Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dennis Whittaker was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the kind that sank into your bones and made the world feel heavier by the hour, the kind that seeped through his veins until even breathing felt like a burden. Somewhere, a clock ticked, too loud, too slow, and Dennis wondered when exactly exhaustion had become his default state. 

Not just from the long shift, but from holding everything together. Pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending he wasn’t afraid. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself. Maybe tomorrow would feel different. 

He’d already patched up three lacerations, stabilized a patient teetering on the edge of hypovolemic shock, and assisted in an emergency intubation that had left his hands shaking long after the tube was in place. He’d charted vitals, drawn labs, comforted terrified families, and somehow kept his own panic buried beneath a mask of calm. Every step had demanded focus, every breath had been measured, every decision a tightrope walk between competence and chaos. And yet, here he was, still standing, still moving, still pretending that the exhaustion clawing at his bones didn’t threaten to pull him under entirely. 

Dennis’s eyes stung, flicking over patient notes that blurred together under the harsh fluorescent light. He tried to focus, but each time Robby moved near, leaning over to point, or steadying his hand, something deep inside him tightened and hummed. The brush of firm fingers across his shoulder, the guiding press at the back of his neck, electric, grounding, maddening. Heat pooled low in his stomach, his pulse thudding like a drum, and Dennis realized, with a jolt, how easy it was for omegas to mark the people who mattered most. How natural. How inevitable.

Imprinting wasn’t rare. It didn’t always strike like a lightning bolt, shattering legends and stories. Sometimes it was quiet, insistent, like a thread weaving through every touch, every shared glance, every word that lingered a moment too long. Young omegas noticed it the first time someone truly mattered to them, or the first time they lost themselves in someone who could hold them steady. And once it started, the pull was undeniable.

Dennis realized, with a mix of fear and longing, that it wasn’t just the exhaustion, the adrenaline, or the chaos that had him reeling, it was Robby. His alpha presence, the way he radiated control, warmth, and unspoken power, had dug into Dennis deeper than he’d ever let himself admit. Every lingering touch, every subtle brush of hand to neck or shoulder, made him feel tethered, claimed in a way that wasn’t shocking or magical, it was just the way some bonds worked.

Maybe it was just desire. Maybe it was exhaustion and adrenaline. But the thought kept gnawing at him... what if it wasn’t? 

A small, sharp voice in the back of his mind started berating him. Get a grip, Whittaker. You’re at work. None of this is real. It’s all in your head... Imprinting? After a few touches? On a man that's basically your boss? That’s ridiculous… impossible. 

He forced his hands to steady themselves over the keyboard, tried to focus on the vitals and lab results in front of him, tried to anchor himself to the concrete. Every flare of heat, every impossible pull of desire, he shoved it down, shoved it back into the dark corners of his mind where it could do no harm. He had to. He was 26 years old for fucks sake, an MS-4, not some star, struck omega collapsing at the feet of his alpha boss. 

His hands trembled slightly as he scanned the vitals on the monitor, and suddenly the sterile lights and beeping screens blurred. The memory hit him, unbidden, vivid and sharp. 

The chaos. The blood. The gunfire. 

Dennis had moved toward Robby instinctively, heart hammering, lungs screaming for air he didn’t have. The alpha was curled up on the floor, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands, silent sobs rattling through him. He looked terrifyingly human, achingly vulnerable. Dennis’s omega instincts flared violently at the sight, aching to comfort him, to wrap him up, to ground him with warmth he could almost taste in the air. 

“Doctor Robby… you okay?” Dennis whispered, voice raw, reaching out. 

Robby’s trembling form suddenly straightened, a sharp edge returning to his stance. His hand shot out, firm, unyielding, and shoved Dennis back. “Stay back. Don’t… don’t get in the way,” he snapped, eyes hard, voice tight. The alpha who had moments ago seemed utterly broken now radiated control, shutting down any attempt at comfort, any connection Dennis’s instincts were screaming for. 

Dennis felt a pull he couldn’t name, a need to reach out, to steady him, to offer something Robby clearly wasn’t letting anyone have. But professionalism, and the stubborn, unyielding alpha standing before him, kept him frozen, chest tight, every nerve humming with the ache he couldn’t quite control. 

Dennis remembered stumbling back, chest tightening, stomach twisting. The sickness had started then, a low, aching pulse of rejection that made his body betray him, made his scent turn sharp and sour against his own skin. 

Dennis swallowed hard, shaking his now bowed head, trying to physically shake the memory from his brain. But it clung, sharp and insistent, like a phantom pulse under his skin. His chest felt tight, each breath shallow, each inhale carrying a faint, involuntary ache that had nothing to do with the patient charts before him. The scent suppressant patch on his neck felt suddenly inadequate, as if his body was screaming in protest, rebelling against his attempts to stay composed.  

He pressed the patch harder, wishing it could mask everything, the memory, the ache, the pull of his own instincts. Robby moved across the room with practiced ease, checking a patient’s IV line, completely unaware of the turmoil Dennis was holding in. The sight of him, steady, focused, so effortlessly in control, only twisted the knife deeper. The ache wasn’t just want... it was wrong, carved into him by years of being told it was. 

The guilt sat heavy in his chest, a quiet, relentless ache that no amount of logic could smother. Every time Robby looked at him, steady, unflinching, alpha through and through, Dennis felt the burn spread from the cross to his chest, down his spine, pooling low in his belly until it hurt to breathe. He’d been taught to fear that feeling, to see it as sin, but now, in the quiet spaces between exhaustion and want, it felt like the only thing that made him alive. 

He exhaled, forcing himself to focus on the monitors, on the patient, on anything but the memory of Robby pushing him away, rejecting him, anything but the ache that simmered low under his skin. Occupational hazard of being an omega in a hospital full of overworked alphas and betas, maybe. He told himself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. 

He leaned back, forcing a slow breath. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical; it lived under his skin, humming low and steady, a reminder of instincts he kept locked down tight. The screen blinked. Another update. Another case. Another life depending on him not being too tired to care. 

He straightened, exhaling through his nose, and tried to focus on the screen in front of him. But every few seconds, his eyes betrayed him, flicking up as Robby passed through his line of sight, moving down the hall with effortless confidence, every step measured, every motion precise. No matter how hard Dennis tried, the alpha’s presence pulled his attention away, and he found himself watching instead of reading, heart thudding against his ribs. 

“Jesus, huckleberry,” came a familiar voice, low and teasing. Trinity Santos leaned against the counter beside him, coffee cup in one hand, mischief in her eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week. Rough night? Or just been drooling over Dr. Tall, and, Terrifying again?” 

Dennis groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Good morning to you too, Santos.” 

She grinned, leaning in just enough to invade his space. “Morning? Babe, it’s almost 3 p.m. You’ve been staring at Robby like you’re about to imprint on him. You want me to get you a napkin, or are you gonna keep drooling on your keyboard?” 

He gave her a flat look, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m not...Trin, come on. I’m working.” 

“Oh yeah? Working on what, your pining?” she said with a smirk, taking a slow sip of coffee. “Because the second Dr. Robby ‘Alpha Command Presence’ walks by, your scent suppressor probably starts begging for mercy.” 

“Trinity,” he hissed, glaring. “You are insufferable.” 

“Mm, hm. And you’re obvious,” she said, grinning wider. “Come on, Den, it’s kind of cute. All moony, eyed over your boss like a soap opera intern. You want me to run interference? Accidentally lock you both in the on, call room?” 

He choked. “Trinity!” 

“What?” she asked innocently, sipping her coffee. “You’d thank me later.” 

He shook his head, cheeks burning. “You’re a menace.” 

“And you,” she said, bumping his shoulder, “are one bad day away from writing ‘Dr. Robby’ in your notebook surrounded by little hearts… What? Don’t give me that look, Den. You’ve been all wound up for weeks. You need a release before you combust. I swear, if I don’t get you on Grindr by the end of this week, your body’s gonna file a formal complaint.” 

She reached out and flicked the silver cross around his neck, smirking. “Pretty sure your family would love that. Seeing you, their good little omega boy, on Grindr? I’d pay to watch that play out.” 

He stuttered, words catching in his throat, heat flushing his cheeks. “T-Trin… I—It's not like that…” His fingers twitched almost compulsively, brushing against the silver, pressing it lightly as if it could steady his racing heart, or keep her from seeing how rattled he really was. 

She laughed, bright and unrepentant. “What? You think I’m joking? You’re a walking hormone cocktail right now, and it’s so obvious. You need to get laid before you start barking orders like him.” 

Dennis groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “You are impossible.” 

“I’m right,” she countered, bumping his shoulder. “And for the record? If you’re gonna keep pining after an alpha like that, at least get some practice first. Because right now, farmboy, you’re giving desperate intern energy.” 

He glared weakly at her, lips twitching despite himself. “You’re evil.” 

“Evil’s watching you blush every time he says your name,” she teased, grinning. “Now finish your notes before I actually make you a profile. I’ll put, ‘Omega disaster seeks tall, bossy alpha to ruin his life.’” 

“Trinity!” 

She cackled, throwing her paper cup into the trash next to her. “Oh relax, Den. You’d get a hundred matches in ten minutes. And maybe, just maybe, you’d stop looking like you’re about to pass out every time Dr. Robby breathes near you.” 

Trinity’s laughter was still echoing when a low voice cut through the air behind them. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

Dennis froze. His blood ran cold. Trinity’s grin faltered for half a second before she smoothed it back into place, spinning on her heel. 

“Oh, hey, Dr. Robby!” she said brightly, her tone far too casual. “Just telling Dennis here he’s been working too hard. Needs, you know… a break.” 

Robby’s brow lifted, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying that same deep, steady authority that made Dennis’s stomach flip. 

Dennis wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “She’s exaggerating,” he managed, forcing a weak laugh that sounded nothing like him. “Just… long shift. We’re fine.” 

Trinity bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh. “Oh yeah, totally fine,” she said, eyes dancing with mischief. “Though I did suggest maybe a drink after shift wouldn’t kill him. Or, you know… something to loosen him up. Maybe even… someone.” She let the words hang, eyebrows arching, the implication clear. 

Dennis shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the screen, but his pulse betrayed him. 

Trinity leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Honestly, I should just make him a Grindr profile already. Get him laid before he withers away from stress and exhaustion.” Her smirk was wicked, sharp. 

Robby’s gaze lingered on Dennis for a moment too long. “Hm,” he said finally, his expression clipped, professional, but the way his dark eyes held Dennis made it feel pointed, edged with something unsaid. The faint tightening of his jaw, the subtle narrowing of his eyes toward Trinity, hinted at a possessive streak he wasn’t admitting aloud. 

Dennis felt heat coil low in his stomach, caught between the teasing alpha and his boss’s controlled, simmering presence. Trinity’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the silent tension she’d stoked, while Robby’s eyes never left Dennis, a quiet warning threaded in every glance. 

“Rest is important. Burnout makes mistakes.” His tone was clipped, professional, but the way his dark eyes held Dennis’s made it feel pointed. 

“Right. Yes. Absolutely. Rest. Important,” Dennis mumbled, his ears burning. 

“Good,” Robby said simply, before moving past them, his hand scrubbing through his salt and pepper hair, 

As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Trinity turned back to Dennis and bit her lip, fighting a grin. “Oh my god,” she whispered, leaning in. “You so want him.” 

Dennis groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Trinity, I’m going to kill you.” 

She laughed under her breath, backing away with a wink. “Get in line, huckleberry. But hey, judging by that look he gave you? I think he’d fight me for the privilege.” 

Robby’s voice snapped over his shoulder, sharp and low with barely disguised irritation. “Santos! I don’t care how much fun your little side show is, this is the ER. Your patients deserve better than your distractions. Now get back to work.” 

Dennis whined into his hands as she saluted and skipped her way down the hall towards chairs, and when he risked another glance up, Robby was still there, steady, focused, perfect, and Dennis hated just how right Trinity was. 

I wonder what he's thinking right now. 

The thought barely had time to settle in his brain when Robby’s pager buzzed sharply at his hip. Dennis’s eyes immediately flicked up, watching as the alpha pulled it free and scanned the screen. Robby’s jaw tightened, and for a moment Dennis could see the shift in him, the calm, controlled exterior cracking just enough to hint at the adrenaline already coursing through him. Then, in a single, authoritative voice, Robby barked, “Prep the trauma bay! ETA two minutes! Let’s move!” 

Dennis froze for half a heartbeat before instinct kicked in. He glanced around, there was no one else near enough to help, no nurses or residents in sight, and the rush of adrenaline caught him. He jumped to his feet, moving before he even fully processed the situation. The hall was chaos, and Doctor Robby was already ahead of him, tall frame cutting through the noise. 

Dennis caught it before he even thought about it: the faint, sharp scent of Robby’s cologne mingled with antiseptic and the metallic tang of adrenaline. It made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain, recognition more than attraction, instinct more than thought. His pulse jumped, a low hum of tension coiling beneath his skin. 

“Come on, Whitaker!” Robby barked, not looking back. 

Dennis was moving before he realized it, falling into step beside him, drawn to the alpha in motion even as the trauma bay loomed closer. The corridor doors slammed open. The patient was young, too young, and the room buzzed with tension. Dennis’ gloves felt slippery in his hands, sweat prickling at his temples. The patient’s blood soaked through the sheet faster than he could follow, a deep, relentless red. 

“Severe laceration to the femoral artery! Pressure here, clamp it off!” Dr. Robby barked, his voice sharp, authoritative, and impossible to ignore. “Tourniquet! Place it proximal to the wound, we can’t lose him!” Robby barked, moving to secure the limb. 

Dennis swallowed hard and fumbled with the strap. “Tourniquet’s holding, clamps on the femoral. Distal pulse absent, BP dropping, pressure holding!” His voice was steady, fingers moving as fast as his exhausted mind could process. The sharp metallic tang of blood mixed with the subtle, grounding presence of Robby behind him, firm, controlled, overwhelming. 

“Good. IO access, proximal tibia. Rapid fluids once in,” Robby instructed, kneeling beside the patient’s leg. 

Dennis’s chest tightened. He grabbed the IO kit, heart hammering as he watched Robby prep the site and stabilize the bone. “IO kit ready… needle prepped!” he said, keeping his voice calm despite the adrenaline. 

“Hold still! Patient’s unstable, this is critical,” Robby said, voice low and commanding as he guided Dennis’s hands to insert the needle correctly. 

Dennis pushed the IO needle into the marrow cavity, fluid ready to flow. “IO in… running fluids via gravity, watching for infiltration,” he reported, hands steady despite the proximity. The faint scent of Robby, antiseptic, sweat, something uniquely his, made Dennis’s stomach twist. 

Robby’s firm hand guided him subtly, checking placement. “Good. Keep an eye on vitals,” he instructed, not looking at Dennis but close enough that every small motion sent Dennis’s omega instincts humming. 

Dennis watched the monitor spike as the patient’s BP began to stabilize. “BP improving, pulse rising… perfusion returning,” he murmured, fingers adjusting the tourniquet. The team moved efficiently around them, but Dennis’s attention stayed on Robby, the control, the subtle heat, grounding and overwhelming all at once. 

Even as he focused on the patient, every subtle motion Robby made, the way he leaned in, the firmness of his hands, the controlled rhythm of his movements, made Dennis’s chest tighten. 

Another nurse inserted a urinary catheter while recording vitals, but Dennis could barely register it. All his senses were attuned to Robby, and the low, insistent ache in his chest that reminded him he was dangerously, deliciously exposed. 

“Good. Keep pressure,” Robby instructed, standing back. He glanced at Dennis, eyes furrowing at what he apparently saw. “Hey... you okay?” Robby’s wide palm spread across the width of his shoulder, fingers brushing slightly at his neck, guiding him. The touch wasn’t intimate, but it anchored Dennis in a way he couldn’t ignore. It was casual, professional... but the warmth... He was eating up any attention he could get from the alpha, and it made him want to scream. 

Dennis swallowed hard, hands trembling slightly. “I’m… fine,” he said, voice tight. His chest heaving, suddenly desperate to breathe more of the man in. 

His hands shook slightly, but the bleeding was slowing, the tourniquet secure. The patient’s vitals began to stabilize, a tentative rhythm flickering on the monitor. 

Robby exhaled sharply. “Good. I’ll call ahead to the OR and make sure they’re ready, we’ll need to repair that artery before we lose the limb.” he said, his voice sharp, controlled, and authoritative. 

Dennis stepped back, gripping the edge of the stretcher, chest heaving. His senses were still on high alert, the lingering tension, the faint scent of blood, the control radiating off Robby. 

“Prep for OR transfer!” Robby barked. Monitors beeped steadily, IV lines and the IO flowing, and Robby gave a few sharp instructions as they moved the patient. 

Dennis followed, hands hovering near the tourniquet and the IO line, adjusting as needed. He couldn’t stop noticing just how massive Robby was, broad shoulders that filled every doorway, arms thick and commanding, hands large enough to cover Dennis’s own twice over. The way Robby moved with effortless authority made Dennis’s pulse spike. Every controlled movement, every firm instruction, every subtle brush of Robby’s hands made heat coil low in his belly, igniting instincts he had no right to indulge. 

“Keep the line open. Watch vitals,” Robby instructed, walking alongside the gurney. Dennis nodded, reporting BP and pulse as the team rolled through the hallway toward the OR. 

When Robby leaned over the patient to check the IO line, Dennis’s hands twitched, half to adjust the tubing, half to resist the pull of instinct. 

“Vitals stable. BP holding?” Robby asked, glancing briefly at Dennis. His presence was grounding, overwhelming, and impossibly enticing all at once.  

Dennis nodded, voice tight but steady. “BP stable… pulse steady. Perfusion returning.” 

As the patient was wheeled into the OR, Robby pressed his hands lightly to Dennis’ shoulders and shook him lightheartedly. The warmth lingered and the sheer size and dominance of him sending a shiver straight through Dennis’s chest and down into his core. His cross resting against his chest seemed to burn faintly, as if it too disapproved of the thoughts twisting through him. 

“You did good, Dennis. Real good. You kept pressure, stayed focused, that clamp bought him the time he needed. He’s got a shot now because of you.” 

Dennis had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. "Do you think he’ll make it?” 

Robby glanced toward the OR doors. 

“He’s in the right hands now. You gave him a fighting chance, that’s the job.” 

Outside, the hallway lights flickered. Somewhere down the corridor, another alarm began to sound, and Dennis’s heart sank, the chaos never stopped. 

As Dennis pulled off his gloves, Robby handed him a clipboard. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Dennis’s chest jumped, pulse thudding in his ears. “Write up the notes and run it by me when you’re done,” Robby said, voice even but grounding. “You’ll need the practice.”

Dennis gripped it, chest heaving as he glanced at his watch. Three hours left in his shift. And somehow, he was still standing. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I know Santos said....” Robby trailed off, his deep brown eyes locking on Dennis. The full weight of the alphas gaze and attention made Dennis’s breath catch. 

Dennis swallowed hard, pulse spiking as a low, insistent heat coiled under his skin. He wanted to nod, wanted to say he was fine, but the truth pressed under his ribs, twisting his stomach. 

“I… I’m okay,” he managed, voice tight, barely masking the tremor in his hands. He forced a small, shaky smile, hoping it looked convincing, and turned his gaze back to the notes. 

“Alright,” Robby said, eyes flicking over Dennis’ features with a hint of disbelief. “Take five… grab a drink or something. Catch your breath, yes?” 

As Robby turned to leave Dennis felt the low, insistent burn of rejection sickness stirring in his gut. His stomach twisted, pulse spiking, and for a moment his legs felt too heavy to support him. 

Dennis’s omega hummed beneath the surface, sharp and raw, attuned to Robby. Every inhale hurt, and Dennis’s body responded before his mind could intervene, a hum of longing and frustration tangled with fear and exhaustion. He slapped his palm over the back off his neck, the ache in his gland flaring hot and sharp. 

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to center himself, unable to watch the man move further away from him. He needed to focus, on his work, on the monitors, on the patients, on anything other than the memory and the pull of Robby. 

But the ache stayed, a low, persistent burn just beneath his ribs, a reminder of the time the rejection sickness had first taken hold, and the man who had unknowingly caused it. 

Chapter Text

As Dennis finally stepped into the break room, the chaos of the ER felt like it existed in another world. He leaned against the counter, letting out a shaky exhale, trying to convince himself that five minutes could be enough to reset. The fluorescent lights were harsh, but somehow calmer here, and he rubbed at the back of his neck, still aware of the lingering ache that refused to fade. 

Dennis’s eyes landed on a folded hoodie draped over a chair, soft, dark, unmistakably Robby’s. A jolt shot through him, chest tightening. He shouldn’t, not here, not now, yet his fingers itched to brush the fabric, inhale it, feel that tether to the man who had dominated every one of his thoughts. 

Five minutes. That was all he had. His hand hovered, trembling, before grazing the sleeve. The potent scent hit him sharp and intoxicating, and he pressed it to his face, letting the warmth curl low in his belly, restless and demanding. 

Cheeks burning, Dennis pulled back, berating himself. It’s just a hoodie. Just fabric. But the ache didn’t care. It throbbed, insistent, reminding him exactly what he wanted. Robby. Now. Even a shadow, even a scent, was enough to leave him raw, trembling, dangerously exposed. 

Dennis hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of the fabric in his hands suddenly heavy with guilt. He slipped it into his locker as quietly as he could, pressing it flat against the back so no one would notice. 

The rest of Dennis’s shift passed in a haze, each step feeling heavier than the last. His hands moved automatically, checking monitors, adjusting IVs, jotting notes, but his mind kept darting back to the hoodie tucked into his locker. 

Every time a nurse called his name or a page buzzed, his heart jumped, a spike of guilt and desire prickling under his skin. He flinched at every sound, every brush of a colleague passing by, convinced someone would notice, would know what he had done. Even as he kept moving, kept working, the stolen fabric pressed against his thoughts like a secret fire, leaving him nervous and achingly aware of just how reckless he had been. 

Before Dennis knew it, the shift had finally ended. He stepped out of the ER, blinking against the harsh night lights, and found Trinity waiting by the Ambulance Bay doors. She jerked her head in the direction of the carpark and Dennis moved to follow her. 

Their scrubs were stained, their hair mussed, and every muscle ached from the relentless pace of the shift, but the weight on Dennis’s chest felt a little lighter with Trinity at his side. She walked with a teasing bounce, nudging him now and then, her voice light despite the exhaustion. 

Dennis clutched his bag tight to his chest as he sat in the car with Santos, aware of the hoodie hidden inside, the secret burning against his ribs, and tried to focus on anything other than the memory of Robby’s presence lingering in his senses. The cool night air hit him like a balm, and for the first time in hours, he let himself breathe, even as his pulse still thudded too fast, guilt and longing twisting through him. 

Trinity gripped the wheel, glancing at Dennis. “So… survived another day without passing out yet?” 

Dennis huffed, leaning back in his seat. “Barely. I think my brain shot, circuited around chart fifteen.” 

“Chart fifteen? Amateur,” she teased. “You looked like you were gonna cry when Robby barked at you earlier. Admit it.” 

Dennis groaned, ducking his head. “I did not.” 

“Oh, please,” she shot back, smirking. “Your cheeks were flaming. And don’t even think I didn’t notice you creeping glances at him all day.” 

“I… maybe,” Dennis admitted, fiddling with the hem of his scrubs. “It’s hard to focus when he’s… around.” 

Trinity laughed, flicking the turn signal. “Around? You mean… irresistible alpha distraction.” 

Dennis muttered under his breath, and Trinity grinned knowingly. “Mhm. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe. Mostly.” 

The car ride was filled with laughter, teasing digs, and occasional quiet as Dennis stared out the window, trying to untangle the chaos of the day from his thoughts. 

By the time they pulled up to their shared apartment, Dennis felt the tension of the day in every muscle. Trinity killed the engine. “See? Made it in one piece. Don’t collapse on the stairs, old man.” 

Dennis chuckled, stretching as he climbed out. “Thanks. And don’t tell anyone about my face today.” 

As Dennis shut the front door behind him, Trinity dropped her bag with a thump, stretching like she owned the couch. “Alright, Den, you survived the ER without spontaneously combusting. Now, it’s time for serious business.” 

Dennis shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Serious business? I’m wiped. My brain’s fried.” 

“Oh, hush,” she said, sidling up to him, smirk sharp as a scalpel. “I’m being serious. You need a Grindr profile, and I can’t exactly make one without… visual confirmation.” She flicked her eyes down at him, then back up, teeth gleaming in that mischievous grin. “Send me pics. Tight little ass, hot omega energy. You know… the kind that makes alphas like Robby lose their damn minds.” 

Dennis choked on a laugh, heat rushing to his cheeks. “Trin! I can’t just... ” 

“Can’t or won’t?” she cut in, leaning closer, voice dropping. “Your body’s been bottling this up for weeks. I’m being real, you need a release before you melt into a puddle of hormones and religious guilt. And yes, your family would die if they knew but screw them. I care about you getting laid.” 

His fingers twitched toward the cross at his neck, guilt clawing at him, but his pulse betrayed him anyway. “I… fine. I’ll check if I have any.... and don’t make fun of me.” 

He stepped hesitantly toward his room, mind racing. Am I betraying Robby? The thought knotted in his chest, sharp and insistent. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, shouldn’t be wanting this, shouldn’t be letting someone else, Trinity, play matchmaker for him. And yet… his body, his pulse, even the subtle warmth of the sweater still pressed into his mind, argued otherwise. He doesn’t want me anyway. The line between curiosity and betrayal blurred, leaving him dizzy, trembling, painfully aware of just how tangled his feelings had become. 

“Scout’s honor,” she said, flicking an imaginary cross at him. “Just remember, your ass is literally my property until I get you set up.” 

Dennis groaned, embarrassment burning his cheeks. 

“Now go. Room. Fast. If you stall any longer, I’m picking your captions, and trust me, you won’t survive the embarrassment.” 

Dennis headed toward his bedroom, shedding his scrubs, the apartment quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. Finally inside, he let out a long exhale, closing the door behind him. 

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, dragging the stolen hoodie with him. He set it down carefully next to him, lingering with his gaze. The faint scent clung to the fabric, Robby’s scent, and it made his chest tighten all over again. Sniffing it in the break room was one thing, stealing it and taking it home another. He pressed his lips together, cheeks burning, and tore his eyes away. 

Dragging a hand through his hair, he muttered under his breath, “Get it together, Whitaker." His fingers itched for his phone. He pulled it from his pocket and unlocked it, scrolling through his gallery until he found a few recent pictures of himself, shirtless, in tight shorts, angles that highlighted his chest and hips. 

He paused, noticing his legs in the frame, long and smooth as always, and felt a flicker of self-conscious pride. He had never been able to grow much hair on his body, his skin still milky white despite all the hard work under the sun back on the farm in Broken Bow. Heat pooled low in his belly as he hesitated, heart hammering. 

With a sharp inhale, he selected a few of the better shots and tapped the share button, sending them to Trinity with a small message: “You wanted visual confirmation. Don’t judge.” Almost immediately, his phone buzzed,“Holy shit, farm boy… you are way too hot under those scrubs. I’m not sure Robby could handle this.” 

Dennis’s cheeks flamed, both from embarrassment and a thrill of daring. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, took a shaky breath, and finally headed toward the bathroom, leaving the hoodie where it was, soft, dark, and undeniably Robby’s. 

Passing by Trinity’s room, he heard the familiar tones of Grey’s Anatomy spilling from behind the closed door. He paused, listening to the dialogue and dramatic music, letting the normalcy of it settle around him. A small rush of relief eased some of the tension coiling in his chest, and he let himself walk a little lighter. 

He stripped off his scrubs and stepped into the shower, letting hot water cascade over him. Steam blurred the edges of the room, but it couldn’t blur Robby from his mind—the firm hands, sharp authority, the way his presence had left Dennis trembling. 

He scrubbed quickly, almost aggressively, trying to wash away the ache coiling low in his belly. Yet his thoughts kept betraying him, the brush of Robby’s fingers on his neck, the faint warmth and scent lingering in memory or maybe it was in the air. 

With a sharp sigh, he reached up and peeled off the scent suppressant patch, wincing as the adhesive tugged at the sensitive skin beneath. The moment it came free, a sharp sting shot through his gland. The skin around it was raw and hypersensitive, every brush of his fingers sending jolts of pain and awareness through him. His gland throbbed painfully, already sore from the day’s strain, and the burn from rejection sickness added another layer of discomfort. 

After toweling off, he pulled on a pair of loose briefs before his gaze involuntarily fell back on the hoodie. Heart hammering, he sat down and pulled it onto his lap, fingers grazing the soft fabric, memorizing the contours. 

He pressed it briefly to his face, inhaling that sharp, intoxicating scent, letting the memory of Robby’s hands and presence wash over him. Heat pooled low in his belly, and a shiver ran down his spine. Guilt tangled with desire, but every fiber of him screamed the truth: he wanted Robby, even if it was only this fragment. God, I want him. I want him so badly. 

Dennis smoothed it over his thighs, trying to steady himself, but the coil of need only tightened. Hands shaking, pulse racing, he sat there. I’m insane. This is ridiculous. It’s just a hoodie. 

Dennis hesitated, heart hammering, before slowly lifting it from his lap. The fabric slipped over his shoulders, soft and warm against his skin. He shivered, chest tightening as he inhaled sharply, letting the scent fill his lungs. Musky pine, rich and grounding, intertwined with the faint, worn edge of leather that carried the sharp tang of authority and strength. Beneath it lingered a whisper of something sweeter, almost impossibly delicate, like a trace of honeyed warmth that softened the edges of his dominance. 

It was the kind of alpha scent that commanded attention without a word, made the air around him thick with possession, and made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else when Robby was near. It surrounded him now, leaving him drunk on it, lightheaded, trembling. 

His lips parted, breath hitching involuntarily, and he pressed the fabric closer, mouth slightly open, drinking in the essence of the alpha. Heat pooled low in his belly, coiling tighter with every inhalation, and a shiver ran down his spine. He knew he shouldn’t, but every nerve screamed in want. 

Dennis collapsed onto his bed, pressing the hoodie to his face. He tilted his head back, mouth parting slightly as his teeth grazed the fabric, tasting the ghost of Robby. The alpha’s scent surrounded him, hot and intoxicating, making his chest tighten and heat coil low in his belly. 

He let his tongue trace the edge of the collar, tasting the faint salt and trace of soap lingering on the hoodie, imagining it was Robby himself. His fingers clenched the fabric tighter, pressing it to his chest as his body betrayed him, trembling with a raw, craving ache. Dennis moaned softly, helpless, intoxicated by a shadow of the man he couldn’t stop wanting. 

Dennis’s hands drifted over his chest, fingertips grazing his hardened nipples, while the hoodie pressed against his skin. Heat pooled low in his thighs, forcing them to squeeze together instinctively. Every imagined brush of Robby’s hands against him made his nipples tighten and pulse, his body betraying him with a shiver of need. 

Dennis’s hips lifted slightly, grinding subtly as his breaths came faster, ragged. His fingers clutched the hoodie tighter, dragging it over his chest and down toward his stomach, imagining every inch of skin he touched was Robby’s. The wet warmth between his thighs pulsed with each shudder, and a low, helpless moan slipped past his lips as the fantasy consumed him completely. 

His hand slid lower, cupping himself through the thin fabric of his boxers. Dennis pressed firmly, rolling his hips slightly into his palm, every nerve on fire. His fingers moved with more urgency, exploring himself over the fabric, slickness coating his palm. He shifted his hips, pressing closer, imagining it was Robby’s hands instead of his own. 

Dennis’s mind flared with heat at the thought of Robby’s hands, so big, so strong, that they could cup him entirely, envelop his pussy with firm, consuming pressure. 

He rolled onto his stomach, pressing the hoodie against his face as he slid a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. His breath caught when he ran the pad of his finger up and down the line of his sex, teasing the edge of his clit with the barest pressure before stroking south again. 

Heat pooled between his thighs, slick and demanding, and he ground slightly against his palm, imagining it was Robby’s touch. His chest pressed into the mattress, nipples brushing the soft fabric, and a low, desperate moan escaped him. 

His fantasy only made him more desperate. Cock drunk and stupid at Robby’s feet- he choked on the spit pooling at the back of his throat, nostrils flaring for air as his mind spun out of control. 

Would Robby be gentle, slow, teasing, making him burn with every touch? Or rough, fast, demanding, taking him apart until he couldn’t help but shiver and cry out? 

He squashed his next moan into the bed when he pushed two fingers inside, his walls giving way obediently, clit throbbing insistently above them. 

Dennis arched with a strangled cry, white-hot heat blooming in his core. Toes curled as his pussy walls spasmed with his increasingly erratic breaths, release closing in. 

And then, impossibly, he heard it, Robby’s voice, low and commanding, echoing in his mind, "You're mine, you know that, right? Every inch of you…” 

The words were velvet and fire, wrapping around Dennis, pressing against his chest, tugging at the ache pooling low in his belly. 

His hips ground down onto his fingers as ecstasy shuddered through him in crashing waves, vision blurring to mere specs of color, pussy walls rippling hard on his fingers. 

His throat burned as his breath faltered around the fabric in his mouth, eyes twitching back from the sheer force of his almost painful orgasm, so intense he thought he might just black out from lack of air. 

But instead of relief, a crushing weight settled over him, sharp and bitter. The pleasure melted into something raw and aching, and he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He thought of all the warnings he’d carried with him, lessons, voices, rules he thought he’d outgrown, and it twisted inside him like a knife. I thought I was over this… I thought I could feel without hating myself, he thought, bitter and small.

He tried to breathe through it, tried to steady himself, but it was too much. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, mingling with the sweat on his skin. Sobs wracked his body, small, desperate sounds he couldn’t hold back escaping into the quiet room. His chest heaved, throat tight, and his hands gripped the hoodie to his face as if clinging to it could anchor him, could make the ache bearable.  

The shame, the longing, the guilt, moral, spiritual, and carnal, all tangled together, twisting in his belly. He’d given himself over to a fantasy, to a shadow of Robby, and now the emptiness after it crashed down like a wave.  

Dennis curled slightly, letting himself fall apart, sobs muffled against the soft fabric, wishing, in a way he couldn’t admit, that Robby could be there to hold him, to make the ache stop, even as the weight of everything he’d been taught pressed against his chest like a judgment he could never escape. 

Dennis shot upright, heart hammering, as the pounding on his door grew louder. “Dennis! Up, sleepyhead! Morning’s here, and the ER isn’t gonna wait for your lazy ass!” Trinity’s voice dripped with teasing amusement, sharp but impossible to ignore, like she knew exactly how to fluster him.  

He blinked groggily, brain foggy from sleep, chest tightening as he tried to process the pounding on his door. For a moment, he felt disoriented, unsure if he’d even fallen asleep yet. His face felt swollen and puffy from crying himself to sleep, skin tender and heavy, a reminder of the ache and guilt that still clung to him even in the morning light.  

“Hello, huckleberry? You still breathing, or should I start CPR through the door?”  

His stomach twisted as he scrambled for clothes, fumbling with his scrubs. “I… I’m coming!” he shouted, voice shaky. His fingers froze mid fumble, and a jolt of awareness hit him. Wait… he was still in Robby’s hoodie. The soft, dark fabric hung around him, carrying that intoxicating scent, warm and dangerously familiar against his skin. Guilt and desire tangled, leaving him fumbling even more frantically.  

"Move your ass or I’ll barge in and drag you out by your scrubs, no mercy!” Trinity called, amused and dangerously sincere.  

Dennis paused, cheeks burning, and with a sharp, frustrated tug, yanked Robby’s hoodie off his shoulders and tossed it onto the chair. The soft fabric missed and hit the floor, taking a part of the lingering warmth, the scent, and the memory with it.  

He pulled his scrubs over his head, tugging the undershirt down, trying not to stare at the hoodie draped across the chair. Every movement felt slow, heavy with guilt and the lingering heat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, barely able to focus on dressing.  

Scrubs finally on, he froze for a heartbeat, fingers brushing the chair absentmindedly, heart hammering, caught between shame and that unrelenting ache. His mind spiraled. I have to take it back. Put it where it was. Pretend it never left the break room.  

