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The loud music coming from that houseparty could be heard even from miles away, disturbing neighbors and wildlife alike. Dennis sighed as he pulled his - or, rather, Robby’s - jacket closer, feeling his skin crawl after spotting a couple of thugs eying both him and Trinity while crossing the street.
Wearing an oversized shirt, Robby’s borrowed jacket over his own usual brown hoodie and ragged jeans, Dennis felt like he carried a large sign with ROB ME, BEAT ME UP, YOUR TREAT! written on it.
“I don’t like this place.” He grumbled, letting his friend guide him by the wrist as they approached the overcrowded front lawn.
“You’ve said that, like, thirty times already. Can you please at least pretend you’re enjoying it?” Santos complained back, going on one of her frequent sermons about Dennis not going out nearly enough for someone his age. “Maybe this time you’ll get yourself a fuck-buddy that doesn’t trigger a full HR investigation, think about that!”
Since two months prior, his hair was a little longer, a semi-mullet already crawling down his neck. His skin was less pale, though not by much.
He smiled more often, ate more than take-out and the stolen sandwiches at the ER, as both had been living together for over a month at that point. That, in Trinity’s eyes, made them as close as siblings.
Siblings who had totally seen each other naked more than once. Who were constantly getting on one another’s nerves.
Who stole each other’s belongings and gossiped over lunch-break.
Siblings that, once or twice a week, cried in each other’s arms. Whatever that meant.
“We’re n-not… Fuck buddies.” Dennis stuttered back, frowning when Trinity placed a beer in his hand. “I shouldn’t. Last time I drank way too much and-”
“I’m pretty sure all that touching counts at least as some foreplay.” She interrupted him with a barked laugh, downing her own drink in a few gulps. “C’mon, white boy! Let’s show everyone your dance moves.”
After a beer, two shots of tequila and a drink that had most definitely been spiked at some point, Dennis felt like he watched the night pass like the nightmarish hate-child of an out of body experience and a fever dream, dragging him along person-shaped blurs, loud music and neon lights.
He had lost sight of Trinity for at least an hour, last seeing her entering a closet along with a goth girl twice her height - Heels not included.
He tripped his way into one of the house’s already filthy bathrooms, in which a different couple of girls shamelessly dry-humped each other inside the bathtub. Dennis ignored their moans and leaned into the sink, putting his whole head under the faucet before turning the cold water on so he could drink some of it.
For some reason, he wore a stupidly short skirt under his oversized tops, having paid a stranger a few sloppy kisses in turn of their skimpy black skirt, just so he wouldn’t keep walking around in his underwear after losing his jeans somewhere in the party.
“I should… Go home.” He gurgled a whisper with half of his body under the chilling water that trickled down the sink, swamping his hair, neck and shirt. As he lifted his body back up, his stomach swirled like it tried to swap places with his lungs, leaving a sweet but rotten taste in his mouth.
“I don’t feel too good.” The blonde said to the couple inside the bathtub, staring at them through the bathroom’s stained mirror, his heavy limbs holding most of his weight against the counter. One of the girls - who looked as drunk as Dennis - offered him a few painkillers, not bothering to completely interrupt her act as she handed Dennis a fanny pack containing a few medications, lip balm, tampons and condoms.
Dennis shook his head in response, thanking the stranger with a few slurred words, a polite smile and a dismissive wave before stumbling out of the bathroom.
Still blackout-drunk, Dennis made his way outside of the cramped houseparty, following a path of flat stones on the grass until he found a calmer place to gather his thoughts - The front garden, where a massive decorative fountain was located, holding lilypads and koi fish bubbling around the green water.
He sat by the structure, his back pressed against the cold stone, fishing his cracked cellphone in his pocket. The screen was lit, as he had accidentally butt-dialed the latest added contact in his list.
Calling Doctor I’d Like To Fuck 🐻💦
“Shit- Shit, fuck!” Wide-eyed, he unsuccessfully scrambled to try and cancel the call before it was accepted.
“Whitaker?” Robby’s voice sounded hoarse from the other side of the line, like he had just woken up, which probably was the case. “It’s four in the goddamn morning.”
