˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Lark ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Pre-Season 1

happy birthday, ms. resident ( anytime 2024 )

there she goes ( jan 2025 )

fast as you can ( feb/march 2025 )

all i’ve ever known ( april (?) 2025 )

Between Season 1 and 2

all i ask of you ( september 2025 )

something good ( november 2025 )

the christmas waltz ( december 2025 )

doubt comes in ( june 2026 )

promises ( july 2026 )

And for a while, it worked, and he was able to pretend that it was better this way, except he could see the way you had started pulling back as well. Texts became less frequent, and you had stopped searching him out.

It made him feel sick.

"Jesus Christ," Jack muttered one afternoon as he watched Michael sign off on charts. "You look miserable."

He didn't look up from the iPad. "I'm working."

"I believe it's actually called brooding." Jack leaned against the counter, coffee in hand. "This about…?"

The two men both knew he didn't have to say your name for Michael to know who he was talking about. Your name had floated between the two since Abbott had noticed that there was something different about his old friend and pried for information.

Michael stilled, his eyes flashing up to where he knew you would be standing, which was answer enough.

"Ah." Jack sighed immediately. "So it is."

He frowned, "Nothing is happening."

“Interesting,” Jack said. “Because from where I’m standing, something is very obviously happening.”

Michael exhaled through his nose, forcing his attention back to the screen in front of him. The words on the chart blurred together, none of them actually registering, “Drop it.”

"I know you, brother." Jack studied him for a long moment, the teasing expression fading into something more knowing. "And I know the difference between you being you and you actively trying to convince yourself you're not miserable."

Michael set the iPad down a little harder than he meant to, "You don't understand."

"Then explain it."

Michael opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because how was he supposed to explain that the problem wasn't that he liked you? That part had been obvious for a while. The problem was that he liked you more than enough that it scared him.

You had become the person he looked for when he walked into a room. The person he wanted to tell about the most ridiculous thing a patient said. You were the person he thought the most about when he wasn't at the hospital,… not like he had many people to think about outside. But the point still stood.

"I'm not in a place where I can afford to complicate things," he finally said.

Michael watched as his friend's expression softened slightly. "Because she's a resident?"

Because there were rules and boundaries and a million reasons why this would be a bad idea. Because Michael Robinavitch was himself and he was a curse to everyone he ever got close to and could only drag you down.

He didn't want that for you. He didn't want to be the reason you got hurt.

"She's brilliant," he continued, lowering his voice. "She's good at what she does. She's building something here. And I don't want to be the one who makes her question any of that."

For a second, Jack said nothing until he shook his head. "…You're unbelievable."

"What?"

"You've convinced yourself that pushing her away is some noble sacrifice."

"It's not—"

"It is." Jack cut him off. "And the worst part is you're making the decision for her."

Michael felt taken aback, because he had been telling himself that this was all about protecting you when it… was really about protecting himself. If he never let himself have something with you, then he never would have to worry about losing you either.

A familiar laugh echoed from down the hallway, and his head turned before he could stop it.

There you were. Talking with Parker and Samira, smiling at something she said. Your hair was pulled back messily, a few strands falling around your face. You looked tired; everyone did, he reminded himself, but there was still that warmth about you that somehow survived even the worst shifts. And then, as if you could feel him looking, your head turned.

For one brief second, your gaze met his and Michael almost…almost forgot every reason he had been trying to stay away. And just as fast, you focused back on the two women.

"Go talk to her."

"I can't."

The next few days only got worse.

At first, you tried to convince yourself you were imagining it. You told yourself that Robby was busy, that he was tired, and that you were just reading too much into something that probably had a perfectly reasonable explanation.

But nothing felt reasonable when he went from lingering after patients to discuss things that had nothing to do with work, to barely giving you more than a nod when you passed each other in the hallway. Not when the same man had messaged you after your birthday to make sure you got home safely, now answered your questions with responses that felt more like a wall than a conversation.

You kept waiting for him to explain, to give you something…anything. Because if you had done something wrong, you wanted to know. You could handle being corrected. You were a resident; being criticized was in the job description.

But this wasn't criticism; this was him pulling away, and the worst part was that you knew he knew exactly what he was doing.