He pictured the route, down the hall, past the supply closet, back onto the chair exactly as he’d found it, then leave without a scene. No explanations, no evidence. The thought steadied him more than he expected; it felt like a small, honest way to undo the reckless heat of the night. He folded the hoodie once, tucked it deep into his backpack, and moved like a ghost toward the door, every step measured, already rehearsing the casual expression he’d wear when returning it, as if nothing had happened.  

Dennis hurried to the bathroom, fumbling for a fresh scent blocker patch, hands shaking slightly as he peeled it from the packaging. He pressed it carefully to the back of his neck, wincing as the tender skin throbbed under his fingers.  

Grabbing one of Trinity’s compacts, he angled it to catch his reflection. His stomach twisted as his eyes landed on his neck, red, swollen, puckered and raw, almost like an allergic reaction. He traced the irritation with a fingertip, worry knotting in his chest, a sinking sadness settling deep in his stomach.  

Had he been overdoing it, wearing the scent blockers too often? They were supposed to be harmless, a small shield against the ache that never left, but now he questioned himself. Maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe his body was trying to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. He didn’t know why it felt so raw and sensitive, he only knew it was, and that alone terrified him.  

Dennis shook his head, trying to shove the worried thoughts aside. He shoved the compact back into the drawer and forced himself to breathe evenly. With a quick tug of his bag over his shoulder, he hustled out of the apartment and down the stairs, spotting Trinity leaning against the car with a grin. “Finally,” she called, smirking. Dennis scrambled into the passenger seat, heart still thudding, and she eased the car into the street.  

Trinity glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Dennis… why do you look like absolute hell this morning?”  

Dennis shrugged, trying for casual. “Uh… didn’t sleep well, I guess.” His fingers brushed the strap of his backpack, heart thudding at the weight tucked inside.  

Trinity snorted. “Uh, huh. That’s your excuse?”  

“Yeah… yeah, something like that,” Dennis muttered, forcing a small, distracted smile.  

Trinity reached into her bag as the car merged onto the street and handed Dennis a granola bar.  

“Here,” she said with a teasing grin. “What would you do without me, Huckleberry?”  

Dennis caught it with a grateful, half smile, tearing the wrapper with fumbling fingers. He muttered a quick, “Thanks…” and popped the granola bar into his mouth. The familiar hum of the engine and the rush of the morning air pressed against him, pushing the lingering unease aside, at least for now, as they headed toward the ER.  

Trinity nudged him with her elbow as they pulled into the ER lot. “C’mon, you can’t just wander in looking like a zombie. You owe me coffee at least.”  

Dennis mumbled a soft affirmative, barely meeting her gaze. Trinity started jabbering about some new protocol she’d read over the weekend, the words tumbling over each other. Dennis nodded absently, pretending to follow along. Every laugh, every sharp turn of her voice made him flinch slightly, reminded that he was carrying something dangerous, intimate, and undeniably Robby.  

Finally, she paused mid-sentence, giving him a pointed look. “Den? You even listening, or am I just talking to your backpack?”  

Dennis blinked, heart skipping, and managed a weak grin. “Yeah… yeah, listening.” But inside, he knew the hoodie had his full attention, and the day ahead was going to be a battle between duty and desire.  

Trinity smirked, clearly unconvinced, and shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “You know, if you keep spacing out like that, Robby’s gonna think you’re slacking again. And we both know how that goes.”  

Dennis swallowed hard, voice tight. “I… I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.” He sighed, and then muttered under his breath, “…I’m fine.”  

Trinity raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh, huh. Sure, you are. Your face looks like you just lost a fight with a pillow.”  

Dennis grimaced, forcing a shaky laugh. “Yeah… well, some nights are… longer than others.” His pulse thudded painfully in his ears and pretending neutrality felt like a performance.  

Trinity glanced back at him, voice teasing. “You ready for this, or should I strap a seatbelt on you?”  

Dennis exhaled, trying to steady himself. “…I’ll manage. I just… need to get through today.” Every word felt like a lie, and yet he couldn’t stop them from leaving his mouth.  

Trinity gave a satisfied nod, as if his vague answers were enough to let her move on. “Alright, fine, Huckleberry. You’re technically functional. I’ll take it.” She spun on her heel and disappeared toward the staff bathroom, the click of her shoes fading down the hall.  

Now, or so he told himself, was his chance. He started down the corridor, careful not to draw attention, backpack heavy with its secret cargo. Turning the corner, his heart stuttered. Robby and Collins were leaned close over the central hub, shoulders brushing, heads inclined, talking in low tones. He froze, watching the casual proximity, Collins leaning in without a care.  

Dennis’s eyes lingered, a low pulse of unease threading through him. He’d heard whispers, hushed speculation that Robby and Collins had a history, a closeness once more than professional. Gossip in the ER spread faster than infection, twisting names and stories until they burned like wildfire.  

His pulse quickened with bitter longing, jealousy flaring at the thought that Collins had already known the warmth and closeness Dennis secretly craved. The easy familiarity made him feel invisible and exposed. Is that what it looks like to be wanted? He told himself it wasn’t his business, but the images in his mind refused reason.  

Dennis hesitated, unsure whether to slip past unnoticed or pretend he wasn’t there. He chewed his cheek, telling himself to focus, to act professional, but every instinct screamed otherwise. And then he noticed: Robby wasn’t wearing his hoodie. Of course, it was stuffed deep in his backpack, but only his scrub top clung to him, sleeves pushed up to bare strong, defined arms sprinkled with dark hair, hem drooping just enough to tease over his hips. Heat pooled low in Dennis’s belly, every nerve alight, and the pang of jealousy tightened further. Collins had seen this first, touched this first, and Dennis’s chest ached with the sting of being second.  

Finally, with a shaky breath, Dennis forced one foot forward, then another, keeping his head down, imagining the warmth of Robby’s hands that weren’t his to claim. Each step was both a small victory and a torment.  

Just act normal, he told himself, though the ache pooling low in his belly contradicted every word. He stepped into the break room, shoulders sagging under the weight of his sigh. With a shaky hand, he pulled the hoodie out, fingers brushing the soft fabric one last time, inhaling the faint trace of Robby’s scent.  

A sharp pang shot low in his belly, his gland aching and tender from neglect, and he winced, surprised by the soreness. Guilt burned alongside the physical ache, twisting his stomach as he gently folded the hoodie. Each movement felt like a betrayal, yet he knew it had to go back. Slowly, sadly, he returned it to its place, smoothing it carefully onto the chair where he had taken it from, the soft fabric almost mocking him.  

Dennis let out another shaky breath, his shoulders heavy with guilt and desire. He tried to steady himself, focusing on the rhythm of the ER just outside, but the ache lingered, a quiet storm he was not ready to tame.  

Before Dennis could do anything else, Robby stepped into the break room, eyes scanning the space until they landed on him. “Oh… Whitaker,” he said, voice low and slightly uneven, enough to make Dennis’s chest tighten. “I… uh… thought that was you. You got a… sec?” He stepped closer, pausing as if measuring how to continue.  

Robby’s hands moved to Dennis’s shoulders, rubbing lightly along his upper arms in a casual, grounding motion, though the tension in the touch set Dennis on edge. He froze, cheeks flaming, heart hammering. His hands twitched at his sides, and for a second his brain went completely blank. Why is he touching me like that? Stay calm. Just… breathe.   

“I… uh… just wanted to say that,” Robby said softly, rubbing a little more deliberately, as if unsure what else to do. Dennis felt like his chest was too small to contain his heart. Why is my pulse thudding so loudly? He’s literally right here… and he’s looking at me. Why am I sweating? Why is he so close?  

Dennis’s shoulders tensed even more under Robby’s hands, heat creeping up his neck. He tried to step back, but the corner of the break room limited him, and the steady, unreadable way Robby was looking at him made it impossible.  

“I… I wanted to… thank you,” Robby continued, voice low and hesitant. “For… the other day. When… you were there. Most people would not have noticed or done anything. I… I should not have pushed you away.”  

Dennis felt a jolt in his chest. He shouldn’t have pushed me away… and I was too scared to stay. Why didn’t I stay? Could I have done more? Ugh, shut up. “I… I just didn’t want to...” His voice caught as heat rushed to his face, and he fiddled with the hem of his scrubs, wishing he could disappear. Bashfully, he rubbed the back of his neck, flinching slightly as the old ache throbbed. Stay calm, Den. Don’t make it obvious. Don’t embarrass yourself more than you already have…  

Robby’s thumbs brushed lightly along Dennis’s shoulders again, almost lingering. He noticed the subtle movement, the brief wince, and frowned just slightly, but said nothing. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. “Yeah… well. I guess sometimes my instincts… make it hard to accept help, or… appear anything less than in control. But… I noticed. And I… I meant it, that you were… there when it mattered.”  

Dennis’s heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat. There when it mattered… he actually… he actually noticed me. He wanted to say something, anything, but his words felt small and useless. “Of course,” he whispered, voice barely audible, cheeks flaming.  

He began to step back toward the door, shoulders still tight, mind racing. Every tiny movement, Robby’s hands, the weight of his presence, made him dizzy. Dennis paused at the small victorious sound that came from Robby.  

Robby’s eyes caught the folded hoodie on the back of Dennis’s chair, and a small, almost incredulous frown tugged at his lips. He stepped closer, squinting slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe it was there, then lifted it effortlessly and draped it over his shoulders. “I’ve been looking for this,” he murmured, tugging it into place. The familiar weight of the fabric settled around him, and Dennis’s chest constricted, heat rushing through him. 

Memories struck suddenly, last night, wrapped in this hoodie, the lingering scent, the ache coiling low in his belly. Heat pooled between his thighs, and Dennis cursed himself. I just last night... Fuck... Why can’t I stop wanting him like this? 

Robby cleared his throat, regaining his usual steady tone. “Alright. You can… get back to work now. Chairs are filling up, go grab Santos wherever she is and get her to help you.”  

Dennis nodded and turned toward the door, pulse hammering, and froze as Robby’s voice dropped to almost a murmur, hesitant, almost ashamed. “I… I’m glad it was you who found me.”  

Heat flared through Dennis’s body, his legs nearly buckling. He said that to me… he sounded… like he needed me. Oh god, normal, act normal. He gave a tiny, flustered nod before hurrying out, cheeks burning. Every step felt weighted with Robby’s words, leaving him lightheaded, breathless, and dizzy with the realization that Robby had truly noticed him. 

Chapter Text

Dennis stepped out of the break room, the quiet click of the door behind him a small relief. The hallway stretched ahead, sterile and bright under the fluorescent lights, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he could breathe without the weight of Robby pressing on his chest. The hoodie’s scent lingered faintly in his mind, but the intensity had faded, leaving only a dull ache. 

As he walked, a strange warmth began to creep across his skin. His cheeks felt flushed, a slick of sweat prickled along his hairline, and his stomach churned with a low, insistent nausea. His head felt light, slightly unsteady, and for a moment, he wavered. I can’t stop now. I just… need to keep going. 

He forced himself to focus, scanning the corridor for any sign of Santos. Each step was careful, measured, less frantic than inside the break room, but his pulse thudded stubbornly in his ears. The hum of monitors, the squeak of nurses’ shoes, and the distant wail of a patient became a rhythm to anchor to. Find her. Focus on the work. Don’t spiral now. 

The heat and dizziness pressed at him as he pushed forward, but he forced his shoulders back, jaw tight, determined to ignore the queasy, sick feeling threatening to slow him down. Alarms beeped sharply, gurneys rattled as someone wheeled a patient past, and the low hum of staff voices moved around him like a current, chaotic and relentless. I’m fine. I can do this. Just one step at a time. Everyone’s watching, judging. If I fuck this up, they’ll see. I can’t let them see. 

Rounding a corner, he nearly collided with a supply cart. His hands trembled as he steadied himself. The antiseptic scent twisted his stomach. He breathed shallowly, trying to push the images of Robby out of his mind, the way his hands had brushed Dennis’s shoulders, the way his voice had sounded, soft yet commanding. Just a reaction to exhaustion. Nothing else. 

Santos was nowhere in sight, and the momentary panic of being alone with his thoughts made his pulse spike. He clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to breathe evenly, though each inhale felt shallow and tight. Focus, Whitaker. Focus on the work. You can’t afford this right now. 

Dennis lifted his gaze to the central monitor above him. Patient names scrolled in neat rows: Adams, Rivera, Cho. He traced each line carefully, scanning for the easiest, least complicated case he could manage without anyone noticing how unsteady he felt. 

Dana glanced over at Dennis as he lingered, frowning faintly but keeping her tone professional. “Don’t worry about the chairs,” she said, nodding toward the corner where Santos and Garcia had already claimed them. “They’ve got it covered. Just grab a patient from up top and get started. Focus on what you can handle, alright?”

Dennis nodded quickly, eyes flicking back up to the monitor. “Okay… got it,” he murmured, forcing his shoulders back and trying to ignore the heat creeping across his cheeks. The rows of names seemed suddenly more intimidating, but at least he had something concrete to do.

"Are you okay, kid? You look off.” Her eyes narrowing just slightly as if she were trying to read him. 

Dennis swallowed, forcing his gaze back up. “I… I’m fine, Dana. Just a little tired, that’s all.” His voice was steadier than he felt, and the brief acknowledgment gave him a fragile anchor in the chaos. 

Dana’s frown lingered a moment longer, and she gave a subtle nod, still keeping her suspicion in check. 

Dennis' eye froze at the last entry: Mendoza, nosebleed. Minimal vitals, nothing urgent, just a minor bleed that didn’t require intervention beyond basic pressure and observation. Perfect. Just a nosebleed. You can manage a nosebleed. 

Dennis blinked rapidly, trying to steady his vision. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, making the small numbers on the monitor blur. The hallway stretched on, each footstep echoing against the linoleum floor. A janitor wheeled a mop bucket past, and the smell of disinfectant and floor polish made his stomach lurch again. 

Finally, he arrived at Mendoza’s room. The patient, a young boy no older than ten, sat perched on the edge of the bed, pinching his own nostrils shut with red-stained fingers. “Hi,” Dennis said softly, forcing his voice steady. “I’m Dennis, one of the residents. Can you let go of your nose for a second? We’re just going to check that you’re okay.” 

The boy sniffled, eyes wide, and Dennis swallowed hard, forcing down the residual panic coiling in his gut. He sanitized his hands quickly, noticing the slight tremor in his fingers. Keep it together. This is simple. Pressure, tissues, done. 

As he approached the bed, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck, a lingering awareness of Robby’s proximity from earlier, and the faint trace of the hoodie scent in his mind, twisting the heat in his chest into something almost unbearable. Dennis pressed his jaw tight. Not now. You’re here to help a patient, not fantasize. Focus. 

He leaned forward, applying gentle pressure to the bridge of the boy’s nose, offering a tissue and murmuring small, reassuring words. “It’s okay. Just relax. You’re going to be fine.” His own breath came fast, uneven, but he forced a calm rhythm for the patient. 

The boy’s mother peeked in from the doorway, concern written across her face. “Is he okay?” 

Dennis straightened, trying to push down the heat in his cheeks and the fluttering panic inside. “Yes,” he said quickly, too quickly, voice a little too sharp. “Minor nosebleed. We’re managing it.” He shifted his gaze briefly to the monitor, reading the vitals: stable. Okay. Just a nosebleed. Nothing else. 

But his pulse wouldn’t calm. Every laugh, every conversation he overheard in the hall earlier, the gossip about Robby and Collins, spun behind his eyelids like static. He gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white. You’re fine. You’re fine. Just focus. 

As he applied pressure, the boy squirmed slightly, and Dennis misjudged the angle, pressing a bit too hard. The child yelped, and Dennis’s stomach lurched violently. “Oh, sorry. Sorry, it’s okay, it’s okay, just breathe!” His words tumbled over each other, desperate, panicked. 

The mother stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Dennis’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Doctor?” she asked softly, and Dennis blinked, flustered. 

“Yes… yes, ma’am, I’m fine,” he said, voice barely steady. No. You can’t fuck this up. Not now. 

He adjusted his hands carefully, re-centering the boy’s head, trying to ignore the burn in his limbs and the way his knees threatened to give out. Sweat slicked at his temples, and he licked dry lips, forcing a calm tone. “Better?” 

The boy nodded, though his eyes were still wide. Dennis exhaled shakily, stepping back. That… wasn’t too bad. You can handle this. Just… don’t think about anything else. Don’t let your head wander. 

But of course, his head wandered anyway. Each step away from the bed was heavy, unsteady, and the memory of Robby’s touch, Collins’s ease, and the whispered gossip pressed into him like a vice. He adjusted the IV stand awkwardly, fumbling the clamp, and felt a sharp prick of heat rise in his chest. 

He moved toward the chart to make a note, but his hand shook, and the pen slid across the page, smudging the writing. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the counter for support. The boy’s mother frowned but said nothing, sensing the tension radiating from him. 

Dennis forced another deep breath and straightened, shaking out the tremor in his hands. One case. One nosebleed. You can do one case without screwing it up. He took the patient’s vitals again, double-checked the room for any oversight, and finally, finally allowed himself the faintest sense of control. 

But the faint relief was already undercut by the ache in his chest, the echo of gossip in his ears, and the faint, ghostly memory of the hoodie still pressing against his senses. It’s never just the work, is it? He thought bitterly, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he scanned the monitor one last time. Stable. Simple. Done. 

And yet, even as he left the room, the weight of everything, Robby, Collins, failure, and the faint guilt of earlier mistakes, pressed him down, promising that the next misstep might not be so easy to recover from. 

The gossip hit him before he even realized someone was talking. A small cluster of nurses, voices low but unmistakable, passed by near the nurses’ station. He froze, pretending to check a nearby supply shelf while straining to hear. 

“…so, Robby and Collins again, huh? You’d think they’re running the whole ER together.” 
“Right? Collins is basically glued to him, smirking like she’s the star of the show.” 
“And Robby? He can’t even pretend he doesn’t notice. Everyone sees it. It’s embarrassing.” 

Dennis’s stomach flipped. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the conversation, or rather, from the implications. Perfect for him. Not me. I’m twenty-six, a med student, and I’m… nothing. He’d never… he couldn’t want me. 

And yet, despite how tangled and impossible it all felt, he could never truly hate Collins. She was amazing... kind, sharp, effortlessly competent, always calm in the chaos of the ER. Beautiful, too, though not in a way that made her arrogant. Just… luminous, confident, and genuinely good at her job. Every instinct told him to resent her for how easily she fit into the world he felt he couldn’t, but he couldn’t. Not really.

He didn’t blame Robby either. Of course Robby noticed her... who wouldn’t? And Dennis, a lanky kid from Nebraska who could barely keep his own two feet under him some days, understood that. He wasn’t Robby’s type, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just… him.

Shoving the spiraling thoughts aside, Dennis turned toward the trauma bay. He’d just about convinced himself he could shake it off when his foot caught the edge of a floor mat, and he stumbled into the nearest patient. The IV line swung wildly, the tray rattling in his grasp. 

“Whitaker!” Robby’s voice cut sharp, and Dennis froze, heart hammering. The trauma bay was busy, alarms blaring, monitors beeping, gurneys rattling, but Robby’s eyes found him immediately, sharp, unreadable, assessing. “Focus. Now. You’re shadowing me on this one.” 

Dennis blinked, barely processing the words. “I… okay,” he stammered, cheeks heating, adrenaline spiking alongside the lingering ache in his chest. 

“You’re going to help me manage this patient,” Robby said, nodding toward the young man on the gurney. His forearm was badly lacerated, tendon visible, blood soaking through the dressing. “Take vitals, prep the bandages, and get the IV pain med ready. This guy’s in serious pain. When I say push, you push. Got it?” 

Dennis’s stomach dropped. His hands shook as he fumbled the tray. Focus. You can do this. You’re not useless. 

Dennis nodded quickly, forcing a shallow breath. His pulse hammered in his ears, each step toward the gurney feeling precarious. The antiseptic scent, the metallic tang of blood, the steady beeping of monitors, all pressed at his senses. The nausea curled tight in his stomach, hot and sickly, but he pushed forward. I can’t stop. I won’t. 

Dana leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She didn’t say a word, but the weight of her gaze made Dennis’s pulse spike. She can see everything, he thought. Every tremor in my hands. Every slip. God, everyone sees. 

“Whitaker,” Robby said, crouching beside the patient, eyes sharp. “I need you present. Every step counts. One slip and the patient could crash. Can you stay focused?” 

“Y-yes,” Dennis whispered, trying to steady his breathing. His stomach churned, a hollow twisting that made his knees threaten to buckle. 

“Good. BP’s low, heart rate spiking. Prep the IV analgesic, fentanyl, fifty micrograms. Only push when I tell you. Got it?” 

Dennis’s hands trembled violently as he reached for the vial. He blinked, the fluorescent lights pulsing along with his heartbeat. Nausea clawed at him, dizziness threatening to tilt his world. Keep it together. Just follow instructions. Don’t die on the floor like an idiot. 

“Steady,” Robby said, noting the tremor in Dennis’s hands. “If you need help, ask. Don’t freeze. Just… move.” 

Dennis swallowed hard, forcing a shallow breath, ignoring the hot, slick sweat that prickled along his temples. His chest ached, not just from the exertion but from the ghost of Robby’s earlier presence, warmth, authority, the weight of judgment. Focus. You’re doing fine. Just… keep going. 

The patient whimpered as Robby cleaned the wound. Dennis’s vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting slightly with each shallow inhale. His stomach lurched violently, bile clawing up as he gritted his teeth. Oh god, oh god, I can’t screw this up. 

“Whitaker. Stop. What the fuck are you doing?” 

Robby’s voice cut through the chaos of the trauma bay, sharp and precise. The syringe trembled in Dennis’s hand. 

He froze, mouth dry. “I—I thought—” 

“You thought?” Robby stepped closer, jaw tight. “You nearly pushed the wrong drug. One second, Dennis, and this patient could’ve lost their airway. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?” 

Dennis’s cheeks burned, shame and panic coiling in his stomach like fire. I almost killed someone. Fuck… Collins wouldn’t have hesitated. I’m a fucking disaster. 

“You’ve been off all day. Distracted. Sloppy. I don’t care what’s going on in your head. You want to spiral? Do it on your own time, not with a syringe in your hand,” Robby snapped. 

Dennis could barely breathe, the room spinning slightly. “I… I didn’t mean—” 

“Intent doesn’t save lives. Competence does. Step back. Before you hurt someone.” 

Dennis stumbled into the supply closet, slamming the door behind him. The air inside was heavy, suffocating. He leaned against the wall, sweat soaking his back, stomach twisting violently. He retched into his hands, the nausea relentless. Every fiber of him wanted to vanish. 

By the time Robby returned, Dennis was trembling, head bowed. 

“You’re burning up,” Robby said quietly, softer now but firm. He checked Dennis’s pulse, hands warm against Dennis’s wrist. Dennis flinched, heart hammering in a mix of embarrassment, panic, and something else he refused to name. 

“I’m fine,” Dennis muttered, voice shaking. 

“You’re not. You need to sit. Sit now,” Robby insisted, steadying him with hands on shoulders. The heat of his touch made Dennis’s chest tighten in a way he hated admitting. 

Dennis tried to argue, legs weak, knees threatening to buckle. Robby caught him, holding him upright. The hallway spun, sounds sharper, movements exaggerated. 

"I can manage..." Dennis trailed off, his voice betraying him. 

“No. You can’t. You nearly—” Robby’s voice caught, frustration threading through it. “Whitaker… I’m disappointed in you.” 

The words struck harder than any blow. Dennis felt himself shrink, chest tight, stomach churning, bile rising. The alpha thinks I’m disappointing. Shame burned through him.I’m just a stupid omega. Why did I think I could do this? I can’t… I can’t even do this right. 

Robby led him to the nearest lounge chair. Dennis slumped into it, sweat dripping, chest burning, heart hammering. 

“You scared me. Twice today. I know this job is brutal. I get it. Pressure, exhaustion, everything, but people’s lives are at stake. You can’t run on empty like this. You’re better than this, and I expect more from you,” Robby said, voice steady, hands resting lightly on Dennis’s shoulders. 

Dennis nodded weakly, trembling. His mind raced, guilt and desire and shame mixing in a nauseating swirl. 

“You need sleep. Focus. And to be present. Right now, you’re a risk to yourself and your patients. I’ll make sure someone checks the patient, but you… you are not okay.” 

Dennis nodded weakly, unable to speak, his entire body trembling. He felt simultaneously small, exposed, and unbearably aware of Robby’s presence, and he hated how much that awareness made his chest tighten. 

Dennis’s head spun, pulse thundering. He tried to speak, but only ragged breaths escaped. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t explain the mix of fear, longing, and shame roiling inside him. 

Robby’s eyes softened fractionally, and for a moment Dennis thought he might reach out, offer some comfort, but instead Robby’s gaze shifted to the lounge chair arm, steadying him, professional. “I’ll leave you to catch your breath. Don’t move until you’re sure you can handle it.” 

Dennis nodded again, and Robby rose. The tension in the room didn’t dissipate; it lingered, a taut wire coiling in his chest. When the door clicked behind him, Dennis sagged further into the chair, heat, guilt, and heartbreak pressing down from every angle. His hands shook against his knees, and the thought of Robby’s disappointment replayed relentlessly, a cruel echo in his mind. 

He wanted to curl into himself, hide from the world and the memories of the break room and the scent of the hoodie, from Robby’s hands on his shoulders, from the weight of failure that now threatened to crush him. His gland still stung like a bitch, an ache so sharp he wanted to claw it out of his skin just to make it stop. The images and sensations looped endlessly, unrelenting.

Dennis’s head snapped up, sweat prickling along his hairline. His pulse spiked, and the room tilted. Frustration coiled in his chest, sharp and bitter. I can’t just sit here. I can’t do nothing. I have to prove I’m not useless. 

He pushed himself up from the chair, hands trembling violently as his legs wobbled beneath him. Each step felt precarious, unsteady, but he forced himself forward, eyes fixed on the hallway as if sheer will could carry him. His breaths came fast, shallow, and the world tilted alarmingly with every movement. 

A low groan escaped him, but he didn’t stop. He stumbled and went down hard, knees scraping and palms hitting the tile. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to stay down. Around him, nurses and residents froze, watching the spectacle, their voices distant and muffled in the thrum of his racing pulse. 

A hot, stinging flash of shame surged through him, like acid on raw skin. His throat tightened painfully, muscles quivering as if trying to strangle him from the inside. He felt his stomach roil, bile clawing up as nausea roared through him, threatening to overwhelm. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest, every heartbeat hammering like a drum in his skull. 

Dennis’s vision blurred at the edges, the bright hospital lights slicing into his disorientation. The faint outline of Robby appeared in the periphery, voice calling his name, but whether it was anger, concern, or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. 

Grimacing, he forced himself up again, shoving the pain and bile aside, muscles trembling violently. He wasn’t going to let the world or Robby see him fail. Not like this. 

But the world was relentless. The edges of his vision darkened, knees threatening to buckle again, as the hallway swayed dangerously under his feet. He clenched his jaw, every nerve screaming, and then, before he could steady himself, the floor rose to meet him. 

The world went dark. 

Chapter Text

The hallway outside the lounge felt too bright, too loud. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, the chatter of nurses at the station cutting sharp through the air. Robby’s pulse was still elevated, his jaw tight from the argument he hadn’t meant to have. He could still see Dennis’s face, pale, sweating, wide-eyed, burned into the inside of his eyelids like an afterimage that wouldn’t fade. 

He told himself it was professionalism. That what he felt wasn’t personal. That the edge in his voice, the way he’d snapped, wasn’t instinct, it was discipline, responsibility. Because what kind of alpha lost composure over a med student? 

“Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. His fingers came away damp with sweat. The lingering smell of antiseptic and adrenaline clung to his scrubs, acrid and too familiar. 

Something felt off. More than exhaustion, more than nerves. He’d seen plenty of trainees push themselves too hard, skip meals, stay on their feet until they shook. But Dennis… Dennis had looked wrong. Not just tired, strained. The kind of look that set alarms ringing somewhere deep in Robby’s gut, the one he couldn’t explain with vitals or case notes. 

He could still hear his voice, small and strained, saying he was fine. He wasn’t fine. No one looked like that and kept going without consequence. 

Robby exhaled sharply, trying to shake the thought, but it clung. That same heavy, possessive pull that made his chest tighten every time Dennis overworked, every time he brushed off concern with that soft, half-smile. It wasn’t rational, it was instinct, raw and intrusive, whispering that the kid needed rest, needed protection, needed someone to step in. 

And that someone, apparently, was him. 

He hated that. Hated how automatic it was, how deep it ran. He was supposed to be the supervisor, the stabilizing force, not someone who lost focus because an omega under his care looked like he was about to fall apart. 

Still, as he tried to steady his breathing, Robby already knew what he’d do. He’d check Dennis’s chart again, swing by under the pretense of follow-up, maybe “accidentally” bring something from the vending machine. Professional concern. Nothing more. 

Except they both knew it wasn’t. 

Turning down the corridor, Robby searched for some quiet. Dana caught his eye near the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart. “Dana,” he said, voice still rough. “Can you check on the patient from bed twelve? The kid with the forearm laceration. Make sure he’s stable and that Whitaker’s notes line up. I just—” He exhaled through his nose. “I need a second.” 

Dana arched a brow. “You look like you need a second,” she said, but she didn’t press. She nodded and walked off. 

Robby leaned against the wall, palms flat against the cool tile, telling himself it wasn’t about Dennis being an omega, that he would’ve reacted the same way if it were any student, any intern, anyone about to make a potentially lethal mistake. But it wasn’t true, not entirely. There was something in the way Dennis looked at him, something that pulled at him in ways he didn’t want to examine. Not dominance, not really. Just, protectiveness. A kind that felt dangerous in itself. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re not doing this again,” he muttered to himself. Not another student he gets too close to. Not another line blurred because he cares too much. 

A distant noise cut through his thoughts, a clatter, sharp and sudden, followed by voices. His head snapped up. The sound came from down the hall, the same hallway he’d just left Dennis in. 

The world tunneled instantly. Robby pushed off the wall, moving fast. “What the hell—” 

And then he saw him. 

Dennis, staggering into view, pale as the walls, sweat shining on his skin. His movements were uncoordinated, each step a fight against gravity. The nurses’ voices blurred into background static. Robby’s chest tightened, a cold bolt of fear cutting through the leftover frustration. 

“Whitaker!” he barked, already halfway down the hall. 

Dennis looked up at him, or through him, eyes unfocused. He took another unsteady step forward, then crumpled. 

Robby’s body moved before thought could catch up. He caught Dennis under the arms just before his head hit the floor, the weight of him limp and terrifyingly light. 

“Dennis—hey, hey—” Robby’s voice cracked as he lowered him carefully, checking for a pulse, a breath. The nurses were already converging, voices urgent, but Robby couldn’t hear them clearly over the pounding of his own heart. 

He’d told himself it wasn’t personal. That he wasn’t protective because of what Dennis was. But right now, holding the kid in his arms, none of that mattered. He just knew he couldn’t lose him. 

For a moment, he thought Dennis had just passed out, heat exhaustion, maybe, or low blood sugar, something simple, something fixable. Robby shrugged his hoodie off and quickly placed it beneath Dennis’s head, giving him a bit of padding against the hard tile. 

Then Dennis’s whole body jerked. 

“Shit—no—” Robby barely got the word out before Dennis convulsed hard, limbs snapping taut like a marionette yanked by invisible strings. His heels struck the tile with a sickening thud, making Robby’s stomach drop. 

“Seizure!” he shouted automatically, voice cutting through the noise. “I need a crash cart and Ativan, now!” 

The nurses jumped into motion, but the seconds stretched, endless. Robby dropped to his knees, turning Dennis carefully onto his side, sliding one hand under his head to keep him from hitting the floor again. His skin burned hot, too hot, and Robby could feel the tremors running wild beneath it. 

“Hey, hey, Dennis—come on, kid—” he muttered, voice rough, heartbeat roaring in his ears. He knew the seizure could run its course, knew the protocol, but logic slipped away under the sound of Dennis’s ragged, choking breaths. 

Dana was suddenly there beside him, calm but moving fast. “What happened?” she asked sharply. 

“I don’t know—he was—he just—” Robby’s words stuttered, disjointed. His hands didn’t stop moving, keeping Dennis’s airway clear, counting the seconds in his head. Too long. Too damn long. 

Dennis’s body arched again, a violent, uncontrolled spasm that made Robby’s chest twist painfully. Foam appeared at the corner of Dennis’s mouth, the faint, horrifying rattle of air catching in his throat. 

“Roll him, now,” Robby ordered, bracing Dennis’s shoulder as Dana slid an oxygen mask into place. Someone appeared with the Ativan, and Robby didn’t even look to see who, he snatched it up, hand trembling as he prepped the syringe. 

“No IV yet,” Dana said quickly. 

“IM, then,” Robby snapped, voice low but firm. “Two milligrams. Fast.” 

He plunged the needle into Dennis’s deltoid with precision, his chest tightening at the way the omega flinched just before passing out. “Now,” he said again, gripping Dennis’s shoulder as the sedative began to take hold. 

“Come on, Whitaker. Breathe. That’s it. You’re okay. You’re okay…” Robby pressed two fingers to Dennis’s neck, found the pulse, thready, but there. Relief hit like a wave, leaving his chest hollow and shaking. 

“Get him to Observation,” Robby said hoarsely, already checking Dennis’s pupils. “Stat. Full panel, I want everything.” 

Dana nodded briskly, gesturing for the gurney. Robby moved closer, hand hovering just above Dennis’s shoulder, as if the slightest contact could anchor him. 

“Okay… three… two… one…” he muttered under his breath, counting as they lifted and gently slid Dennis onto the gurney. His heart thumped so hard it felt like it might echo in the sterile walls. “Lift… steady… easy…” 

As the team lifted him, Robby stayed close, his fingers brushing against Dennis’s arm reflexively. The omega’s small, unconscious movements made his chest tighten, a protective instinct flaring hotter than professionalism could contain. 

“Almost there,” he whispered, voice low, more to himself than anyone else, as they wheeled him toward Observation. Every step, every careful motion, Robby’s mind was split between procedure and panic, keeping Dennis safe, keeping Dennis with him, until the monitors could take over. 

He told himself it was clinical instinct. That it was just care for a colleague. But when Dennis’s head lolled against the stretcher, pale and still, the thought that cut through Robby’s mind was anything but clinical. 

Once Dennis was secure, straps fastened and monitors attached, Robby folded his hoodie carefully and tucked it beneath Dennis’s head, keeping it there as a small cushion and a quiet, grounding presence. He paused, hand hovering over the fabric, reminding himself firmly... this is purely for safety reasons. 

An omega surrounded by someone they trust can feel steadier, calmer, and right now, Dennis needed stability. That was it. Nothing else. Just a practical measure to help him through the trauma and seizure aftermath. He shoved any lingering guilt or tension aside, focusing on the vital signs flickering on the monitor, the faint tremor of Dennis’s limbs, and the need to keep him safe. 

The hoodie offered nothing medically critical, but it was a small anchor, and for Dennis, every little thing counted. Robby forced himself to breathe evenly, center his mind on the task: observation, labs, care. Nothing more. 

As the gurney began to move, his gaze caught on the base of Dennis’s neck, just above the collar of his scrubs, where the fabric had shifted during the seizure. There, half-hidden under the edge of the neckline, was a scent blocker patch. The adhesive was peeling at one side, edges raw and irritated. The skin beneath it was angry red, inflamed like it had been rubbed or burned. 

Robby’s stomach twisted. 

He knew the hospital didn’t require scent blockers, not unless specifically requested. Most omegas only used them during active heats or high-stress rotations, and even then, the med-grade ones were designed to breathe. This one didn’t look like that. It looked cheap, overused, wrong. 

Jesus, Whitaker… how long have you been wearing that thing? 