“D-Doctor Robby, I’m so, so sorry, I-” Dennis stuttered, suddenly hit by a new wave of nausea. “W-Wait a sec…”
He put his phone down, leaning over the fountain and vomiting once again. The fish nearby quickly swam away, though a few curious tadpoles gathered around to take a peek at that new mysterious source of entertainment.
“Hey? Dennis?” Robby called out, the worry evident in his tone as he tried listening to what happened. “Fucking hell, boy, where are you right now?”
When Dennis’s body gave a break on trying to get rid of whatever had been put in his drink, he tapped his phone a few times, attempting to turn off the call, but only managing to send his exact location and a sticker picturing a horse doing a backflip.
“Don’t move.” Robby commanded, already up and putting on his shoes.
Dennis, of course, ignored the orders. After another trip to the bathroom so he wouldn’t keep contaminating the poor fishes’ environment with more of his vomit, Dennis bumped face-first into a stranger’s pecks.
Barely able to keep himself standing still, Whitaker lifted his gaze, following the tattoos through the man’s neck, towards half-open lips and then finally meeting a pair of well-known brown eyes. For a few seconds, both remained still, Dennis’ hands displayed on Robby’s chest for balance, Robby’s careful grip holding him by the waist.
“Dennis.” He called out in a soft, relieved whisper as he finally had Dennis safe in his arms, from where he never should have left.
Those familiar eyes - glistening in dazed compliance - sucked the air out of Robby’s throat and forcefully pulled him into a never ending session of memory flashes, filled to the brim with viscous, sweet and sticky honey that threatened to drown every bumblebee that dared swimming in it.
Even glazed, a bit reddened and with dilated pupils, those droopy eyes were still the same. Still Dennis’. They carried at least three different colors - Greyish blue with a hazel core, like it would be simply unfair to pick just one.
Those were the eyes which glistened as he sang to cheer younger patients, or laughed, or ugly-cried, hidden in a maintenance room away from his coworkers.
The ones that teared up whenever he spiraled in a sea of self doubt, or when he had orgasmed in a dirty public bathroom two months prior. They shimmered with golden dots as he stared at Robby from a distance, like he watched a saint descend from heaven itself.
Even under the dim lights of that hallway, next to a bathroom where a couple of strangers fucked, those eyes still carried the same caramelized core that could cause one a sweetooth if stared at for too long.
After two whole months from their first encounter and a month of awkward avoidance when working together, Robby still craved them like a sugar-based lethal drug.
“Doctor… R-Robbert!” Dennis giggled drunkenly, squeezing Robby’s pecks with not an ounce of shame left in his body. “F-Fancy seeing you h- Haah… Here.”
The older man took a deep breath, his eyes still a little swollen from sleep. Differently from Dennis, he didn’t have double days off, meaning he drove all the way there after a fourteen hour shift followed by a two hour nap.
Still, it’s not like he’d ever refuse helping a soul in need - Unless it was his own, of course.
Whitaker put a hand over his mouth, his face suddenly flushed as he threatened to throw up once more. Quickly, Robby dragged him back towards the bathroom, kicking the door open and then pausing, startled by the sight inside the bathtub.
“...Weren’t you just in here? Wait. Don’t answer that.” Robby shook his head.
“They’re f-fine.” The blonde mumbled, hugging the toilet after being carefully placed on the floor.
“I’m sure they’re great. Let me see your eyes, Whitaker.” Robby deadpanned, gently holding Dennis by the cheeks to examine his dilated pupils. His blinking, breathing and overall processing seemed to be getting slower by the minute.
In response, Dennis mindlessly lifted a hand to touch Robby’s, their fingers intertwining over his reddened cheek, gazes locked as if the moans coming from the bathtub didn’t exist.
“Did you take anything other than alcohol, kid?” Robby inquired cautiously.
Dennis shook his head, cracked lips stuck in a whiny pout as the older man held him close.
“I think…” He sniffled. “I think m-my drink… Someone-”
And once again, his words were interrupted by vomiting. Robby groaned in compassion, holding the wet and messy blonde hair while Dennis emptied whatever was left in his stomach.
“Yeah, that won’t do it.” Robby sighed. “I’m taking you home. Did you come with anyone? Santos?”
