in ripped tape that used to hold up pictures and notes transferred from lunchboxes and lockers. His quiet room that was no longer filled with late night phone calls. The times when Dennis would stay up studying, a warm, knowledgeable voice on the other end giving advice and keeping company until Dennis heard soft snores from the speaker. When he would curl up next to his phone until he drifted off to sleep himself, just listening to the rhythmic noises. Maybe if he opened his eyes he’d be back there. Back before graduating, a handsome smile in the crowd, waiting for him to run off the stage and into his arms. Back before his internship, everyday spent together where the cracks could start to form, and stress and exhaustion would split them deeper. Back before some catalyst that Dennis didn’t even know what it was but had to have existed because why else would these sheets feel so foreign suddenly.
But this was very real. Robby’s wide shoulders and hairy chest were real enough for Dennis to stare.
The big hands that touched his body, familiar yet different were real enough for Dennis to bask in their grasp.
He swallowed, lidded eyes watching as all of Robby’s focus was concentrated on the view of his finger sinking into him.
The feel of Whitaker’s tight heat around him was familiar and welcome. His finger slid in easily to the last knuckle, aided by the slick lube. He pulled back slowly, doing his best to make it comfortable before pushing back in. A few more strokes and he was adding another finger, and then another until three of his digits were curling into him quickly. Robby could tell that he was holding back his noises, trying not to disturb the quiet peace that surrounded them, but he wanted to hear. Robby wanted to hear all the dirty, pleasure filled sounds that he knew Whitaker could make. Wanted to know he could still make him feel good.
“Let me hear you.” It was simple. The first thing to be spoken in a while and Robby’s throat felt hoarse with it.
He got what he wanted immediately.
Whitaker let out a loud whine as he curled his fingers, the pads of them tracing his walls. He continued to moan and sigh, feeding Robby’s ego. He couldn’t help but feel like it was fake. But Whitaker wasn’t a liar— never was. He never even lied when they would fight, it’s how Robby knew he was very rarely in the right; Whitaker wouldn’t give him pity points.
He separated his fingers, watching as his hole spread with them, the healthy amount of lube he’d applied leaking out just a bit. He felt heady at the sight, letting out a shaky breath of need. He gently pulled his fingers out, pawing around the bedsheets for the small bottle of lube that had sat abandoned in his bedside drawer for months before this night. He quickly squirted some into his hand, stroking his dick a couple of times until it was coated generously.
As he held himself in place, Robby finally looked up at Whitaker, bright blue eyes cutting through the darkness that enveloped them. And for the first time all night, he hesitated. He’d been so swallowed by sleepy comfortability and the familiar sensation of want, he’d completely forgotten who they were: a couple that ended in shambles, unforeseen by either of them when it all began.
Dennis paused all the same. Robby’s heavy, slick cock resting in his hand was so enticing that he was kicked back to reality by his sheer want. He should stop this, tell Robby he’ll go to Mel’s or to the hospital and just sit until his shift starts or something. He should put his pants on and shuffle to the bathroom so he can wipe the lube out of his ass and take care of his hard-on by himself. But he can’t bring himself to do any of that. All he can do is not look Robby in the eyes and hope that he keeps going.
Dennis’s silent wishing was fulfilled when he felt the press of the head of Robby’s dick against his entrance, hot and wet. He closed his eyes, feigning bashfulness. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, if he was allowed to touch so he just laid them on his chest, fists clenched tightly.
Robby’s slow, steady thrusts burned a bit at the stretch, but soon gave way to a pleasurable fullness that he’d missed. Dennis let out a quiet moan as the thrusts sped up. He couldn’t help but roll his own hips down to meet the man’s movements. Robby’s big hands moved to grip at his waist, not hard enough to bruise, but solid enough to hold him steady. The groans and sighs that left his mouth were like nostalgic music that Dennis could recall memories of in the back of his mind. The slick noise between them accompanied their moans, loud and wet and dirty.