For a moment, Robby’s hand hovered, instinct tugging, a silent urge to check the skin, to see if it was blistering or infected. To do something. But he stopped himself just short of touching, fingers curling into a fist. 

It shouldn’t have bothered him like this. He’d seen irritation, allergic reactions, worse. But something about that patch, the rawness, the quiet, self-contained pain of it, made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with medicine. 

He wanted to reach out. Just for a second. To lift the edge of the patch, soothe the burn, say something, anything, that would make the kid stop hiding behind it. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The hallway was too full, too bright, and Dennis was too still. 

So, Robby just followed, silent and tense, his hand still hovering near Dennis’s shoulder, pretending it was just about vitals, not about the part of him that wanted to protect him from a world that clearly hadn’t. 

Dennis’s body had finally stilled, though his chest still heaved and his skin glistened with sweat. Robby and Dana kept him carefully stabilized on the gurney, gloved hands hovering near the reddened edges of the patch, ensuring it wouldn’t shift. For a moment, the only sounds were Dennis’s ragged breaths and the quiet hiss of the monitors. 

Observation was too quiet. After the chaos in the hallway, the hush felt wrong, a heavy, sterile silence broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitor tracking Dennis’s vitals. 

Robby stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, trying to look composed. The nurses had cleared the initial workup: airway patent, pulse steadying, no trauma from the fall. Still, Dennis looked wrecked, skin pale and waxy, lips dry, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises. 

Dana entered, tapping at the chart on her tablet. “Vitals are stabilizing,” she said quietly. “We’ve got fluids going, two liters saline wide open.” 

“Good,” Robby murmured, eyes tracing the IV line to Dennis’s hand, which twitched faintly in sleep. His temperature was still high, 38.9 and climbing. 

Dana hesitated before speaking again. “He’s been off for days. You noticed that too, didn’t you?” 

Robby exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I just thought it was nerves. He’s been under pressure.” 

“Pressure doesn’t cause this,” she said, nodding toward the red, inflamed skin at the side of Dennis’s neck. “That’s infection-level irritation. Probably from overuse. He’s been covering it too long.” 

Robby’s jaw tightened. “He didn’t tell anyone.” 

“Would you have, in his place?” Dana’s tone was even but pointed. “He’s new. He wants to prove himself. And you’re…” she trailed off, eyes flicking to him. “…you’re intimidating when you want to be.” 

He looked away, unable to argue. “That’s not what I was trying to be.” 

“I know.” She softened slightly. “But he’s young. And he looks up to you.” 

The words landed heavier than he expected. Robby moved closer to the bed, resting a hand on the metal railing. Dennis’s breathing was shallow but steady now, sweat drying on his temples. His eyelashes trembled faintly against his cheek with each slow exhale. 

Robby’s jaw tightened further. “I have to push him… to be better.” 

Dana’s eyes flicked up at him, sharp. “Push him to be better... or push him away?” 

He swallowed, glancing at Dennis’s still form. “It’s complicated... I can’t...” 

Dana nodded once, expression unreadable. “Just… make sure the line you’re walking doesn’t snap.” 

Her gaze lingered, but Robby didn’t respond. He straightened, focusing on Dennis’s shallow breathing, the sheen of sweat on his temples, forcing himself to block everything else out. Just save him. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just save him. 

Robby checked the vitals again. “Oxygen 98, heart rate still elevated but stabilizing.  If this is infection or dehydration, we’ll catch it.” 

Dana nodded. “I agree. But you need to take that patch off and assess the damage underneath, see how deep the irritation goes and whether there’s any sign of infection spreading.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. 

Robby’s chest tightened. His mind flagged warning signs automatically, touching an omega’s gland was a strict taboo outside of a mating bond, let alone on a med student. Professional protocol overrode instinct, and this was a medical necessity. His hand hovered briefly, tense, before he forced himself to focus purely on the exam. 

He gripped the edge of the gurney, swallowing the flicker of hesitation. The scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, but beneath it was something else, a faint, neutral sterility, the absence of scent where one should’ve been. That patch had done its job too well. 

Robby flexed his fingers, squared his shoulders, and prepared to assess the area, reminding himself that this was purely clinical, for Dennis’s health, nothing else. 

The door to the trauma bay burst open. Santos rushed in, eyes wide, face pale with concern. “What’s going on? I heard the call... what happened?” 

Robby didn’t look up, his focus razor-sharp. “Seizures. Severe. Remove the patch immediately.” His voice was calm but clipped, every word carrying authority. “I want a CBC with differential, CMP, electrolytes, tox screen, hormone panel, magnesium, calcium, phosphate, and standard seizure labs. Check glucose, liver function, renal function... the works. We’ve started IV access, monitor vitals continuously. This could be systemic.” 

Santos blinked, taking in Dennis on the gurney, body trembling slightly, foam at the mouth, and the edges of the patch reddened. “The patch… you mean the gland patch? You’re going to remove it now?” 

Robby nodded. “Yes. We have reason to believe it may be causing, or at least exacerbating, the seizure activity. I can’t risk leaving it intact while he’s unstable. But we need to handle it carefully, edges only. No unnecessary contact with the gland itself.” 

Dana adjusted Dennis slightly, keeping him on his side. “I’ll prep the trays and draw initial labs,” she said efficiently, already moving to grab supplies. 

Santos’s gaze flicked between Robby and Dennis. “Alright… do we need sedation first?” 

“Yes,” Robby replied. “Minimal. Enough to prevent further convulsions while I stabilize the patch during removal. Once the patch is off, we can run the cultures and start hormone panels immediately. We need to know if there’s infection, inflammation, or a systemic trigger. I don’t care about protocol, he’s deteriorating.” 

Santos nodded briskly, adrenaline kicking in. “Okay. Let’s move. I’ll prep for sedatives.” 

Robby’s eyes stayed on Dennis, scanning every small movement, every twitch. The edge of the patch glowed red under the harsh lights, inflamed and tense. He took a deep breath, counting off silently: stabilize. Remove safely. Labs. Hormones. 

Dana placed her hands firmly on Dennis’s torso. “On my count… one… two… three—hold him steady.” 

Robby carefully lifted the edge of the scrub top and prepared the patch for removal. Even with the taboo hovering over him, he knew this had to be done medically. Any misstep now could trigger further seizure activity, or worse. 

Santos knelt beside them, gloved hands ready. “I’ve got labs, starting cultures now. Hormones next.” 

Robby’s jaw tightened. “Good. Focus. Minimal touch. Watch the edges. Dennis can’t take another convulsion right now.” 

For the first time since the seizure began, the room felt like a calculated battlefield: every movement controlled, every instinct sharpened, every hand poised on the edge between medical necessity and forbidden territory. 

Robby’s gloved fingers hovered over the edge of the patch. Dennis’s body still twitched slightly with residual convulsions, each movement making the reddened edge of the patch flex like a living thing. Dana held him steady, her hands firm but gentle, while Santos drew labs and prepped sedatives just in case. 

As Robby carefully lifted the edge of the patch, a wave of sour, acidic scent hit the room. Sharp and almost metallic, it clung to the sterile air like smoke. Dana gagged softly, instinctively covering her nose, while Santos took a step back, eyes watering. 

The patch had been hiding it. Dennis’s scent, usually faint and personal, was now overpowering, a noxious mix of infection, stress hormones, and something inherently primal. It made Robby’s stomach turn, but his hands didn’t falter. He had to expose the gland fully. 

Beneath the lifted patch, the gland pulsed grotesquely, almost breathing. Each subtle twitch intensified the acidic, sour scent filling the room, reminding them just how critical, and perilous, this moment was. The reddened edges were inflamed, raw, swollen, bulbous, glistening with a sickly sheen, mottled with deep purples and angry reds. Veins ran across it like jagged lightning strikes, edges crusted with dark, oozing residue. 

Dana whispered, voice tight, “It’s… it’s horrible… the smell…” 

Robby gritted his teeth but stayed focused. “I know. Keep him stable. I want those results. Now.” 

A healthy gland was soft, pliable, gentle pink, compressing and expanding easily. This… this thing was nothing like that. Hard, blotchy, grotesquely engorged, every ridge and welt a testament to infection and neglect. His chest tightened, stomach twisting. Oh, Dennis… what have you done, kid? 

Even as he handled it carefully, the sour, pungent scent clung to him, a vivid marker of Dennis’s vulnerability and the taboo line he was crossing. Every second, the gland throbbed beneath his hands, each pulse a reminder of why they couldn’t delay, infection, hormones, sheer danger masked by the patch. 

Robby’s breath caught. This was far worse than anything he had seen or imagined. He instinctively recoiled, but the medical necessity anchored him in place. He had to do this. 

Santos leaned over, eyes widening at the sight. “Holy—God. That’s… His gland… it looks completely blocked. He’s been holding this in, suppressing something.” 

“Don’t touch it!” Robby barked sharply, instinctively. “No one touches the gland unless it’s necessary. Only me. Only now, for medical reasons.” 

Dana shivered but nodded, keeping Dennis steady as he whimpered weakly, unconscious but still thrashing subtly. 

Santos gagged softly but kept her hands off. “Do we even—can we—what is that?” 

Robby didn’t waver. “Add sepsis panels. He could go into full systemic shock if this spreads.” 

Every second was a battle between medical necessity and the deep-seated taboo of touching another’s gland. 

Dana murmured softly, almost to herself, “It looks… horrid… like nothing I’ve ever seen.” 

Robby didn’t respond. 

When the first panel results pinged, Robby grabbed the tablet off Santos and swiped through the data, eyes scanning rapidly, heart hammering. 

The cultures were horrifying. Bacterial counts far beyond what should have been possible, aggressive strains that normally only appeared in long-term systemic infections. The gland tissue was teeming with pathogens, some mutating as they grew. The sour, acidic stench made sense now, it wasn’t just surface infection; Dennis’s gland was essentially a cauldron of toxic byproducts. 

The hormone panel flashed next. Dennis’s cortisol and adrenaline levels were off the charts, unsurprisingly, but it was the reproductive and pheromone hormones that made Robby’s stomach drop. They were jumbled, spiking and plunging in chaotic waves that explained the gland’s rapid deterioration. The patch had been masking not only the smell but the dangerous hormonal imbalance. 

Santos, hovering over his shoulder, swallowed hard. “Holy… that’s… catastrophic. How… how did it get this bad?” 

Robby’s jaw tightened, a sharp edge to his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be his friend? How do you not know this?” 

Santos blinked, caught off guard. “I—I didn’t think it was—” 

Robby’s voice dropped, cutting. “And don’t even start with the crap you joked about before, this isn’t because he hasn’t… had his fun. That was supposed to be funny, wasn’t it? Well, it’s not funny now. Not with him like this.” 

Dana’s hand found Robby’s shoulder, grounding him, but her face was pale. “We need to act now. If the gland fails completely…” She didn’t finish; the implication hung in the air. 

Robby’s jaw tightened. Touching Dennis had been taboo, yes, but he’d crossed that line to keep him alive. Now, the charts made it painfully clear: if they didn’t remove infected tissue and stabilize hormone levels immediately, Dennis wouldn’t make it. 

Santos nodded, swallowing hard, hands hovering awkwardly. “Okay… okay. Let’s—let’s do whatever we need.” 

Dana moved immediately to comply, and Santos followed, the earlier levity of their teasing gone, replaced by the full weight of what they were facing. The room had shifted, no jokes, no distractions, just focus, precision, and the desperate fight to keep Dennis alive. 

“We need full excision of necrotic tissue, aggressive IV antibiotics, hormone stabilizers, and constant vitals monitoring,” Robby said, voice tight but controlled. “Prep the lab for continuous cultures. Get isolation protocols ready, this strain is volatile.” 

Dana and Santos moved instantly, following orders, but Robby stayed by Dennis’s side, holding the gland carefully, noting every twitch, every flicker of color under the swollen skin. The acidic stench was overwhelming, almost choking him, but he forced himself to focus. 

Every panel, every reading, every spike of data reinforced one terrifying truth: Dennis’s survival depended on Robby ignoring instinct, taboo, and fear. Even then, it was far from guaranteed. 

Robby’s voice stayed steady, controlled, though his mind raced. “Start aggressive IV antibiotics, vancomycin and ceftriaxone. Load first, then continuous infusion. Check hormone levels every fifteen minutes. Electrolytes and glucose on a stat panel. I want vitals recorded every two minutes until this stabilizes. Prep for full excision of necrotic tissue, he cannot retain infected material.” 

Dana and Santos nodded, moving with practiced efficiency, but Robby remained at Dennis’s side, one hand hovering over the engorged gland, the other adjusting the oxygen mask and monitoring equipment. His gaze flicked constantly between Dennis’s face, the swelling, the monitors, and the lab techs preparing cultures. 

The acidic smell of the gland, the angry redness, the tense ridges beneath his fingers, all of it pressed on him, but he forced himself to remain clinical. This wasn’t about emotion; this was triage. This was saving a life. 

“Keep the airway clear. Suction ready,” he instructed, glancing at Dana. “If he vomits, if the seizure returns, we act immediately. Prep lorazepam and IV fluids. Bolus if pressure drops below 90 systolic.” 

He felt the hoodie beneath Dennis’s head, a small anchor, and told himself again: purely for safety. Purely for stabilization. Nothing else. Still, the sight of Dennis so vulnerable, so burned out, and now critically ill, made Robby’s chest tighten. He hadn’t felt fear like this in years, not even in trauma bays packed with screaming patients. 

As Dana set up the IV, Robby continued assessing the gland. Each ridge, welt, and twitch of color under the swollen, inflamed skin told a story of infection, overuse, and neglect. His fingers were steady, precise, despite the bile rising in his throat. 

“Vitals?” he asked sharply, voice crisp. 

“BP 102/68, HR 124, O2 97%, temp 38.4,” Dana replied, eyes scanning the monitors. 

“Keep him flat, slow movements, nothing sudden,” Robby said. “Full panel results in thirty minutes. Notify ICU if anything worsens. Keep suction at the bedside. Necrotic tissue must be fully excised as soon as he’s stable enough for minor intervention at the bedside.” 

Minutes passed like hours. Every twitch, every shallow breath, every subtle change in color or temperature made Robby flinch internally but remain outwardly calm. His mind spun with calculations, labs, and protocols, but one thought echoed above all. Dennis needs me to be precise. He’s counting on me. I won’t let him slip through my fingers. 

Robby leaned closer, gloved fingers steady, eyes locked on the swollen, angry gland. The full excision had to be meticulous, every ridge, discolored patch, and raised welt needed removal to prevent systemic infection. He could see every detail up close, mottled redness, tense cords beneath the skin, tissue resisting careful palpation. 

A tight, almost physical tension coiled in his chest. His heartbeat accelerated, a mix of adrenaline, fear, and something else he couldn’t name. Seeing Dennis so exposed, so fragile, made every instinct flare, protect, stabilize, keep him safe. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the clinical details: infection control, excision, hormone stabilization, vitals. Nothing else. 

But even as he reminded himself, his fingers hovered a fraction too close, wanting to adjust, soothe, steady. He hated how acutely aware he was of the small tremor in Dennis’s hands, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the faint sheen of sweat along his temples. Keep it together, Robby. Just save him. 

Dana and Santos worked efficiently around him, preparing instruments, pulling IV lines taut, drawing labs, but Robby’s gaze remained fixed. The gland was horrid, swollen, inflamed, grotesquely engorged, but it was also Dennis’s, and being so close made him painfully aware of just how small and vulnerable the med student was beneath the chaos. 

“Scalpels ready,” Dana said softly, firmly, snapping Robby back to the procedure. He nodded, inhaling deeply. Fingers steadied, mind narrowing. This is purely medical. Focus. Excise. Stabilize. Protect. 

Each ridge, welt, and inflamed patch was methodically removed. He felt the slight give under his fingers as the necrotic tissue separated from healthy tissue, carefully excising all compromised areas. The smell, the look, the fragility of Dennis, it all pressed on him, but he stayed sharp, calculating, precise. 

Dennis… what have you done, kid…? The thought twisted with every careful motion, a mixture of frustration, fear, and something unnamable that tightened his chest. And yet, he couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not ever. 

Even as he worked, the sour, acrid scent of Dennis’s inflamed gland pressed at Robby’s senses, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as feared. Beneath it, a faint, lingering trace of Dennis’s natural scent teased at him. I wonder what he normally smells like… I wish I knew. The thought made his chest tighten, guilt and fascination twisting together. He shoved it aside, forcing attention back. This wasn’t about anything else. It couldn’t be. 

When the final strip of necrotic tissue was cleared, Robby paused, gloved fingers brushing the still-red, angry tissue around the gland. He checked color, temperature, the slight twitch beneath his touch. Everything indicated the worst was removed. Infection controlled, at least for now. 

“Flush with saline,” he instructed, voice steady. “Gentle. No trauma to remaining tissue. Cover with sterile dressing once we’re sure there’s no active bleeding. Maintain airway, vitals continuous. Start IV hormone stabilizers now.” 

Dana and Santos moved immediately, trusting his every word, while Robby lingered beside Dennis. His hand hovered near the gland, unwilling to leave the kid completely alone, but keeping the touch strictly medical. The hoodie beneath Dennis’s head, the steady pulse beneath his fingers, the shallow breaths, every small detail reminded him how high the stakes had been. 

You scared me today, Dennis. But I’ve got you. I won’t let this be the end. 

Even as he reminded himself, his fingers hovered a fraction too close, wanting to adjust, soothe, steady. He hated how acutely aware he was of the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the faint sheen of sweat along his temples. What does it look like for an omega working under me to end up like this…? Guilt twisted through him, a sharp, bitter ache. Protective instinct flared, urgent and almost uncontrollable, and he hated that part of himself. 

Shut the fuck up. How selfish are you? he muttered internally, hating the intrusive thoughts but unable to stop them. The kid was fragile, sick, and entirely in his hands, and somehow, just somehow, the awareness of that, the weight of it, made every instruction, every careful incision, every measured touch feel heavier. 

Robby’s jaw tightened. Keep it clinical. Just save him. And yet, every shallow breath Dennis took, every slight twitch of his swollen gland, every faint sheen of sweat made his chest constrict in a way that had nothing to do with procedure. He felt exposed, flustered, unreasonably tense. The hoodie beneath Dennis’s head, the small tremor of his fingers, Robby hated how much it made him aware of the omega beneath him. 

He shook himself slightly, forcing focus back to the gland. He was a doctor first. Everything else, every gnawing, complicated thought, had to be pushed aside. 

Dana held a sterile dressing in one hand, pausing briefly. Robby’s fingers stayed steady over the inflamed tissue as he gestured toward it. With careful precision, he guided her hands, placing the dressing over the excised area. He made sure it covered the wound fully, cushioning it without putting pressure on the delicate tissue. 

But try as he might, the complexity of it pressed against him, an unrelenting weight. Protect him. Keep him alive. Don’t let him get hurt. And for God’s sake, stop thinking like this, Robby. 

Even as he worked, his gaze flicked to Dennis’s pale face. The sterile dressing now in place offered a small layer of protection, a barrier between the world and the fragile omega beneath him. Every careful movement reminded Robby of how high the stakes had been, and how much he couldn’t let himself falter. 

Later that evening, Dennis lay recovering, the sterile room quiet except for the low hum of machines and the muffled rhythm of the hospital beyond the door. The scent of antiseptic hung faintly in the air, sharp but clean, mixing with something softer that Robby couldn’t quite name. He sat by the bedside, elbows on his knees, hands folded loosely in his lap, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of Dennis’s chest beneath the thin hospital blanket. 

Every small shift caught his attention, the flicker of an eyelid, the faint twitch of fingers against the sheet, the slow, unsteady breath that seemed to tug at something deep in his chest. Dennis looked fragile in a way that unsettled him. Too still. Too pale. The confidence, the spark Robby was used to seeing in him, was nowhere to be found, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that made it hard to look away. 

Robby’s throat tightened. He told himself he was only watching for medical reasons, monitoring, observing, doing his job. But the truth was, it went deeper than that. 

He just wanted to make sure Dennis didn’t have to wake up alone. 

Dennis rolled his head slightly, nudging his nose closer to the hoodie still resting by his pillow. Robby’s chest tightened, it was almost unbearably cute, the kind of small, vulnerable motion that tugged at something in him.  

But then he heard it. 

At first, he thought it was the monitors, some subtle vibration or feedback from the machines. But no. It was too steady, too natural. A soft, low rumble came from Dennis’s chest, gentle and rhythmic, carrying through the air like a quiet hum. 

Purring. 

Robby went rigid. His mind immediately rejected it, it couldn’t be. That response was reflexive, deeply tied to contentment, safety, and emotional regulation. Omegas purred when they felt safe, when their system finally relaxed after stress or pain. There was no way Dennis, after what had just happened, could possibly— 

But the sound continued, steady as a heartbeat. 

Robby’s stomach flipped, the rational part of his mind trying to catalog it as a physiological sign, endorphin release, gland stabilization, parasympathetic recovery. But none of those explanations fit the look of peace softening Dennis’s face, or the faint smile that ghosted over his mouth as he burrowed just a little closer to the hoodie. 

He shouldn’t have felt anything about it. Shouldn’t have. 

And yet, the realization sank in like a weight on his chest: Dennis felt safe. Not in the ward. Not in the sterile hospital environment. 

Safe with him. 

Robby tore his gaze away, forcing himself to sit back in the chair. His pulse was hammering too hard for how still the room was. He reached for the chart at the foot of the bed, something to do, something that made sense, but his hands weren’t steady. 

Focus, he told himself. Vitals. Monitors. Nothing else. 

But even as he pretended to check the readings, the quiet purring went on, filling the sterile room with something soft and dangerously human. It threw him completely off balance. He’d seen omegas purr before, during bonding, during recovery, but never like this. Never directed at him. 

His throat felt dry. He cleared it, unnecessarily loud, half hoping the noise would break the spell. Dennis didn’t stir, just sighed a little, the sound deepening for a moment before fading again into that gentle, content rhythm. 

Robby pressed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be the composed one...the professional. But sitting there, surrounded by the quiet hum of machines and that quiet, trusting sound, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe Dennis wasn’t the only one who’d let his guard down tonight. 

The door creaked open behind him, spilling a strip of harsh hallway light across the floor. Robby straightened immediately, forcing his hands to drop from his face as Santos slipped inside, a tablet tucked under her arm. 

“Still here?” she asked, voice low but teasing. “You planning on moving in or just guarding him ‘til morning?” 

Robby blinked, slow to respond. “He was… unsettled earlier. I just wanted to make sure he stabilized.” His tone came out flatter than he intended, too defensive. 

Santos gave him a look that said she didn’t buy it for a second. Then her gaze flicked toward the bed, and her brow furrowed. “Is he…?” 

Robby’s stomach tightened. He didn’t even need to turn; he could still hear it, the faint, steady sound under the monitor’s soft beeps. 

“Purring,” he said finally, quiet. 

Santos raised both eyebrows, impressed despite herself. “Huh. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day. Guess you’ve got the magic touch, Doc.” 

He shot her a glare that didn’t have much bite. “It’s a physiological reflex. Nothing to do with me.” 

“Sure,” she said, smirking, eyeing the hoodie by Dennis’ head as she backed toward the door. “Whatever helps you sleep tonight. Keep an eye on him for me? Thanks.” 

The door clicked shut again, and the room fell silent, except for that steady, soft rumble still echoing through the space. 

Robby sat back down, running a hand through his hair and muttering under his breath, “Yeah. Nothing to do with me.” 

Even as Robby monitored the vitals, his gaze kept flicking back to that tremulous detail. The sterile dressing offered a fragile layer of protection; a stark reminder of the danger Dennis had just faced, and how close Robby had come to failing him. 

Every careful moment, every gentle shift of the covers, carried weight, not just medical weight, but the weight of being entrusted with someone so utterly vulnerable, so achingly human, that Robby couldn’t help but lean just a little closer, heart thudding with relief and something unspoken. 

His fingers twitched, aching to brush a strand of hair from Dennis’s damp temple, but he forced himself to stay still. The soft rumbles vibrating through Dennis’s chest pulled at something deeper, something protective and instinctive. 

He wanted to lean closer, to rest a hand lightly over Dennis’s shoulder, but he held back. Instead, he cataloged every shallow breath, every soft rumble, every small, instinctive gesture like evidence of how fragile and real this moment was. 

And when Dennis shifted again, a tiny, almost imperceptible stretch against the fabric, Robby felt a pang, an awareness that he was on the edge of feeling more than he could act on, and that the omega before him was, for now, entirely his responsibility.  

The awareness struck him like a warning, letting the protectiveness edge into something personal he couldn’t afford. 

And yet, as Dennis exhaled softly, a purely content sound, every instinct in him, clinical and primal, screamed that he couldn’t leave, couldn’t step back, couldn’t let anything happen to him. 

The omega was so unguarded, so unaware of the effect he had on Robby, that it sent an almost painful weight of responsibility through him. Every fiber in Robby wanted to be closer, to steady, to keep him safe, and yet he remained rooted, careful not to overstep, even as the protective impulse flared hotter than reason. 

For a long moment, he simply stayed like that, hand hovering, ready to move at the slightest sign of distress, acutely aware that, in this fragile bubble of quiet and trust, Dennis was impossibly his.  

Chapter Text

The world came back in fragments.

First, the hum. Machines, low and even, keeping time in the background like they’d been doing it for hours without him. Then the sterile air, that unmistakable hospital tang of antiseptic and plastic tubing, sharp enough to sting at the back of his throat. The smell clung, cloying, threaded through with something metallic.

His tongue felt heavy. His lips were dry. Every swallow scraped like sandpaper, thick with the taste of gauze and copper. There was weight behind his eyes, a dull throb that seemed to pulse with each sluggish heartbeat.

The ache hit next, deep, pulsing, right at the base of his neck. Not the clean ache of a bruise, but the sick, throbbing kind that made his pulse feel like it was echoing against bone. Beneath the bandages, heat radiated, uneven and alive. His skin prickled with the faint sting of disinfectant, where someone had scrubbed too hard.

His fingers twitched, wanting to reach up, but an unfamiliar tug at his arm stopped him. IV line. Monitor leads. The soft hiss of oxygen nearby.

Hospital.

He blinked hard, the lights overhead blurring into a smear of white and gray. Somewhere nearby, a monitor chirped, the rhythm too steady to be his own. The air was too still, the sheets too crisp, and every breath felt borrowed.

A weak exhale slipped out of him, part confusion, part disbelief. And then, through all the static, came something that didn’t belong here.

Scent.

Faint at first, then clearer, winding through the sterile air like smoke. It cut through everything: the alcohol wipes, the latex, the cold metal smell of medical rooms. Something soft lingered under it, laundry detergent, cheap fabric softener, and something warmer threaded through. Skin. Salt. A trace of adrenaline and coffee and something he’d learned without meaning to.

Robby.

Dennis’s chest hitched before his brain could make sense of it. The world felt syrupy, edges soft and far away, like he was moving underwater. His head turned on instinct, the stiff hospital pillow dragging sluggishly under his cheek. The motion sent a dull jolt up his neck, not sharp pain, but that deep, hot ache that made his body flinch half a second too late.

He blinked, slow, unfocused. The lights above were too bright, halos swimming in his vision. Everything felt tilted, too still and spinning all at once. His tongue felt thick, mouth cotton-dry, and every thought had to wade through a heavy, medicated fog before it reached the surface.

And there it was. Beside him.

A dark hoodie, half-folded on the pillow next to him, one sleeve dangling off the edge. Its fabric looked soft, worn smooth at the cuffs. The faint crease along the shoulders spoke of hands, someone who’d balled it up, carried it around too long.

He stared at it, blinking hard to keep it in focus. The world swayed in and out like a tide, the hum of the machines stretching and contracting in his ears. It looked impossibly out of place against the sterile white. Too human.

His brain caught up slowly, words forming like bubbles rising through water, hazy, clumsy, unfiltered.

Robby’s hoodie.

He’d know it anywhere. He’d stolen it, told himself he’d give it back, that it didn’t mean anything that he’d slept in it… touched himself in it. 

The faintest smile ghosted across his lips, half-dreamed, barely there. He felt the weight of his own voice before he heard it, cracked, hoarse, trembling with sleep and drugs.

“I thought I put that back…”

There was a pause, soft, startled, and then a voice. Low, rough, like it had been unused for hours.

“What?”

The sound tugged him closer to consciousness, like a hand pulling him through water. Dennis blinked, vision swimming, the room resolving and un-resolving in slow waves until something darker took shape beside him. A chair. Someone in it.

Robby.

It took a few seconds for the image to stick. His brain kept stuttering over it, refocusing, losing it again. Robby looked… different. Rumpled. Sleeves shoved up, shoulders drawn tight, hair flattened on one side where he’d probably fallen asleep sitting there. His scrubs were creased, the black gone dull in the low light, and there were shadows under his eyes deep enough to look bruised.

Dennis’s lips twitched, or maybe he just thought they did. His voice came out slow, words dragging through cotton. “The hoodie,” he mumbled, throat catching on the dry air. “Yours.”

Robby followed his gaze, frowning down at the dark fabric near the pillow. For a second, he just stared, like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Then his brow creased deeper. “Mine? Wait— you had it?”

Dennis blinked again, the lids too heavy, head sinking deeper into the pillow. The words came out sluggish, lazy. “Yeah. Borrowed it. Thought you’d notice.”

Robby tilted his head, disbelief warming the edges of his exhaustion. “You took it? And here I was, thinking it just vanished.”

Dennis tried to laugh, but it came out as a breath, thin and broken halfway through. “Guess I’m good at hiding things.”

Robby didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, still and unreadable, the small crease between his brows deepening. The silence stretched, filled only by the low hum of the monitors. His gaze flicked from the hoodie to Dennis, then back again, slow, searching, like he was trying to piece together a story he hadn’t realized he was part of.

Dennis watched him through half-lidded eyes, the edges of the world soft and unsteady. He could almost see the questions forming. When? Why? The quiet confusion behind them. And some part of him wanted to explain, to fill in the blanks before Robby could ask. He can’t know… not yet. Every thought of the hoodie, every tethered breath he’d stolen in secrecy, pulsed hot against his chest. If he knew, it’d change everything. I’m not ready.

He wanted to say it hadn’t been weird. That it wasn’t about wanting something he shouldn’t. Just… impulse. Comfort. The hoodie had still smelled like him, clean and warm and human, and on the night when everything in his head was too loud, wearing it, sleeping in it, touching himself in it, had felt like tethering himself to something solid. Like breathing a secret he couldn’t name.

But the thoughts tangled somewhere on the way out. His tongue felt heavy, lips numb, and his pulse thudded dully in his ears. The medication made everything soft around the edges, like even his voice had been sedated.

Robby reached forward finally, slow and careful, brushing the edge of the hoodie between two fingers. The movement was small, but Dennis saw it, the faint tightening of Robby’s jaw, the way his breath caught for a fraction of a second. Touching it seemed to cost him something.

When Robby spoke, his voice had lost its earlier roughness. It came out quiet, measured, but it carried something heavier underneath.

“You really took it?”

Dennis’s eyelids fluttered. “I… couldn’t help it,” he murmured, throat rough. It smelled like you… and it felt like… He swallowed, words dying before they could form.

Robby’s eyes widened, his breath catching in a sound that was part laugh, part disbelief. He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging through his hair, trying to process what he’d just heard. “When?” he asked finally, voice quieter than before, careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Dennis blinked slowly, head lolling slightly on the pillow as he tried to focus. “Last night,” he said, though the syllables blurred together. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming unevenly across his pale skin. “And… when you found it in the break room? That’s where I put it back.”

Robby exhaled, the sound long and frayed at the edges. He leaned back in the chair, eyes still on Dennis. There was a flicker there, surprise, something like amusement, and beneath it, a softer note that didn’t quite fit the sterile room. Concern. Maybe even relief.

He didn’t speak, but Dennis could feel the shift in him, the subtle loosening in his posture, the quiet warmth behind his eyes that he tried to hide. The silence between them stretched, heavy with something unspoken.

The air in the room felt denser now, humming with a kind of closeness that didn’t belong in a hospital. The faint scent of antiseptic couldn’t quite drown out the warmth of worn fabric, detergent, and something human underneath it.

The monitor ticked on steadily beside them. A distant ventilator sighed.

Robby’s eyes flicked toward Dennis one more time, lingering there like he was trying to read something behind the haze of medication and exhaustion. And whatever he saw, it made him look away fast.

“Here,” Robby said finally, his voice low, steady. He reached for the cup of water on the tray, movements deliberate, careful, the kind you make when you’re afraid to break something fragile. His fingers brushed just barely against Dennis’s lips as he angled the straw toward his lips. The contact was feather-light, almost nothing, but it hit like a spark, too familiar, too grounding.

Dennis flinched, the muscles in his jaw tightening before he could stop them.

“Drink a little,” Robby murmured. “Slowly.” His tone carried that quiet authority he always had on shift, the one that made people listen without thinking, calm without effort. But under it was something softer, threading through the words like static.

Dennis obeyed. The first sip was a shock, cold against his parched throat. It slid down in slow, cooling rivulets, and for a moment, he felt the fog in his head thin just enough for the room to come back into focus, the white walls, the steady pulse of monitors, the faint hum of ventilation overhead. Each swallow felt both grounding and unreal, like waking into someone else’s body.

He blinked, trying to steady the world, but it still tilted faintly at the edges. The lights buzzed too loud; every sound felt amplified and distant all at once. The ache in his neck pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a dull, lazy throb that refused to quiet.

A sharp twinge made him wince. His hand twitched, instinct pulling it toward the base of his neck, toward the sore, swollen gland hidden under gauze.

Robby noticed instantly. His voice cut through the haze, low and controlled but edged with urgency. “Don’t touch it,” he said, tone shifting into the precise calm of a medic in command. “Not with your hands. You’ll risk infection, aggravate the inflammation. Leave it alone.”

Dennis froze, fingers hovering midair before dropping weakly to the blanket.

When he looked up again, Robby had gone still. His eyes were fixed on the hoodie beside Dennis’s pillow, but his hands rested rigidly on his knees, tendons tight. Something unreadable flickered across his face, frustration, maybe, or relief. Or something quieter, heavier, that he didn’t want Dennis to see.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Robby said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “You’re stable, but… that could’ve gone really bad.”

Dennis swallowed, the motion scraping dryly in his throat. The words sat heavy between them. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, cracked, uncertain.

“What happened?”

Robby straightened, shoulders tight, eyes flicking away for a second before he forced them back to Dennis. His voice came out low, tight, every word shaped around a breath that sounded too thin. “Those… transdermal patches you’ve been using,” he said slowly, as if testing the words before releasing them. “They’re substandard. Not hospital grade. Not designed for continuous wear.”

He paused, swallowing hard, gaze dropping to the blanket before finding Dennis again. “Your gland was severely inflamed, congested. There were signs of prolonged suppression… edema, tenderness… infection setting in. You’ve been holding this in too long, and it finally caught up with you.”

The words blurred slightly in Dennis’s head, thick and echoing. He blinked at Robby, the meaning chasing itself in slow circles, his thoughts lagging behind his hearing. Robby’s voice stayed steady, but his breath kept catching, like he was trying to hold something back.

“Your gland went into septic shock,” he continued, quieter now, voice roughened with fatigue and fear. “Your temperature spiked. Heart rate through the roof. Blood pressure tanked. If we hadn’t caught it when we did…” His throat worked, the sound breaking. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaled through his teeth. “Dennis, you could’ve died. Minutes away. And there’s nothing anyone could’ve done after that point. Do you understand? You were that close.”

The words landed like weight on Dennis’s chest, dull and unreal. He stared at Robby, the edges of the world tilting faintly again, color draining from his face. A flush rose to replace it, hot and uneven across his cheeks.

“You… you saw my gland?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, rough and uncertain. His fingers fidgeted against the sheet, twisting it between them. “You… touched it?”

Robby exhaled sharply, hand scrubbing over the back of his neck. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled, too controlled. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I had to. You were burning up, completely unresponsive. I didn’t have a choice, Dennis... it was medical intervention, not—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening like he could physically stop the words from escaping.