Dennis nodded.
“B-But she’s… Busy.” He added sheepishly, his voice hoarse and groggy.
Robby helped him stand and guided him towards the sink, a hand carefully placed against the small of his back.
“Do you live too far from here?” He watched as Dennis drank water directly from the faucet instead of washing his mouth, eyebrows raised. “Kid, I need your address. Do you have your phone and keys? Your wallet?”
Dennis blinked slowly, lifting up his body before leaning against Robby, arms wrapped around the man’s shoulders, his nose and mouth touching his neck.
“C’mon, Whitaker. Do you think you can ride on my bike with me, or should I get us a taxi?” Robby held Dennis’ waist almost instinctively, bumping their chests together like magnets made to fit as puzzle pieces, or two halves of the same passionate art project.
His touch was cold and fragile in contrast to the warmth of his breath against Robby’s skin, sending shivers like impact waves across his whole body.
“Dennis?” Robby called softly.
Dennis answered only with a quiet, questioning, hum against Robby’s neck, his usual scent - wild berries and honey - mixed with the smell of alcohol.
“Let me take care of you?” The older man whispered, his breath short so he wouldn’t have to keep inhaling the feelings Dennis’ perfume brought to the back of his throat.
Still, Robby couldn’t avoid the boiling deep in his gut, as aggressive as the bubbling of a beaten up soda can.
He couldn’t avoid the memories that had been engraved to the back of his eyelids, haunting him whenever he closed his eyes at night, couldn’t avoid the way his already battered heart skipped a beat anytime their gazes met. He couldn’t avoid just a little more manhandling than necessary, an unprofessional slide of his index finger up Dennis’ neck as they spoke, some touching, and grabbing, and fondling, and-
Focus.
Robby was brought back to the dirty bathroom - to its stained mirror, smell of puke and the incessant moans as background noise - when Dennis nodded quietly, placing a small kiss on his jaw before completely shutting down.
The trip back to Robby’s apartment was as blurry as the rest of the night.
Gentle hands placed Dennis on a motorcycle, making sure he wouldn’t slip as he was squeezed between Robby and the handlebars, caged in his strong arms.
He dozed off for a bit, and was woken up to drink something offered through a straw.
In between the feverish blackouts, his face pressed against Robby’s sturdy chest, Dennis could swear that the street signs made his sharp complexion look softer. The city lights drowned him in red, then green, then yellow and red again, then neon purple and pink flashing rapidly.
Dennis tried reaching out to touch his face, somewhat scared that Robby would melt away with the other person-shaped blurs of that night.
Fingertips brushed tenderly across Robby’s bearded chin, and his gaze met Dennis’.
“Stay.” Dennis begged through cracked lips, but no sound left his dry throat.
Robby smiled in response, murmuring something the blonde couldn’t quite understand while briefly stroking his hair.
They got to Robby’s humble flat soon after.
The elevator had been under maintenance for about a week at that point, so Dennis was bridal-carried through six flights of stairs until they reached his floor. That, too, was missing from his memory, excluding the amount of creative curses Robby profaned along each step.
Dennis was placed on the ground while Robby patted his pockets for his keys, then picked up again, feeling like a ragdoll being moved through different scenarios in search for the perfect one to match its outfit.
Bowie, Robby’s English Mastiff, seemed excited to have him around, but soon went running back to his spot on the couch after almost making the man trip on the way to the main suite.
“Don’t yell at… At your son.” Dennis whined groggily, finally being propped down on the toilet.
His eyes were still reddened and puffy, smudged with eyeliner and golden bits of make-up Trinity had put on him.
“I didn’t yell. I told him to get out of the fucking way before I gave him a bath too.” Robby grumbled back, his face burning hot by the physical effort conjoined with the stomach-swirling nausea of Dennis’ constant touch.
“Alrighty, arms up.”
Robby instructed gently, helping Dennis peel off the layers of clothing he wore - Robby’s borrowed jacket, his brown hoodie and an oversized shirt. He was left with the skimpy skirt and his tight binder, plus matching Spider Man socks and underwear. The blonde lightly scuffed, cheeks burning red even though he could barely keep his eyes open.