When he peeked his eyes open, Dennis noticed that Robby’s were closed as well, lost in the pleasure their bodies couldn’t deny. His thrusts were getting sloppy, fast and rough like he was getting close and the thought that this would be over soon had Dennis’s heart dropping into his stomach. Or maybe the rock that was stuck in his chest had continued down his guts.
Robby choked out a moan, his body swaying forward with the dedication he was pouring into his thrusts.
Dennis couldn’t stop himself as he reached his arms up, tugging Robby close by his shoulders until their bodies were sandwiched together, his dick getting much needed friction. Robby gasped, surprised at the movement, but didn’t let it falter his rhythm. He readjusted, pushing Dennis’s thighs higher. His lower back would ache tomorrow, but he didn’t care— at least it would remind him that this wasn’t just a dream.
Robby buried his face into Dennis’s neck, his warm breath causing him to shiver. His mind felt like it wouldn’t stop running, but he couldn’t grasp any of his thoughts to make them coherent.
He wrapped his arms tightly around the big shoulders, nails digging into the broad back he’d gotten used to staring at across the Pitt. Always staring, but never reaching out. He continued to moan into Robby’s ear, resisting every urge in his body to say those three little words that were sure to ruin all of this.
He was focused so hard on not letting them slip, he barely noticed that anything coherent had come out of his mouth at all. He felt Robby falter at the word.
“Michael.” It was barely a whisper, a gasped out breath.
It was like second nature to call out to him. Call him from across the Pitt, call him from across the house, the room, the bed. It ached inside him, bursting free in this moment. A name his tongue wrapped around so easily. A name he hadn’t spoken in months. It felt too personal when they were no longer intertwined. But they were nothing if not intertwined right now.
He dared to say it again, this time with more of a punch.
“Michael, please.” He raked his nails down his shoulder lightly, reveling in the shiver it awarded. Dennis wasn’t usually one to beg, especially in the end. He’d given up on being the first to say sorry and the first to ask for forgiveness. Robby was stubborn, especially in times of conflict.
But in times like this? In a quiet, dark bedroom, he was malleable; a good listener.
The movements returned, Dennis moaning low at the sensation as the momentum built. He couldn’t hold back anymore, the words tumbling from his mouth quicker than he could stop them. It only spurred Robby on more.
“Michael, fuck. Please. Please. I need you.”
It wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was an admission Dennis could’ve gone without. At least it was able to be disguised behind their current actions; it could be purely physical. But he knew it wasn’t.
Robby’s hips started to stutter, a sure sign he was about to finish. Dennis couldn’t help the stinging in his eyes, knowing it would all be over within the minute— this night that shouldn’t have happened. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks, but felt too frozen to wipe them away.
With a last hard thrust, Robby came, gasping. The sensation was hot. He flinched as his own cock was enveloped in a warm hand, cumming after a few strokes. He was too focused on remaining silent to even bask in any of the pleasure.
They both laid panting. Robby couldn’t haul himself up, couldn’t bear to look at Whitaker’s face. The warm pants against his ear were enough to set his skin on fire and raise goosebumps to the surface. The sound of his name still rang in his head. The sweet voice, like the call of a siren, pulling him in deeper.
Eventually, he had to lift himself off, as much as he desired to trap the young man here. As he pushed up, Whitaker’s hands were quick to cover his face, shaky breathing coming from behind them. Oh.
“Hey…” Robby said, pity accidentally dripping from the edges.
“Mm-mm.” Whitaker just shook his head, a sob finally escaping.
Robby dropped his body on the bed next to him, and stayed quiet. He wanted to give Whitaker the space he requested, he’d mistakenly pushed too many times in the past, only ever making things worse. He wanted to prove that he could still learn— that he had learned. After a few minutes, Robby laid down, pushing Whitaker gently until he rolled over. He spooned him from behind, pulling his hands down until they were pinned to his chest beneath Robby’s own. He could feel as shaky breaths wracked through the young man’s body as he applied a light amount of pressure to ground him.
The air around their bodies was cold, but the space where they were pressed together was warm. It was enough.
As Whitaker’s sobs slowed, Robby didn’t let go. He continued to hold and press and take up space.
