i could fix him.

Envy claws its way through your chest cavity. It’s searing and suffocating – a slow, arduous death march. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and a twitch in your eye.

You’re lucky it doesn’t leave a sneer across your lips, too.

Mostly because you’re presently seated at the central desk inside the emergency department, mid-shift, while you watch Noelle Hastings chat with Dr. Robby.

Nurse Noelle. The embodiment of everything you aspire to be. Not professionally-speaking – you’re a senior resident and the rising hot-shot of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, on pace to become another doctor naive enough to believe she can save the world. But your career feels like it’s all you have. 

Noelle is pretty and poised, soft yet sharp. People notice her presence and miss her absence. She carries confidence the same way she commands respect. People like her; she’s never too much yet always more than enough. 

But the main reason you envy Noelle is the most frivolous and embarrassing of all – simply put, she has what you want. At least, according to the latest round of rumors to sweep through the cyclic halls of the hospital. Whisper, rinse, repeat.

“Do you think she’ll make it past the seven-week threshold?” Perlah murmurs quietly as she watches Robby and Noelle. Princess snorts from her seat next to you. 

“Not a chance,” she muses. “No one’s made it that long. Not since Jake’s mom, and we all know how bad that turned out.”

Perlah clucks her tongue. 

“Besides,” Princess continues. “Are we even sure they’re actually together?”

“Define ‘together,’” Perlah quips back, inciting a quiet chuckle between them. Your eyes stay glued to your computer screen, the text of your current patient chart blurring into fuzzy black lines. If you look away, if you look at the pair standing outside C9, you’ll tear up. 

But you can still hear them. Noelle murmurs something, probably flirtatious and demure, and Robby laughs. It’s that genuine belly laugh rarely heard from him. You look for it in every encounter. It’s your favorite sound.

You exhale slowly through your nose in an attempt to collect yourself. You shouldn’t care. You have no business being bothered by two people who pay no attention to you. Robby and Noelle should be none of your concern. 

When Noelle first began lingering around the emergency department, you clocked her intentions immediately. You saw the way she snuck glances at Dr. Robby, the way she’d conjure reasons to stay, the way she’d smile to herself after every interaction with him. 

You noticed because you do the same.

The difference was Robby noticed Noelle in return. He went out of his way to speak to her, brought her coffee, let her believe she had a fighting shot at keeping him around for more than a fleeting few weeks.

It wasn’t your business to speculate if she did. At least she was given a chance. You were lucky if Robby gave you five minutes to discuss patient cases.

Noelle is a wanted and welcome intrusion inside the ER. You’re merely another body passing through – tolerated, assimilated. People like and respect you just enough to keep you around; they couldn’t care less about your coffee order.

You rise and pace toward C12, refusing to glance at Robby and Noelle as you pass. The soles of your sneakers are quiet, like you – unassuming, unremarkable and unfailing. Always moving forward, one step at a time, instead of taking any risk of getting dirty.

—

You don’t like to make a habit of drinking after work. You especially don’t like to make a habit of drinking with your coworkers. Sure, you join Mohan, Whitaker and Santos for the occasional happy hour. You’ll stop by the park every now and then for post-shift beers with the day crew. But you always approach those instances with laid-back frivolity. They’re fun and innocent; light when your days are heavy.

This day is heavy, but you choose to meet it with more weight. It manifests in the form of a wine glass – dark, red, acidic – much like your mood.

Your friendship with Frank Langdon is just as bizarre as one might think. Sure, you’re close in age and he helped you transition into your role as senior resident. You didn’t judge him or speak to him with pity when he returned from rehab. But single women and married men rarely strike up new solo friendships, though you know Frank is barely married at this point. His nuptials are hanging by a thread these days, which is why he ends up next to you on a weathered old bar stool at Gene’s after your shift.

Once he finishes telling you about a particularly fucked up meningitis case he saw that day, he downs the remainder of his soda water and swivels to face you. He bangs the empty glass down on the bar top for dramatic effect, causing you to jump in surprise.

“So, you going to tell me why you’ve looked like you want to fling yourself into oncoming traffic all day?” he asks.

“No.” 

“Real charmer, you are.”

“I’m the spitting image of charisma.”

“It blows my mind that you manage to have the highest patient satisfaction scores in the department,” he muses. “Why can’t your barstool manner be the same as your bedside manner?”

“Because you aren’t sick or dying. At least not anymore.”

Langdon offers a dry laugh. You smirk into your wine glass. 

“Really though, what’s going on with you? You’ve been tense,” he presses gently. 

“Been tense? Langdon, I was born this way.”

“I don’t think that’s what Lady Gaga meant.”

“What’s your point?” you sigh.

“My point is, despite being the darling of the ED, you’re human,” Langdon explains. “And you’re allowed to be distracted and bothered like the rest of us. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

“Thank you for the permission,” you say dryly. 

Langdon stares at you in that unsettling manner you’ve come to hate from him. You know he means well. He cares about you. The two of you have developed one of those big brother-little sister workplace relationships that can only stem from years of seeing fucked up shit and trauma together.