Dennis’s ears burned. He shifted, gaze darting away, embarrassment prickling under the sedation. His body felt heavy, his mind too slow to decide if he was supposed to be angry, grateful, or just mortified. He touched it. He saw it. But he doesn’t know why I let it happen…

Robby’s composure cracked. His eyes found Dennis’s face again, the calm replaced by something raw and frayed at the edges. “This isn’t just some… ‘oops’ thing,” he said, voice rising slightly before he reined it back down. “You keep pushing yourself like that, like you can just handle everything, and you almost killed yourself.” His breath stuttered, chest heaving. “I can’t—”

He stopped. The room fell still again, save for the steady, indifferent beeping of the monitor.

Dennis let out a weak sound, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. His lips twitched in what might’ve been a smile if not for the pain shadowing it. “Guess that makes me an overachiever, huh?”

He can’t fix this. He can’t know it’s because of me, because of him.

Robby’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. The tension didn’t leave his body; it just changed shape. He leaned forward slightly, the chair creaking beneath him, and studied Dennis like he was memorizing the lines of his face, the slow, uneven rise of his chest. The exhaustion, the guilt, the fragile relief all blurred together in the space between them.

The silence that followed was thick, but not awkward, just full. Heavy with everything neither of them was ready to say. The machines hummed softly in the background, the rhythm of their beeping steady and indifferent.

Robby leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his nose, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling like it might offer him an answer. His shoulders sank slightly, the tension never fully leaving but softening at the edges, as if the adrenaline had finally burned itself out.

Then Dennis spoke again, voice roughened to a whisper, the words slurred just faintly from exhaustion. “You stayed.”

Robby’s gaze dropped at once. His hands rested awkwardly on his knees, fingers twitching once, then again, a reflex, a habit from a lifetime of needing to do something. “Yeah,” he said after a long pause, the word quiet enough to almost disappear under the hum of the equipment. “Yeah, I stayed.”

“You didn’t have to.” The words came out soft, uncertain, more question than statement, carrying a strange mix of gratitude and guilt.

Robby’s throat worked, a small tremor passing through his jaw before he managed to find his voice again. “You think I could’ve left after that?” he asked, rough and low. His gaze flicked briefly toward the bed, toward Dennis, pale, shadowed, still half-tethered to the monitors. The faint green light traced across his skin in slow pulses, and Robby looked away quickly, the sight catching somewhere deep in his chest.

Dennis made a sound, half laugh, half sigh, that cracked halfway out of his throat. “You should’ve,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

For a while, Robby just stared at the floor, jaw tight, the tendons in his neck drawn sharp under the dim light. Then he exhaled, slow and frayed, dragging a hand down his face until it hung limp at his side again. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Probably.”

The room settled into quiet once more, thick, tangible, almost warm. The machines filled the space where their voices had been, steady and unconcerned.

Their eyes met once, a fleeting moment, brief but weighted, and something passed between them. Not forgiveness, not understanding, but a shared awareness of what had almost been lost. Then, as if by instinct, they both looked away, the air between them charged with everything they couldn’t say out loud.

Then Dennis spoke again, soft, fragile. “You were here the whole time.”

Robby’s gaze snapped to him, eyes dark and sharp. “Here?” His voice was tight, trembling at the edges. “Dennis… your gland—” He paused, swallowing hard. “You were minutes from dying. And you… you were slowly killing yourself, covering it all up under a patch like it’d just go away?” His breath hitched, frustration bleeding through the fear. “God, Dennis, you can’t just—ignore something like that. Not when it’s that bad.”

Dennis flinched, chest tightening. He pressed the blanket closer to his chest, twisting it into a knot, as though the fabric could protect him from the weight of the words. His throat worked as he forced out the words, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I had to.”

Robby frowned, confusion cutting through his panic. “You… had to? What do you mean by that?” His jaw tightened, but the edge of his fear made him lean closer, searching Dennis’s face. “You could’ve told someone. You could’ve... I don’t understand Dennis. Help me understand. How could you just… do that to yourself?”

If he ever knew… that someone more than half his age, clinging to his every move for survival, depended on him like that… would he see me as weak? Pathetic? A burden? Would he look at me differently, with disgust, or annoyance, or... indifference?

Dennis’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t tell him. Not the truth, not that he’d been suppressing because of the imprint, not that it was the only way he could keep it a secret. He shook his head slightly, voice raw, trembling. “You… you don’t understand. I—just… I needed to.”

Robby dragged a shaky hand through his hair, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice came out low but edged with heat. “You don’t get it, do you? You put yourself in danger like that, you did. You didn’t just risk a fever or some downtime, Dennis. You risked organ failure. Septic shock isn’t something you walk off. Your body was shutting down.”

He looked up, eyes glassy, voice fraying at the seams. “Do you have any idea what it was like seeing you like that? Burning up, shaking, unresponsive, I couldn’t even get a pulse for a second. You think that’s something I can just shrug off?”

Yeah, tell me that again when I’m not hooked to an IV. When it’s not convenient to care.

Dennis’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Robby shook his head, stepping closer, eyes cold now, voice cutting. “You think you can just grit your teeth and push through everything, don’t you? Handle it all on your own, like some goddamn hero? Look at what that got you—you almost flatlined on a hospital floor.”

His voice dropped lower, nastier, and Dennis flinched. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How fucking reckless?”

He thinks I’m weak. Like I can’t handle this without him. Like I’m a child.

Dennis’s body stiffened beneath the sheets, voice sharp, hurt and venom lacing every word. “So… you only care when I’m on the brink of dying?” He let the words hang, biting, almost shaking. “All the rest… all the times I hid it, pushed through it… that didn’t matter. Not until I nearly didn’t make it. That’s when it suddenly matters?”

Robby’s chest heaved, voice ragged. “Dennis… I—God, I care. I’ve always—It just… I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch you go like that. Not like that.”

He says he cares like it means something now. Like it fixes anything.

The first alarm screamed, soft at first, beep… beep… matching the erratic rhythm of Dennis’s pulse. His chest tightened, breaths coming fast and shallow, but he didn’t slow down.

Robby’s gaze flicked to the monitors, noting the rising numbers, then back to Dennis. He raised his hands slowly, palms open, hovering near him as if he could hold him steady. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. Breathe… I’ve got you. Just… calm down, alright?”

Dennis flinched, eyes narrowing, every word feeling like overreach. Babying. That’s what this is. He thinks I can’t even handle my own body.

“I don’t need you hovering,” Dennis spat, voice cracking with fury and exhaustion. “I can manage myself!”

Robby froze for a fraction, then snapped, voice louder, taut with authority. “Whitaker! Watch your tone!”

Dennis’s eyes flared, raw and blazing through the haze, voice shaking with anger and exhaustion. “Fuck that! That didn’t matter when you were—when you were right there on the floor with me, touching me, over and over, like you wanted to! Like it was about you being in control, about your own need to hold on, not because I needed it! Right Doctor Robby? You only bring up duty, rules, ethics, responsibility… all that bullshit… when it suits you! When it fits your narrative! But the second it’s inconvenient, or you’re caught off guard, suddenly none of it matters, does it?”

“I… Dennis, that’s not—” His voice cracked, rough, the anger gone like he was straining to hold himself together. “It’s not about convenience. I… I was trying to protect you. I… I can’t just—”

“Protect me?” Dennis’s voice shook, bitter, barely steady. “You call that protecting me? Showing up after I’m nearly dead and hovering over me like I’m some fragile child? Like I can’t handle myself? That’s protection?!”

Robby’s hands twitched at his sides, hovering uselessly, like he wanted to reach out but couldn’t. His eyes were wide, panicked, and Dennis felt the familiar tug of irritation mixed with… something else. Care? Fear? He didn’t want it.

Robby’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. His voice came out lower, tight, careful, like each word had to be measured. “Dennis… I couldn’t… I couldn’t act. Not then. Not like that. I’m your boss. Everything I do… it affects you, your future, your career, everything about how you’re seen. I can’t just—just step in whenever I feel like it, or act on instinct. I have to think about consequences… about the bigger picture. I can’t—didn’t want to jeopardize you even more.”

“Why the hell are your rules and ethics only real when you need them to be?” Dennis returned, voice raw and cracking. “Where were all your standards when I was alone, fighting for myself, risking everything, and you weren’t here?!”

Robby’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his hair, lips pressed thin, but he didn’t argue. He just… stayed there, watching. Dennis could feel the tension radiating off him, but it wasn’t the kind he wanted. It was the kind that made him feel small, like a kid, like his anger didn’t matter.

He pressed back into the pillows, chest heaving, frustration and exhaustion twisting together. “You’re my boss, Robby! You should hold me to standards, to rules, to responsibility, but only when it works for you? Only when it suits your control, your moral high ground? And the rest of the time… the rest of the time I’m supposed to just… go unnoticed, ignored? When I needed you the most?”

Dennis’s voice faltered, sob threatening to break through, but his anger stayed sharp, cutting. “You lecture me now, like I was supposed to live by your rules while you weren’t even there to enforce them! Like I was supposed to listen to every warning about ethics, about restraint, about safety, when none of it mattered until you showed up?”

He slammed a fist into the mattress, teeth clenched, eyes blazing. “You get to hold me to all of that —standards, duty, responsibility, but only after the fact? Only when it’s convenient? You can’t just pick and choose Robby! You can’t! I’ve been doing everything I could, under the worst conditions, alone… and now suddenly I’m being judged by the rules you didn’t even enforce when it mattered!”

Dennis’s chest rose and fell raggedly, and he glared at him like he could see every failure, every moment of absence, every hypocrisy laid bare. “If you really cared about all that… you’d have been there before I nearly died. Not after.”

Robby froze, guilt and panic flashing across his face, hands hovering helplessly. The monitors beeped again, louder now, heart rate climbing with Dennis’s fury. “Dennis… look at me. Just—”

“I almost died, Robby!” Dennis shouted, slamming a fist into the mattress, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Don’t you get it? I was fighting for me because no one else would! No one! You think you can just show up after it’s nearly too late and act like everything is under control? Like it’s some miracle I’m still breathing? That I should be grateful for your rules and ethics now?!”

The alarms shrilled, urgent, but Robby stayed, murmuring soft attempts to calm him, hands floating near Dennis like a protective shield.

His hands clawed at the blanket, voice cracking with fear and fury. “Where the hell were you when I was sitting there, feeling like I was dying alone?! Where were you?! Don’t act like you didn’t notice! I had to drag myself through hell alone! I didn’t know what I was doing! I just did what I thought was right! Do you even know how terrified I was?”

Dennis pressed further, raw and unrelenting. “I don’t need your lectures! I don’t need your panic! I needed someone who was here before I was gasping for air, not someone who shows up after the fact acting like it’s a miracle I’m still breathing!”

The beeps continued, punctuating his words, Robby’s hands trembling but steady, trying to anchor him as Dennis’s anger rode unchecked, every ragged breath a strike against the room’s tension.

Dennis’s lips curled into a bitter sneer, eyes blazing with fury and hurt. “And you think I would’ve come to you? Asked you for help? Please....”

A sob broke through his voice, jagged and desperate, shaking him from chest to shoulders. “This is all your fault… you weren’t there when I needed someone!”

He gasped, trying to catch his breath, voice cracking. “So don’t… don’t you dare step in now and pretend like you care!”

His voice cracked, but the anger didn’t fade. “I just… I hate that you get to stand there and act shocked like I betrayed you.”

Dennis took a deep, hitching breath. “Doing what I did was easier than wanting things I wasn’t supposed to.” The words spilled out, raw and permanent.

Better to suffer in silence than have him see the part of me that can’t be controlled.

He sank slightly, weight pressing into the pillow, voice quieter now but taut with soft sobs. “I don’t need you to tell me how lucky I am… or how scared you were. I needed you when it mattered, not after. Not now.”

Robby stayed frozen, hands useless at his sides, and Dennis let out a slow, shuddering breath. The anger didn’t leave, he didn’t want it to, but at least it was his own, untangled from the fear and worry clinging to Robby. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel it fully.

The room felt smaller, air thick and charged, the monitors shrill in the background. Dennis swallowed hard, once, twice, chest tight, and only then did he shift, reluctantly. Robby’s eyes followed, worry swimming across his face, hands still hovering, unwilling to let go, as if just being there could anchor Dennis back from the edge.

Then the alarm screamed. beep. beep. beep. His heart lurched violently, each beat hammering like a drum against his chest. Oh god, oh god, not now…

Robby’s voice cut through the haze. “Dennis! Your heart—”

Another alarm. The room tilted and spun. His vision blurred, and suddenly Robby’s face swam in front of him, eyes wide, brow furrowed, mouth set in a hard line, worry etched into every sharp angle. Dennis wanted to look away but couldn’t. Why does he care now? Why does he look like this?

The door burst open. Dana’s shoes hit the floor with urgency. “Vitals are climbing—BP, heart rate, oxygen—Jesus Robby! Move!” She crossed the room with brisk, precise steps, checking lines, adjusting monitors, giving orders. Robby followed, hands hovering over every control, but his gaze never left Dennis, wide with fear, jaw tight.

Dennis’s hands clenched the sheets, trembling. Each breath was shallow. I can’t stop it. I can’t… I’m going to—

“Focus on my voice! In… out… slow,” Dana commanded. Her hand pressed to his shoulder, grounding him.

Robby leaned closer, almost hovering, his face swimming in Dennis’s vision again, closer, more intense. His eyes… he’s really worried. He’s scared. He doesn’t want me to go. He’s scared of losing me…

Robby shifted closer, his body tense, almost vibrating with the urgency he couldn’t voice. He didn’t touch Dennis, but the mere proximity felt like a lifeline thrown into the storm. The hoodie stirred beside him, and Robby’s hands hovered over it, trembling slightly as he snatched it up, flipping it over quickly, deliberately, trying to ground Dennis with its familiar scent.

Dennis’s head swam, vision tilting, heart hammering, and the smell of the hoodie hit him like a tether thrown in a hurricane. He grabbed at the sheets, chest heaving, and Robby’s movements grew sharper, more insistent, almost frantic in their precision, as if the faster he acted, the more he could drag Dennis back from the dizzying edge of panic.

Robby gently cupped Dennis’s face in his palms, thumbs brushing softly against the tense lines of his cheeks. His voice was low and steady, carrying warmth and quiet reassurance. “Hey… shh… look at me. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

But Dennis’s body couldn’t hold it any longer. The sobs tore through him, wracking his chest, shaking his frame. He clutched at the blanket, gasping between wails, heart hammering as the panic surged uncontrollably. His breaths were short, jagged, and every inhale seemed to pull him closer to the edge he had barely survived before.

The monitors screamed, alarms blaring in sync with his racing heartbeat, beep! beep! beep! the flashing lights casting jittery shadows across the room. Robby stayed, hands cupping Dennis’s face, murmuring soft reassurances, leaning closer, trying to anchor him, his own heart tightening with helpless fear. “It’s okay… I’m right here… you’re safe. Just breathe with me, okay?”

Dennis shook violently, unable to focus, unable to slow even with Robby’s weight pressing gentle insistence into him. His eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming, throat raw from sobs, voice breaking into incoherent gasps. The panic overpowered reason, his body still shaking as the alarms kept time with his racing pulse.

From the corner of the room, Dana’s eyes flicked between Dennis and Robby. She noticed the way Robby leaned closer, hands still hovering, completely absorbed, utterly tender. Her chest tightened with an odd mixture of admiration and urgency. But clinically, there was no time for hesitation. Her voice was calm but firm. “He’s not settling. We’ll have to sedate him… now.”

Robby’s hands remained at Dennis’s cheeks, gentle but trembling slightly, murmuring, “I’ve got you… it’s going to be okay…” His voice broke once, twice, but he refused to let go, refusing to let the sobs sweep Dennis away completely.

He glanced at Dana, voice firm and clinical. “Give him midazolam, 2 milligrams IV. Slow push. Keep monitoring his vitals. Let’s get him under control before this escalates further.”

Then, without another word, he returned his focus entirely to Dennis, pressing his palms a little firmer to his face, voice soft but steady. “Hey… I’m right here. Breathe with me. You’re safe, I promise.”

Dana moved with practiced precision, preparing the sedation, her movements smooth and quick, while Robby stayed rooted, whispering reassurances, eyes locked on Dennis. Dennis’s body shuddered with sobs, ragged and raw, hands clutching the blanket, fighting the calm but allowing himself the tether Robby provided, even as sedation became inevitable.

The alarms continued their relentless rhythm, matching the panic and terror in Dennis’s chest, while Robby’s presence, steadfast, careful, and wholly devoted, anchored him in the chaos. For a brief, trembling moment, the chaos of the room and the fear inside him were tethered to something human, something steady, even if only barely.

Finally, Dennis’s eyelids fluttered closed, exhaustion and relief mingling as he let himself be held, letting the sobs carry him toward a fragile calm. His chest rose and fell unevenly, still ragged, but the sobs had quieted.

Robby remained still for a long moment; eyes fixed on Dennis’s sleeping form. He wasn’t frozen with helplessness this time, he was stunned, his mind reeling from the magnitude of what had almost happened. His hands hovered lightly near Dennis, trembling, but now with the sharp, electrifying awareness of how close it had been, rather than the numbness of panic.

Dana’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and unyielding. “Robby, what were you thinking? You let him spiral like that! You can’t just hover and hope he’ll settle. He’s unstable, he needed structure, intervention! Recognize when your presence isn’t enough! This is serious, his vitals are fragile. You’re trained for this. Act like it!”

Robby’s chest tightened, heart hammering. Dennis’s words from earlier clawed at him,“This is all your fault… you weren’t there when I needed someone!”

He swallowed hard. The shock of seeing Dennis so vulnerable, so close to the edge, pressed into him with a weight that left him breathless. He had seen the danger, the suppressed pain, the desperation. It wasn’t abstract anymore, it was real, and it had almost killed him.

“I… I didn’t realize… not fully…” he murmured, voice rough, shaking with disbelief. “I saw the signs… I just… I didn’t understand how far he’d gone until it was almost too late.”

Dana’s sharp gaze swept the monitors. “We sedated him because he’s fragile. That’s not negotiable. If you can’t maintain composure, you jeopardize him. Do you get that?”

Robby nodded, chest tight, fists clenching at his sides. Composure… yes. Control… responsibility… He had stayed with him, yes, but now he saw how nearly everything he had counted on, his own moral restraint, his careful patience, had been insufficient against what Dennis had endured alone.

“I… I stayed with him,” Robby said, voice rougher, almost hoarse. “I… tried to—watch over him, keep him tethered… but I wasn’t ready. I didn’t understand… not until now.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing every subtle rise and fall of Dennis’s chest, noting the small shivers, the tension in his fingers. The patches, the suppression, the swelling, the silent strain, he saw it all, piecing together the quiet, relentless battle Dennis had fought.

Robby’s throat tightened, a low groan escaping him. “He… he hid it all. Every bit of it… from me. From everyone. And I… I didn’t notice. I didn’t act fast enough. Not until it almost killed him.”

He rose slowly from the wall, knees aching, chest tight, and knelt beside Dennis. Tentatively, reverently, he brushed a curl from the younger man’s forehead. The gesture was small, but it carried all the weight of what he’d just realized: that this wasn’t just about duty, or rules, or ethical restraint, it was about seeing Dennis, understanding him, and stepping in at the right time.

Robby’s chest rose and fell unevenly, heart pounding, mind spinning with the full gravity of the moment. His struggle with restraint, control, and responsibility now felt insignificant. Pathetic, even, compared to the fight Dennis had endured alone.

And in the quiet hum of the monitors, with Dana watching silently from the doorway, he finally understood. He had to protect Dennis, not just as a resident under his care, or an omega, or someone vulnerable, but as the person who had carried so much silently and still stood before him.

Dana’s faint nod barely registered. Robby didn’t notice. He was too absorbed in the careful, fragile closeness, in the aching, staggering relief that he had finally seen the truth.

Chapter Text

Robby hadn’t slept properly in days, and every quiet moment seemed to stretch too long. Dana’s words stuck with him like a bruise he couldn’t stop pressing. You’re too close to this one. She hadn’t said it as an accusation. Just… quiet, tired truth. And somehow that made it worse. 

Three days. That’s how long he’d managed to stay away from the ward. Three days of pretending not to listen for footsteps in the hall, not to look toward the door every time someone said Dennis’ name. He threw himself into double shifts, volunteered to take on more trauma cases, and stayed until his hands cramped from charting. He even offered to oversee a backlog of case reviews, anything to keep moving. 

But the stillness always caught up eventually. The moment he stopped, when he let himself sit too long or linger too close to quiet, the memories came crawling back. 

The tremor in Dennis’s hands, subtle at first, but enough to make Robby’s stomach twist. The hiss of oxygen filling the quiet, punctuating the small, jagged breaths he couldn’t smooth. And that voice, wrecked, ragged, raw, but carrying a certainty that cut deeper than any pain or fear. You stayed. 

It wasn’t just a statement. It was a lifeline, a confession, a demand, and a reminder all at once. Every broken syllable reverberated through Robby’s chest, leaving his own hands tight and useless at his sides. He could still feel the heat of the moment, the way Dennis had clung, how desperate and fragile he’d been, and how fragile he still was beneath it all. 

Robby swallowed, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t budge. That simple phrase, you stayed, haunted him, looping over and over. He’d stayed, yes, but had he stayed enough? Was it too much? Or not nearly enough? The questions collided in his mind, sharp and endless, and he could only watch, helpless, as the memory of that tremor and that voice refused to fade. 

All he did know is he’d crossed that invisible line between care and something messier, something that didn’t belong inside a hospital. 

Now, standing on the hospital roof, Robby let the night air slap cold against his skin. The city stretched below, orange sodium lights bleeding into the darkness, the hum of distant traffic rising and falling like a slow, constant tide, a helicopter cutting a jagged line through the sky. He leaned on the railing, shoulders hunched, knuckles white as they gripped the metal. His chest felt tight, lungs dragging as if the air itself had weight, and every inhale trembled with unspent tension. 

The quiet above the wards was deceptive. Down below, monitors hummed in rhythm with life and near-death, but up here, the wind carried only the faint, electric hum of the city, and the ghosts of the past few days pressed at his temples. 

“You look like shit,” came a familiar voice behind him, cutting through the hum like a blade. 

He didn’t need to turn. “Evening, Jack,” he muttered, voice low, rough with exhaustion and the dry rasp of too much caffeine. 

Jack Abbott, early for his night shift apparently, perpetual pain in his ass, and the only one who ever seemed to find him up here. He walked closer, shoulders loose, coffee in hand, eyes scanning him like he’d been expecting trouble. “Word is you’ve been pulling back-to-back shifts. You hiding from someone, or just masochistic?” 

Robby let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand across his face. The city lights flickered in the reflection of his glasses, jagged streaks of gold across tired eyes. “Maybe a little of both,” he said quietly, voice barely rising over the wind. “Long days. Lots of… things to think about.” 

Jack leaned against the railing beside him, not too close, not too far, the way people sometimes measured distance from someone who carried too much. He sipped his coffee, watching the night with a practiced casualness that Robby knew was anything but. “Yeah? Heard some stuff. About the kid. Heard he nearly…” His words trailed off, careful, like he didn’t want to fully name what Robby had been running from. 

“Don’t,” Robby cut in. “I’m not supposed to talk about him.” The tight coil in his chest twisted again, a reflex, and he swallowed, tasting bitterness in his own mouth.  

Jack’s gaze sharpened, but his voice stayed low, even. “Right, you’re not supposed to, but you are thinking about him. Big difference....you know, for a guy who talks a big game about saving people, you’re acting like Dennis is the one who saved you.” 

Robby glared. “Jack—” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack interrupted, waving a hand. “Admit it. Cute kid, makes you sweat like a rookie, and suddenly you’re all flustered. I’ve seen less obvious crushes in high school drama club.” 

Robby groaned. “He’s my patient and student.” 

“And yet, here you are, pacing and brooding on the roof like some dark, mysterious hero.. Cute, Robby. Painfully, obviously cute. And just so we’re clear, I’m only pointing this out because no one else will. You’re a mess, and that kid hasn’t even realized it yet.” 

Robby’s jaw tightened. “I don’t—” 

Jack took a sip, studying him. “You’ve been avoiding him,” he said bluntly. “The wards. Shifts. Everything. You don’t hide from trouble for no reason, Robby. So what’s it—guilt? Or you just… scared of crossing the line again?” 

Robby didn’t answer. The wind picked up, pushing his hair across his forehead, and he suddenly hated how small the city looked from up here. Like everything was manageable, if he could just keep control. But he couldn’t. Not with Dennis. Not with the way Dennis had looked at him, like he was both lifeline and danger. 

Robby laughed, short and bitter, letting the sound vanish into the wind. “Maybe both,” he muttered, head dropping further until his forehead rested on his knuckles. The city sprawled beneath them, indifferent. The noise below like distant static, echoing the chaos inside his chest. 

He tried to remember the moment the line blurred, but it felt more like a slow erosion than a single instant. He had always told himself it was about care, professional, and necessary care. But somewhere along the way, the long nights, the small victories, the desperation in Dennis’ eyes… it had slipped. His hands had lingered too long, his words had carried too much weight, his heart had jumped every time Dennis looked at him like he was the only anchor in a storm. 

And he hadn’t pulled back. Not until the edges had frayed, until guilt settled like ash in his lungs, until Dana’s words hit him harder than any reprimand could. 

He’d believed he was protecting Dennis. But maybe he was just protecting himself. 

The cold wind cut through him, sharp, reminding him that distance was supposed to be the cure. He was supposed to step back, pull away, let someone else take over, let the professional boundary hold. But it was never enough. Every step away only made the pull stronger, the weight heavier, the images, Dennis’ panic, his gasps, the whispered You stayed, burning brighter in his mind. 

And that was the cruelest part: the line had never been just one moment. It had been a thousand tiny ones, each one a compromise, a slip, a betrayal of the rules he’d sworn to follow. 

“He’s a patient,” Robby said finally, voice low, almost a whisper, mostly to convince himself. “He trusted me, and I— I messed it up.” His hands tightened on the railing as the wind cut through him, sharp and accusing. 

“He’s brilliant,” he added, almost to himself, eyes scanning the city below as if it could hold the answer. “A brilliant man… a brilliant student. He’s going to be a good doctor one day—he’ll save lives, make people see him the way I do, and I—” His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. “I was supposed to protect him, guide him, teach him… and I let him fall apart in front of me.” 

But then there were the patches. The way he’d worn them, the desperate effort to block me out... why? Something as simple, as human as scent, blocked, and I hadn’t understood until it was almost too late. The thought twisted something tight in Robby’s chest. Dennis had trusted him, survived because of him, and yet he’d been carrying this secret, deliberately keeping a part of himself away.  

What was he afraid of? What had he been trying to protect, and from whom? What was so serious, so scary, that he had to wear those patches often enough it almost killed him? 

Robby ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. He hated not knowing. Hated feeling like he’d missed something vital, something he should have seen. And the worst part is he still didn’t understand it. 

Jack’s brow furrowed, the streetlight catching the lines around his eyes. “You think caring too much is messing up?” 

Robby let out a shaky breath, letting the wind whip against his face. “When it makes him worse… yeah.” His fingers drummed against the railing, a staccato he couldn’t control. I stayed too long. I held too close. I made it about me instead of him. 

Jack studied him a moment, silent, weighing whether to push or back off. Then he sighed, a slow, heavy exhale that seemed to carry more patience than Robby deserved. “Triage expert for everyone else, trainwreck for yourself. That’s some award-worthy inconsistency you’ve got going.” 

Robby huffed a half-laugh, bitter, and looked away at the blinking city below. “You sound like Dana.” 

“Good. Maybe one of us will get through that thick skull of yours,” Jack said, nudging the coffee toward him. The warmth seeped into Robby’s cold fingers, and he held it like it might anchor him somehow. “You can’t fix what he’s going through by punishing yourself.” 

Robby didn’t answer. He stared down at the steam curling up from the cup, twisting in the dim glow of the parking lot lights. The warmth burned in a way that made the ache inside his chest sharper, reminding him how helpless he felt. How powerless he had been while Dennis suffered. How close he’d come to breaking both of them. 

Jack leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching. “You’re a doctor, Robby. A good one. You save people all the time. That doesn’t mean you have to take their pain onto yourself. That’s not triage. That’s… martyrdom.”  

Robby swallowed hard, jaw tight. He wanted to argue, to say he couldn’t just watch him, it was his fault, that he had to stay, had to protect, had to— 

But the words stuck, lodged somewhere between guilt and exhaustion. He let the silence settle. Let Jack’s presence press a tether against the spiraling chaos in his chest before he let out a dry laugh. “Martyrdom? Perfect. That’s exactly the title I wanted on my LinkedIn profile. ‘Robby: Savior of Hospital Staff and Inappropriate Crushes.’” 

“You mean the inappropriate crush on a literal kid?” Jack deadpanned. 

“Oh, sure,” Robby said, mock-offended. “Because apparently having a functioning brain and ethical restraint makes me a saint. Instead, I’m just… this.” He gestured vaguely at himself like a broken exhibit. 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “‘This’ being emotionally constipated adult, freaking out over someone half your age?” 

“Half my age and fully terrifying,” Robby shot back, smirk creeping in. “Honestly, how is he even allowed in my orbit? Someone should file a hazard report. I’m supposed to be the competent one.” 

“Yeah, tell that to the nurses who saw you white-knuckling your way through a 12-hour shift,” Jack said, tone halfway between teasing and concerned. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” Robby said, voice dripping sarcasm. “Nothing like mild public collapse to really boost the ol’ reputation.” 

Jack smirked. “Look, you’re not a bad person. You care too much, which is your problem, not a crime.” 

“Caring too much,” Robby muttered. “Right. Could’ve fooled me. My personal motto: obsess quietly, fail dramatically.” 

“That about sums it up. But you’re handling it better than you think. Mostly.” 

“Mostly,” Robby echoed, smirk softening into a small, humorless grin. “Because the alternative is admitting I’m a disaster who pines over a kid and calls it adulting. Not exactly inspiring.” 

“Not inspiring, but entertaining,” Jack said, shaking his head. Then he paused, tone shifting. “But seriously—he’s not that young. He’s old enough to make his own decisions. You can’t do that for him. You can’t protect him from his own choices, Robby. You can only show up, be there, and… maybe try not to make it worse.” 

Robby’s smirk faltered just a little. “Yeah… yeah, I know. Easier said than done.” 

Jack gave a small nod. “I know. But obsessing over what you can’t control… that’s on you, not him.” 

Robby let out a humorless chuckle. “Guess I’ll add that to my growing list of ‘Things Robby Can’t Fix But Will Worry About Anyway.’” 

Jack laughed. “Classic.” 

Robby’s gaze fell again to the city lights, to the coffee warming his hands, and for the first time since the week had begun, he let himself just be, not teacher, not doctor, not savior. Just a man who’d stayed too close, who’d made mistakes, and who, maybe, needed to breathe before he could try to do better. 

Robby stayed on the rooftop longer than he intended, letting the night air strip away some of the heat of guilt. Eventually, though, the cold seeped into his bones, and he knew he had to move. He couldn’t stay up here forever, not that he could truly escape what was waiting for him below. 

Back in the hospital, he walked the familiar halls with heavy steps. Every light, every hum of machines, every faint beeping of monitors reminded him of Dennis. Three days of double shifts had kept him busy, yes, but it hadn’t erased the memory of Dennis’ trembling hands, the way his voice had cracked, how fragile he’d seemed in that room. 

Robby’s shoes echoed softly down the hall as he passed Dennis’ room. He hadn’t planned to stop, he’d told himself he was just on his way to his truck, but something pulled him to the glass. 

Through the window, Dennis lay curled on the bed, limbs twisted into a fragile, exhausted shape. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the faint hum of the machines filling the space. Robby didn’t knock. He didn’t speak. He just stepped inside, silent as a shadow, shoulders tense, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. The air felt… wrong. Incomplete. His chest tightened as he realized why, He still couldn’t scent Dennis. Something vital, grounding, was missing, and the absence twisted in his stomach. 

The hoodie he’d given Dennis the day before yesterday—or had it been the day before that?—lay crumpled on the chair nearby, half-swallowed by the dim light of the room. Robby’s fingers itched to pick it up, to fold it neatly and carry it back to the truck, to lock it away where it couldn’t remind him of how far things had gone. But maybe Dennis didn’t want it anymore. Maybe leaving it would just make him remember Robby, and all the ways he’d failed, all the moments he hadn’t been enough... 

Still, the thought that Dennis might need something to hold onto kept him rooted, torn. What if leaving it was the one small thing that didn’t scare him? That didn’t push him further into his own spiral? Robby’s stomach knotted at the uncertainty. The hoodie in his hands felt heavier than it should have, weighted with all the things he couldn’t fix. 

Finally, he exhaled, the decision settling somewhere between hope and guilt. He wouldn’t take it. Not yet. Dennis needed it more than he did. He would leave it, even if it meant swallowing his frustration, even if it meant standing here, helpless, watching Dennis wrestle with his own spiral without stepping in. Some part of him desperately hoped the hoodie could do what he couldn’t: be there when he couldn’t. 

Robby’s jaw tightened, a sharp, almost physical ache. He wanted to reach out, to smooth the growing curls from Dennis’ forehead, to whisper that it was okay, that he wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t. Not when the line between caring and crossing had already been so dangerously blurred. The thought of overstepping, of making everything worse, kept his hands at his sides.  

And yet, even as he walked away, he cast one last glance at the crumpled fabric, and at Dennis sleeping beneath the sterile hospital light, wishing, wishing he could be enough. His truck waited, its metal body gleaming under the streetlights, but for once, he didn’t feel like escaping, he just carried the image of Dennis asleep behind his eyelids, a fragile reminder of why he couldn’t run from this. 

Dennis blinked against the harsh hospital light, waking slowly, like surfacing through heavy water. The ceiling was familiar; the hum of machines steady, rhythmic. But the chair beside his bed was empty again. 

The hoodie lay crumpled beside him like a promise he wasn’t sure he deserved, faintly carrying Robby’s scent, teasing at a part of him that still ached for comfort. The room felt too quiet, too empty, and Dennis’ chest tightened. For a long moment, he wondered if Robby had pulled back, not because he had to, but because he’d finally grasped the intensity of Dennis’ outburst, the rawness in his voice, the panic he hadn’t meant to show. 

Dennis hated himself a little for it. He stared at the crumpled hoodie, chest tight with guilt and longing. He’d lost control, yes, but why had Robby stepped back? Fear? Frustration? Or had he seen too much, seen the secret Dennis had been hiding, what he’d tried so desperately to keep from him, and decided to pull away because of it? The thought twisted in his stomach, sharp and cold, making the empty room feel even larger, the silence heavier. 

He couldn’t read him, not really. But the absence of Robby’s presence made the room feel hollow, sharper, colder. Dennis missed him. Missed the way he moved, the quiet steadiness he brought, the way even the smallest glance could anchor him. 

The uncertainty twisted in his chest almost as sharply as the longing did. 

His fingers found the edge of the hoodie, tracing the soft fabric, wishing it carried more than just warmth. It smelled faintly of Robby, a faint echo of safety he wasn’t supposed to need, but it was all he had.  I can’t… I can’t control it. It just… happens. But does that make it wrong? 

The bed creaked as he shifted, pressing the hoodie closer to his face. He let himself imagine Robby’s presence, the quiet strength in his hands, the way he’d stayed even when Dennis had screamed and flailed. The ache hit and Dennis closed his eyes, trying to anchor himself, but the warmth of the fabric was no match for the hollow left behind. 

He wanted to call out for him, but his voice caught. Instead, he hugged the hoodie tighter, letting the silent room absorb his frustration, his guilt, and the ache of missing someone. 

Days passed, and Dennis didn’t ask where Robby was anymore. The nurses all gave the same answers in different words—“he’s busy,” “he’s on another case,” “he’s resting.” Lies, maybe. Or mercy. 