Soon, their breaths were in tune, slow and deep, on the edge of sleep. Robby’s grip slacked a bit, and he felt Whitaker’s breath halt. Without thinking, his hand reached for Whitaker’s, interlacing their fingers as soon as his palm met the back of his.
The squeeze of Whitaker's hand was both grounding and suffocating.
There were a million things running in Robby’s head to say. Comforting words, questions as to why he was here, sorry’s and pleas to stay. But he settled on nothing. Always a coward. Even if he had chosen what to say, Whitaker’s soft, slow breaths indicated that he’d fallen asleep. Robby sighed, daring to lean in until he could lay a gentle kiss on the young man’s hair softly.
“Goodnight.” He whispered into the quiet.
Robby only awoke a few hours later because of the rustling noise coming from his bedside. He groggily opened his eyes, rubbing them as the sunlight filtered through his window into his face.
He perked up as he saw Whitaker struggling to get his boxers on, obviously still endowed with sleepiness himself.
“Where are you going?” The question surprised even himself. Whitaker startled a bit, not expecting the older man to be awake. He knew Robby was a light sleeper though.
“Uh…” It was all that could stupidly come out of Dennis’s mouth.
“I should go.”
“Do you want to shower?”
They spoke over each other, Dennis having finally wrangled his boxers up his legs. The thought of a shower sounded heavenly as the fabric clung to the still drying lube and cum leaking down his legs.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Ok, yeah, clean towels are… well you know.” Another thing he knew like the back of his hand.
Robby was back to not looking at him, instead focused on a loose thread in his comforter. Dennis wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Had a boundary been crossed? Was it his fault? The little council in his head unanimously voted yes to both.
In order to escape the awkwardness in the room, Dennis turned tail to the hall and closed the bathroom door quickly. He leaned on the hard wood, taking in a couple deep breaths.
Robby stared after the bedroom door, collapsing back onto his pillows. What an idiot. He should’ve just pretended to still be asleep, ignored the noise and left the man to his own devices. That’s what he was good at: ignoring the problem.
As much as he wanted to just forget what happened the night before, he knew he’d never be able to. The memory would stick to the front of his brain like an unwanted guest. He was mad. Mad Whitaker had come to his home, mad Whitaker had come into his bed. Or he wanted to be. Even if he tried to rile himself up, point out the shitty position he’d been backed into, he just couldn’t. His skin burned for more contact, his heart yearned to hear his name called once more. He’d done a fine job at holding it together at work, but now the wall he’d built was crumbling.
Maybe he should only be mad at himself. He did enough of blaming Whitaker for things that were his own fault over the past few months.
Robby sighed, shifting to look at the empty space next to him. He’d grown used to this empty view, but seeing it now had his stomach tightening unexplainably.
Dennis made quick work of his shower, or at least the important part. He continued to wallow under the spray for a bit. The hot water stung and Dennis hoped it’d wash away all his shame. He couldn’t help himself from spiraling, the white tiles remaining as the perfect cage for his thoughts to reflect off of, keeping them rotating through his mind.
The only question he could ask himself was “why?” Why had he come here? He knew it was a stupid idea. He knew his feelings had never settled enough. It was a hard task when you saw the man you split from everyday at work. When you had to listen to his direction and trust him with your entire being.
Dennis had gotten good at compartmentalizing. It had come with practice after keeping their relationship separate from their work life. Go to work, be under Robby’s control, just to go home and mope to Trinity about how handsome he still was and how fine he was acting like he recovered as if it was all nothing.
Heh, control.
Dennis had tried so hard to have some semblance of control in their relationship. Tried to help the man heal, get better. Tried to not be seen as just a kid. But once the fights started, they didn’t stop and the cracks turned into craters.
His mom always told him he was a fixer, dated people with issues beyond his control that he would try his damnedest to solve. And Robby was no different. His biggest challenge yet. 20+ years of damage before Dennis was even born.