Every time you caught him looking at you and then immediately turning away, every time his expression softened before he remembered himself, every time it felt like he was about to say something and decided against it, it only made you feel more frustrated,

Because you weren’t asking for some grand confession. You weren’t asking him to break every rule. You just wanted him to stop acting like the last few months hadn’t happened. By the end of the week, you were done pretending it didn’t bother you.

The final straw came after a particularly brutal shift. You had been running around nonstop for almost fourteen hours. One trauma after another, agitated patients, and packed waiting rooms. By the time your shift had finally ended, all your adrenaline had worn off, leaving a growing exhaustion.

You found yourself outside in the ambulance bay, sitting on a nearby bench as you took a few minutes to stare up into the night sky. For the first time all day, everything was finally quiet. Just the low hum of the city getting ready to sleep. You let out a sigh, leaning back slightly as you took a sip from your water.

Suddenly, you could hear the light thud of shoes on the gravel ground behind you. A part of you knew who would be standing there, but you still looked back anyway,

Robby stood a few feet away, still in his scrubs, his jacket thrown over them, looking just as exhausted as you felt. His hair was slightly messy from running his hands through it too many times, and for a second, he looked less like your attending and more like the man you had talked to on the phone for hours.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, and you hated that it still did.

"You're still here?" you asked.

His eyes flickered over you before settling on your face. “Could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged, looking back out at the empty ambulance bay. “I needed a minute.”

Robby was quiet for a moment.

You could feel him standing there, could feel the weight of his presence even without looking at him. For weeks he'd been avoiding you, slipping through your fingers every time you got close enough to ask what the hell was going on. And now he was here. Of course he was.

"Long day?" he asked finally.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. That's what you're going with?"

"What?"

You turned to look at him. For a second, he seemed genuinely confused, as though he couldn't understand why your patience had finally run out and something inside you snapped.

"No." You stood abruptly. "No, we're not doing this."

His expression tightened. "Doing what?"

"This." You gestured between the two of you. "Whatever this is."

The exhaustion that had been sitting in your bones all week suddenly felt secondary to the frustration burning through your chest. For the first time since he'd started pulling away, you stopped trying to be understanding. "You don't get to spend months acting like I'm one of your favorite people and then suddenly pretend I don't exist."

You could see him tense up, and it only made you feel more heated. "You don't have to explain every decision you make to me," you continued. "But if I did something wrong, just tell me."

"You didn't."

The answer came immediately.

"Then what?"

Another silence came over the two of you. A part of you wanted to wait and see what he would come up with, but you knew that it would just be some bullshit excuse.

"See?" You laughed again, but there wasn't any humor in it. "That's exactly what I mean."

"Do you know how crazy this has made me feel?" You looked away before he could see how much this conversation was actually affecting you. "I've spent weeks wondering if I crossed a line. If I said something. If I pushed too hard.

"…I’m trying to do the right thing."

"For who? Because from where I'm standing, Robby, it feels like you're doing the thing that makes you feel better."

"That's not fair."

"No?" You stepped closer, your frustration finally boiling over. "Because you don't get to tell me that you care about me and then disappear the second it becomes inconvenient."

"You care about me," you said, quieter now. "You do. I know you do. You don't look at someone the way you've looked at me for months and then tell me this is nothing."

His eyes dropped down to his shoes. "That's not what I said."

"Then say what you mean."

You watched his throat bob, watched the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was physically holding himself back from something. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "You and I..."

You stared at him while his voice trailed off, stopping a sentence you were sure that he would never be able to complete, and you were tired of waiting for him to decide what he wanted.

"No."

"No?"

"You don't get to start with 'you and I' like that's supposed to fix everything.

He called your name, "That's not what I'm—"

"You and I, nothing!" The words came out sharper than you intended, but once they were out, you couldn't stop. "You cannot do this to me! You cannot jerk me around"

"I wasn't trying to—" Robby started to speak, but you had already started walking out of the bay.

 His voice followed you into the corridor, calling your name, but you didn't slow. Not this time. For the first time in weeks, you were done chasing someone who'd made their choice, and it wasn't you.

You pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself anyway, boots crunching through a thin skin of ice as you stepped outside. Across the curb, Samira stood waiting beside the car, shoulders hunched against the cold.

"Took you long enough," she huffed, "I thought I was going to catch my death."

"Yeah, yeah," you sighed as you circled the car to get to the driver's side."I couldn't find my scarf, okay."

“You own like six scarves.”

"And somehow all six vanished at the same time,” you shot back, unlocking the doors.

You slid into the driver’s seat and tossed your bag into the back while Samira folded herself into the passenger side beside you. When the engine finally turned over, it coughed before settling into a low hum, the heater beginning its slow climb toward warmth

“Remind me why we’re doing this again,” she muttered, holding her hands over the AC.

“Because you said we were out of everything,” you replied, pulling out into the street."

“I said we were out of snacks. There’s a difference.”

The grocery store wasn’t far. Fifteen minutes, maybe less if you caught the light.

Samira leaned her head back against the seat, watching the city slide by as the radio played some old song. “You know, you’ve been weird lately,” she said eventually.

You snorted. “Should we call Bella Hadid?”

“Ugh,” she insisted, rolling her eyes as she turned her head slightly toward you. “A different weird.”

“Define different.”

"Like distracted?" Samira hums, "You’re smiling at nothing. You’re annoying in a different way. Like…” she clicked her tongue, searching. “Like you’re in a good mood for no reason. "

"…I didn't realize it was a crime to be happy."

"You know, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying…i" She clicked her tongue thoughtfully. 'If it has anything to do with a certain chief attending then…"

"Right." You push the brake at a stoplight before turning to her. "What about you? I've seen the googly eyes you make at Abbott during shift change."

"Hey!" Samira splutters for a second, pushing herself upright, "That's…different."

Samira opened her mouth, then closed it again. That long silence told you everything you needed to know. “Exactly,” you said, satisfied, easing forward again as the light turned green. “Same energy.”

"Oh, shut up."

The automatic doors slid open as the two of you stepped in, warm air rushing over your face. The smell of coffee from the in-store café mixed with the flowers at the entrance.

“God,” Samira groaned, finally tugging her hands free from her pockets. “I hate winter.”

You say that every year,” you murmured, pulling a cart loose from the line

“And every year I mean it more.”

The two of you split up a few minutes later. You wandered toward produce first, tossing a few things into the cart absentmindedly: celery stalks, red onions, cucumbers, garlic, red cabbage, and spinach. Idk, I need a transition here.

You were halfway through checking your list when you turned a corner and stopped. You couldn't fully see his face, but you knew it was him. Robby stood near the refrigerated section, one hand hooked around a shopping basket while the other reached for another microwavable meal. He was dressed casually, a dark sweater beneath a heavy coat, glasses low on his nose, hair slightly damp from the snow outside.

A smile forms on your face as you sidle up to him, "Hey, old man…" but your voice trails off as your gaze drifts down to his basket, filled with pre-made soups, instant rice, canned chili, and frozen dinners.

Your face screws up a little as you look back up at him. "Is this seriously what you eat?"

He shifted slightly, suddenly very interested in the shelf in front of him. “It’s food.”

"Yeah.." You hum, "for college students. How are you a doctor and eating like a college freshman during finals week?"

A faint scoff escaped him. He crossed his arms, though you swore the tips of his ears had begun turning pink. “I don’t have time to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in, already steering him by the elbow away from the aisle. "We are both doctors; I don't even eat like this."

He stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Where are we going?”

“You’re coming with me.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Over the next ten minutes, you replaced the prepared food with fresh ingredients. You added things without asking: garlic, pasta, actual rice, a carton of eggs, anything you had already added to your basket.

Robby looked down at the groceries, then back at you. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with all of this?”

“Call me later. I’ll help you cook it,” you said with a shrug, like it was nothing at all.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looked away again, clearing his throat. “…You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you said simply, placing the last item into the basket. “I want to.”

It's 5:05 when he finally calls.

You stare at your phone the second his name flashes across the screen, your heart giving an embarrassingly immediate jump against your ribs. For a moment, you almost answer too quickly, thumb already hovering over the button before you stop yourself. You let it ring once. Twice. Three times. Just long enough to pretend you hadn’t been waiting for it

"Hey Robby!" You cringe at how eager you sound.