Santos appeared one morning, sliding into the empty chair beside him with that careful hesitance Dennis knew all too well. She plopped down, arms crossed like she was bracing for impact, and her foot tapped against the floor in a nervous rhythm, betraying the calm facade she tried to wear. Her gaze flicked around the room, lingering on the small clutter Dennis had let accumulate, and she gave a faint, wry shake of her head, as if silently chastising him for letting things get messy. 

“Hey,” she said, voice light but brittle. “Your favorite unreliable friend decided to show up. Try not to be too shocked.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Dennis raised an eyebrow. 

She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, tugging at it nervously, before finally exhaling through her nose. “Okay, fine,” she said, voice half-sarcastic, half-genuine. “I probably should have—uh, I don’t know… been a better friend?” She waved a hand vaguely, the gesture uneven and awkward. “Instead of vanishing, or… making stupid jokes, or pretending everything was fine when clearly it wasn’t. And, uh, clearly I’m the worst.” 

Her foot tapped against the floor, a little staccato rhythm of guilt, and she leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees. “And yeah, the whole Grindr thing? Total garbage move. Definitely didn’t help. I was an idiot. Surprise, surprise. Sorry for pushing it when that was… well, obviously the opposite of what was actually wrong. Who knew?” 

She paused, twisting her hands together in her lap. “And hey, if you don’t want me here, that’s fine too. I can leave and go be the literal worst somewhere else.” 

Dennis let out a quiet laugh despite himself, the tension in his chest loosening just a fraction. She gave a crooked grin, like she was proud of that tiny victory. 

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, voice dropping just a little. “I guess… I guess I worry, too. And I suck at showing it. So I joke. And then I mess up. Classic me, huh?” 

Dennis shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yeah, classic you,” he said. 

Santos gave a little half-smile, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “But seriously. I mean it. I shouldn’t have pushed the whole you getting laid thing. That was dumb. I didn’t get it. And… you didn’t need that. I get that now. Or, I’m trying to get that. Don’t roll your eyes, I can feel it if you do.” 

She hesitated, then added, softer but still laced with humor: “Also… I’ve missed having my mousy little Dennis back home. You know, all scuttling around, muttering at the world like a tiny panic-stricken rodent. It’s… nice, having that chaos back.” 

Dennis let out another soft chuckle, shaking his head. 

Dennis watched her, noticing the way she kept glancing at him, as if checking to see if her presence was tolerable. The dark humor, the self-deprecation, the awkward attempts at apology, they were all her way of saying she cared, even if she didn’t quite know how to say it straight. 

Dennis’s voice was soft, hesitant, cutting through the nervous rhythm of her foot. “You… you know?” 

Santos blinked, then let out a humorless chuckle, like someone had just asked her to do brain surgery on herself for fun. She tugged at the edge of her sleeve, as if she could peel herself away from all the embarrassment she carried. “Yeah,” she said slowly, tilting her head. “I mean… at first, I thought it was just a crush. Classic ‘oh god, my sweet little Huckleberry has a crush?’ panic. But then I… kinda put the pieces together. Took me long enough, right?” 

She snorted, leaning back in her chair, one leg bouncing nervously. “You were so obvious. Like, screaming, neon-sign obvious.” She waved a hand vaguely, like trying to shoo away the memory. “The way you pined… all quiet and mousy, scuttling around like a little rodent trying not to be noticed. Honestly, I half expected to walk in here and catch you hoarding crumbs under the bed or something.” 

Her eyes flicked toward him, smirk tugging at her lips. “And Robby… Robby’s emotionally constipated enough to miss a freight train of feelings. I almost felt bad for how painfully obvious you were… almost.” 

Dennis blinked, voice quiet. “He… he was worried?” 

Santos snorted, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed. “Worried? Oh, he freaked the hell out at me. Brought up the Grindr thing, pacing like a caged tiger… wouldn’t leave your side for ages after the op. I mean, he was a mess. Full-on, I’m-not-leaving-you, you’re-not-going-anywhere Robby.” She shook her head, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And then I walked in, and you were… purring. Like an actual, literal cat, snuggled up to his hoodie. I swear, the OR must’ve been some kind of emotional Petri dish.” 

Dennis’s lips parted, trying to get a word out, but nothing came. A faint stammer escaped, “I—I…,” and his ears and cheeks flared bright red. He glanced down, tugging at the edge of his sleeve like it could shield him from the embarrassment. Purring? Like… seriously, a cat? Did I actually just… Way to be normal, Dennis. 

Her foot tapped against the floor, a staccato confession of guilt. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice dropping softer but still jagged with her dark humor. “And here I am, realizing I probably made it worse at every step before that. Classic me. Total disaster. Absolute human-shaped garbage. But hey… you can talk to me, Huckleberry. I’ll probably make it awkward, but I’ll listen. I should’ve been doing that from the start, instead of disappearing or making dumb jokes like a clueless nightmare.” 

She gave a grim little smile, half-funny, half-sorry. “Surprise, surprise. I’m a mess. But at least now you know… I get it. I finally get it.” 

He shook his head with a small laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“And you love me for it,” Santos said, grinning. “Even if you don’t, that’s fine. I’ll take what I can get. I’m not picky.” 

Dennis’s smile faltered, eyes dropping to his hands. “The Grindr thing wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “I encouraged it. I thought… maybe if I tried—if I could want someone else—it’d help. A way to, I don’t know, atone? Like if I could move past this, I’d… I don’t know, prove to myself I’m not completely pathetic.” His laugh was dry, humorless. “But I just—wouldn’t have been able to go through with it when the time came. Not really.” 

Santos looked at him for a long moment, her grin fading into something gentler, though still laced with irony. “Yeah. Kinda figured. You’ve got that whole ‘guilt-stricken choirboy trying to pray away his feelings’ energy.  Not exactly hookup material.” 

He snorted. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime,” she said, leaning back in the chair with a sigh. “I mean it, though. I get it now. You don’t have to explain. Just—don’t do the whole collapsing thing again, okay? You scared the shit out of me.” 

Dennis let out a quiet, teasing chuckle, shrugging a little. “I’ll do my best… but no guarantees. Old habits die hard, apparently.” 

Dana was the only other one who didn’t dance around it. She came in that morning with a tablet and a frown, sat on the edge of the bed like she wasn’t supposed to, and said, “You’re stabilizing. That’s good news.” 

Dennis nodded, even though his throat felt tight. “Sure.” 

Her eyes softened. “You’re not eating much. But you’ll be discharged soon, and you can continue your rotation. Isn’t that exciting?” She gave a small, wry smile, half-teasing, half-encouraging. 

Dennis forced a small, distracted smile back. Rotation. Right. Somehow that should feel like progress, but the whole Robby situation hung over him, heavier than any shift, harder to shake than any patient’s chart. Returning to work felt strangely muted, like the hospital itself was background noise compared to the storm still twisting inside him. “Don’t have much of an appetite,” he muttered. Then, quieter, “He hasn’t been by.” 

She hesitated, thumb brushing the edge of the tablet. “He thinks it’s better for you. Some distance.” 

Dennis barked out a laugh that sounded wrong even to him. “Distance. Right.” 

“Dennis.” Her tone sharpened just enough to make him look at her. “He’s not abandoning you. He’s… trying not to make things worse.” 

“By disappearing?” he said. The edge in his voice startled them both. 

Dana sighed, set the clipboard aside. “He’s convinced this was his fault. The panic, the crash, all of it.” 

Dennis stared at the blanket, the pattern blurring. “It wasn’t.” 

“You know that. But you haven’t told him everything, have you?” 

The silence stretched. Dana leaned in, her gaze steady. “You’ve been careful… maybe overly careful. Do you want to tell me why?” 

Dennis shook his head.  

Dana’s expression softened, but she didn’t press. “You’re scared he’ll see you differently, aren’t you?”  

Dennis swallowed, bitter and shaky. “Maybe he already does.” 

Dana sighed softly, but she didn’t look away. “Dennis… I can see something’s eating at you. You don’t have to carry it all alone.” 

He swallowed, throat tight. “It’s… it’s nothing.” 

Dana raised an eyebrow. “Nothing that has me here, sitting at the edge of your bed? Come on, Dennis. You’re smarter than that. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re holding back.” 

“I—” He faltered, voice low. “I just… I don’t want to make it worse. Or make him… see me differently.” 

Dana’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding slowly. “Robby isn’t going to judge you for being human. But you have to tell someone—anyone—what’s going on. Otherwise, you’re just sinking alone.” 

“I… I can’t.” He looked away, chest tightening. “He… he’s already stepped back. Maybe… maybe I scared him. Maybe he’s better off keeping his distance.” 

Dana leaned closer, her voice quiet but firm. “Dennis, that’s not on you to decide. He stepped back because he’s trying to protect you… but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to understand. You can’t carry this in silence and expect anyone to read your mind.” 

Dennis exhaled shakily, fingers tightening around the blanket. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. 

“I know,” Dana said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “And I want to help. But you have to let me in. Tell me what you’ve been hiding.” 

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the crumpled hoodie beside him, Robby’s absence making the room feel colder than the machines’ hum. “It’s… complicated.” 

“I’ll take complicated,” Dana said. “Just… start somewhere. I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m fixing.” 

Dennis’s fingers traced the edge of the hoodie again, as if it could anchor him. He swallowed, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down. “It’s… something I’ve been trying to keep from him,” he admitted, voice tight, almost cracking. 

Dana leaned in, her gaze unwavering. “From him?” 

He nodded, twisting the fabric. “Yeah. I… I had to make sure he didn’t—react. Didn’t see… too much.” 

“Too much of what?” Dana pressed gently. 

Dennis hesitated, teeth biting the inside of his lip. “Something about me… something he’s not supposed to notice.” He flinched at his own words. “I thought… if he knew, he’d… I don’t know… maybe he’d step back. Maybe he’d get sick of me. Or maybe he’d see me differently. And I… I can’t lose that.” 

There was warmth in Dana’s expression, but her resolve stayed intact. “Dennis, hiding pieces of yourself won’t keep him close. It just builds walls. He’s already shown you he cares... he stayed. Doesn’t that tell you something?” 

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. I tried… to keep him away. To make it easier for him. Maybe I did it all wrong.” 

“Keep him away?” Dana prompted, her tone gentle but probing. 

He pressed the hoodie tighter against himself, like it could shield him from both judgment and truth. “Yeah. The patches… everything I did. I didn’t want him… tied to me. I thought if he didn’t notice, if he didn’t get too close… it would be better. Safer. For him. For me. But maybe I… just pushed him away instead. I thought I could just...pretend.” 

“Oh honey.” Dana reached for his hand, gently. Her eyes held something different this time, quiet understanding, the kind that only comes when someone finally sees the whole picture. “You don’t have to carry this alone. You can’t protect someone by hiding from them. Not when they’ve already proven they want to be here, with you.” 

Dennis closed his eyes; the hoodie pressed against his face. The warmth of the fabric, the faint ghost of Robby’s presence, and the ache in his chest all mingled. He wanted Robby here, wanted him to see the truth without judgment, but that truth was heavy, dangerous, and sharp, and for now, all he could do was hint at it, letting it linger between them like smoke. 

Dennis felt heat crawl up his neck, a mix of embarrassment and relief tangling in his chest. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to duck under the covers. Still, the idea that someone, anyone, was looking out for him in this mess, even if it was in a teasing, bossy way, pressed a strange comfort against his panic. 

Dana gave a small, wry smile. “And if he won’t hear you out, he’ll be answering to me. I’ll make sure he does.” 

Dennis exhaled slowly, the hoodie clutched against him like a lifeline. The secret still pressed heavy against his chest, but for the first time, he felt a tiny crack in the walls he’d built. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to hide forever.  

Chapter Text

Robby’s alarm jolted him awake, but his body felt heavier than the morning itself. He sat up, blinking against the pale light seeping through the blinds, muscles stiff, mind fogged. Coffee, or the thought of it, was the only thing propelling him forward. 

He hadn’t been sleeping, not really. Whenever he did drift off, it was the same flicker of memory, the look on Dennis’s face before he’d gone under. That stunned hurt that said more than words could. Robby had replayed it so many times it felt burned into the back of his eyelids. Every morning, he woke up half-expecting to feel it like a bruise. 

He told himself he’d done what he had to. Space. Distance. Time to think... but space just made the guilt louder. 

He moved through his apartment like a ghost, showering mechanically, letting the warm water run over his skin without noticing the steam or the faint scent of soap. Dressing was no better, hands fumbling with buttons, tying laces in loops that didn’t feel right. He grabbed his bag, shoved in the essentials, each motion automatic, detached, like a rehearsal he’d done a thousand times. Nothing registered beyond the rhythm of his steps and the low, persistent hum of exhaustion in his bones. 

The streets outside were gray, washed in the pale light of early morning. His boots hit the pavement with muted thuds, echoing the hollow in his chest. He didn’t notice the usual sounds of the city, the distant rumble of buses, the chatter of pedestrians, the faint metallic scrape of construction. He didn’t register the cold wind that bit at his face or the way the light hit the glass of storefronts. His mind was focused inward, looping over the same worn thoughts, the same memories he hadn’t yet managed to shake. 

By the time he reached the truck, his reflection in the side mirror barely resembled the man who had climbed the hospital roof just two nights ago. The lines in his face were sharper, the exhaustion in his eyes deeper, almost a physical weight pressing him into the seat. 

Inside the hospital, the fluorescent lights hit him with a stark, artificial clarity. The faint antiseptic scent, the hum of monitors, the soft shuffle of shoes across linoleum, all of it felt distant, like he was observing from underwater.  

His steps echoed softly down the hall as he made his way to central, each movement measured, deliberate, even though his mind raced faster than his legs could carry him. 

At the desk, Dana was already perched on the edge of it, tablet in hand, eyes sharp, scanning the quiet activity of the morning shift. Her posture was casual, but her presence hit him like a quiet nudge, making him suddenly aware of how out of place he felt in the bright, bustling space. 

Dana didn’t speak right away. She watched him for a moment, tilting her head slightly, eyes tracing the tight set of his shoulders, the way he kept his hands buried in his pockets. Robby avoided her gaze, focusing instead on a scuffed tile on the floor, like counting the cracks might somehow make sense of the fatigue knotted in his chest. 

“Well,” she began slowly, as if testing the waters, “you made it in. That’s… something.” 

Robby gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “Barely.” 

She didn’t smile. Just let the silence stretch, letting him squirm a little in it. “You look like hell,” she said eventually, softer this time, almost resigned. “Not that I didn’t already know you’d been running yourself ragged.” 

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “Running… yeah, that’s one way to put it.” 

She didn’t push, just let the silence hang for a beat, letting him squirm under her gaze. Then, in a softer, almost conversational tone, she asked, “Did you check on him this morning?” 

Robby stiffened, hands tightening in his pockets. “Not yet.” 

Dana leaned back, keeping her expression neutral but her eyes fixed. “You will, I’m sure. Eventually. But… I’ve been watching. You’ve been avoiding the ward. Not walking past it, not even glancing in.” 

Robby’s jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say. 

Dana waited, slow and deliberate, letting him feel the weight of her observation before she continued. “I know it’s complicated. You’re worried, you’re tired, you’re—” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “—human. But avoiding him doesn’t make it easier for either of you. Not really.” Dana leaned back slightly on the counter, fingers tapping absently. “I’ve been checking in. On him.” Her voice dropped, careful, deliberate. “Dennis. I’ve kept tabs, made sure he’s stable. And… I think it’s time you went and talked to him.” 

Robby froze, a hollow tightness settling in his chest. He shook his head. “No. I can’t,” he said, voice tight, brittle. “Not yet. He doesn’t need me crowding him. Not after…” He cut himself off, unwilling to name the moment that had started all of this. 

Dana’s eyes softened, but her tone gained weight, sharp enough to make him meet her gaze fully. “Robby… he needs you. You can’t keep hiding behind work or guilt or whatever excuse you’ve built for yourself. Not if you actually want to help him.” 

“I’m not hiding,” Robby said, jaw tight. “I know what I’m doing. I just… I can’t force it. Not yet.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” she said, firm but not unkind. “Just go. Check on him. Talk. Even if it’s small, even if it’s messy. I’ll be here. But he needs you more than you need to protect yourself from… yourself.” 

Robby stared at her for a long beat, chest tight, mind spinning. Then he exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, and squared his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll go. I’ll deal with it... he’s not gonna wait forever.” 

Dana gave the faintest nod, letting him take the first step before saying another word. She didn’t need to. The weight of her gaze and the unspoken understanding hung in the air, pressing him toward the door, toward Dennis, toward whatever fragile bridge they could rebuild. 

Robby’s steps echoed softly down the hall, each one unnervingly loud in the quiet hospital night. The fluorescent lights above flickered, buzzing faintly, like the building itself was holding its breath. He stopped outside Dennis’ room, hand hovering over the door handle, chest tight, fingers trembling slightly though he tried to ignore it. 

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the closed door, listening to the steady, uneven rhythm of Dennis’ breathing inside. His heart thumped, each beat sharp enough to make him flinch. Finally, he exhaled and pushed the door open, the hinge squealing faintly like a protest. 

Dennis looked small in the med bay light. He was sitting up in bed, sheets tucked neatly around him. He didn't look fragile exactly, but… thinned out. His skin had the faint waxy look of someone who’d been stuck under fluorescent bulbs too long. The faint shadow of an IV mark trailed up his arm, and when he adjusted his blanket, his fingers shook just a little before he hid them in his lap. 

Robby’s chest went tight. Every instinct said fix this, even though he knew he couldn’t. 

And then Robby noticed it. A subtle, almost magnetic scent, unmistakably Dennis’, drifting through the air, delicate but undeniably there. 

It hit him like a small, sharp jolt. His chest tightened, heart stuttering in a way that was both alarming and electric. His knees felt suddenly weaker, shoulders taut, and his hands clenched briefly at his sides. He froze for a heartbeat, almost not breathing, as if just standing in the room made him painfully aware of everything he hadn’t been there to see. 

Why would he ever want to hide this? Robby’s mind whispered the thought almost against his will. It smells… so goddamn good. So him. And suddenly the idea of Dennis trying to block it, of keeping it away, felt like a cruel joke, beautiful, dangerous, intoxicating. 

His gaze locked on Dennis, on the faint rosy flush creeping across his cheeks, on the soft line of his jaw, on the small movements that made him look alive and impossibly vulnerable all at once. The scent, the subtle, undeniably Dennis-ness of it, pulled at something deep in Robby, part guilt, part desire, part raw possessiveness. 

He let out a slow, sharp breath, trying to steady the rush of awareness. Focus, he muttered to himself internally. Though the pull of that scent, that presence made it almost impossible. He could feel it threading into every nerve ending, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d ever been this desperate to just… be near someone. 

Robby’s legs remembered how to move, just barely. He stepped forward, but his body felt heavier, charged, and every instinct screamed at him to close the distance, to inhale more, to never let Dennis hide it again. 

Dennis blinked up at him, unaware. His lips parted slightly, caught between a greeting and a question, but no words came out at first. 

“Robby…” His voice was soft, uncertain, and low, carrying that fragile edge Robby had been obsessively replaying in his mind for days. 

“Uh… hey,” Robby said finally, voice low, deliberate, and clumsily awkward. He ran a hand through his hair, a little stiff, trying to anchor himself. “You… look… better.” 

Dennis blinked, cheeks warming further. “Yeah… thanks. I—uh… I feel better.” 

Robby’s chest constricted. Better? He looked at him, sitting up, alive, rosy, and… smelling like Dennis. “Better,” he echoed, voice rougher than he intended. He tried to shift his weight casually, but his fingers twitched at his sides. “You… you’ve been handling things okay?” 

Dennis hesitated, lips twitching into a small, nervous smile. “I… think so. I mean, I’m trying.” 

Robby’s hands clenched briefly. Trying, huh? You’re killing me trying. He shook his head slightly, scolding himself. Focus. “Right. Good. Just… wanted to check. Make sure—well… you’re okay.” 

Dennis shifted, brushing a hand through the sheets. His flush deepened. “I… yeah. I’m okay. I didn’t… I mean, you didn’t miss much,” he added quickly, almost as if to cover himself. 

With every small movement, Dennis’ scent deepened, curling through the room like a living thing, pressing against Robby from every angle. It was impossible to ignore, suffocating yet intoxicating, and his chest tightened with the force of it. Robby’s breath hitched, shallow and uneven.  

Robby’s hands stayed tight on the edge of the bed, knuckles white, as he leaned slightly closer. The fluorescent light flickered above, casting long shadows across Dennis’ face, and for a moment, Robby just took him in, sitting up, looking alive, softer than he remembered, a faint rosy flush warming his cheeks. 

“I… I should’ve been here,” Robby said, voice low, almost a growl against the quiet hum of machines. “Not just… showing up after the fact. I thought space was helping, but it didn’t. It never did.” 

Dennis looked down at his hands, curling in his lap. “I… I tried to handle it on my own,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to… drag you into it. But… it was harder than I thought.” His throat tightened. “I needed you, and then… nothing.” 

He lifted his gaze, eyes soft but tinged with guilt. “I… I’m sorry, Robby. For… for going off on you. I shouldn’t have—” 

Robby exhaled sharply, letting his grip loosen slightly, though his chest still felt tight. “I know. I didn’t realize how much stepping back would… hurt you. I thought I was protecting you from me being too close, from… from messing up again.” 

Dennis’ scent pressed against Robby’s chest, suffocating and magnetic all at once. His stomach twisted, and he had to swallow hard to keep his voice steady. Why would he ever want to hide this? It smells… so damn good. 

“I didn’t mean to make things worse,” Robby said, voice low, thick with something he couldn’t name. “I just… I thought distance was better. For both of us.” 

Dennis’ eyes flicked up, meeting Robby’s. “Safer for who? You? Or me?” 

“Both,” Robby admitted, softer now, stepping just slightly closer, letting the scent pull him in without breaking the careful boundary he was forcing himself to maintain. “I didn’t want to see you suffer and feel like it was my fault. But I see now that leaving you alone only made it worse. I wasn’t helping, I was just… gone.” 

Dennis nodded slowly, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I just… I needed you here. Not… not somewhere else.” 

Robby’s chest tightened further, guilt and relief tangled together. “I know. I didn’t realize… I didn’t think about how it would feel from your side. I never wanted you to feel abandoned.” 

The air between them thickened, charged with everything unsaid, the faint magnetic pull of Dennis’ scent tugging at Robby in ways he hadn’t expected. He finally let himself exhale fully, letting some of the tension drain, though his hands stayed close, hovering, as if afraid that moving too quickly would undo the fragile thread they were rebuilding. 

“I’m here now,” Robby said, voice firm but low, almost a promise. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Dennis’ lips parted slightly, caught between relief, disbelief, and something deeper he didn’t name. “Good,” he whispered, the single word carrying more weight than anything he could have said before. 

For a long beat, they just sat there, the hum of the machines and the flicker of light the only witness to the quiet, awkward intimacy that had begun to grow between them. 

Robby’s fingers flexed around the edge of the bed, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “But… I’m still confused. I don’t fully understand everything yet… how you’ve been handling it, what it’s been like for you. I’m trying, but…” He trailed off, swallowed, eyes tracing the subtle curve of Dennis’ shoulders, the faint flush on his cheeks, and that scent again, so achingly Dennis. “I’m still… figuring it out.” 

Dennis stayed quiet. His lips pressed together, fingers tightening in his lap. The room felt impossibly small, the hum of machines and flicker of light suddenly deafening. He wanted to speak, to explain, to reach out, but the words lodged somewhere in his throat, tangled with fear and stubborn pride. 

His chest tightened as he watched Robby lean in just slightly, the unspoken pull between them pressing down, and he couldn’t find the courage to bridge the space. Silence seemed safer, easier, though it ached to hear Robby’s voice soften with uncertainty. 

Robby’s gaze lingered on him, patient but searching, as if he could see the storm behind Dennis’ wide, guarded eyes. “Dennis…” he started gently, the single word weighted with care, concern, and the pull of wanting to close the distance. 

Dennis swallowed again, still stubbornly silent, heart hammering. Part of him wanted to speak, to reassure Robby, to admit everything, but the other part just wanted to stay tucked away, protected, unsure if he could handle the consequences of opening up. 

Robby shifted slightly, leaning closer but stopping just short of breaking the fragile boundary Dennis had set. His eyes never left Dennis’, steady and careful, giving him space while still closing the gap between them. The hum of machines and flickering fluorescent light filled the pause, but Robby’s presence seemed to stretch the silence, making it heavier, more intimate. 

Finally, Robby’s voice cut through, low and deliberate. “Dennis…” He paused, letting his words hang, soft but insistent. Dennis’ eyes flicked up, wide, caught between fear and curiosity. Robby exhaled, slowly, grounding himself. “Your scent… it’s back.” 

Dennis’ eyes widened slightly. He shifted in the bed, a little self-conscious, and his hand darted instinctively to the base of his neck, brushing over the now-uncovered gland. The gesture was subtle, almost protective, but it betrayed the truth Robby had been waiting for, Dennis had been hiding this part of himself, and now it was finally visible. 

Dennis swallowed, eyes darting down and then back up at Robby, a mix of vulnerability and defiance in his gaze. The room felt smaller, charged, almost suffocating with the invisible pull of Dennis’ scent and the raw intimacy of the moment. 

Robby cleared his throat, low and rough, running a hand down his face as if to steady himself. His gaze stayed fixed on Dennis, careful not to push, but betraying a flicker of something raw beneath the surface. “I… noticed it the moment I walked in,” he admitted quietly, voice rough around the edges. “It’s… unmistakable. I—” He swallowed, letting the words hang, heavy and unspoken, letting Dennis feel the weight of the realization without forcing it into a declaration. 

Dennis’ hand froze mid-air, still covering the gland, and he looked down again, a mix of embarrassment and awe flickering across his flushed face. His lips parted, but no words came, he wasn’t ready, and part of him wasn’t sure he ever could be. 

Robby dragged a hand down his face, the motion rough, as if he could scrub away the tension building in his chest. He cleared his throat, trying to find steady ground before speaking again. “I don’t know why you’d ever want to block a scent like that,” he said finally, voice low, almost soft with disbelief. “It’s yours. It’s… you.” 

The words hit harder than he intended. Dennis went still, fingers twitching at the base of his neck where the patch used to sit, his thumb brushing over the faint, reddened skin as if he could still feel its ghost. His breath stuttered. 

“I—” He tried to speak, but the word cracked apart. He swallowed, forcing himself to look anywhere but Robby, the sheets, the floor, the IV line at his arm. “It wasn’t just to hide my scent. It was… something else. Something I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Robby frowned slightly, a crease cutting between his brows. “What?” 

Dennis’ hand trembled. He pressed his palm flat over his neck again, the motion almost defensive. “Robby,” he whispered, the single word breaking like it hurt to say it, “I didn’t want you to—” His throat closed, his next breath shaky. 

He dragged in a slow inhale, scent thick in the air now, betraying every emotion he was trying to suppress. “You’d think it was too much,” he forced out finally, eyes fixed on his hands. “That I was too much.” 

Robby blinked, confusion flickering behind his eyes. “Dennis—” 

Dennis shook his head sharply, cutting Robby off before he could say another word. “It’s not your fault,” he blurted, too fast, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “It’s not— it’s just—” 

His breathing hitched, shallow and uneven, and his hands clenched in the blanket so tightly the fabric bunched and twisted between his fingers. “It happened, okay? I couldn’t stop it— I tried— but it just—” He broke off, pressing his lips together like the rest might tear him open. 

Robby started to speak, but Dennis rushed on, panic bleeding through every word. “I thought if I covered it, if I hid it— then maybe you wouldn’t have to deal with it. With me.” His chest rose and fell too fast, the air around him thick with a trembling, anxious edge to his scent. “I didn’t want you to know what it meant, or— or what it did.” 

He ducked his head, voice dropping to a whisper that barely made it across the space between them. “I didn’t want you to feel stuck with me.” 

The words hung there, trembling in the air, raw and unfinished. His scent pulsed thickly around them, exposing everything he couldn’t say outright, everything he was too scared to name. 

Robby didn’t move, didn’t speak. The realization hadn’t fully clicked yet, but something in his chest ached, deep and sharp, as the pieces began to shift into place. 

Robby didn’t move at first. The air between them felt too heavy to breathe, Dennis’ scent thick and trembling with fear, shame, and something heartbreakingly sincere. It wrapped around Robby’s ribs, made his pulse trip over itself. 

He blinked hard, once, twice, as if he could shake off the weight of what he’d just heard. His jaw worked, tight, a muscle ticking as he tried to find the right words, any words, but none came. 

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, slow and uneven, dragging a hand back through his hair before pressing his palm over his mouth. His throat felt dry. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, not at Dennis, but at himself, at the dawning realization of how badly he’d missed it, how much Dennis must’ve been hiding just to keep him comfortable. 

When he finally looked back at Dennis, his gaze softened, all the confusion and guilt warring with something quieter, deeper. “You thought I’d… what? Be angry? Disgusted?” He asked, voice rough but low, like he was afraid of pushing too hard and shattering whatever fragile truth Dennis had just handed him. 

Dennis didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the blanket, cheeks still flushed, breathing shallow, but his scent told the rest. Fear, shame, a thread of hope. 

Robby’s hand twitched, fingers flexing as if he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t. Not yet. He just watched him, chest heavy, pulse thudding in his ears. 

Dennis swallowed hard, throat bobbing like he was trying to choke the words back down before they could escape. His hands twisted in the blanket until the fabric creaked, knuckles bone white. “It’s not— it’s not just about the scent,” he managed, his voice breaking halfway through. 

Robby stayed silent, watching, his jaw locked but eyes fixed on him. 

Dennis’s breath came faster, shallow and uneven. He tried again. “The patches… they weren’t just to block it,” he said, the words tumbling out in fragments. “They were—” He stopped himself, eyes darting away, chest heaving.  

Dennis swallowed hard, eyes fixed on some point just past Robby’s shoulder. His voice came out quiet, but steady enough to sting. 

“It’s because of you.”  

The words hung there for a heartbeat, suspended between them. Robby blinked, not sure he’d heard right, not sure he wanted to, but he didn’t interrupt. 

Dennis’ eyes darted around the room, hands twitching at his sides, as if the motion alone could keep the panic from spilling out. “I… I don’t even know when exactly it happened,” he admitted, voice trembling. “It just… happened. My body— it—” He swallowed hard, blinking fast, like he was fighting the urge to cry. “It chose. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t even realize until after, and by then it was too late.” 

He forced himself to look up, just for a second,  enough for Robby to see the fear behind his eyes. “I… I imprinted on you,” he whispered, the words coming out raw, trembling.  

Silence followed, heavy and deliberate. Every thought in Robby’s head scattered, replaced by the slow, stunned rhythm of his pulse. 

“And I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought if I could hide it— if I could keep you from smelling it—me, maybe it wouldn’t be real.” His voice broke entirely then, breath catching on the edge of a sob. “But it was. It is.” 

The words hung there, raw and trembling. 

Robby blinked once, the line between his brows deepening. “I— what?” His voice came out rough, almost defensive before it softened. “Dennis, that’s not— you can’t just—” He stopped himself, breath catching as the truth settled in, as the puzzle pieces clicked one by one. 

For a second, Robby didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or apologize. He’d thought he’d been protecting Dennis by stepping back, by giving him air, space to breathe, to heal. But Dennis had done the same, shutting down, vanishing behind polite smiles and a locked door. 
Different strategies, same impulse. Same mistake. 

Dennis’ scent wavered again, tense and sharp with fear, like he was bracing for the worst. “I… I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” he stammered, voice breaking. “You… you never asked for it. You didn’t want… this kind of bond… not with me.” His hands fisted at his sides, trembling slightly. “So I… I used the patches. I thought… maybe if I could hide it, even for a little while… maybe it’d go away. But it didn’t. It just… made me feel worse. Sick. All the time.” 

Silence. Only the faint hum of the machines filled the gap between them. 

Robby stared at him, not angry, but stunned, and gutted. Every instinct in him twisted tight, protective and confused all at once. “You were trying to protect me,” he said finally, his voice barely holding together. “From something you didn’t even do wrong.” 

Dennis didn’t answer. His shoulders shook once, not quite a sob, but close. 

Robby’s hand hovered halfway between them, unsure, trembling with the need to reach out and the fear of what it would mean if he did. 

Robby’s pulse roared in his ears, his whole body buzzing with the weight of what Dennis had just said. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, one still hovering uselessly in the air, the other gripping the edge of the bed so tight his knuckles ached. 

For a long moment, he couldn’t even look at Dennis. He just stared at the floor, jaw clenched, breathing slowly and heavy through his nose. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “Dennis…” 

When he finally looked up, his expression was raw, stripped of every wall he’d been hiding behind. “You were sick… and it’s because of me,” he said, voice tight, jagged. “And you didn’t tell me because you thought I’d what? Hate you?” 

Dennis flinched, his shoulders curling inward. “I was scared you would,” he admitted, almost too soft to hear. 

The words hit harder than Robby expected, a sharp punch to the chest. He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily, the weight of guilt pressing down. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, like a confession. “God… I didn’t know.” 

Dennis’ fingers fidgeted against the blanket, nails catching in the fabric. “I didn’t want to make it your problem. You didn’t ask for an imprint. I thought… if I kept it quiet, if I just got through it, maybe you wouldn’t have to deal with it. But it just… it didn’t stop, and I—” He swallowed hard, blinking fast, trying to force the words past the lump in his throat. “I… I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Robby’s head lifted sharply. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted to deal with it?” he asked, incredulous, the words cutting through the air. His voice cracked halfway between anger and disbelief. “You nearly tore yourself apart trying to protect me from something that was already ours.” 

Dennis’ breath caught, eyes flicking up, wide and searching. 

Robby shook his head slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “I pushed you away because I thought I was helping, protecting you,” he said, quieter now. “But all I did was make it worse. You were trying to keep me safe, and I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve known.” 

Dennis didn’t move. His throat worked as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came. 

Robby finally let out a shaky exhale and stepped closer, lowering himself slightly, not touching but close enough that the air between them seemed to tighten. “You don’t get to carry that alone anymore,” he said softly, the rough edge in his voice gentling. “Not from me.” 

Dennis blinked rapidly, his breath hitching. “Robby…” 

Robby shook his head again, firm but quiet. “I’m still confused, yeah. Still trying to wrap my head around it. But don’t you ever think I wouldn’t want you. Not after everything.” 

“I didn’t want you to leave . I didn’t want you to—” 

“Leave?” Robby’s voice cracked, rough, sharp. He took a slow deep breath, careful, measured, letting the air thrum between them. “Dennis… I never would. I stayed. You stayed. That… that’s real. That’s ours.” 

Dennis’ eyes flicked up, searching, almost desperate, for the reassurance he didn’t dare voice. “But… you didn’t know. You… you didn’t choose it.” 

Robby’s lips pressed together, jaw tight, before he exhaled slowly. “Doesn’t matter,” he said softly, voice hoarse with emotion. “You didn’t ask to feel it, I didn’t ask to notice it… but it’s here. Between us. And it’s real. That’s all that matters.” 

Dennis’ chest rose and fell faster, eyes wide, mouth half-open. The tension in the room was almost tangible, charged, electric. His scent wrapped around Robby, teasing, impossible to ignore, and yet… it was the most grounding thing he’d felt in days. 

“You… you’re not angry?” Dennis whispered, voice trembling. “You… you still… want to be here?” 

Robby’s gaze softened, slow and deliberate, crawling closer until the space between them felt smaller, intimate, yet safe. “I’ve been here,” he murmured. “I’m still here. I… don’t plan on leaving.” 

The silence that followed felt stretched thin, one breath too long, one heartbeat too loud. Dennis stared down at the blanket, jaw tight, his lashes wet. The faint tremor in his shoulders gave him away. 

Robby couldn’t stand the space between them anymore. It was wrong. Hollow. It burned like a raw nerve. 

He shouldn’t touch him. Not yet. Not when everything between them felt so raw it might tear open again. But then Dennis blinked hard, shoulders curling in like he was trying to make himself smaller, and every line of restraint in Robby snapped. 

Distance wasn’t mercy anymore. It was cruelty. 