He leaned his head on the tiles in front of him, letting the spray cascade down his back as he got lost in his head. The burn of the too hot water felt nice, calming in a weird way. He knew he had to go back out there eventually but for now he could let the steam overtake him, let his mind run with the millions of thoughts he needed to keep to himself.
It wasn’t until a couple more minutes had passed and the water’s temperature began to feel lukewarm on his skin that Dennis decided to face the music. Maybe he could sneak out without being seen. Pretend like this whole night never happened, like it didn’t stir all his feelings back up— not that they’d ever truly gone away.
“Fuck.” His backpack was still in the living room. It was gonna be difficult to leave undetected when all he had was a towel, a tshirt, and his boxers. He figured he’d have to collect his things first.
As he creaked the door open, towel wrapped tight around himself, he watched as the door pushed his backpack across the floor. Robby must’ve brought it to him. Dennis couldn’t help it as his heart seemed to skip a beat. He needed to get a fucking grip.
The house was quiet as he padded through in his scrubs. He didn’t even take the time to properly dry his hair. In his haste to leave without being seen, he didn’t notice Robby standing, dressed for work, in the middle of the kitchen as he passed through.
“There’s coffee.” The voice startled him, his shoulders tensing.
“Why are you being so nice?” He couldn’t stop himself. The words just slipped out. After months of avoiding any personal conversation, acting like Dennis had done some horrible, despicable thing to him when in actually they both decided it wasn’t right— Dennis was “too young” and Robby was “too fucking stubborn to change for anything good.” Maybe his words were a bit harsher, but still.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Dennis wasn’t sure if he should bolt or pour a cup of coffee and hold his ground.
Robby made the decision for him.
“What do you mean?” He was trying to play nonchalant as he took a sip from his mug, Dennis could tell. He knew the man too well. His tells were all there. A nervous bounce of his foot, his finger tapping the other elbow from where his arms were crossed, keeping them close to himself— holding himself together.
“What do I mean?” Dennis repeated, incredulous. “You haven’t talked to me outside of vitals and procedures in months.”
“I know.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?” Dennis couldn’t help the anger that was building inside him. When they’re supposed to be in love, Robby will easily fight and argue, but now that things are over he concedes?
Silence again.
The sun that was filtering through the kitchen’s window was unusually cruel, not taking into account the peril that Dennis was in. It was too sunny, bright, and happy.
Dennis gulped down his coffee. It burned going down, still too hot to be chugged like that, but he’d need his energy if he wanted to get the fuck out. But this was all his fault anyways. He’d sat himself on Robby’s doorstep like a lost kitten last night, and he’d crawled into the man’s bed like a temptress. Forget that Robby was the first to make physical contact, Dennis never stopped him. He was such a fucking idiot.
That single moment of hope he held last night, the “not now” of talking things out, of being close again was long forgotten. There was no chance for whatever weird blockage was between them to break down. The finality sat heavy in Dennis’s chest. That rock was back, and bigger than before.
The silence was loud. There was a strange weight to it, like it was expecting someone to speak, to cut it off. They remained quiet.
As soon as he swallowed his last drop, the mug clattered to the countertop, Dennis uncaring if it cracked or chipped. He wasted no time when tugging his coat and shoes on, never turning back, even when he could hear the soft steps behind him. It was reminiscent of another time, long ago, that Dennis refused to think about now.
“See you at work?” The words bore heavy. Robby was inescapable— in his life, in his dreams, in his mind. He longed to see it all as a mistake, kicking himself that he ever crossed that line. He just couldn’t. So this was his punishment. God was laughing at him. He couldn’t have the man, but he’d also never be able to get rid of him.
Dennis couldn’t do anything but nod; couldn’t even turn around. The door knob was cold in his hand, an indication of the brisk weather outside. It’d be a relief with how stifling it was inside. How it felt like Dennis was being choked, pulled back by his throat into the den of fire.
He left, rushing down the front steps like he was being chased. The cold air rushed into his face, a blush immediately coloring his nose and cheeks as the wind bit at them. But he would never be too cold, not with the way Robby’s eyes burned holes into his back, standing in the threshold— one foot in, one foot out.