“I’m not putting you fully clothed in the shower, Whitaker. C’mon.” Robby groaned, brushing a hand through his short hair with a sigh. “Kid, for fucks sake, I’ve already had my tongue down your throat and fingers up your cunt once, could you please take these off so I can give you a proper shower?”
Robby begged tiredly, leaning in so his face would be at Dennis’ sight.
“You’ll feel better afterwards.” He pleaded one more time, his voice a bit softer. “Please.”
Half naked, except for his underwear and the socks he insisted on keeping, Dennis sat under the stream of warm water while Robby kneeled close to him, also shirtless, tenderly combing his fingers through the knots in Dennis’ messy hair.
His body was soft, peppered with a constellation of delicate moles, just as Robby remembered it. Dennis’ breasts were small, only big enough to poke through any shirt he wore without a binder, for his displeasure.
The task of holding back the instinct of biting that pudgy stomach and trailing kisses through each mole wasn’t an easy one.
I can’t believe he left his drink unattended for some creep to mess with.
What even would’ve happened if he didn’t call me? If I didn't find him in time?
The older man sighed, shaking his head to physically push the thought away.
It’s not his fault.
“...Robby?” Whitaker called suddenly, his whisper almost fully muffled by the sound of running water. Robby responded with a soft hum, still brushing his hair after soaking it in conditioner.
“Let me keep your jacket?” Dennis asked in a hoarse murmur, his eyes closed as he appreciated Robby’s care.
Robby huffed a laugh through his nostrils, shaking his head in disbelief.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” He chuckled. “It’s yours. You’ve had it for months, anyway.”
“...It smells like you.” Dennis elaborated, a wobbly smile tugging on his lips, his bangs sticking to his forehead. “It did, I mean. Now, it… It doesn’t anymore. Can you rub it on your armpits for me?”
He opened his eyes, innocently looking up through his blonde lashes, his gaze melancholic and yearnful just like every time he was caught staring throughout their shift. Robby snorted another soft laugh.
“Sure, kid.” He offered Dennis a loving smile, well aware of the tingly sensation that crawled from the top of his head, spreading warmth through his whole body and then getting stuck in his toes, like the blood tried to pump its way out through his nails.
“Feeling a bit more sober now?” He asked gently.
“I think so. My head hurts. A lot.” He murmured while Robby rinsed the conditioner off his dampy hair, making sure to comb through any knots with his fingers. “My heart, too.”
Dennis leaned closer to Robby and touched his forehead to the man’s shoulder.
Robby paused the gentle stroking, licking his lips to buy time for an answer that wouldn't include him begging Dennis for a chance to be his - senior - boyfriend.
“Physically?” Robby whispered. Dennis shook his head no. “...A good night's sleep should help with that.”
Slowly, the blonde nodded, again staring at Robby with heavy eyelids and a sleepy glimmer in his eyes.
“You’ll be fine.” Robby added after a few seconds, taking his time to deposit a chaste kiss on Dennis’ forehead.
They remained like that for a while: Robby’s lips against Dennis’ skin, the warm water showering both of them, and the nostalgia that made it hard to breathe as present as the steam that blurred the mirror close by.
“I’m glad you found me back there.” Dennis’ whisper was as powerful as a punch straight to the nose, earning Robby’s surprised gaze after breaking the uncomfortable silence.
The man cleared his throat, getting up to turn off the shower as an excuse for hiding his flushed face away again.
“I’m glad I found you, too.” He whispered with his back turned to Dennis. “Let's get you to bed, pretty boy.”
He then wrapped the towel around Dennis, offering a tired smile and a wink.
Dennis watched as Robby searched for his already used pajamas, under the right pillow of his bed, wearing the towel over his hair and shoulders like a cape.
“Here, wear these. I’m afraid I’ve got nothing cleaner at the moment.”
The older man stepped closer and helped Dennis put on a pair of grey shorts over the soaked underwear, one leg after the other, hands placed on Robby’s shoulders for balance.
It was way too big for him, and so was the shirt - An old tee Abbot had given him decades prior, with the writing CHAMPION OF THE PUSSY EATING TOURNAMENT 1995.