It’s purely platonic. Langdon’s not your type and you aren’t much for homewrecking anyway. It’s more of a mutual fondness built on biting remarks and inside jokes; appreciation wrapped in the form of insult. You indulge his dry humor and love for banter, and in return, he’s learned to read you and notice when you seem off. Then he watches you with quiet contemplation, his cobalt eyes waiting patiently for you to fold.

This time, you fold quicker than usual.

“It’s stupid,” you mutter into your glass. “Like, it’s actually so embarrassing, I’ll have to kill myself if I tell you.”

“It can’t be more embarrassing than the time you fell over the gurney and grabbed Dr. Abbot’s crotch.”

“Oh, it’s way worse.”

“Does it have anything to do with Robby?”

You suck your top row of teeth. Bastard.

“What about Robby?” you try.

“So that would be a yes,” Langdon notes. He picked up on your use of performantive ignorance as a masking mechanism ages ago. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you insist. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Clearly you don’t.”

“Clearly inviting you here was a horrible idea.”

“It’s because of Noelle Hastings, isn’t it?”

“Dr. Langdon,” you warn with an edge to your voice.

“You know it’s not anything serious, right?” he continues. “They’re probably just sleeping together.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You realize you’ve just admitted your feelings for Robby, but Langdon doesn’t even flinch. He’s known all along. 

“It should,” Langdon offers. “It’s just what Robby does. Everyone knows he doesn’t stick around long enough to get serious with anyone. So there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll move on from Noelle soon enough.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you note. “It’s not like I’m rooting for Robby to be alone forever. I shouldn’t even be rooting for him and Noelle to fail. He deserves to be happy. Maybe she makes him happy.”

“Maybe,” Langdon shrugs. “Or maybe he’s waiting on a certain person to complete their residency.”

You shoot him a pointed stare. “That never stopped him before,” you note. “He dated Dr. Collins.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Langdon notes.

“Robby doesn’t see me like that,” you say decisively. “Hell, I’m lucky if I can get him to check in on me.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that he doesn’t need to check in on you? You don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know, but I barely get attention from him, period.”

“Oh, come on,” Langdon groans. “Everyone knows you’re the golden child.”

“Yeah, only because you fumbled that crown.”

“So you agree,” Langdon muses, choosing to ignore your snide remark. “You do acknowledge you’re Robby’s favorite.”

“I’m his favorite because I’m competent,” you say. “Not because he wants in my pants. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. When all this is said and done, the only opinion of Robby’s that matters to me is his professional opinion. I need him to write recommendations based on my skills, not my tits.”

Langdon shakes his head as if he’s giving up. You can’t help but offer him an apologetic grimace. You understand he’s just trying to help. It’s in his nature. But you also view any romantic future with Robby as a lost cause. There’s no use discussing it, and there’s no use making the day any worse by continuing to do so.

“Just do me a favor,” Langdon says. “Try not to let yourself get too jealous, alright? It’s not a good look on you.”

“Wow, rude,” you say as you huff a laugh. “And I am not jealous, I’m just…” Langdon lifts an eyebrow at you. “Okay fine, maybe I am jealous, but can you blame me?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Noelle’s just so… pretty,” you say. You realize you sound childish and hate yourself for it, but at least you’re being honest, you think. “I mean, she’s fucking stunning. And she’s good at her job. And she’s a much better match for Robby. Closer in age to him, established in her career. She has her shit together. Of course he’s into her.”

“The only reason she’s a better match for Robby is because she’s not his direct report. That’s it,” Langdon says matter-of-factly as he leans in to peer at you with serious eyes. “I like Noelle, she’s great, but you’re selling yourself short if you think she’s got anything over you.”

“She has Robby.”

“For now.” 

“Better than never, which is all I’ll ever have.”

You don’t want to sound so melancholy. Melodrama really isn’t your style. But the sight of Robby and Noelle lingers in your mind in spite of your pride.

“You can do better than him anyway. I say that as a friend to you both.”

Langdon looks at you with sincere sadness. It spikes your guilt and makes you feel silly for whining over an asinine crush on your senior attending. You’re spewing jealousy over another woman while Langdon’s marriage circles the drain, yet he’s reserved this space for you and your woes. 

You pick at the skin of your cuticles. 

Langdon’s posture shifts while you down the rest of your wine glass. You frown at him and he grimaces. “Speak of the devil… devils.”

You swivel to look over your shoulder and wish you hadn’t. In walks Robby and Noelle. You wonder if you can make a run for it. Or you could dive behind the bar and hide. Maybe a sinkhole will open beneath your barstool and you can descend to the depths of Hell where you’d feel much better. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Langdon heaves a sigh. 

It doesn’t take long for Robby and Noelle to spot you. But while your eyes are determinedly on Langdon, you fail to notice the twitch in Robby’s jaw. 

He’s the first to approach, Noelle following close behind. 

“Dr. Langdon,” he greets, following with a flicker of his eyes toward you. His voice is clipped. He doesn’t say your name; merely nods at you with a smile that feels forced. It makes you feel small. So much for being the golden child.

“Dr. Robby, Noelle,” Langdon says. You offer them a thin smile. You know it probably looks bad, as if you swallowed battery acid. You couldn’t correct it if you tried. 