For a second, there’s only silence on the other end. Soft static and the faint sound of movement. You imagine him standing in his kitchen with his phone tucked awkwardly against his ear, brows furrowed, causing his face to crinkle up.

"Hi…" Robby pauses. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

A small smile pulls at your mouth before you can stop it. You tuck the phone between your shoulder and ear while moving around your kitchen, flicking on the overhead light. Warm amber spills across the counters, glinting against the metal sink and the knife resting beside your cutting board.

“Robby,” you laugh softly, “I literally told you to call me.”

Right,” he said. “Okay…” You could practically hear him thinking on the other end of the line. “I should warn you,” he adds after a moment, “I- uh… haven't cooked in a long while."

A laugh slips out of you once more before you can help it, quiet and warm as you begin gathering ingredients from the counter. “How long is a long while?”

Silence settles briefly between you. You almost think the call dropped before you hear him exhale softly through the speaker.

“Uh…” he clears his throat. “I used to cook with someone important to me until…" His voice trailed off.

"Oh,” you said gently. You didn't know what to say, really. "I'm sorry, Robby."

Then, almost like he regretted revealing something vulnerable, Robby cleared his throat. “So. What are we making, chef?”

"Don't call me that," you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you reach for the vegetables. "We are making an old, old family recipe. So thank my great-great aunt or something. Okay, so first, you're gonna want to have your onions, celery, and carrots chopped up."

You could hear faint movement on his end now: cabinet doors, something being set down onto the counter. Without meaning to, you start picturing his place. An apartment, most likely, with dim lighting and dark wood furniture. Shelves lined with medical journals. Probably too neat in some places and strangely cluttered in others. A coffee mug abandoned beside paperwork. Reading glasses folded carefully near the sink.

You wonder if he’s rolled his sleeves up yet.

You wonder why you’re wondering that at all.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “once that’s done, you sauté it. Olive oil first. Let them turn tender."

Somewhere along the way, your instructions begin blurring gently into conversation. His low acknowledgments. Your voice filling the pauses between the sounds of cooking. The scrape of wooden spoons against pots. Running water. A stove clicking softly beneath low heat.

And somehow, impossibly, the distance between your apartments stops feeling like distance at all.

At some point, you end up stretched across your bed with the lights off, your phone resting against your chest while you stare up at the ceiling.

The conversation drifts as easily as snowfall outside your window. You tell him about your family recipe and how it somehow survived generations. About Samira and the apartment you built together out of mismatched furniture, grocery store candles, and late-night takeout containers balanced on coffee tables.

And slowly, he lets you into his life too.

He tells you about his grandmother’s recipe book sitting untouched on a shelf because he still doesn’t quite know how to open it without her. About his residency in New Orleans. The impossible hours. Humid mornings. Tiny cafés tucked between old brick buildings. Music drifting through open windows late at night.

You close your eyes and try to picture him.

Maybe he’s sitting at his kitchen table now, glasses slipping low against his nose while he absently turns a spoon between his fingers. Maybe his sleeves are pushed up. Maybe the lamp beside him is the only light on in the room. The image forms so clearly in your mind that a small breath of laughter escapes you before you can stop it.

His voice paused. "What?"

You blink up at the darkness of your ceiling before rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “I’m sorry,” you admit, smiling faintly into the phone. “I got distracted. What were you saying?”

“I was asking,” he said, “what your plan is after you finish your residency.”

“Oh.” You fall back against the mattress again, pulling the blanket higher. “I don’t actually know.”

There was a faint shift of sound on his end, fabric, maybe, or him leaning back in a chair.

“The plan was always to move back home,” you continued, “but I don’t know. I like it here. In Pittsburgh. And I’d definitely miss it."

"And your family?"

You exhale, "I'd miss them too. That's the problem."

There was a soft sound on his end, something like acknowledgment, not quite a response, and for a moment, neither of you filled the silence.

“You don’t sound very sure about leaving,” he said eventually.

“I’m not,” you admit. “But I’m also not sure about staying forever either. It’s like everything is just… temporarily permanent, you know?”