Questionable slogans aside, the piece only made Dennis look smaller, his collarbones showing off in all their pale glory, different shaded bruises trailing his skin in a path of hickeys from the curve of his neck to under his jaw.
Robby purposefully ignored those, knowing he might just pop a vein if he thought about it for too long.
“What time is it?” He asked in a mumble as Robby tucked him in and sat by his side.
“...Late.” The man responded short, but sweetly, his left hand resting on top of the bundle of blankets that Dennis had morphed into.
They stood silently for a few silent minutes, their visions slowly accustoming to the dark room around them.
Robby looked down only to find Dennis’ bright eyes staring back at him through the darkness. The bright moonlight that came from the bedroom’s main window made him look paler and even more fragile, his short blonde locks of his mullet like silver strands spread around the pillow as an angelic halo.
“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and low, the words crawling their way between Robby’s insides like suddenly a bunch of butterflies had decided to make a nest inside his stomach.
“I’ll stay. Don’t worry.” Robby reassured after another cold shiver licked from the base of his spine all the way to his nape, patting the bump that he assumed was Dennis’s waist.
Dennis nodded quietly, then searched for Robby’s hand before hugging it close to his face and using it partially as a pillow. Robby’s brown eyes drank from that picture as if he could burn the sight to the inside of his eyelids, so he would still see it even in his sleep.
Dennis’s cheek was squished against his palm. He frowned, pouting slightly and already drooling. The blush that colored both his nose and ears also flushed his cheeks. He was close enough that Robby could once again smell the fruity freshness of his favorite shampoo.
It all felt so familiar, comfortable, right.
It felt like being truly seen even if he was past his prime. Like a melancholic goodbye and an awkward hello a month later, like curious and cold hands groping his chest in a public bathroom, like a tight hug in PEDES during the worst day of his whole year.
It tasted like green-tea scented lip balm, like half-eaten cranberry jam sandwiches offered with a bright smile as his work station was covered in crumbs.
…It felt like Dennis.
Like years of nothingness and then a heatwave of colorful warmth that claimed its place in Robby’s frontal lobe, controlling every reaction, expression, movement and thought as if the simple sight of Dennis - safe and sound, asleep in his bed - was the sole motive for his existence. Robby squeezed Dennis’ cheek unconsciously, still waiting by his side while the other slowly drifted to a memory wrapped in the blurred foil of a dream.
With his eyebags darker than usual, Whitaker sheepishly followed the other interns towards where they would receive their welcome and further instructions for their first day in PTMC.
He squeezed his eyes with his hands, still too sleepy after another restless night, his pace sluggish as he dragged behind the others.
“Welcome, welcome, gather ‘round.” A familiar voice called, urging them closer.
A shiver ran down from his stomach to his cunt, his eyes snapping back open, his cheeks instantly red. His body remembered that voice, of course, faster than his mind could catch on to the situation he was now in.
Dennis looked up, locking gazes with the man that would be his boss for the rest of his internship.
Oh.
Oh, no.
As their gazes met, Doctor Robby stopped in the middle of his sentence, his lips slightly parted, his brown eyes wide in recognition.
Wearing the jacket Robby had given him a month prior, since it was sturdier and warmer than any of his other rugged clothing options, Dennis Whitaker immediately turned his face down, refusing to acknowledge the older man’s gaze.
His cheeks were soon dusted in pink, that spread to the tips of his ears and nose. He shrunk his shoulders, making himself as small as possible just like he had learned to do when growing up in such a loud household.
Fuck.
Fuck, shit. I’m wearing his jacket. He totally recognizes me. Fuck, this is bad. Shit. I should quit. I’ll quit, I’ll ask for a transfer, I-
When Dennis realized he was spoken to, he blinked a few times, looking up like a kicked puppy. “Uhhh…”
“Your name.” Robby repeated, gritting his teeth in a silent prayer for Dennis to just play along.
“Ah! Uhm. Dennis. Whitaker.” Dennis awkwardly stuttered. “F-Fourth year.”
“...Right.”
Robby, Doctor Robby, quickly moved on from the uncomfortable interaction, following the rest of his usual welcoming speech, laying out rules and some other basic information for the new interns.