Of course, Noelle looks flawless. Not a lash out of place. You wonder about her skin care routine. You wish you had a skin care routine. 

“You two alright?” Robby asks. “I didn’t know the day shift was getting together after work.”

“Oh, just us,” Langdon says casually. “Just some post-shift commiseration."

“That bad of a day?” Noelle chimes in. She’s smiling kindly, her eyes resting on you with sympathy. It spikes a nerve. You don’t want this woman feeling sorry for you. 

You want to smash her face into the bar top.

“Nah, just another day in paradise,” you say, forcing a toothy smile that doesn’t suit you one bit. 

Robby’s eyes meet yours and your breath hitches. You can’t read him, but you’re certain you can detect something there; aggravation, perhaps? 

You begin recalling the day’s patients in your mind, wondering if you spent too much time with one or missed something important. Those are the typical culprits when Robby’s irked at you. It’s rare, but something is clearly askew. 

Or maybe he was simply hoping he and Noelle would be alone, free from the curious eyes of any colleagues. 

You hold your breath for as long as you hold Robby’s gaze. It feels like minutes. Finally, he looks away.  

“Ah, well, don’t let us rain on your little paradise,” he says with a brief nod. 

He strides toward a high-top table across the room while Noelle flashes you and Langdon a quick smile before trailing after him. 

A mere beat passes before you’re signaling the bartender for another glass of wine. Langdon sighs. 

“He’s jealous, you know,” he says quietly. “I can tell.” You snort. 

“Langdon, no disrespect, because you are an objectively handsome and good guy, but Robby is not jealous of you right now,” you declare. 

“Thank you, I think,” Langdon says slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But you know what I mean. It doesn’t matter if I’m sitting on this barstool next to you, or if it’s Mateo or Jessie or Dr. Abbot. It’s the mere notion that any man is sitting here while Robby has to sit over there and watch you from a distance.”

“Actually, maybe I should make a pass at Abbot,” you muse thoughtfully. 

“Do you want to force Robby into another mental breakdown?”

“I mean, kinda. Abbot’s a good-looking guy.”

Langdon shakes his head. “Making him even more jealous isn’t going to help. It’s just going to get Abbot killed.”

“Abbot loves me. He’d die for me.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Exactly. Which is why we should talk about literally anything else.”

“Fair enough,” Langdon sighs. “You watch last week’s Severance yet?”

“No, and if you spoil it, I’ll castrate you immediately.”

“Noted.”

You both laugh and slip into chatter about Langdon’s dog. You should probably go home, you think, but the elephant in the room is still there in the form of a 6’1” senior attending with the most mesmerizing brown eyes you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. 

What you don’t realize is those brown eyes are presently locked on you; not just staring — they’re feeling. Feeling you out, desperately trying to read your thoughts and emotions, sizing you up as if he can diagnose the reasons for your rendezvous with Langdon. 

Robby watches as you chat with Langdon with soft eyes; the kind he’s seen you offer to your patients. He sees the way your eyes widen while Langdon tells the story of how Tanner fell off the back deck. He notices the kind smile you flash the bartender when you order another glass of wine. And he reads your posture – the way your spine stiffens when Langdon says something that annoys you, and the way your shoulders slacken when you laugh at his jokes.

Robby wants all those emotions to himself. He knows it’s greedy, unreasonable, worthy of a slap across the face. He’s never tried to tell you how he feels. He knows better. You’re still young and hopeful. You still look at life as something worthwhile, full of prospect and potential. You’re too good to know better, he thinks.

And there’s also the other woman sitting across from him. He likes Noelle. She’s smart, savvy, beautiful. And she does know better – knows not to ask Robby what exactly it is that they’re doing; knows there’s no fixing a man like him. She knows she deserves better, but chooses to prolong her time on the Michael Robinavitch ride. You’d pity her if you didn’t envy her.

But Robby looks at Noelle like the other women who have darted in and out of his life. He doesn’t want to. He wants to look at her – or anyone else – with a chest full of flammables. But you’re the only spark Robby feels. It’s why he dances around you with caution, close enough to spike his pulse but distant enough to avoid your live wires.

He’s held steadfast for four years without incident. You’ve never caught him staring, never questioned how he can tell it’s you who has entered a room by the sound of your footsteps. You didn’t ask how he remembered your birthday, when he ordered pizza from your favorite spot with the exact toppings you prefer. Perhaps you should have. 

But Robby’s resolve is crumbling. He knows you’re young and sociable. Desired. He’s not delusional enough to think men don’t get to touch you. But the sight of his own protege, his right-hand man, seated next to you while you’re laughing and chatting like he’s the most interesting man in the room, has Robby’s blood igniting from a simmer to a rapid, rolling boil.

He sees the lock of hair that’s fallen from your up-do, framing your face like it’s meant to be there. He seethes at Langdon for not seizing the opportunity to tuck it behind your ear. Nevermind the fact he’d kill Langdon for touching you.

Langdon isn’t good enough for you, Robby thinks. Not because of their past. Not because Robby had to dig deep and forgive Langdon for stealing patient drugs under his watch. Not because Robby secretly blames himself for failing to notice. Robby’s managed to move past all that.