“I think I understand that,” he said. Something in your chest aches a little at the sincerity in his voice.

Outside, the city has gone fully dark now.

“What about you?” you ask quietly, curling deeper beneath your blankets. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

"“…Yeah,” Robby says after a long pause. “I think about it a lot, actually.”

“And?”

“And I never really go.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “That sounds very on brand for you.”

A quiet exhale, something that almost sounded like a laugh, came through the phone.“You say that like you know me well.”

“I’m getting there,” you said lightly, then softened. “Why didn’t you go?”

His voice was lower. “There’s always something that makes staying easier than leaving.”

On the other end of the line, you heard him breathe out slowly. “You should sleep,” he said eventually, voice quieter now.

“Mm,” you mumbled, already sinking deeper into your bed. “Probably. Goodnight, Robby.”

"Goodnight."

[You]: ???

[lexi 💋 questioned your message]

[You]: my birthday is like weeks away

[ lexi 💋]: Girl. Its like next week.

[You]: ur joe king.

[You]: fuckkkk me, ur right

[ You]: idk, dinner on Sunday?

[ kimmy ]: drinks 👀?

[ lexi 💋 emphasized Court's message]

[ kimmy ]: Am i hearing bar hopping😛😛😛

[ lexi 💋]: What about Samira?

[You]: 🤷‍♀️

[ samira ]: ugh i can't, i agreed to swap shifts with Ellis next week.

[ You, kimmy, lexi 💋 thumbs downed Samira's message ]

[ You ]: meet at ours, then? 7:30 din reservations

[ lexi 💋 emphasized your message ]

[ kimmy]: car accident coming, 15. be prep.

[ samira ]: 🫩

A few hours earlier, you had texted Robby with a poorly thought-out excuse about having a terrible case of food poisoning and being unable to come in on Monday morning.

The night itself had been fun right up until this very moment. Lexi and Kim had crowded into Samira and You’s apartment sometime after six, music already blaring from Kim’s speaker while half-finished makeup and discarded outfit options covered every available surface. Someone had immediately shoved a shot into your hand before you’d even managed to close the door behind Lexi.

One shot had quickly turned into three.

By the time the three of you left for Ritual House, you were loud in the way only groups of tipsy, drunk people could be: talking over each other on the sidewalk, linking arms in the street, stopping every few feet because Kim needed to finish a story she kept interrupting herself during.

Dinner had dissolved into cocktails, cocktails into more shots, and then bouncing from bar to bar across the city, lingering just long enough at each place for them to exhaust the amount of free drinks they were gifted. All of which culminated in this very moment, your drinks knocked to the ground by some drunk sorority girl and a man's hands, steadying your.

"Oh, my god…" You slurred, "I'm, like…so sorry." Her hands slid down to rest on his firm forearms as you took the man's torso in. He wore a black button-up with a white shirt underneath, and you could tell he had broad shoulders. Part of you wanted to look back at your girls and see if they approved of this stranger, but the other part just wanted to take him…

"It's fine."

You blinked slowly. That voice was really familiar, like too familiar. Where did you know it from? You forced your eyes upwards from his shirt, to the thin golden chain decorating his neck, and the beard and hooked nose until you landed on the beautiful brown eyes staring back at you. You were so, so fucked.

Robby’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, recognition settling in beneath mild surprise. His brows lifted slightly as he took in your smeared eyeliner, flushed cheeks, and the fact that you were currently gripping the front of his shirt hard enough to wrinkle it.

"So…Food poisoning, huh ?" he asked mildly.

Her eyes dart to where your friends are all sitting, only to see them laughing at your situation like a bunch of traitors.

"I- I felt better?" you try, the smile on your face turning extremely strained. God, just rapture you now.

Robby exhaled through his nose, suspiciously close to a laugh himself, and glanced briefly at the puddle of liquor at their feet before looking back at you. “Right.”

You swallowed thickly before stepping back, aware of how stupid you probably looked. In your wine-red halter top draped low at the neckline, which left little to no imagination, paired with the short denim skirt that Kim had insisted you wear, and the stupid birthday girl crown that had been pinned to your hair. Oh god, you were totally going to get fired and have to repeat your second year or something.