He fought against the impulse, telling himself to stay just a careful step away… but fuck it. He moved. 

Leaning over the hospital bed, he grasped Dennis’ wrist and pulled him close, careful to brace himself but not hold back. Dennis froze, breath hitching, eyes wide and panicked. 

“Come here, sweet thing,” Robby murmured, voice low and rough, almost a growl. He leaned further, pressing his chest down lightly against Dennis’ as he wrapped both arms around him. The hug was fierce, protective, a tether in the middle of everything that had gone wrong. 

Dennis’ knees tucked slightly under him, bed sheets shifting as he pressed his face into Robby’s neck, inhaling sharply. The scent hit him full force, Dennis’ scent, delicate and sharp, wrapping around Robby like smoke. Dennis shuddered, chest trembling, letting himself dissolve into the embrace, into the warmth and intensity of Robby holding him so tightly. 

Earlier that morning, he hadn’t felt anything, the water, the light, or even his own heartbeat. Everything had been flat and grey. Now, with Dennis trembling against him, the world came roaring back. The warmth seeping through his shirt, the uneven rhythm of Dennis’s breathing, the faint scent of antiseptic and skin. Too much, too real... thank God. 

“I’ve got you,” Robby said, voice rough, almost broken. “No more hiding. No more running. Right here. Right now.” 

Dennis’ hands clutched at Robby’s arms, knuckles white, as he buried his face further into Robby’s neck. Hot tears slipped down his cheeks, soaking into Robby’s shoulder, and his body trembled with the force of all the fear and guilt he’d been holding in. “I… I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice muffled and ragged. “For… everything…” 

Robby tightened his arms around him, forearms pressing down gently but firmly against Dennis’ back. He leaned closer, resting his chin atop Dennis’ head, trying to anchor him. “Shhh,” he murmured, voice low, rough around the edges. “Don’t. Don’t say a word. Just… stay. I’ve got you.” 

Dennis let out a shuddering sob, burying himself further into the hug, inhaling Robby’s scent like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. His tears soaked the front of Robby’s shirt, and he trembled as if the act of crying were both punishment and release. 

“I— I thought I had to— I thought I had to hide it… hide me… hide everything,” Dennis whispered through his tears, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to… to drag you down with me…” 

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” Robby said firmly, tilting his head to press his lips softly against the crown of Dennis’ head. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” 

Dennis sobbed harder, finally letting go of the last of his restraint, and Robby held him tighter, rocking slightly, murmuring soft, grounding reassurances. The world outside the hospital room faded, leaving only the sound of their breaths, the faint hum of the machines, and the unshakable, desperate intimacy of the moment. 

The hospital lights flickered overhead, the monitors humming softly, and for a moment the rest of the world ceased to exist. There was only them, the heat between their bodies, the scent that called to something deeper, and the fierce, undeniable relief of not being alone anymore. 

Robby rested his chin atop Dennis’ head, exhaling slowly, letting the tension drain out of him in small increments. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, voice hoarse but steady. “Together. Whatever it takes.” 

Dennis finally lifted his head slightly, just enough to peek at Robby, eyes glossy, flushed, and raw. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t look afraid. 

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The steady beep of the monitor filled the space where words might have gone, quiet and forgiving. Robby felt Dennis’s breath start to even out against his chest, the sharp, uneven tremors giving way to something slower, almost peaceful. He could feel the exhaustion rolling off him in waves, but beneath it—finally, something that felt like trust again. Fragile, yes, but real. 

They didn’t say anything after that. The room hummed around them, low and steady, as if holding its breath. Robby didn’t know what came next, how they were supposed to fix something that had splintered this deep. He just knew he wasn’t walking away again.   

Chapter Text

Dennis stepped through the swinging doors of the ER, shoulders stiff, bag slung over one shoulder. It had only been roughly a week since he’d last been here, but it felt like a lifetime. The familiar chaos hit him like a wave, rolling carts, distant paging, the hum of fluorescent lights, all sharper, louder, more overwhelming than he remembered. 

Each sound pricked at his nerves, sending a low, insistent tension through his chest. His stomach twisted in uneasy anticipation, every step forward heavier than the last, as if the air itself resisted him. 

The antiseptic scent clung to his clothes, sharp and almost bitter, mingling with the faint, underlying tang of blood. Nurses moved with practiced efficiency; voices clipped, but to Dennis it all felt overwhelming, like stepping back into a world that had carried on without him. 

He hugged his bag a little closer, shoulders tight, heartbeat thundering, and couldn’t shake the lingering dread of seeing Robby, or even just passing the spot where he always was, after days of absence. 

He’d been dreading this moment for days, walking back into the ER, seeing him. They hadn’t spoken since that day in the ward, the day they’d finally talked through everything, laid it all out in the open. Dennis had held back, refusing to reach out first; he couldn’t shake the fear of seeming needy, weak, or incapable. He wanted Robby to see him as steady, strong, someone in control, not some trembling mess of desire and uncertainty. 

After everything that had happened, admin had gently suggested he take a few extra days off, rest, decompress, let things settle. Robby, annoyingly, had encouraged it too. That was the part Dennis hated most.  

The soft, steady “Maybe a couple days at home would be good for you” had felt like a pat on the head. Like Robby could see right through him to the exhaustion, the bruised nerves, the way his hands still shook that night when he unlocked the front door. And of course, Dennis couldn’t exactly say no without proving Robby right. 

What made it worse was how it split them apart again. After everything they’d said to each other, everything they’d finally dragged into the light, Dennis had walked away from Robby with this strange new warmth settling under his ribs, something hopeful and terrifying at the same time. The idea of not seeing him, not even in passing, for days… it gnawed at him.  

He was eager to talk to him again, genuinely eager, but the more time stretched, the sharper that nervous edge became. It would’ve been so much easier if he’d gone straight back to work the next morning, slipped back into their usual rhythm, let whatever they’d figured out breathe on its own. Instead, he’d been sent home to sit with it, stew in it, overthink it from every angle. 

And with every hour that passed, the doubts crawled in deeper. He kept replaying Robby’s words from that day, trying to hear them exactly as they’d been said, trying to pin down the warmth in his voice, the softness in his eyes.  

But the longer he went without seeing him, the more he wondered if he’d imagined parts of it. Filled in the blanks with things he wanted to hear.  

What if Robby had cooled off? What if he’d reconsidered? What if Dennis had misread the whole damn thing, and Robby was somewhere right now wishing he hadn’t said so much? 

The distance made every certainty wobble. 

The time off dragged. He’d paced the small apartment more times than he could count, opening the fridge just to stare into it, refreshing his phone with no intention of texting anyone, not even Robby. By the third day he was sprawled upside-down on the couch, staring at nothing, convinced his brain had liquefied from sheer boredom. 

And the worst part? He was wound so tight he felt like a live wire. He hadn’t been able to get himself off since, his body refusing to cooperate, like it was waiting on something he couldn’t name, couldn’t reach, couldn’t fake. Every time he tried he just wound up more frustrated, more restless, more aware of the hollow ache under his ribs.  

He felt ridiculous. Strung‑out. Like he was missing something essential and couldn’t figure out what. By the end of the third night he was genuinely considering pulling his own hair out just to burn off the energy. 

Trinity, of course, had made everything worse and better in that chaotic way that was uniquely hers. By the third day of watching Dennis mope, pace, sigh, and generally haunt the apartment like an overcaffeinated ghost, she finally hit her boiling point.  

She’d sprawled across the couch with a mug in hand, watching him pace like a wound-up string. “Oh my god, Dennis,” she’d groaned dramatically, eyes full of mischief, “how are you going to make it through a single shift without looking at Robby like you’re two seconds from dropping to your knees? You’re not subtle. 

Dennis had tried to protest, but that only made her laugh harder. “No, seriously,” she’d said, grinning, “if you’re gonna stink up our apartment every time you think about him, how are you gonna manage at work? One look at Robby and you’re gonna fog up the entire ER.” 

Her teasing had been relentless, her grin wicked, but when she’d seen the way his shoulders slumped, she’d softened. Without a word, she reached over and squeezed his hand, firm and grounding. “Hey,” she’d said quietly, humor still flickering in her tone, “you’re gonna be fine. Just breathe, okay? You’ve got this.” 

Dennis exhaled, rubbing at his face. “Maybe I should just… start wearing patches again,” he muttered, half to himself, half hoping it would sound like a reasonable idea. 

Trinity’s head snapped up so fast her mug nearly sloshed. “Absolutely not,” she barked. “Dennis—no. We are not going backwards. You are not plastering yourself in scent patches like some poor soul trying to Febreze away an emotional crisis. One man makes your cheeks warm and suddenly you think tactical perfuming is the solution? Sit down.” 

She jabbed her mug at him, eyes narrowing with veteran-level judgment. “Dennis, how do you think the rest of us manage, huh? You think you’re the only omega or alpha who’s ever walked into work smelling like feelings? Please.” She leaned back, snorting. “Garcia has smelt me more times than I can count. And do you see me slapping on patches? No. I just live with the shame.” 

She took a sip, completely unbothered. “We all survive it like normal dysfunctional adults, by pretending it’s not happening, hoping nobody comments, and accepting that at least one coworker has definitely clocked our emotional disasters by scent alone.” 

She lifted her mug in a mock toast. “If I can deal with that, you’re staying patch-free.” 

He blinked at her, startled. “I just meant—” 

“I know exactly what you meant,” she cut in, pointing at him like he’d personally offended her ancestors. “And the answer is still no. You’re coping. You’re doing fine. You do not need chemical emotional support just because Robby exists.” 

Her tone was fierce, protective, a little unhinged, but it made something in his chest unclench. 

Trinity took a long sip of her drink, then gave him a look that was half amusement, half ‘don’t test me.’ “Also, Huckleberry, think about it. How do you think everyone found out about Collins and Robby’s relationship? You think that was subtle? Please.” She snorted. “Half the hospital knew before they did.” 

Dennis’ smile faltered, his stomach dipping sharp and quick. The reminder of Robby being with someone else hit like a sting he hadn’t braced for. “Right. Yeah. I know.” 

Trinity froze, then sighed, the dramatic, put-upon kind that somehow still meant she cared. She slid her mug onto the table and nudged his knee with hers. 

“Hey. Don’t do that.” She snapped her fingers at him. “You’re not allowed to get sad on my couch unless I caused it on purpose.” 

That tugged a small, helpless smile out of him. 

“And for the record?” She added, leaning in with conspiratorial darkness. “If Robby ever tries dating someone else while still making eyes at you, I’m removing his kneecaps. Humanely. Mostly.” 

Dennis actually laughed. 

Trinity pointed at him, triumphant. “See? That’s the face. Much better.” 

And just like that, the heaviness in his chest eased enough for him to breathe again. 

Then, her expression softened just enough to be dangerous. “Besides… didn’t you say Robby said he liked your scent? So what exactly are you worried about, huh?” 

Dennis blinked at her, caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief. Dennis’ throat went dry, and he ran a hand through his hair like he could physically push the words out. “I… I mean, yeah, I said that, but… I don’t know. Maybe I misheard? Or… or maybe he didn’t really mean it? What if he—he’s changed his mind in the last few days? What if—” 

Trinity groaned, throwing her hands up. “Dennis! Stop dissecting every single syllable.” 

He blinked at her, cheeks flaming. “I’m… I’m just… trying to be cautious?” 

Caution, of course, doing nothing to calm the rapid-fire panic in his chest. 

Santos, still perched casually on the edge of the sofa, chuckled and shook her head. “Cautious? Huckleberry... if Robby liked your scent before, it’s still a win. Chill. Or don’t, your freak-out is honestly entertaining.” 

Dennis groaned, pulling his hands down over his face. “I… I don’t want everyone to know,” he stammered, voice rising with each word. “I… I don’t know if Robby wants anyone to know!” 

Santos raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, so now it’s a state secret? Got it. Top priority: Operation Don’t Tell the ER. Good luck with that.” 

Dennis pressed his palms harder to his face, wishing he could disappear into the couch. “I’m serious! I don’t want… I don’t want him to get embarrassed or think I—” 

Trinity groaned dramatically, flopping onto the arm of the couch. “Dennis. Dennis! Stop overthinking it! You’re giving yourself wrinkles and I will personally punch you if you keep spiraling.” Trinity, exasperated but secretly amused, muttered, “I swear, you two are going to give me permanent gray hairs before the week’s out.”  

Dennis huffed and blew a stubborn curl out of his eyes for what felt like the tenth time that morning. His hair always grew stupid-fast, give it a week and it was already slipping past his brows, falling into his face like it was trying to blind him on purpose. He tried brushing it back again, but it only bounced forward, springier and more chaotic than before. With a frustrated sigh, he raked both hands through it, making it even worse. 

Trinity watched him with a frown, arms crossed. “Okay. That’s it.” 

Before he could ask what it was, she was already grabbing a pair of scissors. 

“Seriously, Dennis, you’re walking around like a sad, overgrown mop,” she said, marching over. “Bangs too long, curls in your eyes… someone’s gotta intervene.” 

“I’m fine—” he started, but she cut him off with a look. 

“Sit.” 

He obeyed, sinking to the edge of the couch while she moved behind him. Her fingers slid into his curls, separating them, tugging gently. The familiar sensation made his breath catch, warm hands against his scalp, grounding but vulnerable. She paused for half a second, picking up on the tension, but didn’t comment. 

Instead, she hummed thoughtfully. “Dennis…” She held up a chunk of hair like a crime scene exhibit. “You’re supposed to be serving twink, not wet-cat melodrama.” 

She shifted her attention to the back of his neck, brushing back his hair to get a clear look. Her voice softened. “And your gland…” She clicked her tongue, but there was something like relief beneath it. “Hey. It’s looking way better. Like, actually better. That’s… good. Really good.” 

Dennis stiffened. Instinct took over, his hand shot up to cover the gland, protective, embarrassed, exposed. 

Trinity immediately smacked his wrist away with lightning reflexes. “Dennis. Move that hand again and I swear I’ll cut your damn finger off.” 

He froze, eyes wide, hand snapping back into his lap. 

“Thank you,” she muttered, returning to snipping. “Some of us would like to not accidentally take off a whole curl because you panicked about someone seeing your perfectly normal, perfectly fine neck.” 

He swallowed hard, her concern, real and unspoken, lingering in the air like warmth. 

By the end, his hair was neat and trimmed, no longer falling into his eyes. Trinity stepped back, hands on her hips, pleased. 

“There,” she declared. “Crisis averted. Intervention complete.” 

Dennis blinked at his reflection on the dark TV screen, lifting a hand to touch the newly cut curls, then jerking his hand away, remembering her threat. 

“I… wow.” 

“Yeah,” she said, smirking. “I know. You’re welcome. I wouldn’t be shocked if Robby let you climb him like a tree now.” 

Dennis froze, cheeks flaming. “Wha... what? Stop saying that!” 

“Dennis, please, you look like a walking ‘take me now’ twink ad! If I were him, oh!” she crowed, slipping out of reach as he lunged at her, laughing despite himself. 

Trinity just smirked, clearly delighted, eyes sparkling with teasing triumph. 

Her teasing lingered in his mind, half-mocking, half-encouraging. It had made him feel a little steadier, though the knot in his chest hadn’t fully loosened, not even now, stepping back into the ER. 

Dennis reminded himself to keep things professional. No lingering glances, no subtle touches, no hints of what simmered beneath the surface. Be measured, competent, controlled, everything he wasn’t feeling. 

Every instinct screamed to reach for Robby, to close the distance, but he clenched his jaw and adjusted his bag on his shoulder, forcing calm, deliberate movements. The walls of the ER felt smaller, every step a test of self-discipline. 

Okay… you’re fine. You can do this. 

Even as he repeated it, his chest felt tight, stomach twisting. Back here. Under Robby’s watch. Next to him. Near him. Every step forward a tightrope, every breath shallow and measured. 

Dennis swallowed hard. He could still feel it, the memory of Robby’s chest pressing against his own, the rich, enveloping scent of Robby when he’d buried his face in the man’s neck, the warmth of that hug, grounding yet suffocating. He forced his shoulders back, gaze across the busy ER. I can do this. Just… breathe. 

Robby was there, leaning casually against the counter, talking with Dana; his posture relaxed but somehow impossibly magnetic. Collins stood beside them, chart in hand, laughing at something Dana said, her shoulder brushing Robby’s in that familiar, easy way that Dennis hated noticing. 

Robby was mid-gesture, animated, his voice warm… but then something shifted. A subtle pause. A faint inhale that tightened the line of his shoulders as his eyes flicked around, sharp, and instinctive toward the entrance. 

Robby straightened almost imperceptibly, his posture losing that loose, effortless slouch. He angled his body, just slightly but unmistakably, away from the counter and toward Dennis, as if pulled by instinct rather than choice. 

Collins hadn’t noticed; she was still smiling at Dana, flipping a page in the chart. 

But Robby wasn’t listening anymore. He was looking at Dennis. Only Dennis. 

That small lift of his brow, the subtle curve of his mouth, God, even that knowing smile was enough to make Dennis’s stomach clench. 

Dennis tried to blink, to steady his gaze, to pretend, just pretend, that he could act like a normal person, professional and calm. But the second Robby’s eyes met his, the illusion shattered. 

Beside him, Dana stood with her arms folded, half a smirk tugging at her lips. When Dennis’s eyes flicked her way, she met his gaze and smiled, warm, knowing, and just a little too perceptive. It was the kind of smile that said I see exactly what’s happening here, without a single word spoken.  

His eyes swept over the small cluster of familiar faces: Abbott, Ellis, Perlah, and Princess still lingering from night shift, the others, Mel, Langdon, McKay, Santos, Javadi, and Mohan, chatting quietly nearby. 

“Alright, everyone,” Robby began, voice low but carrying clearly. “Let’s take a moment, Dennis is back with us. I know it’s only been a few days, but having him here again makes a real difference. He’s an important part of this team, and I want to make sure he feels supported while he gets back up to speed. If anyone has questions, or notices something he needs a hand with, step in. Let’s all make sure he knows he’s not walking back into this alone.” He cast a brief glance toward Dennis, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his mouth. 

Warmth bloomed in him so suddenly it almost hurt, spreading up through his throat until he couldn’t help it. His mouth tugged into a small, crooked smile. 

Santos caught it instantly, grinning like she’d been waiting for the moment. Tilting her head, she spoke low, just for him and whoever was close enough to hear. “Look at you,” she said, eyes dancing. “All wide-eyed and smiley. God, you’re such a menace when you’re being cute.” 

Then she leaned back, mock exasperated. “Thank God you finally let me fix that fucking Amish farm boy haircut you were clinging to. You looked like you churned butter for spiritual clarity. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Dennis reached up, fingers running through his newly tamed curls. His cheeks burned, and he glanced away, flustered. 

Princess laughed from her spot nearby, chin resting in her palm. “She’s right, babe. You look good. Love the curls.” 

Dana, standing beside Robby, gave a soft snort, lips quirking. “She’s not wrong. Time off did you well. No eye bags, looking refreshed, good to see.” 

Dennis’s lips twitched into a small, shy smile. “Well… I’ve had nothing to do but sleep,” he said softly, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Turns out it’s… kind of effective.” A ripple of laughter ran through the group, soft and genuine, some chuckles, some quiet snorts, the kind that made Dennis’s cheeks heat even more. 

Javadi turned from the computer, smiling warmly. “Good to have you back, Dennis. The place’s been too quiet without your awkward charm.” 

Mohan nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “We really did miss you, Dennis. It’s nice seeing you on your feet again. And… you look really good.” 

Langdon reached out and gave his shoulder a friendly punch. “Glad to have you back, man,” he said with a grin. 

Abbott caught Dennis’s eye and winked, a small, mischievous gesture that made him feel both seen and entirely out of his depth. 

A few others murmured greetings, welcome back, missed you, you’re looking better, the sounds blending into a gentle hum of affection. 

Mel perked up suddenly, eyes wide like she’d just remembered a critical lab value. “OH—right! This weekend? Me, Trinity, Samira, and Victoria are kidnapping you.” 

Victoria clasped her hands dramatically. “Girls’ night. Mandatory attendance.” 

Samira grinned, tucking a curl behind her ear. “We’ve been deprived of your presence. We’re emotionally unstable without you.” 

Dennis blinked. “Girls… night?” 

Trinity slung an arm across his shoulders with a wicked smile. “Obligatory honorary girl. You don’t get a say. It’s in the bylaws.” 

Mel nodded earnestly. “We voted last month. Unanimous.” 

Samira added, “We were all in agreement that you possess the correct amount of prettiness.” 

Victoria said sweetly, “And patheticness.” 

Mel’s face lit up. “Yes! That too.” 

Dennis stared, face burning. “I—I’m what?” 

Trinity patted his cheek. “Sweetheart, the moment you walked in with that little shy smile and those curls? Yeah. Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours.” 

“Trini—” Dennis started, mortified and delighted in equal measure. 

“No, no, don’t interrupt,” she said, waving a hand. “We’ve had a whole week without our favorite disaster. We get to bully you as much as we want.” 

Samira pointed at his chest. “And we want details.” 

Victoria nodded. “All the details.” 

“Every.” Samira leaned closer. “Single.” 

“Thing,” Victoria finished, poking his arm. 

Dennis made a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a dying kettle. “Guys…” 

Trinity clicked her tongue. “Mel even made a list, by the way.” 

Mel froze. “Santos—” 

Samira lit up. “Oh my god, show him.” 

Mel, already fishing out her phone, muttered, “It’s not weird, it’s organized.” 

Victoria giggled. “Color-coded.” 

Mel shrugged. “Some categories needed emphasis.” 

Dennis dropped his face into his hands. “I cannot do this—” 

Dana snorted and lifted her eyebrows, a grin already forming. “Back by popular demand, huh? Took you long enough.”  

Before he could even get embarrassed, she closed the distance between them, her tone softening as she reached for his hand. Her touch was gentle, grounding, cutting straight through the surrounding chaos. 

“You really scared us, honey,” she said quietly. “Don’t do that again, okay?”  

His chest tightened again, emotion and embarrassment tangling painfully, and before he could answer, a steady, warm voice cut through the cluster. 

“Alright, everyone,” Robby said, his voice taking on that calm, supervisory cadence the entire department instinctively straightened for. Dennis felt it before he saw it. Warm hands settling on his shoulders. “He’s barely clocked in, and you’re already crowding him.” A soft ripple of laughter moved through the group. 

Dennis froze, every muscle tensing. His heart lurched, blood rushing hot and fast. He hadn’t even realized Robby had moved behind him, and the weight of those hands. Steady, grounding, impossibly familiar, made his knees feel weak. 

“Let’s ease up and let him get settled. I’m sure all of you have charts to review and patients waiting.” 

A few people groaned, but they listened. Chairs scraped softly as some drifted back to their desks; others peeled away toward computers, checking vitals, updating notes, grabbing folders. The cluster around Dennis thinned in a warm, gradual drift, the ER slipping back into motion around him.  

Robby’s fingers shifted slightly, pressing, releasing, as if massaging the tension from Dennis’ shoulders. It was subtle, almost unconscious, but the effect was immediate. 

The others’ laughter faded into the background. Dennis dared a glance upward, and froze further. Trinity, behind the counter, had her hand pressed over her mouth, trying and failing to stifle a snort. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly delighted in his complete unraveling. 

Every gentle squeeze, every tiny release of Robby’s hands made Dennis’ knees feel weaker, his heart hammering like it wanted to escape his chest. He trembled where he stood, utterly undone, caught between the need to pull back and the impossible pull toward him. 

Abbott strolled by on his way out, jacket slung over one arm, backpack hanging off the other, looking far too awake for someone at the end of a night shift. He caught sight of Robby’s hands on Dennis’s shoulders and let a slow, lazy grin spread across his face. “Well, look at that,” he drawled. “Barely stepped through the door and already getting special handling. Must be nice, huh?” 

On the surface, it was harmless workplace ribbing, but the little lilt on special handling was sharp, deliberate, meant for exactly one person. Dennis, imploding too hard to process language, missed it completely. 

Robby didn’t respond, not out loud, but Dennis felt it. The faint, instinctive tightening of the hands on his shoulders, subtle enough that to anyone else it just looked like steady support. Abbott caught it, of course. His grin sharpened. 

“Team spirit’s looking real… hands-on today,” he murmured as he passed, just soft enough that it could be a joke, or a warning. 

A stifled snrk erupted to Dennis’s left. 

He tore his gaze upward just in time to see Trinity freeze, eyes widening. Her shoulders gave the tiniest tremor, once, twice, like she was swallowing a laugh so hard it physically pained her. 

She pinched her lips together, eyes watering, doing everything in her power not to make a sound. 

Robby glanced her way but didn’t comment. His hands stayed right where they were. Steady, warm, unconsciously squeezing and releasing Dennis’s shoulders in a quiet, grounding rhythm. 

That was all it took. 

A tiny snort escaped Trinity, barely a puff of air, but enough to break her. Her shoulders shook harder, her face turning pink as silent laughter ripped through her. 

When she finally looked at Dennis, the gleam in her eyes said it all. Oh, I am going to bully you about this until the day I die. 

Dennis wanted to melt through the floor. 

Robby’s hands, still warm, still steady, shifted again. Not away. Not off him. Instead, they slid subtly down from his shoulders to his upper arms, guiding him with a gentle but unmistakable pressure. It wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t even overt. Just… deliberate. Enough that Dennis found himself turning without resistance, Robby easing him around until they were facing each other. 

Professional. Completely professional. Supervisory posture, neutral expression, the kind of calm authority everyone in the ER trusted without question. 

Except Dennis could feel everything underneath it. 

Because when Robby adjusted his grip, one of his fingers brushed higher up the back of Dennis’s neck, close. Too close. Almost grazing that small, reactive spot just at the base of his gland. Not enough to activate anything. Just enough for Dennis’s breath to catch in his throat, sharp and trembling, his pulse cracking open in his wrists. 

Robby’s eyes flicked up, meeting his, and he looked at him. 

Really looked. 

Those big, dark brown eyes locked onto Dennis’s like he was trying to see straight through the panic, straight through the bravado, straight through every shaky breath Dennis couldn’t hide. There was no escape from it, no glancing away. Robby’s gaze held him there, pinned him with a quiet intensity that made Dennis’s chest go tight in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with him. 

The corners of Robby’s eyes softened, those faint crow’s-feet he always pretended not to have crinkling as something unspoken flickered through him. Not amusement. Not pity. 

Recognition. Understanding. And, God help Dennis, a kind of gentle fondness he had absolutely no defenses against. 

For a moment, the world narrowed, ER noise dimming, footsteps fading, monitors blurring into a single soft hum. Robby’s face was right there. Too close. Too steady. Too knowing. 

“You alright?” Robby asked quietly. 

On paper, it was the most routine, supervisory question in the world. Checking in with a colleague. That was it. Anyone watching would see professionalism, responsible, composed, appropriate. 

But Dennis felt the shift in the words. The slight drop in volume. The warmth behind it. The unspoken Are you overwhelmed? Are you panicking? Did I push too far? mixed with something else, something that made Dennis’s skin buzz beneath his scrubs. 

His voice failed him. He swallowed, throat tight. 

Robby’s thumb moved, just barely, an unconscious sweep across the curve of Dennis’s upper arm. Barely contact. Barely anything. But Dennis felt it like a shock, heat blooming across his chest, breath hitching again. 

“I’m fine,” he managed, though it came out far too soft, air-thin, nothing like fine at all. 

Robby’s gaze held his for a second longer, reading him in that unsettlingly accurate way he always did, steady, attentive, like he could track every flinch, every shaky inhale, every nervous swallow. 

And even then, he stepped closer instead of back, a subtle move that kept the air between them warm, close, charged in a way Dennis was completely powerless to hide. Robby’s brow relaxed, the tiniest upward hitch at one corner of his mouth betraying a breath of warmth he didn’t voice. 

“Dennis,” he murmured, tone steadier and lower than before. “You look like you’re about to pass out on me.” The words were professional. The voice wasn’t. 

Dennis froze, cheeks blazing, brow furrowing into a sharp frown. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, deliberately, into Robby’s hands, as if to make a point. “You… you keep touching me,” he said, voice tight, words spilling out before he could stop them. 

Robby blinked, caught mid-movement. His hands hovered near Dennis’s shoulders for a fraction too long, then he pulled them back slightly. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips. 

“Oh,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, fingers dragging through his hair in that nervous, human gesture he always did when caught off guard. He cleared his throat softly. “…Sorry. I… didn’t mean to… make you uncomfortable.” 

Then, as if to discipline himself, he shoved both hands deep into the front pouch of his hoodie, the gesture abrupt, almost comically deliberate, like locking them away might stop him from reaching out again. Professionalism restored. Sort of. 

Dennis blinked, a little flustered, and hurried to clarify, his words tumbling out shyly. “No— I mean— it doesn’t. Make me uncomfortable.” His voice was soft, a little breathless, and earnest. “It… really doesn’t.” 

Dennis’s cheeks flared red. He shuffled his feet for a moment, then, almost against his own will, lifted his gaze. His eyes went wide and open, unguarded, staring up at Robby with a trust that made him feel impossibly exposed.  

“…You feeling better?” Robby asked, voice calm, neutral, just enough to sound like the ER supervisor everyone respected. But the warmth in his eyes… the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath… the way his shoulders eased just slightly now that Dennis was standing in front of him, those gave him away. 

He was trying to suppress it, to keep everything locked down and professional…but he couldn’t quite hide that he was relieved.  Or that he was happy, really, quietly happy, to see Dennis back on his feet again. 

“…I’m… much better,” he admitted, voice tight, but a little steadier. “…Really. I’ve been bored out of my mind. I’m ready to… get back to work.”” 

Robby dragged his palm slowly over his beard first, as if grounding himself, thumb brushing along his jawline. Then he cleared his throat before dropping his hands to his sides. “…Your gland?” he asked, voice careful, almost hesitant, as if navigating a minefield. 

Dennis’s cheeks flared again. “…Trinity… she said it looks way better,” he murmured, voice tight, eyes flicking up to Robby with a mix of pride and lingering embarrassment. 

Robby’s brow lifted slightly, a small, approving nod tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said, voice steady, professional, but with that faint warmth that always lingered beneath the surface. He tapped his temple lightly as if punctuating the point. “…And no more patches, yeah? We’re done with that.” 

Dennis swallowed, heat rising anew, but he nodded quickly. “Yeah… no more.” 

Robby inhaled slightly, chest rising as if steadying something inside himself. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah… I can see that,” he said softly, voice low but amused. 

He clenched his jaw briefly, controlled, before exhaling a measured breath. Then he stepped back just enough to create space. “Alright. Let’s… get you settled,” he added, his tone returning to the familiar ER cadence, though the faint warmth in his cheeks betrayed the unintentional intimacy of the moment. 

Robby felt it hit him before he could brace for it. That warm, stupid rush tightening his chest the second Dennis looked up at him. It shouldn’t have been that strong. It shouldn’t have been anything at all. But there it was, crashing straight through the careful distance he’d been building for days. 

And it was worse because he knew exactly what it meant. 

He’d spent nights trying to logic it away, to pretend the wanting wasn’t as sharp as it was, but the truth was brutal.  

He wanted Dennis.  

Wanted him in a way that rooted into his bones. Wanted his softness, his trust, the way his eyes softened around him. Wanted to touch him, steady him, breathe him in, wanted the sound Dennis made when he relaxed near someone, and God help him, he wanted to be the person Dennis melted toward. 

He wanted it so badly it made his chest hurt. 

But he also wanted, just as fiercely, for any of this to be anywhere near ethical. Clean. Something he could want without guilt, without power dynamics, without biology tugging them both off balance. Something he could touch without wondering if it was the imprint or Dennis himself leaning back into him. 

That was the part that gutted him. 

He wanted Dennis more than anything he’d ever let himself want, but he wanted it to be right. He wanted a world where his hands didn’t carry weight, where the warmth between them was simple and human. He wanted it so badly it tore him open. 

Robby’s chest tightened, and without thinking, he leaned closer, huffing in Dennis’s scent like it was air he couldn’t live without. Sweet, faint, undeniably Dennis. The warmth curled through him, tugging low and deep, and he opened his mouth just slightly, instinctively, as if he could taste him by breathing him in. 

He forced a low breath out, trying to steady himself, but it barely helped. Dennis was right there, close enough for Robby to notice the faint color back in his cheeks, the steadier way he was standing, the softness in his scent that made something in Robby’s chest pull taut. 

Close enough that Robby had to shove his hands into his hoodie pocket before they did something impulsive. Again. Keep it professional, he reminded himself. Supervisor. Keep it clean. Robby stared at a fixed point on the wall, anything to stop his gaze from falling back to Dennis’s mouth. 

“…You feeling better?” He managed, tone exactly where it needed to be, calm, even, measured. 

But God, he could feel the betrayal in his own face, the warmth creeping in. The relief settling in his shoulders even as he tried to stand straight. The subtle hitch in his breathing when Dennis gave him that small, grateful smile. 

He hoped no one else noticed; he sure hoped Dennis didn’t. 

Because for all the composure he tried to hold, seeing him standing there, alive, upright, back, made something deep in Robby settle in a way he hadn’t realized had been unsteady. 

And it hit him then just how much the past few days had wrecked him. Actual torture. 

He’d kept his distance on purpose, told himself it was for Dennis’s sake, for professionalism, for sanity. But every hour without seeing him gnawed at him. Every shift change, every empty spot where Dennis should’ve been standing, it scraped at him more than he’d ever admit. 

More than was appropriate. More than was safe. And God, the urge he’d had… To just call him. Hear his voice. Make sure he was okay. Make sure he wasn’t scared or alone or needing someone. 

He hadn’t. He refused to cross that line... but the wanting had been there, thick and suffocating. 

He wondered, too often, if Dennis had felt even a fraction of that. If he’d missed him. Thought about him. Reached for his phone the way Robby had, thumb hovering over his contact more times than he dared to count. 

Robby swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. Forcing himself to stand straight. Forcing down that selfish hope burning in his chest. 

Because now with Dennis standing right in front of him, pink-cheeked, wide-eyed, looking at him like he was something safe. Every buried want came rushing back too fast, too sharp, too much. 

Robby’s fingers curled in his hoodie pocket, knuckles whitening. If he didn’t keep them there, he knew exactly where they’d go. 

And the worst part? He had no idea how to navigate any of this. 

He’d worked with omegas his entire career, steady, confident, practical, every one of them with their own scent signatures and instinct patterns he’d learned to navigate without thinking. He knew the basics like muscle memory: give space, don’t crowd, stay predictable, keep your own scent leveled out. Easy. Professional. 

But an imprinted omega?  One whose scent had shifted toward him, subtly at first, then unmistakably? One whose whole body seemed to attune the moment he stepped into the room, like his presence hit some instinctive switch? He had no frame of reference for that. 

Dennis’s reactions weren’t like any omega he’d ever worked beside. The moment their eyes met, something in Dennis softened, pupils dilating, posture loosening, scent warming in this tender, impossible way that arrowed right into Robby’s chest.  

It wasn’t dramatic or wild, nothing like the textbook warnings. It was small. Honest. Instinctive. A quiet leaning-toward that felt more intimate than being touched. 

And Robby had no idea what any of it meant. No idea what he was supposed to do. No idea how to stop reacting. 

Because every time Dennis’s lashes lifted and their gazes hooked, Robby felt his own instincts snap taut, a tug low and deep, an urge to steady him, scent-mark him, hold him close enough that no one else’s presence could interfere. 

He wasn’t trained for this. He wasn’t prepared for him. 

He had no damn clue what was normal. What was instinct, what Dennis needed. 

He hated not knowing. Hated the blank spots and hated that every instinct screamed to step closer while every bit of discipline he had barked at him to give space. But more than anything, he hated the fear that Dennis hadn’t missed him at all. That the last few days had ripped him apart while Dennis went on just fine. 

Seeing Dennis look at him like that, pupils soft, scent warm and unguarded, instincts practically reaching for him. It hit Robby in a place he wasn’t prepared for. Something primal flickered awake, something older than training or rules, something that recognized the Omega in front of him not as a colleague but as… his. Or close enough that his chest tightened at the thought. 