But he doesn’t forget. And now he thinks he’s going to be plagued by the memory of you and Langdon cozied up at that bar. 

The distance between you and Robby is mere feet. Robby envisions himself reaching across the room to strangle Langdon. It’s unfair, he knows, but it’s impossible to remain reasonable when you and Langdon are enjoying each other’s company so casually, yet so cruel for all the sorry losers who merely get to watch from the sidelines.

Robby slams the remainder of his beer and pretends to give a shit about Noelle’s upcoming trip to New York. 

You’re none the wiser to the brooding man behind you. You think he’s immune to you, oblivious to your quiet desperation to be noticed by him. You assume he’s enthralled by the woman across from him; that he’ll take her home tonight and tell her all the things she deserves to hear. 

You think Robby sees you the same way he sees patients — fleeting, momentary characters who serve a brief role in the timeline of his life. You know he appreciates you, respects you even, but you don’t dare believe he actually enjoys your presence. 

And right now, he’s not enjoying your presence. Not because he dislikes you. Not because he doesn’t want to see or talk to you. It’s because he doesn’t get to be the sole reason for your presence in that bar. Or so he thinks. He doesn’t know you see his face at the bottom of every wine glass. 

A sudden eruption of laughter steals Robby’s attention. You and Langdon are both doubled over in shared joy. Robby feels like he’s intruding on an intimate moment. It makes his eye twitch. 

He excuses himself to the bathroom. 

When you do the same, you spot Robby’s empty chair and immediately regret the decision. Noelle catches your eye and smiles. You nod politely; nevermind the visions of tossing your wine glass on her designer dress clouding your thoughts. 

You sigh and head toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms at the back of the bar, silently praying you don’t cross paths with Robby. 

You think you’re safe. But you’re three steps from the women’s door when the men’s swings open and you’re left face-to-face with those cursed brown eyes. Your breath hitches and you wonder what kinds of atrocities you committed in a past life to deserve this. 

“Enjoying your evening?” Robby asks. You notice his terse tone and consider darting into the women’s room to hide. 

“Sure am,” you hear yourself reply. “You?”

“Not really.”

“Oh,” you start in surprise, unsure how to respond to such a blunt answer. 

“Langdon?” Robby continues. “I mean, really?”

“Wha-”

“He’s still married, you know.”

You blink at Robby, unsure how to interpret his words. “I know,” you answer slowly. “He and I are friends.”

“Friends,” Robby repeats blankly. “Does his wife know he spends his evenings alone at dive bars with other women?”

“It’s not like that,” you say, your pulse spiking. “And why the hell do you care?”

“Because I have to sit here and watch one of my attendings flirt with one of my senior residents.”

You force a hollow laugh. “You’re joking,” you hiss. “Langdon and I don’t flirt. Like I said, we’re friends. Some of us can maintain platonic relationships at work. I know it’s hard for you to fathom.”

You’ve struck a nerve. You can see it in the way Robby’s face flushes crimson and his jaw ticks. Your eyes dart down the hallway toward the bar, searching for passerby. You wonder how long you have until Langdon and Noelle notice both their companions have disappeared. You also wonder how long you have until Robby fires you for talking back.

“That’s none of your business,” Robby snaps. 

“Oh, but it’s your business when it involves me?”

“Yes,” Robby rasps. The blunt, short reply catches you off guard and draws a frown. “That’s the entire point,” Robby continues. 

“That’s awfully hypocritical,” you bite back. “Why the fuck do you care about my business, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“Because I care about everything you do.”

You try to compute. You’re desperate to understand. Your mouth fills with cotton and a ringing surges in your ears. 

Robby drags a hand over his face. You can’t tell if he wants to strangle you or kiss you. The answer becomes clear when he looks you in the eye again. 

Pupils blown out. Tired, yet restless. Something to prove and nothing to lose.

“Robby, I-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to fill the space between you with words. Words won’t help you here. He closes the gap and pins you against the wall, your eyes widening before they close with the kiss.

It’s chaos — messy, rushed, unrefined. But it’s anything but amateur. It feels layered and complex; art in its rawest, most vulnerable form. A Jackson Pollock personified.

Robby’s hand is knotted in your hair and his hips are flush with yours. He’s the object of your most clandestine thoughts brought to life. You’re certain your soul has left your body. 

But then he rasps your name and gravity returns you to reality. He rests both hands against the wall on either side of your head as he gazes at you, caging you in. It’s exactly where you wish to be. The air crackles with anxious heat.

He stares at you with enough intensity to make your palms sweat, and you’re certain he can hear your thoughts. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asks. He studies you with boundless bedroom eyes, impossible to tear your own eyes from. This has to be the part where you’ll wake up, you think.

You swallow thickly while Robby waits patiently. 

“I- we… what about the others?” you finally manage, terrified you’ll kill the mood.

“For once in your life, stop thinking about everyone else,” Robby advises. “Think about what you want.”

A fly on the wall would surely laugh at the cliche dramatics of it all, but Robby’s right. Langdon would forgive you for an Irish exit, and to hell with Noelle. 