"So…" You hesitate, trying to figure out something to say as your gaze briefly dips down to his lips before jolting back up to his eyes. You blink rapidly, willing yourself to sober up. "I can explain?"

Robby hummed, unconvinced. “I’m listening."

"Well-" You start before your voice trails off, you stare at him with an awkward smile before shrugging. "It's my birthday?"

"I see that," his eyes drift back up to your crown, and you watch as his wrinkles crinkle at the corner.

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please don’t perceive me right now.”

Her hands slid slowly down your face until you were peeking at him through your fingers. Up close, he smelled unfairly good, clean cologne and something warm beneath it, and you hated that your drunk brain decided now was the perfect time to notice.

His gaze flicked over your once more, then back up to your face. “Are you planning on hiding there all night, or would you like another drink?”

You froze. Her brain, spinning on too much alcohol and not enough dignity, took an embarrassingly long time to catch up.

“I—” You stopped, cleared your throat, and tried again. “You’d buy me a drink?”

"Bad luck to not buy the birthday girl a drink."

"That's so not a real thing." You stare at him, your lips slightly parted as he just shrugs, his lips quirked up in a half smile as he returns your stare.

You turn and glance at your friends only to see that both Kim and Alexandra have disappeared into the crowd. You let out a soft hum before nodding, "Lead the way, Dr. Robinavitch."

"Robby." He corrects, his hand sliding up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you forward as a shiver runs throughout your spine.

You nodded, "Yeah…right right." You focused on his side profile, tracing the hook of his nose, the greys in his beard, and the lines on his face. God, it's unfair how hot he looks in this lighting.

His thumb brushes against the opening of your shirt, and you have to bite your lip to hide the gasp that wants to fall from your lips. All you can think about is the weight of his hand on your back, how…large it is compared to hers. How large he is compared to you.

You don't realize that they've reached the bar area until Robby, Robby, turns to you and asks, "What would you like?"

You blink a few times before stumbling out an answer, "Oh, uh, a cosmopolitan?" You're sure it sounds more like a question than a response. The bartender nods, turning to ready the drinks.

"So…what brings you here?" you ask.

"I was watching the game with Jack," he answers, glancing up at one of the TV screens in the bar.

"Dr. Abbot is here?"

Robby shakes his head, "Left not too long before you had your collision. What about you? Who did you come with?"

"Oh…" Her eyes dart away, and you lick your lips, "You know, like Kim and Alexandra."

"Clement? She's here, too?"

You pause, eyes flickering back towards him before focusing back on the wall of bottles. "Yeah, you're here."

His eyebrows raise as he shakes his head, "Two of my best residents skipping work to get drunk."

You let out a startled laugh. “Okay, in our defense—”

“You lied to me.”

“In our partial defense,” you corrected quickly, “it’s my birthday.”

Robby glanced sideways at you as the bartender set their drinks down. “And apparently,” he said dryly, sliding the cosmopolitan toward you, “that excuses felony-level decision making.”

You grinned despite yourself as you wrapped your fingers around the glass. “Exactly!"

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The noise of the bar swelled around them: music vibrating through the floor, glasses clinking, bursts of laughter rising from nearby tables, but somehow the space between them felt strangely private.

You took a sip of your drink, mostly to give yourself something to do. “So,” you said carefully, “I don't think I've ever seen you out of scrubs.”

"I could say the same thing about you," He says, bringing the beer to his lips.

You watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down before dropping your gaze back to your drink. It takes a moment for you to process his words, and your cheeks deepen with embarrassment as a nervous giggle falls from your lips. You straighten your back as you sip from your glass, "Well, you know…I didn't really think that I'd bump into anyone, much less my attending in this ."

Her eyes betrayed you immediately, tracking the movement of his throat as he swallowed, before you forced yourself to look back down at your drink.

It took a second for his words to fully register. Heat crept back into your cheeks, and a nervous laugh slipped out before you could stop it. You straightened slightly, trying to regain a little of your dignity.

“Well,” you said, “I didn’t exactly expect to run into anyone from work tonight. Especially not my attending.”

Robby’s gaze drifted briefly, from the gold necklace spelling out your name to the low neckline of your top, before returning to your face with maddening composure.