Later that same day, as Dennis got back from getting his third change of scrubs, he was practically manhandled inside a janitor’s closet before he even understood what - or who - dragged him away from his medical duties.
“Ouch, ouch!” He exclaimed, alarmed. “It was only one sandwich, I swear-”
Blocking the door, Robby had his arms crossed, eyebrows raised in certain confusion. He shook his head, dismissing the nonsensical blabber.
“Nevermind the sandwich.” He grumbled, and Whitaker cowardly squeaked in response, his back pressed against a shelf full of cleaning supplies that rattled upon impact.
The room smelled like dust, chemical products and newly bought packets of gloves. Dennis was almost sure that was the one closet nurses referred to as The Blowjob Room.
“You- Robby, I mean, D-Doctor Robby…” He flumbled with his words, his cheeks quickly gaining color. “You’re a doctor.”
“And you’re a student.” Robby mused back, unimpressed.
“How come you didn’t… Didn’t mention that?”
To that, Robby scoffed, scratching his nape with a soft, bitter laugh.
“Must’ve escaped my mind, Dennis.” He sneered. “I was kinda busy.”
Dennis rubbed his face with both hands, biting the inside of his cheeks as he tried to figure out what to say and do next.
Should he ask for a transfer to another hospital, avoiding any future HR investigations? Should they simply go on with their work, pretending nothing had happened? Maybe also ignoring the constant pounding of his heart and wetness of his cunt whenever Robby was around, as if it were nothing but symptoms of some mysterious illness affecting him and him only?
He’d rather get on his knees and beg for a chance to stay, a chance to show that he was better than whoever Robby saw him as.
“Look, I-”
“Listen-”
Both stopped, awkwardly staring for a second.
“Go on.” Dennis conceded, nervously squeezing his hands in prayer.
With a sigh, Robby averted his gaze, suddenly way too interested in counting each bottle of bleach available on the nearest shelf.
“...You’re a good kid, Whitaker.” He slowly stated. “A great ER doctor in the making. Don’t let this… Whatever this is, distract you from your patients.”
“But-”
Robby reached for the string that hung from the ceiling and pulled it, giving an end to their conversation and leaving Dennis unable to do anything but watch as he walked away, both emotionally and physically.
Dennis slowly opened one of his eyes. Then the other. Both still felt a bit sticky with poorly cleaned make-up and the sandy sleep powdering over his eyelashes.
Am I… Dead.
He rolled on his back and stared at the blurred ceiling of the room, aching all over. His mouth felt parched, a bitter aftertaste left on the back of his throat like it was home for a dead rat that secretly rotted beneath its walls.
Where am I?
Dennis carefully tried moving his fingers, closing and opening his warm hands only to scrunch his nose at the dry feeling of his skin.
He licked his cracked lips. Swallowed thick saliva. Took a deep breath.
Right, Robby. I called Doctor Robby.
He brought me here.
He then touched his neck, feeling the sting of bruises that already bloomed in a variety of purple and red marks on pale skin. None of them Robby’s. None of them worth remembering.
While still waiting for the bed to stop rocking like a canoe on a stormy sea, Dennis pressed both palms against his eye sockets, hard enough for colorful dots to dance around the corner of his vision. At that moment, lying in his bed like a murdered corpse abandoned by the side of the road, he didn’t feel as ready to face what seemed to be a new core memory imprinting itself in his heart.
His head throbbed as Dennis sat down and looked around, searching for any signs that the previous night wasn’t just some kind of feverish nightmare.
Doctor Robby brought me here, yeah. Where is he?
Robby’s bedroom was decorated in shades of black and blue, having most of the usual furniture a fifty-something man held to for at least thirty years after getting his own apartment downtown. Hell, the cracked mirror next to the wardrobe was probably older than Dennis himself.
Hot.
The dark blue sheets were curled on the end of the bed after being kicked off during his sleep, along with one of the pillows. His shirt, binder and Robby’s jacket were draped over a chair next to a study desk that mostly served as storage for anything Robby didn’t feel like organizing at the moment - Boxes full of medical records, a small radio, the strap-on from two months prior, a skimpy black skirt - no categorization or reasoning behind the bundle of items.