But still, you can’t simply leave without acknowledging them as you walk past them. And for as envious as you are of Noelle, your moral compass — which you consider to be excruciatingly inconvenient — won’t allow you to do so. 

“Robby, we can’t just leave them. We have to say something.”

Robby blinks, as if he’s just regained consciousness or snapped from an out-of-body experience. The charge in the air around you deflates. 

“Right,” he sighs as he drops one of the hands flanking your head. “Sorry. This was a stupid idea.”

He pulls away and you immediately miss the contact. 

“Sorry,” he says again, averting his eyes as if he’s ashamed. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean-” The ringing in your ears surges with panic. But Robby is already walking away, back to Noelle. Back to the person you wanted to steal from. You’re giving him back to her when he’s been the only thing you’ve wanted. 

You want to drop to your knees, scream, kick, punch the air until someone hauls you away for a psych hold. Instead, you remain against the wall in stunned silence until Langdon comes looking for you. 

You don’t tell him what happened. 

—

The door to your apartment creaks shut, leaving you to fend for yourself in the dark. Your hand fumbles along the wall for the light switch, but you can’t help but regret it when you locate it. The light snaps on with a sharp burst, reminding you how quiet and empty your apartment is. 

You sigh and shoot Langdon a text to confirm you made it home. He responds with a thumbs up, leaving you without any more human interaction for the evening. It’s probably for the best, you decide. Your previous interactions this evening turned disastrous.

The simple task of moving to your couch feels impossible. You linger in place, the kiss with Robby looping on repeat in your head like low-budget cinema. You squeeze your eyes shut in disbelief. 

You blew your chance with the one person you wanted and thought you couldn’t have. Even worse, you regretted your decision the moment it was made for you, yet you still sat in silence as you watched Robby and Noelle walk out of that bar together. 

You only have yourself to blame.

The clock on your kitchen wall ticks. Footsteps creak overhead. Sirens wail in the distance. The world is moving on, but you fear you’re going to be rooted to this momentous fumble for years to come.

You take a shower and tell yourself all the little cliches meant to make yourself feel better; that you’re washing the day away, that you can cleanse yourself of the stupid decisions, that the steam will cloud your intrusive thoughts.

It’s futile.

Robby’s words echo in your skull, which you’re certain is empty given how stupid you’ve been.

For once in your life, stop thinking about everyone else. Think about what you want.

It’s not the first time someone has given you such advice. You’ve spent most of your life toeing the careful tightrope of what you want and what’s expected of you – the overachieving honor student, the pacifist, the fixer. 

Just once, you want to be the breaker. You want to be the person who wedges the divide between Robby and Noelle. You want to be the waves that crash and destroy rather than be the calm undertow that carries people to safety.

You want to do what you want, rather than what’s expected of you. And you want to stop letting others take what you want.

You towel off and heave a sigh as you pick up your phone to text Dr. Abbot.

You: Hey, what’s Dr. Robby’s address?

Abbot: Do I want to know why you’re asking?

You: Honestly? Probably not.

Abbot: You aren’t doing anything illegal, are you? I can’t be liable for any crimes.

You: Illegal? No. Immoral? Perhaps.

Abbot: You aren’t making a very good case for yourself.

You: I’d promise to explain later, but I’m not sure you want an explanation.

Abbot: You’re lucky I trust you. I don’t, however, trust Robby in these kinds of situations. So please be smart, kid.

You send him the saluting emoji and he sends the address. You search it on Google Maps and sigh in disbelief over what you’re about to do. But you know if you stay silent, if you do nothing, if you let Noelle have him, regret will cling to you for life.

You get dressed and grab your car keys.

Robby’s house isn’t what you expect, not that you knew what to expect. It’s a nice, single-family craftsman at the end of a tree-lined street. It feels domesticated. Stable. Safe. 

Not necessarily how you envision Robby.

You park in the street and sit in your car, contemplating your life choices. But you don’t want to give yourself too much time to change your mind, so you inhale deeply before making the trek to Robby’s front door. The clock on your car glows with the midnight hour.

Robby answers the door quicker than you’d anticipated. You also didn’t expect him to be shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He’s clearly surprised to see you.

Your eyes drift past him, searching the room behind him for any sign of Noelle.

“Um, hey,” you manage. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Uh, no,” Robby replies. “I was just watching TV.”

“Can we talk?”

Robby studies you for a beat. His gaze makes you feel unsteady and vulnerable. He reads you with ease. “Yeah, come in,” he finally says as he steps aside.

His kitchen is cool and dark, only a dim light on above the sink. You walk carefully and quietly until you’re leaning with your back to the island counter. Robby stands three feet opposite you with curious eyes.

“Where’s Noelle?” you ask.

“She, uh, didn’t feel like coming over,” Robby answers with a sigh. “Said I was acting too distracted and got annoyed with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

You can hear the quiet murmur of a TV somewhere down the hallway to your right. It fills the silence until you gather the courage to speak.

“About earlier-” you start.

“Don’t worry about it,” Robby interjects gently. “Really. It’s alright.”

“But-”

“Seriously,” he says with the signature serious gaze that makes you feel like you’re about to present a patient case to him. “I’ve been rejected before, it’s not a big deal.”