You suddenly became hyperaware of how close you were standing to him.

“Well,” he said after a beat, voice calm enough to make you feel slightly insane, “I think you look good.”

Her breath caught embarrassingly fast. If your face hadn’t already been flushed from alcohol, it definitely was now.

For once, you had absolutely nothing clever to say. Robby watched you for a second longer before taking another sip of his beer, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“So,” Robby said after a moment, “how old are we celebrating tonight?”

“Who’s asking?” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before sighing dramatically. “Twenty-seven.”

Robby let out a low whistle. “Twenty-seven?”

You let out a scoff at his tone, your finger prodding at his chest without thinking as you lean in. "And how old are you, sir?"

He shook his head, eyes flickering back to the wall, "Way older than you, kid."

You tilted your head, lips slowly curling into a pout you clearly didn’t realize you were making. “‘Way older’ is not an age,” you said, tapping his chest again, a little firmer this time. “That’s not how numbers work, old man.”

He took another slow sip of his beer, eyes drifting over your face like he was actually considering whether you deserved an answer. “Alright,” he said finally. “Guess.”

You leaned back slightly, looking him up and down with exaggerated seriousness. “Let me guess. You’re… what… forty-eight?”

No response.

"Forty-nine?" You try again, unknowingly leaning in closer. Robby focuses back on you, his eyes dipping down the neckline of your shirt before focusing on your face.

"Try again."

"Fifty?"

He gave a small, amused shake of his head.

You leaned in closer now, lowering your voice like you were about to share classified information. “Fifty-two?”

Robby finally exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

"I'm right, aren't I?" you exclaim, rocking back and forth on your heels. "I'm always right, I'm too good at this."

Before Michael could respond, your friends cut in from behind her. “There you are!” Alexandra called, grabbing you lightly by the elbow. “We’ve been looking everywhere.”

You barely had time to turn. “I was—”

“Talking,” Kim finished for you, glancing between you and Robby with an immediate, knowing smile. “Clearly.”

"Hey…Dr Robby," Your two friends awkwardly nodded, knowing they too had lied to come out.

He nods in greeting, "Alex. Kim."

"We're sorry to interrupt…" Alex glances at you, "whatever this was, but…'

Kim finishes her sentence, "We're moving to the next place!"

Robby's mouth lifted as she was slowly dragged toward the door. You kept your eyes locked on him the whole way, “I’ll see you later, old man!” you called over your shoulder, voice bright with satisfaction.

“Try not to get yourself arrested,” he called back.

“I make no promises!”

And then you were gone, pulled out into the noise and lights of the night, still laughing as your friends guided you toward the next bar.

By the end of the night, you were sufficiently exhausted and safe back in your apartment with sleep pulling at your eyes.

Lexi was curled up beside you in your bed, already halfway asleep, one arm flopped dramatically across your waist like she’d claimed you in her sleep. From somewhere in the living room, you assumed Kim had either collapsed on the couch or migrated into Samira’s bed.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim glow of your phone before unlocking it. A soft brightness flooded your face as the notifications loaded in.

[ Sex and the Pitt]

[ samira ]: did y'all get home safe?

[ you ]: we did, missed you lots. have a good rest of ur shift!!1!

Your eyebrows shoot up slightly at the other notification:

[Dr. Robinavitch]: Happy Birthday once again. Let me know when you get home or if you need any help. Hope you had a good birthday. I will see you on Tuesday.

You stared at it longer than you meant to before slowly typing back

[ you ]: made it home safe. thank you :) and thank you for tonight. goodnight dr robby!

[ you ] and thank you for the drink

You hesitate a moment before adding 💕 at the end of the message and sending the message. You let out a quiet sigh as you open your alarm app, disabling our alarms for work. You rolled onto your side, tugging the sheets up over your shoulder, letting the exhaustion finally settle in fully. Lexi shifted beside you with a small, sleepy sound, then went still again.

Your phone buzzed once more, and you pulled it back towards you, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes to read the notification.

[ Dr. Robinavitch ]: It was no problem. Goodnight.

You stared at it long enough for your heart to do something annoyingly awake in your chest.