Dennis side eyed the skirt, scrunching up his nose as he pictured Robby wearing it, since he had no memory of how that ended up there.
Double hot.
Dennis got up with a low groan. He stood in front of the mirror and tilted his head, taking a second to understand what the shirt he wore said.
“Champion of the… Oh.” He blinked a few times, his cheeks quickly flushing red. “Right.”
He put on Robby’s borrowed jacket before dragging his feet towards the main hallway of the tiny flat, using the walls for support, still as dizzy as when he first opened his eyes.
Passing by the living room, he spotted a few pillows arranged on the intent of making the couch less uncomfortable to sleep in. For some reason, his brown hoodie was also there, crumpled and inside-out in between the cushions.
“Captain?” He called, feeling his head throb in response.
The few potted plants that decorated the place had been watered, and Bowie’s food bowl was full, confirming Robby’s presence enough for Dennis to already miss him.
The apartment was silent, the wooden floor shone under the sunlight, recently polished.
“I guess he didn't want to wait for breakfast.” Dennis chuckled bitterly, sitting close to where Bowie enjoyed the afternoon sun. The dog lifted his ears at the sound of his voice, rolling on his back to earn some well deserved pets.
“Hey, bud.” Dennis scratched his belly, still searching for Robby as if he would jump out from a hiding spot at any second.
“Have you seen your dad?” Bowie opened one eye, and Dennis smiled tiredly. The dog sighed deeply, like he had also spent the night out.
“Daddy was out buying some milk.” Robby’s voice announced as he entered the apartment with paper bags weighing on his arms.
He closed the door using his foot, and made his way towards the kitchen to deposit everything bought over the circular dinner table.
Dennis’ blue eyes watched in shock, still framed by dark smudges of make-up and glistening in newfound wonder.
“A-Ah! Uhm.” There was no time to unpack whatever Robby calling himself daddy had awakened in him. “Hi, good… Good morning.”
Whitaker sheepishly followed Robby’s steps, and peeked his blonde head through the kitchen door. Robby took some groceries out of the bags, along with medication and what seemed to be a wide variety of baked goods.
“I didn’t wanna risk setting the place on fire, and I’m short on painkillers, so, uh… I bought some stuff. From BarStucks. And a farmacy.” Robby handed him a plastic cup filled to the brim with some sort of green, thick, mixture. A few pieces of unidentified fruits and vegetables floated around the straw.
Dennis contorted his face in disgust, showing off his front teeth and the gap between them.
“Gross, I know. It’ll help.” He petted Dennis’ hair, as if reading his thoughts.
Dennis scrunched his nose, looking up only to find Robby’s gaze already locked to his. Both stared at each other for a few seconds before Robby resumed his unpacking.
“I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, though.” He then offered a croissant, stuffing it in Dennis’ mouth before he could refuse or make the situation more awkward than it already was.
Dennis munched on his croissant, and occasionally sipped from the goopy smoothie. Across from him, with his arms crossed, Robby had his waist leaned against the opposite counter, staring at Dennis like a father waiting for the moment to reveal he is aware of his son’s terrible grades.
Dennis would lift his gaze every now and then, catching Robby’s eyes in the act and quickly averting his whole face as if he was back to being nothing more than a flustered teen. Bowie sat in between them, waiting for a piece of whatever they ate.
The kitchen was as small as the rest of the rooms, with yellowish walls and black tiles for the floor. Everything in that apartment seemed to have been bought at least 20 years prior, like a museum for slightly outdated technology and domestic appliances. The fridge was an ugly shade of beige, and despite not having a stove, Robby did have a dishwasher.
No time for cooking or cleaning, figures. Dennis contemplated.
Close to the microwave - a rusty old model - sat an equally old coffee maker with a mug underneath it. It was painted blue, with the words #1 DADDY DOC imprinted on it. Dennis held back a smile, snorting before pretending to cough.
After that, Robby cleared his throat, stepping close to Dennis so he could grab a muffin from one of the bags.
“Do you plan to… Pursue any legal action? Or illegal, that’s valid too.” He scratched his beard. “I mean, your drink was spiked, right?”