“I wasn’t rejecting you. Robby, I wanted to go home with you. I just… I mean, you were with Noelle.”

“And you were with Langdon.”

“I’m not with Langdon,” you insist, the heat in your tone rising. “Langdon is married. He has no interest in me. I have no interest in him. We’re friends.”

“So are Noelle and I.”

“Oh?” you muse. “You sleep with all your friends?”

“You ever sleep with Langdon?”

“No,” you answer firmly. “And even if I had, it’d be none of your business.”

“Okay, so you’re not with Langdon.”

“And you’re using Noelle.”

“I’m not using her,” Robby insists. “She knows there’s nothing serious between us. We talked about it before I took my sabbatical earlier this year.”

Oh. You hadn’t realized they’d been seeing each other that long.

“She likes you,” you continue.

“She likes to think she can fix me.”

“Do you need fixing?”

“Don’t we all?”

“Right,” you sigh in an attempt to deescalate the tension.

“Look,” Robby continues. “Yes, I’ve been sleeping with Noelle for a while. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“So where does that leave me?”

“You’re too good for me,” Robby answers bluntly, drawing a snort from you. 

“Too good? Or too young?”

“Do you think you’re too young?”

“No.”

“Then like I said, too good.”

“Bullshit. That’s a cop out.”

Robby drags a hand through his hair. “Look,” he says again, his voice sounding tired. “If it were up to me, you would have left that bar with me, and right now, I’d be showing you the time of your life. Hell, I would’ve done it in that bathroom if you’d asked for it. But the fact that you were still taking Langdon and Noelle into consideration just reaffirms my belief that you’re too good for me.”

“No I’m not,” you insist. “I hate Noelle.” Robby can’t conceal an amused smirk. “I’ve hated her since I heard the rumors you two were… involved.”

“So you only hate her because you’re jealous of her.”

“...Yes.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of,” Robby notes. “Noelle’s brilliant but you’re… well, you. If I had you, I wouldn’t even glance her way again.”

“Oh, please. Robby, everyone knows you don’t stick around for anyone beyond a few weeks.”

“Not true. I’ve been sleeping with Noelle for months.”

“Congratulations.”

“I mean it. I look at you differently. It’s fucking terrifying, but it’s true. Why else do you think I’ve kept my distance all these years? Every time I look at you, I want you,” Robby reveals.

You swallow thickly at his revelation. It’s far more than you bargained for. You expected to come to Robby’s house tonight, fuck him and leave. You figured it would happen this one time before the two of you would spend your days dodging each other in the ER, every interaction clipped, brief, cautious. You thought you’d have your one night in paradise with Robby before life would force you to move on from your silly crush.

It never occurred to you that your mere presence has been a point of madness for your senior attending since the day you met. You don’t know how many times he’s had to bite his tongue as patients flirt with you, watch colleagues ask you out, and listen to passerby make remarks about your appearance. No one told you how furious Robby was that time a patient elbowed you in the face and drew blood. You were ignorant to the way his eyes always sought you out first in every room. You’re clueless to the number of times Robby’s thought about you on nights like this, filled with illicit visions of how it’d feel to touch you. It’s been agony and ecstasy all at once.

You scramble to gather your own thoughts so you can craft a response. But the only thoughts wafting through your brain involve you launching yourself at Robby and climbing him like a tree. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence with a whir.

“So what is this that we’re doing, then?” you ask, arms folded across your chest in an effort to appear nonchalant. 

“The ball’s in your court,” Robby replies. “Whatever you want it to be.”

“I don’t want this to be a one night stand,” you admit. “I mean, I came here with that in mind. I was fully prepared for it. But it’s not what I actually want.”

“It’s not what I want either,” Robby says. 

“You can understand why I find that hard to believe, right?” 

“Yes, I can,” Robby admits. “And I can’t predict where this’ll go, but I can promise you I want to try, and I promise I’ll try my hardest.”

It’s enough for you. You weren’t asking for a marriage proposal, or even a vow of exclusivity. You just want to know you’re worth an effort. Maybe that means you have shitty self-esteem or low standards. But that’s an issue for your therapist to unpack.

“Fine,” you say simply. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Robby studies you with quiet contemplation, as if he’s confirming your certainty. You gaze back at him with confident eyes. It’s enough for him, too.

“So what now?” he asks. You blink at him like the answer is scribbled across your forehead.

“Now I’d like to continue where we left off in the bar.”

Robby moves swiftly, efficiently. Fluid and intentional, much like his movements during an incoming trauma. He cups your face once he closes the distance between you and kisses you, this time with more tact.

You moan against his mouth immediately, a white flag you were willing to wave in submission. You can feel Robby smirk against your lips.

He tangles a hand in your hair, much the same as he did at the bar. But this time, the kiss is slower, deeper, more deliberate. You feel his other hand roam the curve of your waistline until it rests on your hip, one thumb tracing gentle circles against the skin beneath your t-shirt. 

The counter digs into the small of your back and you jut your hips forward. Robby understands. He unfists your hair and uses both hands to hoist you onto the counter without a word. Your surprised gasp is caught off by another long kiss. 