Dennis’s trust, the way he opened himself without even realizing it, struck straight through Robby’s restraint. It made him feel chosen in a way that alphas weren’t supposed to admit they craved. Needed in a way he hadn’t let himself want. 

And God, he wanted back. 

He wanted him. 

Days of keeping his distance, fighting down instincts he barely understood, pretending he wasn’t checking his phone for messages that never came, all of it crumbled the second Dennis looked at him with that soft, instinctive pull. 

He’d tried to be ethical. To be rational. To be the kind of alpha who keeps control. 

But standing this close, with Dennis’s scent brushing against his skin and every instinct in him answering. 

Ethics didn’t stand a chance. Not against a bond tugging at his ribs. Not against Dennis. 

The hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of carts filled the ER, and it wrapped around Dennis like a familiar, chaotic blanket. His shoulders tensed instinctively, and he tried to shake off the flutter of nerves in his chest. Robby was there, calm and steady, moving through the noise like it didn’t touch him at all.

Robby gave Dennis a quick nod, his voice calm. “All right. Let’s get you back in the swing of things.”

Dennis followed, keeping pace as Robby led the way through the bustling ER. The faint trace of Robby’s scent lingered just behind him, warm and grounding, and Dennis felt his chest tighten, throat going dry. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the path ahead instead of the pull of proximity. 

They stopped at Bed 12. The patient, a middle-aged man with shortness of breath and chest tightness, had already been stabilized in triage, hooked up to monitors and receiving oxygen. Robby stepped close, brushing past Dennis as he adjusted a lead on the monitor. Dennis felt a jolt of awareness at the faint scent, and the subtle closeness. 

Robby leaned back slightly, letting Dennis take in the patient. “All right,” he said, voice calm, “give me your top differentials and walk me through your reasoning.” 

Dennis’s chest tightened immediately. He could feel Robby behind him, faint warmth radiating from the alpha’s body, and a soft, grounding scent curling around him, threading into his senses in a way that made his stomach flip. It was subtle, faint, just enough that Dennis realized he was inhaling it unconsciously. 

“Pulmonary embolism,” Dennis said, voice steady. “Sudden onset, dyspnea, diaphoresis, mild tachypnea… risk factors include recent surgery, immobility, possible history of DVT.” 

“Good,” Mohan said, nodding, scanning the patient. “Could be ACS too. Crushing chest pain, sweating, hypotension, classic presentation. I’d want ECG and troponins stat.” 

Dennis felt the warmth intensify as Robby leaned just slightly closer, eyes flicking over the monitors and then, without looking directly at him, just near him. The faint curl of Robby’s scent wrapped around Dennis like a tether, impossible to ignore. Even through the sterile air, he could feel it threading into his chest, teasing at his pulse, dragging heat low between his legs. 

“And if you had to prioritize PE over ACS right now, what findings would push you there?” Robby asked, calm, controlled, but Dennis caught the subtle hitch in the alpha’s breath. Just a flicker, almost imperceptible, as if Robby himself was aware of how close Dennis had stepped, how tight the air between them felt. 

Dennis’s hands moved over the monitors as he answered, trying to anchor himself to the task. “The acute dyspnea and risk factors, post-op immobility, prior clotting events. ECG might help, but imaging is critical to confirm or rule out PE quickly.” 

Mohan tilted her head. “Could pulmonary edema present similarly? Especially if there’s underlying cardiac history?” 

Robby inhaled just slightly through his nose, faintly, almost unconsciously. Dennis felt it, the tiny hitch in the alpha’s stance, a subtle shift in the air that made his chest tighten even more. “…And your echo, what specific signs differentiate that?” Robby asked, voice steady, but the faint scent of him, now warmer, almost dizzying, wrapped tighter around Dennis’s senses. 

Dennis outlined it, voice firm despite the fluttering pull. “Right heart strain, RV dilation, septal flattening, consistent with PE. Pulmonary edema would show LV dysfunction, fluid overload patterns. Continuous vitals and oxygen monitoring while prepping imaging in parallel.” 

“Exactly,” Robby murmured, a quiet note of approval threading through the air. Dennis felt it curl against him, pressing, teasing, drawing his attention despite himself. Even Robby’s subtle exhale, just the ghost of breath, brushed against him, and Dennis’s stomach twisted. 

With Mohan handling labs and lines, Dennis guided the patient through stabilization. Every subtle movement of the alpha behind him, the warmth, the scent coiling around him, the quiet intensity of his gaze, made Dennis’s pulse spike, made his thoughts scatter. 

“Vitals holding steady,” Dennis said quietly, eyes flicking to the monitors. “Stable enough for step-down monitoring if we maintain oxygen and fluids.” 

“Good call,” Robby said, voice low and approving. He stepped back just enough to give Dennis space, letting Mohan take the lead. “Mohan, you’ve got the transfer.” 

Dennis exhaled slowly, stepping back as Mohan wheeled the patient away. The beeping of the monitor, now handled by the receiving team, felt oddly distant. He felt a little empty like part of his focus had been stripped away, but at the same time, his eyes drifted to Robby. 

Shyly, Dennis tilted his head up and gave him a small, hopeful grin, pride sparkling in his eyes. The warmth of his happiness, and maybe the relief of the patient stabilizing, made something inside him shift. His scent, faint until now, bloomed subtly into the air, soft and sweet, carrying the unmistakable note of contentment and something more intimate. 

Robby’s gaze flicked across Dennis’ face, taking in the flush in his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes… and then, almost imperceptibly, his eyes slid down, briefly lingering on Dennis’ lips before snapping back up. His nostrils flared slightly, a subtle inhale betraying the awareness of that scent. His jaw tightened just a fraction, and his eyes softened as he leaned ever so slightly closer, drawn in despite himself. 

“Good work,” Robby said finally, voice low and even, though the small catch in it gave away the effect. “First case back, and you handled it exactly as I’d expect. You were sharp. Anticipated everything before it became an issue. I like that. Keep it up.” 

Dennis’ grin widened, warmth flooding through him as he caught the subtle change in Robby’s posture and expression. He felt seen, noticed, not just for his competence, but for the way he carried himself, and for the quiet, unspoken pull between them. 

“Glad to be back?” Robby asked, voice low, almost teasing. 

Dennis laughed softly, a little breathless, cheeks warming. “Yeah… I mean. It’s… good to be back,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, casual, but failing just slightly. “Feels… nice to get back into the rhythm, you know? Patients, monitors… chaos. Even if I, uh.. almost forgot how fast this place moves.” 

Robby let out a low, soft hum, almost like a quiet laugh of confirmation, and it sent a small thrill through Dennis. His eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer than usual before he stepped back, allowing space but still close enough that Dennis could feel the faint brush of warmth radiating from him.  

It was only halfway through his shift, and Dennis was already in over his head. The ER hummed around him, but he couldn’t focus on any of it. At his desk, his fingers moved automatically over the keyboard, but his eyes kept sliding toward Robby.  

Even the smallest gestures set him off. Robby reaching for a pen, the faint brush of his hand against the counter, the tilt of his head as he scanned a monitor, eyes catching Dennis’s without meaning to. Every glance, every movement made his thoughts spiral. Dennis found himself imagining what it would feel like if Robby leaned just a little closer, brushed that hair from his face, or whispered something private right in his ear.  

His pulse jumped every time Robby’s voice cut through the background noise, smooth, commanding, intimate even when it wasn’t meant to be. And Dennis swore Robby was going out of his way to be near him at all times.   

Like when Robby appeared in the hallway just as Dennis was trying to sneak past with a stack of case notes for Dr. Collins. He moved quickly, until a hand landed firmly yet lightly on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Robby said, leaning just enough to block his path, his voice low and teasing. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

Dennis blinked, caught completely off guard. “…I have a case for Dr. Collins,” he murmured, holding the papers a little too tightly. 

Robby’s smile tilted. “Let me see it,” he said, voice soft but insistent. 

Dennis froze for a heartbeat, torn between handing the notes over and bolting. As he shifted the papers toward Robby, his cheeks flamed. 

Dennis’s gaze drifted upward, and he couldn’t look away. Robby leaned over the papers; glasses perched low on his nose, eyes scanning the notes with calm, deliberate focus. The slight furrow of his brow, the tilt of his head, the effortless confidence in his posture; it all hit Dennis like a shock. God, he’s so hot… 

Every line of Robby’s face seemed sharper, more commanding, the strong jaw, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he smiled, the subtle gray at his temples, and Dennis’s stomach flipped at how sexy it all was. Okay, Dennis, don’t faint. Don’t faint. Just… don’t look like a lovesick idiot. 

His knees went a little weak, and he stayed frozen, utterly captivated by Robby’s presence. Every subtle movement, every glance over the rim of those glasses, every casual brush of Robby’s hand on his shoulder made it impossible to look away. 

By mid-morning, Dennis was a mess of nerves and desire. Each little moment was a spark, building, building, until Dennis wasn’t sure he could make it another second without losing control entirely. 

Dennis peeked over the top of his monitor and froze. 

Robby was looking at him, not hungry, not blatant, but intent. Focused. Like he was taking Dennis in piece by piece without meaning to, gaze lingering a beat longer than it should. His gaze was focused, just a shade too sharp to be professional. Something in it pulled at Dennis’s breath. 

Then he noticed all the subtle signs Robby was holding himself together. The tiny shift of his jaw. The way his hands stilled for a beat too long over the notes he was writing. Dennis couldn’t look away; he held Robby’s stare for a beat too long.  

Then Robby broke it. 

He looked away sharply, a soft exhale slipping out. One hand dragged through his hair in a rough swipe; the other tugged his glasses off. He rubbed a hand down the length of his face, through the scruff on his jaw, exhaling hard before sliding the glasses back on with a small, almost frustrated tremor; his composure assembled again, or trying to be. 

But Dennis had seen it. All of it. And the only reason Dennis knew was because he was fighting the exact same thing. 

Then, a sudden commotion. Shouts echoed from the ambulance bay, the slam of doors, the rush of paramedics. Dennis barely had time to register the chaos before Robby shot past him, moving like a force of nature. 

“Trauma bay! Move!” 

Robby’s voice sliced through the ER, low and commanding. 

The moment he passed, Dennis caught it. The faint, intoxicating wave of Robby’s scent, sharp with adrenaline, warm and grounding, laced with sweat. His chest tightened as Robby disappeared into the fray. 

The paramedics wheeled in a middle-aged man, pale, lips gray, barely responsive, monitors beeping erratically. 

“Male, thirty-eight, MVC,” panted the lead paramedic. “Unresponsive, BP fifty-six over thirty. Pulse thready. GCS six. Multiple blunt thoracic injuries. Massive external bleeding from leg. No spontaneous respirations.” 

Robby didn’t hesitate. He absorbed it all in a heartbeat.  

“Mel, bag-valve mask—fifteen liters. Two large-bore IVs, warmed fluids, rapid. Don’t intubate until I say. Mohan, prep for chest decompression if tension develops. Let’s move!” 

Robby leaned over the patient, hands driving strong, precise compressions. His scrub top rode slightly with each push, leaving his forearms fully bare, muscles flexing with every motion. Tattoos peeked from his skin, dark ink twisting along his arms, and Dennis’s pulse spiked at the sight. 

Dennis froze mid-typing, pulse spiking, breath catching. The sharp scent of sweat and exertion hit him full force. His body reacted before his brain could even protest. 

Robby’s hands slammed against the patient’s chest again and again, rhythm perfect, controlled, as his eyes flicked up at the monitors. “Check pulse! None. Keep that oxygen flowing, Mel. Ventilate carefully, two breaths, steady. Don’t overinflate.” 

Dennis could barely focus on the monitors; his attention was trapped in the way Robby’s arms flexed with each push, the set of his jaw, the slight hitch in his breath. The intensity, the control, the commanding heat, everything about him radiated through the ER and straight into Dennis. 

“External bleeding controlled?” Robby barked without looking up. 

“Yes, sir. Tourniquet applied, pressure dressing in place,” Mohan replied. 

“Good. Keep the fluids running. Another round of compressions if rhythm doesn’t convert. Stay sharp, team!” 

Robby’s chest rose and fell in rapid, precise breaths as he worked, sweat darkening the fabric along his spine. Every motion, every push, every command, radiated authority, competence, and something undeniably personal. Something Alpha and utterly Robby, that made Dennis’s heart hammer and blood run hot. 

Every strike of the chest, every sharp command, every bead of sweat rolling down Robby’s temple hammered into him, made him ache in ways that had nothing to do with CPR and everything to do with Robby. 

Fuck… he thought, heart racing, thighs tightening. God, Robby… why are you doing this to me? 

“I—I need a sec,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. Without another word, Dennis bolted from the desk, weaving between the busy team, and pushed through the bathroom door. 

Dennis locked himself in a stall and slid down to sit on the closed toilet lid. His hand slid down, palm resting flat against the toilet seat between his thighs. He pressed lightly, rocking just a fraction against his wrist, trying to burn off the tension coiling through his body. That was so hot. He let out a soft, shaky whimper, his cunt unbearably slick between his legs. 

His body was aching, throbbing, needy, embarrassingly reactive. Jesus. Really? This was his life now?  

“God,” he whispered, mortified. “Get it together. He was literally just… doing his job.” But the words felt hollow. His body wasn’t fooled; the ache didn’t fade. It just throbbed lower, deeper, and humiliatingly persistent. He squeezed his eyes shut. Wet over your boss barking CPR orders?  What was wrong with him? 

No... he knew exactly what was wrong. Days of pent-up heat, no relief, no outlet, nothing to burn off the tension that had been building and building since he came back.  

He’d tried at home, god knew he’d tried, but it never worked. Tried in the shower. Tried in bed. Tried in desperation at stupid hours of the night. And every time, the same thing happened. He’d get close… pleasure burning through him, breath stumbling, thighs tensing, and then nothing. A wall. A gap. Something missing that his body kept reaching for and never finding. Something he couldn’t name, something he refused to name. 

In the most desperate moments, Dennis would imagine it, Robby’s knot pressing, stretching him, filling him to the brim in a way that made his muscles clench and his chest sear. And still… nothing. The fantasy flared through him like fire and ice, a cruel tease that left him trembling and raw, painfully aware of how desperately he wanted it, and how cruelly his body refused to give. 

Dennis dropped his head to his knees with a tiny groan, hunching over, thighs tense, breath shuddering.  

“Fuck…” he whispered. 

And now all that pressure had snapped loose the second Robby so much as breathed hard in his vicinity. He hadn’t expected this, having to hide in a bathroom stall like a feral, overheated idiot, trying to pull himself together before anyone noticed he’d melted down over nothing.  

He let out a shaky exhale, shoulders curling inward, willing the heat in his body to settle, to fade, to just calm down for one second. It didn’t... if anything, it got worse. His scent must’ve spiked, warm and frustrated and sweet with unspent heat curling low in his belly. 

Against every shred of reason, his hand drifted down, fingers brushing just beneath the waistband of his scrub bottoms and boxers, sliding over his cunt to rest on his clit, wet and slick, gliding easily as he stroked in a weak attempt at control, chasing a little release, a little relief. His body leaned into it, shivering at the thought, almost giving in. 

And then, a sound. 

The faint click of the bathroom door.  

Dennis froze, snatching his hand back.  

Footsteps. Steady. Heavy. Familiar. 

Then. 

A low breath. A hand running through hair. The scrape of movement. The sound was too deliberate, too measured, familiar.

Dennis’s chest hitched. His knees pressed together tighter, fingers clutching the edge of the toilet seat. 

And then. 

A shadow fell over the gap beneath the stall door. 

Every nerve in his body screamed. That quiet, controlled presence. The way it made the air feel heavier and warmer. His stomach clenched, and his throat went dry. 

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. 

God. Not now. 

Chapter Text

The bathroom felt too small the second Dennis had shut himself inside. The walls pressed in, the hum of the lights needling at his ears, his heartbeat hammering so hard it made his vision blur. God, what was he thinking? He was at work, surrounded by colleagues, patients, responsibilities. Shame twisted in his chest, thick and sour, crawling up his throat. His stomach flipped, and he curled forward, hands trembling, wishing desperately he could make himself smaller, invisible, normal. 

And yet, the scent lingered, faint but unmistakable, threading through the air and pulling at something deep and irrational in him. Every nerve screamed. Every inch of him was on high alert. His chest tightened as if stuffed into a vise. Then he saw it, the shadow slipping under the stall door. 

Robby. 

Every breath he drew smelled of him, sending heat blooming hot and sharp straight to his cunt. His fingers clenched the edge of the toilet seat, trying to ground himself. He knew, just knew, that Robby was close enough to hear the hitch in his hips, the quiet gasp he couldn’t stop from escaping when the scent teased him further. Then... 

A soft exhale. Deliberate. Close. Too close. 

“Dennis…” Robby’s voice, low, measured, but there was something underneath it... Teasing? Awareness? A thread of want he couldn’t hide. The air burned. Every instinct screamed at Dennis to run, give in, hide, all at once. 

The shadow under the stall door shifted. Robby’s presence pressed closer, warm and deliberate, and Dennis could feel it in every nerve ending. His cunt throbbed, slick and needy, and he had no choice, his hand drifted back down, cupping himself, rocking lightly, desperate for friction. 

He couldn’t. Not with Robby there, not yet. And the knowledge that Robby knew exactly what he was doing. That subtle awareness, the deliberate exhale, made him melt from the inside out.  

He didn’t think about it. Firmly did not think about Robby’s rough voice or the soft waft of his scent through the air, or Robby, who he knew had long fingers, wide callused palms, wide shoulders— 

Dennis’s lips parted, heart hammering. He wanted to answer. Wanted to beg, to plead, to reach out… but his mouth went dry, caught somewhere between panic and need. 

“Dennis…” Robby’s voice came low, sharp. “What are you doing?” 

Dennis froze for a heartbeat, then groaned softly, pressing into his hand anyway. “I… I’m not—” he stammered, voice shaky, trying to sound casual, even as his cunt pulsed under his fingers. “…I’m not doing anything.”  

But as he spoke, his hand trembled toward the waistband of his scrub bottoms, tugging them down slowly, quietly. Just enough to feel the air brushing against him, slickness pooling, pulsing hot and heavy.  

“…You okay in there?” The tone was teasing, but gentle, like he already knew the answer and was asking just to give Dennis a way out. 

Dennis’s pulse didn’t slow. It only pounded harder, rushing hot up his throat. He didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust anything. 

Robby shifted closer, the shadow moving with him. “Dennis,” he said again, and his voice wasn’t low or playful now. It was warm and grounding. “Hey. Look at me—well, not look, but… listen to me. Breathe.” 

His next words dissolved into a strangled moan as he shoved his hand inside his pants further, curling around himself, his finger teasing along his slit. 

“…Hey,” Robby murmured, softer now. “Dennis. It’s just me.” Robby paused again, then added, quietly, “I’m not gonna open the door or anything. Just—talk to me, alright?” 

Dennis squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head even though Robby couldn’t see it. “I’m fine,” he tried to whisper, but it came out a broken little whimper instead of words. 

A beat. Silence. Robby drew in a deep breath, letting it fill the quiet space, and then let out a shaky exhale, almost a whisper against the air. The sound hung there, intimate and deliberate, and Dennis’s chest tightened at the awareness of it. 

“Dennis…” Robby muttered, voice low, rough, strained. “…are you—are you touching yourself? In the bathroom? On shift? At work?” The words were sharp, almost accusatory, but threaded with something else. Desperation, disbelief, and an edge of want he couldn’t hide.  

“…I’m… n-not—” he gasped, cheeks burning. The edge was closer than it had been all day, the heat coiling tighter with every breath. 

The scent of his slick had become very much apparent, and oh god, even Dennis could smell himself now which meant that Robby could definitely— 

The stall creaked as Robby shifted, leaning more of his weight against it, low growl vibrating through the thin metal. “…Dennis…” His voice was rough, a dangerous whisper that made Dennis’s stomach flutter violently. “you know I can smell you, right?”  

Fuck. 

Dennis shook his head desperately, pressing himself harder. “…I’m not… not—” His fingers trembled as they slid slickly over his cunt, hips rolling into the motion, the heel of his hand rubbing against his clit. Dennis clamped a hand over his mouth, mortified at the tiny sound that almost escaped. 

Robby let out a breath that was half-growl, half-laugh, strained, disbelieving, trying so hard to stay in control.  

“…Dennis... your scent…” He exhaled sharply, like it burned going down. “Jesus.” He shifted again. “You—fuck— you smell so ready I can’t think straight.” 

 “…It’s… it’s just… I… Fuck… oh… oh God… Robby…” Dennis gasped, rocking faster, “…you… you smell… so… so good… can’t… can’t…” 

Robby’s breath hitched, actually hitched, like he’d been punched low in the gut. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t steady at all. It was rough. Uneven. Barely holding together. “What happened to you, Dennis? Why are you—” His voice cut off, swallowed, then came back lower. Rougher. “…Why are you like this right now?” 

Dennis whimpered. “I-I don’t— I can’t—” He shifted against his own hand, pressing and grinding lightly, letting each slick stroke drag and spread open the folds of his pussy. Every motion caused the slick to squelch between himself and his fingers in the most obscene way.   

Robby exhaled harshly through his nose, weight bracing against the door again. His next words came out strained, almost broken around the edges. “Something had to have set you off. You were fine this morning, you—” Another sound, Robby swallowing hard. He was breathing faster. 

“Talk to me,” Robby whispered. “What happened?” 

Dennis squeezed his eyes shut, thrusting into his hand, heat pouring off him. “You—” he gasped. “It… it’s you—” 

Robby’s voice, completely cracked open. “…Me?” 

Dennis sobbed out a breath, thighs trembling. “Y-you… smell… so good— you— all day— everything you did—” He choked, hips rolling helplessly as he pushed his fingers deep inside his pulsing cunt. “I can’t— I can’t think— I can’t stop— it’s you—” 

Robby made a sound, quiet, broken, disbelieving. 

“…Me?” he repeated, softer, like he was trying to process it. “Dennis—” A rough inhale. “You mean— you’re like this because of me?” 

Another whimper tore out of Dennis, slick dripping onto his hand. “Yes— yes— it’s you— it’s always you—” 

Another inhale. Sharper. Deeper. Then a low, involuntary growl curled out of him, like he’d been trying to hold it back and failed. His control slipping so hard Dennis could feel it in the air through the stall door. 

“…Fuck,” Robby whispered. Soft. Devastated. Hungry. 

Dennis’s fingers slammed into his cunt, slick and messy, heat rolling off him in waves. He couldn’t stop, his body was shaking, breath breaking apart in little sobs of frustration. Already so aroused his clit was pulsing in time with his clenching hole.  

“…Robby—” he choked. “I… I can’t— I can’t—” 

Robby’s palms pressed harder against the stall door, the faint thud vibrating through Dennis’s spine. His voice came low, strained, barely leashed. 

“…Can’t what, Dennis? Use your words.” 

Dennis’s hips jerked helplessly, his cunt tightening around his own fingers. A whimper tore out of him, high, needy, humiliating. 

“…I can’t cum,” he whispered, then louder, cracking apart, “…I can’t cum, Robby— I can’t— I can’t—” 

A low growl rumbled from the other side of the door, dark and dangerously close. “…Why not?” 

Dennis’s breath hitched and then the air shifted. 

Robby’s scent thickened, deepened, went molten-hot and unmistakably wanting. It rolled through the crack of the door in a wave, hitting Dennis so hard he groaned. He sucked in a breath and immediately choked on it, a whimper catching in his throat. God, it was stronger, richer, curling low in his lungs, coating his tongue, dragging every nerve in his body toward that voice. 

“…Because I—I need you—” Dennis managed, voice cracking helplessly as his head hung back on his shoulders. The scent got thicker, sharper, spiking with Robby’s interest, his arousal, and Dennis’s whole body answered without permission. 

“I need you, I need you, I need you—” he gasped, dizzy on it, shaking with how badly he wanted to be closer, wanted to breathe him in until it hurt. His mouth parted, just to drag more of it in, his chest lifting in these sharp, greedy pulls like he needed that smell to stay upright. 

It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough. 

He wanted it on his skin, in his clothes, clinging to him, soaking into him until he couldn’t tell where he ended and Robby started. Every inhale made his head spin, made his cunt drip, made his fingers curl from where they were pushed to the last knuckle inside him. 

Robby exhaled like he’d been punched, voice thickening. “…Dennis—” 

“I want you,” Dennis whined, fingers thrusting harder, slick dripping down to the seat as his other hand circled his clit. “I want you in me— I want you inside me so bad—” His voice broke, shaking, desperate. “I haven’t been able to cum— not once— not for days— I can’t— my body won’t—” 

Robby’s hands shifted, gripping the metal like he was barely holding himself back. “…Dennis.” A warning. A plea. A growl. All at once. 

Dennis’s breath stuttered, shame and need tangling in his throat. 

“I—I thought I could just… get it out of my system,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Just—just deal with it and go back out there like nothing was wrong.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, a soft, helpless sound catching in his chest. 

“But I can’t,” he admitted, barely audible. Dennis pushed harder into his own hand, thighs trembling violently. “I want you in me,” he whispered, then said it again, louder, filthier, wrecked, “I want you in me— please— I want you to knot me—” 

Robby made a sound, quiet, and guttural. Unmistakably losing his control for a second. 

Dennis whimpered, almost crying with need. “Please— I need you— I can’t cum without you— I’ve tried— I’ve tried so many times— my cunt won’t— it won’t let me— unless— unless it’s you…” 

Silence.  

But not the empty kind. The heavy, predatory, about‑to-break kind. 

Robby’s voice finally came, low and wrecked, and absolutely nothing like his usual control. “…Dennis. Open the door.” 

Dennis swore his entire cunt spasmed in time with his rapid heart at the sound of Robby’s voice. 

A shaky, frustrated moan slipped out of him, half-complaint, half-need. He didn’t want to stop, his body screamed at him not to,  but the thought of actually seeing Robby, of Robby’s hands on him, of that scent-drenched closeness... It shattered whatever was left of his focus. 

He dragged his hand away from himself with a trembling, unwilling jerk, breath shaking as the sudden loss made him sway.  With a frustrated, almost pained sigh, he tugged his scrub pants back up, dragging his damp fingers across the fabric to wipe himself. A soft, drawn-out whine escaped him, desperate and helpless. 

His hips quivered on their own, knees threatening to buckle under the strain, and he had to take several shaky breaths just to steady himself before sliding the latch.  

The lock clicked. 

Dennis froze, chest heaving, utterly exposed, every part of him raw and needy, waiting for Robby to see him like this. 

Robby didn’t wait for Dennis to move. Didn’t wait for permission. The second the metal slid free, he pushed the stall door open hard enough that it bounced off the divider. 

Dennis barely had time to gasp before Robby stepped inside and shut the door behind him, crowding into the small space, the air turning thick instantly. 

Robby’s breath was ragged, really ragged, like he’d run here. Like he’d fought himself the whole way. 

His hands braced on either side of Dennis on the stall walls, caging him in without touching him. His eyes dragged over Dennis’s flushed face, his trembling thighs, the ruined state of his scrubs, every detail hitting him with visible force. 

Dennis knew the depraved picture he made, leaking slick into his briefs, panting like he was in heat. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, omega propriety be damned.  

“…Dennis,” Robby said, his voice low but incredulous, “…we’re at work.” 

Dennis lifted his gaze, wide, dazed, glossy-eyed. His cheeks were bright, his lips parted just slightly like he was still trying to catch up to his own heartbeat. The expression was disarmingly innocent despite everything leading up to it. 

Robby was in a similar state, his big brown eyes nearly eclipsed by the pupil. 

“You kept saying you needed me,” Robby murmured, voice unsteady. “You said you couldn’t—” He swallowed, the rest barely a whisper. “…without me.” 

Dennis’s whole posture seemed to fold inward, like he wished the floor would just open up beneath him. His cheeks were pink, then red, then almost scarlet. 

“I… I tried,” he managed, eyes flicking away. “The last few days at home, I really tried. I thought maybe it was just—stress or something.” His fingers curled nervously at his sides. “But it just… wouldn’t go away. Nothing worked.” 

He cleared his throat, staring somewhere near Robby’s shoulder because meeting his eyes felt impossible. “I kept… thinking that maybe if I just… focused hard enough, or, um—” He cut himself off, face burning. 

“I tried thinking about you,” he whispered finally, voice so small it almost vanished. “And I got close, I guess? As close as I could. But it still—” His breath hitched, and he shook his head, frustrated and shy and unbearably earnest. “It still didn’t… happen. Not all the way.” 

He chewed his bottom lip, eyes flicking up for half a second. 

“It was like my body kept… waiting,” he said, barely audible. “Like it wouldn’t… finish the thought unless you were actually there.” 

Robby shut his eyes, jaw tight, like holding himself together took effort. 

“…Me?” he whispered. “All of this was because of me?” 

Dennis swallowed, nodded again, body trembling. 

Robby’s eyes snapped open, dark, sharp, undone. “Say it,” he demanded quietly. “Tell me it was me.” 

Dennis choked on the truth. “It’s always you.”  

The words hit Robby like impact. His breath caught, his posture shuddered, and then something broke. His head dropped forward until his forehead nearly touched Dennis’s, his voice shaking with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. 

“Dennis… you’re driving me—” He cut himself off, voice fraying. “God, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” 

Dennis whimpered, tiny, desperate, and involuntary. 

Robby’s hands shifted on the metal, fists tightening, knuckles whitening. 

“Don’t make that sound,” he said, voice dangerously low. “You don’t know what I’ll do if you make that sound again.” 

Dennis stared up at him, breathless, and whispered his name. “Robby…” 

Robby froze. 

Then he inhaled, slow, deliberate, like trying to pull himself back from an edge he was seconds from falling off. 

“Dennis,” he whispered, “I need you to tell me right now, do you want me here?” 

Dennis didn’t even hesitate. “I always want you.” 

Robby’s eyes darkened, devastated, and ruined. And for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. 

Then Dennis did. It wasn’t conscious, it wasn’t planned, it was instinct. Raw, dizzying instinct. 

Dennis stepped forward, crowding into Robby’s space until Robby’s back bumped the stall door with a quiet thud. Robby sucked in a sharp breath, jaw tensing, eyes going wide as Dennis’s trembling hands slid up the front of his scrubs, over his ribs, up his chest, fingers shaking as if he needed the contact to breathe. 

Dennis rose onto his tiptoes, wobbling slightly, closing the last inch between them. His nose brushed along Robby’s jaw as he leaned in. He inhaled softly, desperately. He breathed Robby in like he was trying to steady himself on the scent alone. 

The sound that left him wasn’t intentional, a low, broken little moan he didn’t even seem aware of making. His lips moved before his brain caught up, a whisper barely formed, barely sound at all.  

“…love your scent…” 

Something meant for no one to hear. But Robby did. Robby’s entire body shuddered. “Dennis…” he warned, except it didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like a plea. 

“…can’t stop thinking about you… your scent… missed you so f-fucking much… can’t get you out of my head… you’re all I think about, all I want, it’s driving me insane…” Dennis said softly, like the words hurt coming out of him. He then tilted his head and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to Robby’s jaw. 

And Robby broke. 

His hands shot out, gripping Dennis’s arms. He did it to hold him back, to keep him still, to anchor himself before he lost whatever thin strip of control he had left. His fingers dug in, firm, almost shaking. 

“Don’t…” Robby hissed through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Dennis, don’t do that. Don’t—” 

Dennis kissed him again, right where Robby’s jaw met his throat. 

Robby’s grip tightened instantly, a low, helpless sound ripping out of him, half-growl, half-moan, his whole body arching forward like he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Jesus—” Robby choked, breath slamming out of him. “You’re… you’re killing me.” 

Dennis’s breath stuttered, his lips brushing the side of Robby’s throat as he tried to force the words out. “Robby… I—” He hesitated, eyes squeezing shut like he was afraid of hearing the truth. “…please tell me I’m not the only one losing my mind over this,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Do I… do I make you even half as crazy as you make me?” 

It came out small. Vulnerable. Like he was offering Robby his whole chest to break. 

Robby didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. His chest rose and fell too fast, too hard, like Dennis had knocked the breath out of him.  

“Dennis…” he tried again, but his voice cracked, rough and low and nothing like restraint. 

Dennis squirmed, those tiny, involuntary shifts of his hips he probably didn’t even realize he was making. His thighs pressed together, heat pulsing between them, his breath coming faster against Robby’s skin. He was trembling, flushing all the way down his throat, eyes wide and glazed and hungry. And he kept leaning, barely, subtly, like his body’s instinct was to climb into Robby’s space no matter what his brain did. 

Dennis’s lips ghosted against his jaw one more time, deliberate this time, needy, soft, wanting. 

Robby’s breath stuttered. His grip on Dennis’s arms dragged him closer, pinning him to Robby’s chest like he needed him there, like breathing depended on it. 

Robby felt it. Felt every twitch, every quiver, every warm breath against his neck. And something in him just… snapped. 

He lifted one hand from Dennis’s arm slowly, and cupped the side of Dennis’s neck, his fingers brushing dangerously close to this gland. His thumb brushed up under his jaw, sweeping over that soft, flushed skin. Dennis gasped, and Robby swallowed hard, eyes locked on his like he was trying to read the truth in them. 

“You asked if you make me crazy,” Robby murmured, voice thick and ragged. “If you had any idea what you do to me…” His hand tightened on Dennis’s neck, just enough to make Dennis’s knees wobble. “…you wouldn’t even ask.” 

Dennis’s breath hitched, his lips parting, eyes slipping half-shut like the words alone made him shiver. 

Robby leaned in agonizingly slow, and his forehead touched Dennis’s, the tip of Dennis’s nose brushing his upper lip. Dennis whimpered, hips tilting forward in a desperate, helpless little grind he couldn’t stop. 

That was it. 

Robby broke. 

A strangled sound tore out of him as he grabbed Dennis by the jaw with both hands and kissed him. 

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was hot, messy. It was hungry in a way Dennis had only dreamt of. 

Robby’s mouth crushed against his, swallowing the shocked gasp Dennis made. Dennis melted instantly, knees buckling, like he couldn’t hold himself up. Robby’s grip tightened, dragging him closer, kissing him like he’d been holding his breath for too long and Dennis was the first inhale. 

Dennis felt it, all that pent-up restraint Robby had been gritting his teeth through for weeks, months, pouring straight into the kiss like he’d been waiting for someone to open the door before he could breathe again. 

Robby’s mouth moved against his with this fierce, aching urgency, like every second without Dennis had been killing him. His breath kept hitching, rough and uneven, brushing warm across Dennis’s lips between the pushes of his own.  

Then Robby let go of Dennis’s jaw, his hands sliding down in one deliberate sweep. They landed at Dennis’s hips, both of them, gripping hard, steadying him. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of Dennis’s scrubs, spreading wide across the small of his back, pulling him in until Dennis could feel every inch of Robby’s strength surrounding him. 

Robby’s thumbs pressed into the front of his lower stomach, firm and possessive. His palms were so big they nearly spanned Dennis’s whole midsection, almost encircling him completely. 

The sheer size of his hands, how easily they handled him, sent a hot, dizzy thrill right through Dennis. It was embarrassing how much that alone was getting to him. 

“Robby—” he breathed, voice cracking. “Fuck—” 

Dennis’s hands kept moving, grabbing for more. He slid one down Robby’s arm, fingers curling around the thick muscle of his bicep. He squeezed, nails dragging just slightly, a breathy moan breaking in his throat at the feel of how solid he was. The other slid up over Robby’s chest, gripping at his shoulder.  

“God, Dennis—” Robby whispered against his lips, the words trembling, almost angry with how much he felt. Then he kissed him again, harder this time, like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d pretended he didn’t want this. He kissed down to Dennis’s lower lip and sucked, slow but hard, forcing another shaky moan into his mouth. Dennis pushed back without thinking, lips parting in a needy, broken plea for more. 