Dennis frowned, offering Bowie a piece of his croissant.
“I… I don’t know. W-Was it that bad? I mean, it was bad, but I have no clue who did it and nothing really… Happened. I mean, I-I- You were there for me, right?”
Robby raised his eyebrows, watching Dennis’s hair shimmer under the afternoon light.
“I guess I was.” He didn’t press further.
Bowie left the kitchen after that, realizing he wouldn’t get anything other than crumbs and a telenovela he wasn’t quite interested in. Way too dramatic, way too predictable.
“Did I say anything weird?” Dennis asked in a quiet, almost sheepish tone, avoiding Robby’s gaze.
Slowly, Robby shook his head.
“You could barely talk through most of it. No.” He shrugged. “Called me Robbert, though.”
Dennis nodded.
“...My bad.” The blonde murmured back, and they went quiet again.
The clock above the fridge ticked incessantly, making sure to mark down every second of uncomfortable silence between them.
“So, you’re still, like…” Dennis looked up, licking his lips and enjoying the buttery aftertaste the croissant left on his mouth. He waved his hands while searching for the right words.
Robby scoffed.
“I’m single.” He stated simply.
Dennis stopped his gesturing, closing his mouth and nodding quietly, a melancholic glimmer in his eyes as he looked out the window above the kitchen sink.
Robby still smelled of the cologne he wore the night before. Something spicy, smokey and fresh, all in one.
Dennis took a sharp breath in, gritting his teeth.
“I… I should get going.” He said before Robby could try to fill in the silence again. “Trin is probably worried, and I don’t want her shaving my head while I sleep.”
Don’t. Stay. Robby thought of saying. I need you. I miss you.
He waited for Dennis to leave the kitchen first, and then followed in dragged steps. None of them mentioned the borrowed pajamas, or how Dennis chose to simply abandon his own clothes back in Robby’s bedroom. They’d figure that out later, probably with an extremely awkward trade in the staff’s lounge.
Robby stopped by the front door, leaning against its frame while forcing out a sorrowful smile, one arm up as he held the upper part of the doorway. Dennis’ gaze hungrily followed the stretch of each muscle, trailing from his chest, to his shoulder, arm and hand.
“You sure you don’t need a ride?” He asked in a last ditch attempt of retrieving the connection he had severed only a month prior. “I can take you, or call you a Buber.”
Robby reached for Dennis’s hair, brushing a dirty-blonde lock away from his eyes.
Dennis tried swallowing the lump stuck in his throat, feeling difficulty to breathe, talk, and take the hit of Robby’s absence all over again.
“I’ll be alright.” He bit his bottom lip, looking up through his lashes like a love-struck, broken-hearted fool.
Robby nodded.
“Well, next time we’re both free…” Robby pitched, his voice hoarse and low, the knots of his calloused fingers still touching Dennis’s cheek in a clumsy, but tender caress. “We could try arranging a date that doesn’t include me holding your hair while you throw up.”
The blonde simply nodded back, experiencing the freezing anxiety of a rabbit, bathed by the deadly glimmer of headlights that approached in high velocity.
“Text me if you need anything else, alright?”
The car hit him, and it felt right. An easy death, almost.
It felt truthful. Dennis accepted the impact. Robby patted him on the shoulder once more.
Still uncoordinated, Dennis turned away and stood in front of the - out of service - elevator for a few awkward seconds.
“...Whitaker, that’s, uhm-”
Dennis then groaned in embarrassment, sparing Robby one last self-conscious laugh over his shoulders before taking the stairs.
With a sigh and a foolish smile stuck on his lips, Robby plopped down on the couch he had slept in, still coping with the amount of butterflies that danced inside his torso, tickling his ribs, poking through his lungs and nesting in his heart whenever tired.
As he laid his head on the nearest pillow, Robby felt something cold and hard prickling the back of his neck - A zipper.
He reached for it, pulling Dennis’ brown hoodie from under him. Just another piece of clothing for the list of items left behind.
Dennis’ small notebook was safely tucked inside one of its pockets, heavy with untold confessions and dirty secrets.
“You think you’re so smooth, don’t you, boy…?” Robby let out a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head in amusement.