Robby stands between your thighs. One hand rests on the counter beside you, the other presses into the small of your back. He breaks the kiss to meet your eyes. You stare back, your chest rising and falling in sync with his as you catch your breaths. He dips his head to kiss your neck.

Your eyes fall shut as you memorize how it feels to have his lips on your hot skin. Though each kiss is gentle, you wish he’d leave marks.

“Can I take this off?” he murmurs against your neck as he gently tugs at the hem of your shirt. You nod in quiet consent before Robby’s slipping your shirt over your head. He steals another kiss from your lips before you feel a hand unsnap your bra. You let it fall to the floor, your feet gently swaying from the counter’s ledge while Robby eyes your bare chest. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he rasps before pressing a kiss to your collarbone. 

You can feel a hand inching up your thigh, making you regret wearing the track pants you threw on in haste to get to Robby’s house. He hates them too – he proves it when you feel him tugging at your pantlegs until they’re a heap on the floor. The cool quartz counter sends a chill up the backs of your thighs. It’s a stark contrast to the scalding heat between them.

Robby turns his attention to your breasts, cupping one while he takes the other in his mouth. You inhale sharply as his tongue flattens and flicks across your nipple. It’s enough to distract you from Robby’s hand roaming between your thighs, until two fingers drag across the fabric of your thong. You hadn’t realized how wet you were, but Robby groans as he touches the soaked cotton.

He rubs two fingers over your clothed clit, his mouth still sucking gently against your breast. Your core clenches around nothing.

“Fuck,” Robby groans as his fingers inch inside your thong to caress your folds. He strokes them gently, one finger on either side until they’re both coated with your arousal. When he presses his thumb to your clit, you whimper.

It’s enough to make Robby fold – literally. He hooks his arms through your legs and tugs you to the edge of the counter while he bends at the waist to bury his face between your thighs. Your legs are tossed over his shoulders as he pulls your thong to the side to lap at your clit. Your thigh muscles tense instantly.

“Fuck, Robby,” you hiss as his tongue becomes acquainted with your body. He hums in approval at the taste and his tongue rolls and flattens against your clit in rhythmic patterns. You grip the edge of the counter with one hand while the other tangles itself in Robby’s hair. Your knuckles match the white countertop as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to Earth.

“Knew you’d taste so good,” he grunts against your flesh before he dives back in, his tongue prodding past your folds. 

He takes his time. His tongue is fast, then far too slow, frenzied yet deliberate. Even here, Robby thrives for controlled chaos. And even here, he loves being the one in control.

You feel a familiar ache mounting within your lower belly. It tightens at first, making you clench your walls in desperation for a release. 

“Robby,” you moan. You don’t know if it’s a warning or plea. Robby knows it’s both. He sucks on your clit, lips pulling against the pink flesh until he can feel the muscles tensing in your thighs. “Robby, I’m gonna-”

His tongue flattens and holds firm against your clit, triggering your release. You cry out as it folds you in half, one hand fisting his hair tightly as your body pulses. Your release seeps heavily from your core until it trickles onto the countertop. Robby’s tongue darts inside you to savor the aftermath.

Your body slackens into dead weight once your orgasm subsides. You sit back on your elbows, gazing downward at Robby through half-lidded eyes while he straights up, his beard slick and his sweatpants bulging.

Your head is clouded with juxtaposition – satisfied and exhausted from such a searing orgasm, yet hungry and excited for more. The latter emotions surge to the forefront as you slide from the counter to your feet, though you don’t stand for long.

You smirk at Robby as you drop to your knees, tugging his sweatpants downward in the process. He’s wearing nothing beneath them, which makes him even more appealing. But the real surprise is the size of his hard cock. Thoughts of how you’re going to take so much hover in the back of your mind, but you suppress them for the task at hand.

Robby groans as you take him slowly in your mouth. Your tongue glides against his shaft to accommodate as much of him as possible, until you’re gurgling around him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you are so fucking good,” he mumbles. His head tips backward and his eyes fall shut. He, too, wants to memorize the feeling of your mouth assaulting his flesh.

Your head bobs as the back of your throat envelops the tip of his cock. You hold it there until your eyes begin to water and your nails leave crescent divots in the backs of Robby’s thighs. His head tilts forward again to gaze at you fondly. 

You hold his gaze and begin to suck, your eyes soft and your cheeks hollowed. Robby balls your hair in his fist into a makeshift ponytail and stares back. You’re nearly jarred by the look in them. You expected to see full-blown pupils in maxed out bedroom eyes. Instead, he’s looking at you like he’s seeing a woman for the first time; you’re enlightenment in the form of femme fatal. It hits you with the realization that here, you’re not merely his subordinate senior resident. Here, you’re the muse this man has looked to for four years. 

You take him all the way in again, lips wrapped around every inch possible, before you release him with a vulgar pop. Spit clings to your lips, keeping you connected to the tip of his cock. You’re the vision of sin Robby hopes to see in the final moment before he dies.

“Come here,” he growls with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. He tugs you to your feet and pulls you into a searing kiss. 

He steps backward to guide you toward the hallway, arms locked around your waist. You make it about 10 feet before Robby’s kissing you even harder, his cock jammed against your stomach in eager agony.