Robby groaned deep, wrecked, and surged forward, tongue sliding into Dennis’s mouth like he was claiming space he’d been starving for. Dennis whimpered into him, heat sparking hot and sharp between his thighs, his body arching into Robby’s like instinct. 

Robby tore his mouth away only when oxygen demanded it, his breath shaking against Dennis’s lips. “You make me crazy?” Robby panted. “Dennis, you fucking undo me.” 

Dennis trembled, lips swollen, pupils blown, still trying to chase Robby’s mouth with tiny, desperate movements. He pushed into Robby so hard the door behind him rattled with the force of it. 

Robby’s breath stuttered against Dennis’s mouth. “Dennis—” 

But Dennis didn’t let him finish. 

He clutched at Robby’s jaw, pulling him down, sucking at Robby’s lower lip with a desperate, broken insistence.  

Robby shuddered violently, hands flying to Dennis’s waist to steady him, except the second his palms landed on him, his fingers dug in like he was the one losing balance. Robby tried, he really did, to pull in a breath and remember how to form a full sentence. But Dennis’s mouth wouldn’t let him. Robby groaned into Dennis’s mouth, trying to angle back just enough to speak.  

“Dennis—hey—mhm—just—” He kissed him without meaning to, lips dragging soft and hungry over Dennis’s. “—we really have to—mm—get back to w—” Dennis leaned up and kissed him again, quick, greedy, stealing the words right off his tongue. 

Robby laughed, breathy, and wrecked against Dennis’s mouth.  

“Dennis— sweetheart— we can’t—” The end of the sentence was swallowed in another desperate kiss.  

Dennis made a soft, needy little noise, tilting his head, deepening it just enough to completely obliterate Robby’s train of thought. He clung to him, lips brushing Robby’s again between every whispered word. 
“One more,” Another kiss, quick, hungry. “Just—please—one more…” 

“Shouldn’t be doing this,” Robby muttered against his lips, breath ragged. “Should— mm— definitely stop—” 

“Then stop,” Dennis whispered, breath trembling. 

Robby froze, just for a second. Then he let out one broken, ruined laugh. 

“I can’t,” Robby confessed, voice raw. “I can’t stop. Not with you like this.” 

Dennis whimpered against Robby’s lips, soft, involuntary, devastating, a hot rush of slick oozing from his pussy. 

Robby’s grip on him tightened, fingers trembling at the effort it took to keep himself even remotely in control. 

“Please,” Dennis whispered against his mouth, lips swollen and red, “don’t.” 

Robby’s forehead dropped to Dennis’s, a low groan leaving him. 

“Okay,” Robby murmured against his lips, voice shaking with how badly he wanted to keep going. 
“Fine... one more.” And he gave in yet again, kissing him hard, swallowing Dennis’s soft, breathless whimper. 

Except “one more” turned into two. And then three. And then Robby lost count. 

And somewhere between kiss seven or eight, Dennis’s body gave up on hiding what it wanted. His hips rolled without permission, pushing him harder against Robby’s thigh. His cunt throbbed between his legs like it was dragging him along by instinct alone. 

Robby froze mid–kiss, breath catching. 

But Dennis didn’t even notice as he was already moving again, his hips rocking up in small, uncontrollable motions, like he couldn’t stop even if he tried. The friction wasn’t enough, not even close, but he was chasing it anyway, gasping softly against Robby’s mouth with each tiny, needy grind. 

“I can’t—Robby… please… just…” His voice wavered, soft and needy. “Please touch me…” 

Dennis shoved at him, panic making his movements jerky. But Robby was impossibly strong, impossibly calm. In one smooth motion, he shifted them, turning the momentum around so Dennis’s back hit the wall, Robby closing the distance as he made a choked sound, half-groan, half-curse. The stall felt impossibly small now, every inch of Dennis pressed against Robby, trapped, heart hammering, lungs tight. 

Dennis’s eyes snapped open to meet Robby's hungry gaze as cool fingers crept beneath his waistband without warning. His lips parted in a shock as his breath caught in his throat.  

Robby’s fingers trailed over his pubic hair, gliding down to brush across his wet folds. One shallow dip into his entrance made Dennis shiver, and then Robby cupped his whole palm firmly over the mound of his cunt. 

Fuck. 

“You’re soaked,” Robby murmured, voice low and rough, matching the wrecked haze that consumed Dennis. He rubbed the flat of his palm over Dennis’s pussy, slow, deliberate. 

Dennis nodded, grinding down, eyes wide and disbelieving as he watched the outline of Robby’s hand shifting beneath his pants. He’s touching me… he’s actually touching me… His mind spun in stunned circles. 

“Tell me something,” Robby said, tone dipping into something dangerously close to a tease. “Are you always like this? This wet?” He tilted his head, his gaze sharpening into something warm, knowing... almost smug. 

The sight of Robby’s fingers moving leisurely beneath him, stroking over his pussy, sent coils of heat straight to his core. The size of Robby’s broad palm over him made him ache, and the pads of his thick, calloused fingers brushed his clit perfectly, just the way he’d been fantasizing about for months. 

“I told you…” Dennis muttered, eyes half-lidded, voice rough. “…I haven’t been able to—” He bit his lip hard, fighting a shiver. “…Your fucking fault.” 

Robby let out a pleased, low sound in the back of his throat, and Dennis had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. 

Dennis’s breath hitched as Robby started pressing slow, roaming kisses along the side of his neck, fingers massaging along the line of his cunt. Then, with a teasing patience, Robby gently parted his folds and slid a single finger inside Dennis’s entrance. He twisted it slowly, sinking it all the way to the last knuckle, and Dennis shivered violently, arching instinctively into the deliberate, consuming touch. 

Dennis’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He was left gaping, mouth opening and closing, stunned by the sensation of Robby’s large finger pressing against his inner walls, filling him for the first time. 

Robby seemed just as absorbed, his eyes glued to where his hand disappeared into Dennis’s pants. He stepped in even closer, lifting his head until their foreheads gently met, the contact soft but somehow devastating. Their breaths mingled, shallow and quick, as they both watched him slowly pump his finger in and out. 

Robby groaned low, his words barely a whisper. “Fuck… Dennis… you smell so fucking good…” His voice was raw, wrecked. 

Dennis shivered at the sound, heat pooling in his core, hips tilting instinctively as Robby’s gaze and voice made his skin crawl with need. 

A shared moan escaped them when Robby slid a second finger alongside the first, Dennis’s walls obediently stretching to accommodate the added pressure. The sensation made him shiver, clit throbbing insistently above, aching for attention. 

Robby’s other hand moved deliberately, tugging Dennis’s pants down further so he could see him fully. Dennis gasped, heat rushing to his cheeks, shivering under Robby’s hungry, unwavering gaze. 

“Look at you,” Robby murmured, fingers pumping a little faster when Dennis’s walls fluttered at the praise. “Taking me so well…” 

Dennis arched with a strangled cry, white-hot fire blooming in his core as Robby’s fingers pushed in as deep as they could, spreading inside him. The heel of Robby’s palm pressed firmly against his clit, grinding just right, hitting that spot for the first time. 

Dennis already felt the fullness in his cunt with just two of Robby’s fingers, his mind wandering, what would three feel like? What would Robby’s cock feel like, his knot— 

His pussy clenched at the thought, slick spilling continuously from his stretched hole. 

Robby felt it, the tight squeeze around his fingers, and a low, almost reverent growl escaped him. “Fuck… you’re squeezing me… what are you thinking about, huh?” 

Dennis gasped, body trembling, hips lifting instinctively. Words spilled out, breathless and needy, “I want your knot… want you to plug me up… keep me full… please… Robby…” 

Robby’s grip tightened, fingers moving faster, low growl rumbling from him.  

He was so wet, every twisting thrust of his fingers along his insides was slick and loud, barely meeting any resistance despite his thick fingers. Dennis watched his slick spread across Robby’s palm, gathering in the lines of his hand before trailing slowly down his wrist and along the curve of his forearm. 

Then Robby pressed his thumb against Dennis’s clit, brushing in slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive bud. 

Dennis gasped sharply, back arching, hands clawing at Robby’s shoulders. “Oh—fuck—Robby…” he moaned, trembling. His body shivered violently, hips pressing instinctively into the teasing touch, every nerve ending alight. 

Robby sealed his gasping mouth with a hard, lingering kiss, and only then did Dennis realize the other hand moving up his torso to curl around the back of his neck. The weight of Robby’s palm pressed firmly against his gland, possessively, sending fresh, jolting heat racing through Dennis.  

His back arched sharply into Robby as his legs shook. His body locked up, every muscle taut, and a sharp cry tore from him. Robby’s fingers gripped the curls at the base of Dennis’s neck, tugging gently, teasing, and the subtle motion made Dennis’s body twitch and tremble involuntarily.   

Dennis’s voice was barely more than a whimper. “Robby… please… let me cum…” 

Robby’s eyes darkened as he pistoned his fingers in and out of him in quick, hard succession.  

“Cum.” Robby growled, and the thread of authority in his voice reverberated through his skin, Dennis’s core tightening in response. 

Dennis moaned, his mouth falling open with a surprised feeble cry as his orgasm hit him.  His world turned white. 

Robby’s fingers dug in, groaning as he drove Dennis over the edge.  

Dennis arched sharply, spasming against Robby, shivering as waves of pleasure rolled uncontrollably through him. His vision blurred to mere specs of color, his pussy walls squeezing in hard pulses around Robby’s fingers from the sheer force of his almost painful orgasm. It was so intense he thought he might just black out from lack of air until he remembered to breathe. He was distantly aware of wet warmth coating the skin of his thighs as he made even more of a mess of himself.  

Robby simply tilted his head, watching him with dark, amused satisfaction, eyes tracking every shiver and whimper with a pleased intensity. When Dennis finally started coming back to himself, Robby leaned closer, tilting his head to catch his gaze, lips curling into that half-smile that always made Dennis weak. 

He reached up, fingers brushing against Dennis’s sweaty, flushed face. “Good?” 

Dennis, too dazed to speak, could only bob his head in a wordless mumble, shivering again as Robby withdrew his slick, sodden fingers from him. 

Robby held them up in the light, inspecting the glistening sheen with a dark, appreciative gleam in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he brought a finger to his lips, dragging his tongue over it with a low, filthy rumble of satisfaction. Dennis’s wide, awed eyes followed every movement, a fresh shiver rippling through him at the raw, possessive energy radiating from Robby. 

“Christ, Dennis,” Robby murmured, voice rough, thick with lingering need. 

Dennis let out a soft, breathy laugh, half-lidded eyes glowing, lips parting into a dreamy, dazed smile. “You like it?” His voice trembled, soft and tentative. 

“Fucking hell… you have no idea,” Robby growled, dark eyes locking onto him, voice low and possessive as though marking him all over again. 

Before Dennis could even respond, Robby leaned down, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. The scent, the taste, his slick, flooded his senses, teasing and claiming him. Robby’s tongue slyly traced past the seam of Dennis’s mouth, curling in and tasting him fully, eliciting a startled gasp as Dennis’s body shivered once more, entirely at his mercy. 

Dennis’s hands went instinctively to Robby’s chest, gripping him as he melted into the kiss, every nerve ending alive, every shiver amplified. Robby’s grip remained firm, grounding him even as he reveled in the sweet, heady aftermath of the chaos he’d made Dennis endure. 

A low, guttural growl rumbled from Robby as he pulled back just enough to glance down at Dennis, voice rough and ragged, thick with need. “I could… keep you here… stuffed with my fingers… make you cum over and over…” 

Dennis squirmed instinctively, hips lifting slightly, a soft, desperate whine escaping him. “Robby… please…” 

Robby let out a shaky, ragged laugh, throat tight, fingers brushing lightly over Dennis’s still-sore, sensitive folds. “…but… fuck…” His voice caught, raw and strained, eyes dark with longing as he shook his head. “…really… we've gotta get back to work.” 

Dennis groaned, frustrated and breathless, lips parting in a soft gasp. He leaned into Robby, still trembling, still dripping, wishing desperately that Robby didn’t have to pull away. 

Robby’s jaw tightened, a low hiss escaping him as he kissed the top of Dennis’s head, his chest heaving. Every part of him ached to stay, to keep Dennis helpless and writhing beneath his touch, but duty, stupid, infuriating duty, pulled him back. 

Dennis’s eyes drifted down, catching the obvious bulge tenting Robby’s scrubs. A sly, almost mischievous smirk spread across his lips as his hand inched forward, brushing softly against the hard length beneath the fabric. 

Dennis tilted his head up, eyes wide, voice soft and teasing, almost innocent. “What about you…?” 

Robby hissed sharply, hot breath fanning against his skin, before his lips found the sensitive curve of Dennis’s shoulder, pressing a feather-light, scorching kiss there. “We… can’t,” he muttered, voice rough and strained, trembling with restraint. “…we’ve been gone too long already… Dana’s gonna kill me.” 

Dennis’s fingers ghosted teasingly along the hard shaft, sliding up and down with delicate pressure. The movement was slow, almost torturous, and he sucked in a sharp breath when Robby noticeably throbbed beneath his touch. Robby’s chest heaved, a low, ragged groan escaping him despite his best efforts. “If you keep touching me… I’m gonna pop a knot,” he warned, voice ragged. “Then… we’ll be stuck in here even longer.”

Robby reached quickly under his waistband, tucking himself up, but Dennis’s fingers lingered for a fraction too long, brushing over him and drawing another sharp hiss from Robby. Then, with a shaky exhale, he tugged at the leg of his scrubs, adjusting the fabric back into place, though the tension in his body remained palpable. 

He’s so warm, Dennis thought, biting his lip. The thought of how big he might be made his stomach twist. He might actually hurt... fuck. 

“C’mon,” Robby murmured, voice low, still rough from need, guiding Dennis’s trembling hands to wipe the slick he’d left behind. Dennis blushed, cheeks hot, still quivering as he followed Robby’s lead, hands shaking slightly as he cleaned himself. 

Once Dennis was mostly cleaned, Robby helped him pull his scrubs back up, fingers brushing over his skin, steadying him with a firm but gentle touch. Dennis leaned into him instinctively, still flushed and shivering. 

Robby muttered under his breath, voice ragged, a frustrated groan slipping out, “God… we stink…” 

Dennis blinked, wide-eyed, letting out a soft, breathy laugh, pressing lightly against Robby. “Mm… yeah…” he murmured, still warm and dazed, but a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. 

Robby hesitated before leaning in even closer, lips brushing the corner of Dennis’s mouth as he whispered the thing he’d been holding in his chest like a live wire. 

“When shift ends… I want to take you home.” His breath trembled. “I want you in my space. I want you on my couch. I want your clothes in a pile next to mine.” 

A sharp inhale from Dennis. “I want your scent all over my place.” 

Dennis made a tiny, involuntary sound, a soft, broken “oh—” that shot straight through Robby. 

Robby pressed his forehead harder to Dennis’s, voice barely above a whisper. 

“And Dennis…” he paused, trembling. “I want you to stay.” 

Dennis’s grip tightened suddenly, desperate, like he was afraid Robby might disappear if he didn’t hold on. Robby squeezed Dennis’s hip, trying to anchor himself before he lost whatever was left of his sanity. 

Robby’s chest felt tight, each breath shallow. He pressed his forehead closer to Dennis’s. “These past few days without you… it’s been unbearable. I didn’t know if I should give you space—if you needed time to rest, to heal, to think things through. I didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me yet. And I know we still need to talk, really talk. But I couldn’t keep holding back. Every second I didn’t… it tore me apart. I want you, Dennis. I want you here. It was killing me being apart from you.” 

Dennis’s voice was soft, almost trembling, as he finally looked up at Robby. “I… I missed you so much,” he admitted, cheeks pink. “I wanted you to call. I wanted to call too… but I didnt know if it was inappropriate... and I didn’t want to seem… needy. After everything that happened… I didn’t know if I could.” 

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down for a moment, embarrassed, but the honesty in his tone cut straight through Robby. “You… you already know how I feel about you,” Dennis whispered, voice shaking. “I mean—I stole your fucking hoodie, for god’s sake…”  

Robby’s eyes flickered, not surprised, not teasing, just aware. His brow rose a fraction, his voice dropping into something low and impossible to hide from.  

“Dennis,” he said quietly. “You clung to it like it was me.”  

Dennis made a tiny breathless noise, eyes dropping, cheeks going instantly pink. “Yeah,” he admitted, soft and humiliatingly honest.  

Robby stilled, the teasing melting into something deeper.  

Dennis’s flush spread down his neck as he fidgeted with the hem of Robby’s scrubs. “I— it was stupid, I know. But it smelled like you, and I was already a mess about you, and—” He swallowed hard, fighting the heat climbing up his face. “It… did things to me I wasn’t ready to admit back then.”  

Robby’s breath hitched. 

Dennis kept going, voice barely more than a whisper. “And I couldn’t tell you. Back then. Because it was before I even knew you wanted this… me. And I didn’t want you to think I was pathetic for being that far gone already." 

Robby’s gaze sharpened, slow, deliberate. “When you took my hoodie… you took it home with you, didn’t you?” he asked, low and probing.  

Dennis’s cheeks flamed instantly. “I— yeah… I did.” He ducked his eyes, heat radiating off him. 

“And… you slept with it?” Robby’s voice was careful, but there was a sharp edge of curiosity, of expectation.  

Dennis tried again, fingers twisting together. “Yeah... It… smelled like you. And when I put it on, it felt like you were there.” His breath wavered. “Right next to me. Talking to me. Touching—” He swallowed the rest, ears burning scarlet. 

Robby exhaled a low, broken sound, like Dennis’s shy confession was tearing the last threads of his self-control apart. 

Dennis whispered, “It’s pathetic. But it was always you. Even then.” 

Robby’s hand lifted to cup Dennis’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the warmth there.  

“Dennis…” His voice was low, steady, but everything in him trembled. “You’re not pathetic or needy. You never were.” He leaned closer, forehead resting against Dennis’s again, breathing mingling. “I’ve missed you every second, and I’m done keeping quiet about it.” 

For a long moment, they just stood there, then Robby leaned in, pressing Dennis’s head lightly into the curve of his neck. His fingers threaded into Dennis’s curls, tugging and playing softly, tracing the nape and dancing over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. 

Dennis shivered, breath catching, and gradually let himself melt into the touch. The warmth of Robby’s body, the familiar scent, the gentle movement of his fingers, it all grounded him, made him feel safe and needed. 

He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed, shoulders relaxing against Robby. Every small touch, every subtle press of Robby’s hand sent heat through him, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself just be, carried by the quiet intensity of being so close to him. 

Robby’s thumb traced tiny, absent-minded circles along Dennis’s nape, brushing the edges of his gland, voice low and almost teasing. “You like that?” 

Dennis whimpered softly, the sound half embarrassment, half relief, buried in the scent and warmth of Robby. He let go a little more, surrendering to the quiet storm between them. 

Finally, Robby’s gaze flicked down, catching the glint of his watch. He swallowed, voice low and raw. “Shift ends in two hours,” he whispered. “Two.” 

Dennis made another tiny, frustrated noise, shoulders tensing as he tried to get his breathing under control. 

“I’m not going to make it two hours,” he confessed, voice low and ragged. 

Robby huffed a broken laugh, nose brushing the side of Dennis’s face. “You’ll make it,” he whispered. “Barely. Miserably. But you’ll make it.” 

Dennis swallowed, nodding weakly. His hand stayed clutching Robby’s scrubs like his life depended on it. 

Robby leaned closer still, whispering one more thing, soft, low, right against Dennis’s ear, knowing it would ruin him. 

“When this shift ends… I’m not letting you walk out of this building without my hands on you.” 

Dennis went still but warm all over.  

Robby finally forced himself to step back, barely half a foot, hands dragging off Dennis like he hated every millimeter of distance. He turned toward the door, reaching for the lock with a slow, careful breath like he needed the second to steady himself. 

He didn’t even get his fingers on the latch. 

Dennis grabbed him. A little two-handed tug on the back of Robby’s scrubs, like he couldn’t help it, like his body moved before his brain even voted. 

“Robby— wait,” Dennis whispered. 

Robby froze. His shoulders lifted with a shaky inhale, head bowing for a second. Of course Dennis would say it like that, soft, nervous, a little breathless, like he genuinely believed he was asking for something small instead of life-ruining. 

Robby turned just enough to look over his shoulder. 

Dennis was staring up at him, pupils blown, lips flushed and swollen from Robby’s mouth, chest rising too fast under his scrubs. He looked wrecked and shy and so painfully earnest, his hands still curled in the fabric at Robby’s back. 

“Can I…” Dennis swallowed, shifting on his feet, eyes flicking down to Robby’s lips and then away, embarrassed. “Can I have one more kiss?” His voice softened to something small, embarrassed. “…just—one. Please?” 

Robby’s breath left him. Completely. He watched Dennis for half a second, just half, taking in the flushed cheeks, the trembling hands, the hopeful little tilt of his chin. And whatever flimsy restraint Robby had built in the last thirty seconds? Gone. Absolutely gone. 

Robby turned fully, stepping into Dennis so fast the door rattled behind him. One hand came up to cradle Dennis’s jaw, fingers sliding back into his hair, and he whispered, “Just one.” 

He kissed Dennis slow this time, slow but deep, like he wanted Dennis to feel every ounce of what he couldn’t say at work. Dennis melted instantly, hands slipping from Robby’s scrubs to his waist, then his chest, gripping handfuls of him like he needed to hold on. Dennis’s lips moved hungrily against Robby’s, tasting himself on him, desperate and heated. His soft, helpless moans pressed into Robby’s mouth, and heat flared between them, pulse hammering. Every nerve screamed, every second stretched impossibly long. 

Robby’s hands tangled in Dennis’s hair, pressing him closer, drinking him in, trying to anchor both of them even as they teetered on the edge of losing all control. Dennis whimpered, tongue brushing Robby’s lips, utterly undone. 

But the world outside their bubble still existed, monitors beeped, footsteps echoed. With a groan that mixed frustration and need, Robby finally pulled back just enough to press his forehead against Dennis’s, breathing hard, lips swollen and shining. 

“We have to… go” he rasped, voice rough. “But… soon. Soon, I swear.” 

Dennis let out a soft, disappointed groan, leaning into Robby’s touch, utterly defeated but still clinging, still tasting himself on Robby, as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Robby pressed one last, fleeting kiss to the corner of Dennis’s mouth, hands lingering just enough to promise everything that would come after the shift. 

Robby shook his head, jaw tight, still caught somewhere between exasperation and awe. As he gave Dennis one last lingering, almost protective brush of his hand down his arm before stepping back. 

Dennis stayed pressed against the wall, still trembling, eyes wide as he watched Robby step back and unlock the stall. He peeked out briefly, and Dennis caught the sight of him moving toward the sinks. The tension in Robby’s posture still palpable. 

The soft splash of running water reached Dennis’s ears, and he hesitated for a moment, heart still racing. Then, unable to resist, he followed, like a baby deer learning how to use its legs for the first time, stepping out of the stall and letting the sound guide him to where Robby was washing his hands. 

The air between them was thick, charged with the aftermath of what had just happened, and Dennis’s gaze flicked to Robby’s hands in the water, fingers still lingering in memory of him.  

“Get out of here, please. Before you kill me.” Robby glanced up, eyes flicking to the door, and a sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a silent, teasing signal. Go, the look seemed to say, and Dennis’s heart skipped a beat.  

Dennis didn’t hesitate. With a quick, almost frantic nod, he bolted. Robby watched him go for a long, dangerous second, watching Dennis’s retreating back like he was fighting every instinct in his body. His jaw locked, his fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles went white. His breathing was slow, deliberate, the kind that meant barely held together.  

“Two hours,” he muttered, voice rough. “God help me.” 

Dennis practically ran down the hall, his locker combination only half-registered in his frantic brain. Heat still pooled low in his stomach, cheeks blazing. Jesus fucking Christ… that just happened... what the fuck Dennis. 

Every step made him feel like he was still burning, Robby’s hands, his mouth, the slick, the pressure of him pressed vividly in his mind. How am I even supposed to act normal right now? His fingers twitched slightly, remembering the way Robby’s thumb had pressed against his clit, the way his fingers had felt inside him, filling him up, making him cum. 

He shoved his locker open, fumbling with his things, trying to ground himself. Focus. Focus. Don’t… think about it. Don’t... oh fuck, why am I still thinking about it? 

Robby’s scent wouldn’t leave him as he tugged at the neck of his scrubs, trying to air them out. Then he grabbed his deodorant but hesitated, he looked at the can like it was his last hope on earth. 

“Okay,” he muttered. “This is fine. Totally reasonable. Normal people do this all the time.” 

He lifted the can and sprayed himself liberally... way too liberally. A cloud burst around him like a citrus-scented fog machine at a middle school dance, and Dennis choked. Coughed. Fanned the air wildly. 

“Oh my God— okay— too much— too— too much.” He coughed again, eyes watering. 

He waited for the mist to clear, and then he leaned forward and sniffed the shoulder of his scrubs. 

His face dropped, “No. No. No way.” 

Because underneath the heavy blanket of deodorant… Robby was still there. Soft, warm, subtle, but unmistakable. 

Dennis whispered, horrified and flustered, “He’s in the fabric. He’s actually in the fabric. I’m going to die.” 

He sprayed again, and again... it did nothing. He pressed both hands over his flushed face. 

“This is… this is so unfair.” 

He leaned against the lockers, eyes closing, chest rising and falling too fast. Every shift of his clothing released another little whisper of Robby’s scent, and Dennis had to clench his jaw to stop another embarrassing sound from escaping his throat. 

Dennis’s legs felt like loose wires, his pulse refusing to slow, and his whole body burned with heat, restlessness, and acute awareness. Two hours, he whispered to himself. Two hours. I can do two hours. 

But he absolutely could not. He tried slow, deep breaths through his nose... a big mistake, because breathing meant scent, and scent meant Robby, and scent meant him clutching the edge of the locker like he was dying internally.  

And that was exactly when Trinity rounded the corner.  

“Hey, Dennis, you coming to chart revi—” she stopped mid-sentence, froze, her eyes going wide, her nose scrunching, her entire face contorting like she’d inhaled a chemical weapon. “Oh my god—”  

Dennis jumped so hard that he hit his head on the locker door. Trinity backed up two full steps, fanning the air dramatically, eyes watering as if she’d been pepper-sprayed.  

“Dennis. Dennis. What did you do.”  

Dennis swallowed. “…nothing?”  

Trinity gagged. “Nothing? Nothing?! I walked into a wall of deodorant so thick it burned my retinas.” 

 Dennis clutched the can behind his back like evidence. “I thought I should… freshen up?”  

“Freshen? Freshen?!” Trinity made a strangled noise, yanking the collar of her scrubs up to cover her nose. “You didn’t freshen. You fumigated.”  

Dennis’s ears burned bright red. Then Trinity paused, squinted, and sniffed. Then she sniffed again, hesitant, confused, and her eyes widened even more.  

“Wait… wait. Hold on.” She leaned in slightly, nose wrinkling. “Underneath all that… is that—?”  

Dennis froze. “No.”  

“It is.” Trinity gagged, pinching her nose shut with two fingers. “Oh my god, Dennis, you smell like... alpha??” 

Dennis’s whole soul left his body. “No it’s— it’s not—”  

“That’s alpha,” she shouted, “That’s Robby! You smell like Robby!”  

Dennis scoffed. “I do not—”  

“Dennis.” Trinity’s voice cracked with dramatic betrayal. “At work???”  

Dennis panicked so hard he sprayed himself with deodorant again, right in Trinity’s direction. She sputtered, coughing and flailing. “Stop— stop— you’re— you’re gassing me— Dennis—”  

He dropped the can. “Trinity I swear it’s not what you think— it’s— we weren’t— I just— he— we—”  

“Oh my god,” Trinity whispered, covering her mouth. “You fucked him.”  

Dennis froze, face going entirely scarlet. He didn’t deny it fast enough. Trinity screamed internally, biting her knuckle like she needed to stop herself from combusting.  

“Oh my god, you did! At work! At work, Dennis—”  

Dennis made a noise so high-pitched it wasn’t identifiable as human. “No!” Then quieter, mortified, “…kinda. I don’t know. It just happened.” 

Trinity’s mouth dropped open.  

“You both need Jesus. And maybe HR.” 

Dennis hid his face again. 

Trinity circled him, inspecting him like a detective at a crime scene. 

“You’re flushed.” Poke. “You’re shaky.” Poke. “And your scrubs are wrinkled in ways that imply inappropriate grabbing—” 

Dennis swatted her hand away. 

“Stop please!” 

Trinity stepped back a little, pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to process the chaos that was Dennis. “Okay… we need to get you some new scrubs,” she said, voice still tinged with disbelief, though now softer, more practical. “These are… ruined. And maybe… I don’t know, help you… like, clean up a bit, get you together before anyone else sees you like this.” 

Dennis’s hands flew up, covering his face, mortified. “I—I can’t—I don’t need—” 

“Yes, you do,” Trinity interrupted firmly, but without malice, her tone almost maternal now. “Look at you... God knows what’s lingering on those scrubs. Come on. Let’s at least… salvage something before the next patient rounds, yeah?” 

Dennis peeked through his fingers, eyes wide, still red as a tomato, barely able to nod. “F-fine…” 

Trinity gave him a small, exasperated sigh and gently guided him toward the sinks. “We’re getting you cleaned up. And then… maybe a serious talk about bathroom antics on shift,” she muttered under her breath, though the corner of her mouth twitched in the faintest smirk. 

Dennis’s stomach fluttered in shame and lingering heat, letting her steer him while trying desperately not to remember anything that had just happened with Robby. 

By the time Dennis returned to the floor, his scrubs replaced and his hair somewhat tamed, the adrenaline had faded enough that the lingering heat in his body was all he felt. Every step, every passing nurse or patient sent a spark of memory of Robby’s hands crawling along him, the slick, the pressure, and his chest tightened uncontrollably. 

Dennis tried to work. He really tried. He grabbed a chart, held it, stared at it, read absolutely nothing. His legs wouldn’t stay still, his body felt too hot, too tight, too aware. Every time someone walked by, he jolted like he expected it to be Robby grabbing him again. His scent gland still felt oversensitive, his mouth still felt swollen, his cunt ached. 

Dennis pressed his forehead to the wall for a moment. “I’m fine,” he whispered to himself. 

Trinity walked past, glanced at him, and snorted. “Liar.” 

He was not fine. 

Dennis dropped every single thing he touched. Pens. Charts. His ID badge. His composure. 

He bumped into a chair and apologized to the chair. 

He caught sight of Robby adjusting a patient IV, fingers precise and calm, brushing along the tubing. Dennis couldn’t look away. Those fingers… Not twenty minutes ago, they’d been inside him, claiming him in a way no one else ever could. His stomach tightened, and he had to turn away and speed walk in the other direction in hopes of controlling himself. Robby’s casual movements, so innocent now, only made Dennis ache more. 

Desperate to focus, he tried to update a patient file. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing with precision, until his brain betrayed him. 

Robby. Robby. Robb— 

Dennis’s hands froze. He slammed his finger on the backspace button, his face flaming hot. “…I’m deranged,” he whispered under his breath, pressing both hands to his cheeks as if that could somehow erase the thought. He was being pathetic. 

Robby wasn’t any better. 

He came around the corner focused on a chart, breathing slow and steady. Then he saw Dennis... and Trinity. And the expression on Trinity’s face that said she knew every single thing he’d done and probably several things he hadn’t. 

Robby’s stomach dropped. “Hey,” he said, voice tight but as neutral as he could make it.  

Trinity squinted at him like she’d dragged him under a spotlight. “Hello, Robby.” The two syllables carried judgment, accusation, and gossip all bundled together.  

Robby pretended not to notice as he walked past Dennis, casual, calm, ignoring the fact that Dennis’s ears turned bright red just from seeing him. 

Then his nose twitched. He inhaled and frowned subtly. Dennis smelled like deodorant. A LOT of deodorant. So much deodorant that Robby could barely smell himself on him, just the faintest, weakest trace left. A hot, low annoyance tightened between Robby’s ribs, frustrated rather than dangerous.  

The faint trace of himself on Dennis’s skin had driven him insane all morning. Losing it now felt wrong, like something that belonged to him had been scrubbed away. He hated how fast that thought hit him, and how true it felt. 

Without meaning to, he shot Dennis a tiny look, down, then up, the kind that clearly said, Really? You tried to wash me off? 

Dennis saw it and immediately flushed, like he’d been caught doing something intimate in public.  

Trinity caught the entire exchange and froze, eyes widening in horrified fascination. “Oh my god,” she whispered under her breath.  

Robby looked away fast, schooling his expression back into professional calm, but his chest still burned with the sharp irritation of wanting something he very much could not have right now. The scent he’d left on Dennis, the one Dennis had shuddered at, leaned into, was nearly gone under layers of citrus and panic. 

For the first time all day, Robby’s restraint cracked in a new way. A hungry way. He didn’t realize how obviously that showed on his face until Trinity made a tiny squeaking sound behind him. Robby stopped walking and turned his head slowly toward her. “…What.”  

Trinity slapped a hand over her mouth. “Nothing,” she said, eyes huge and absolutely lying. “Absolutely nothing. Continue your… job.” 

Robby narrowed his eyes, fully aware Dennis was dying of embarrassment beside her. He didn’t call either of them out. He just let his gaze slide to Dennis one more time, slow and deliberate, lingering on Dennis’s neck. Then he leaned in just enough for only Dennis to hear and murmured, “…we’ll fix that later.” 

Dennis nearly collapsed. Trinity made a strangled, delighted choke. And Robby finally walked away, jaw tight and breathing harder than he should’ve been. 

Ok so, Robby was pretending to be fine. Pretending... badly. Robby stood at the charting station, pen in hand, eyes on his paperwork. Except he’d read the same sentence twelve times. He had to brace his hands on the desk at one point, head bowed, teeth clenched so tight it hurt.  

He didn’t realize he was scowling until one of the residents walked past him and flinched. Robby exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to clear his head... but he couldn’t. 

Every time someone walked by wearing a similar deodorant to Dennis, Robby’s head snapped up like a hunting dog before he caught himself. Every time he passed Dennis in the hall, even at a distance, Robby’s eyes flicked down automatically, checking if Dennis was okay. (He wasn’t.)  

Their shoulders brushed once, and Dennis made a soft, startled sound under his breath that nearly ended Robby’s career. He spent five straight minutes reorganizing an already-organized drawer just to avoid walking past Dennis again after that. 

“Get it together man,” he muttered. “You’re a professional. You are— oh God.” 

He kept brushing his thumb over his bottom lip like he could still feel Dennis’s kisses there. He could still taste Dennis, he could still feel how Dennis clung to him, he could still hear those soft, helpless little noises Dennis made when he made him cu— 

Fuck.  

Robby blinked, his stomach tightening. Is this… what imprinting felt like? Because it was fast. Too fast. Overwhelming. Devastating. And he wasn’t even unsure... he knew. Every nerve in him screamed with ownership and need, but somehow, that need carried something heavier, something instinctive. Dennis was already his. No legal bond, no official claim, just the way his body responded to Robby’s presence, the way he’d reacted to him.

He’d never been so aware of someone’s absence and presence at the same time. 

And Trinity? Trinity was everywhere. 

Side-eyeing him. Side-eyeing Dennis. Side-eyeing the empty air between them like it was a crime scene. 

At one point Robby caught her staring and said sharply, “What.” 

Trinity just grinned. “Nothiiiiiing. Just observing the downfall of two professionals.” 

Robby gave her a look that should’ve withered her. 

“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, and gripped the chart so hard the paper crinkled. 

Except the pathetic one wasn’t Dennis... it was him. Because he was standing here trying not to think about— I want to scent mark him so he smells like me. Me and him. Us. 

The thought hit him again, lower, hotter and Robby scrubbed his palms down the length of his face. He needed that scent back on Dennis. Later, when he’d have Dennis alone, he’d make sure his scent, the memory, everything from earlier didn’t get washed away. He would claim it properly. 

Robby shut his eyes hard. This was hell. 

Both of them were falling apart quietly. Both of them knew it.