When it’s clear you’re both too impatient to make it to the bedroom, Robby redirects you toward the dining table, which is about three feet away. After he hoists you onto the table, your legs lock around him in a shameless, silent plea.

He kisses your neck as he guides you gently until you’re flat on your back. Before you can vocalize your desperation, Robby is standing over you, the tip of his cock nudging your entrance.

You hold your breath as he slips inside you. Your arousal has made you slick and pliable, but the stretch is still intense. Robby lets out a low hiss once he bottoms out. He holds his cock still as his gaze grazes over your frame, splayed out submissively below him.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking perfect,” he growls. You clench your walls in response.

He inhales sharply at the squeeze and juts his hips forward. You moan at the pressure that blooms through your core. Robby infers your response as encouragement and sets a steady pace, guiding his cock through your walls with a rhythm that makes you praise every higher power you don’t believe in.

You’ve got one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other swiping lazily over your clit. Robby knocks your hand away to do it himself, his thumb moving with precision to propel your orgasm. 

“Let me do that,” he orders. 

His eyes are everywhere – taking in the sacred sight of your breasts bouncing with every thrust, to your erotic point of union, where he watches your swollen cunt swallow his thick cock. Your moans fills the house while Robby chimes in with an occasional groan, still in disbelief over the compression of your tight heat.

“Robby, you feel so good,” you whine. Those words alone are damn near enough to make him come. Instead, he grits his teeth and pulls his cock from you, using the tip to slap your clit. It draws a cry from you that makes him smirk in satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Taking my cock so fucking well.”

He sinks back inside you and notes the immediate hug of your greedy walls. He studies your expression – teeth gnawing at your lower lip, eyes half-lidded and glassy – and knows you’re teetering on the edge. 

He braces himself, hands clutching your hips firmly as his own snap harder with vulgar smacks. It knocks the wind from your lungs and leaves you whimpering breathlessly. His cock drives upward into your front wall, pushing you closer to the release you’re certain you’ll die without. 

When he returns a thumb to your clit, it triggers your reward. Your back arches off the table and you cry out as your walls throb around Robby’s cock. He grunts at the vision of you falling apart beneath him, your face contorted in focus while your hands clutch your breasts. It’s a masterpiece crafted only for him, a memory he’ll relive every time he sees you. He can only hope to recreate it in the future.

When your orgasm subsides, Robby stops pumping his cock inside you to pause, leaning forward to kiss you. The table beneath you is slick now.

“God, you look so fucking pretty when you come,” Robby murmurs in your ear. “Think you can give me one more?”

You don’t know how to respond. It’s far more than you bargained for, and far better than you even dreamed. You make a mental note to buy Dr. Abbot a round of beers in gratitude for sending you the address you’ll come to frequent in the future.

“I said, think you can give me one more?” Robby rasps, pulling you from your post-orgasm haze. You nod in response, your walls already threatening to pulse again. “Good,” Robby says as he straightens up. 

He resumes his thrusts with quiet focus. You gaze up at him while you have the chance – before his cock inevitably sends you into another searing spasm, incapable of coherent thought. His eyes meet yours but they don’t react. Instead, they seem to make a silent vow to give you whatever it is that you need – now, and in the future.

But in this moment, Robby’s more intent on making your eyes roll back into your head. He tests your waters by placing a gentle hand over your throat while he fucks you harder. You moan in approval.

“Good girl. Like you were made for me,” Robby rasps as he squeezes more pressure.

The table scrapes the hardwood beneath you as the scorching coil returns to your core. It stretches and pulls taut until your toes are curling and your nails are digging into the tabletop. Robby licks his lips and watches you approach your grand finale. 

“Fuck, Robby,” you beg. You’re shouting now, drowning out the obscene sounds of your soaked cunt welcoming Robby’s pistoning cock. He chews the inside of his cheek to ground himself. He’s close but knows you’re closer.

Finally, your walls begin to flutter and you unleash a sharp wail at the deep spasms coursing through you. They draw more slickness from your cunt until you’re breathless and boneless, a fucked-out spectacle that Robby can’t help but worship.

It ignites his own ending and he swears loudly as his cock twitches. He begins to spill inside you before he jerks his cock from your raw cunt to shower your body with the remainder. You moan at the hot ropes of his release clinging to your flushed skin.

Robby slumps over you instantly, exhausted and in awe of the high note on which his night has ended. You both catch your breath before Robby helps you get cleaned up and offers you a glass of water.

The kitchen returns to its previous state. He watches quietly as you stand at the sink and sip from the glass, welcoming its cool relief. A chill peppers your skin with goosebumps. 

When the water’s gone, you set the glass in the sink and turn to look at him. He’s still studying you. You can’t decide if it’s rousing or unsettling.

“I should get going-” you start, but Robby shakes his head, much to your relief. The last thing you want is to be anywhere but here, with the man who has reminded you you’re deserving of something more.

“Stay,” he says. His tone isn’t forceful, isn’t desperate. It’s not an order, nor is it a plea. It’s merely a declaration that Robby wants you by his side, too.

“Okay,” you whisper with the same surety. Robby smiles gently. The fridge stops humming.