g5nesis

so he never tries to tone down his scent. he walks the hospital letting his syrupy sweet scent trail behind him like a trap. he lets his scent sour when he’s upset, turn bitter when he’s angry, and warm when he’s happy.

he doesn’t know that other people keep their scents levels down, and try to not let their mood change it.

but not dennis. one sniff and everyone can tell what he’s feeling. it’s very sweet for them however, no one dares to call him out on it. in fact, since he’s usually such a calming person, they’ll go up to him when they need to relax. dennis subconsciously releases a soft scent to help them destress. and nobody tells him anything because they don’t want him to stop. it’s a welcomed change to the high tension of the emergency room. it’s wholesome.

but for robby, god, it’s like temptation in a bottle. that sickeningly sweet scent so comforting, so dennis, it makes him weak in the knees. and dennis has zero idea about what he’s doing to the older man. doesn’t realize his scent turns sweeter when robby claps a hand on his shoulder. how it turns a bit muskier and heavier, more concentrated. not exactly arousal, not yet, but something adjacent.

robby can’t help but orbit around dennis and gett his fill. his scent is just so damn good he can’t help himself. he knows others tend to gravite towards dennis for his calming nature, but his own interests are a little less…workplace appropriate.

dennis remains none the wiser, though around robby his scent gets this wispy tinge of longing or even yearning. trinity won’t tell him, wants to see who gives in first. but will always give dennis a little taunting smirk when she notices.

“being all nice and sweet for the big boss?”

⋆

dennis was running the pad of his thumb over and over his palm. then over his wrist, feeling the unsteady thump thump thump flourishing under the digit. he was sitting like a coiled wire ready to burst. it’s a sisyphean effort to hold his tears back. he’s staring at the floor all wide eyed, so glassy and pathetic and so small. voices filtering in and out like crashing waves, like a calm before a storm. he’s not really looking at anything, not sure he’s really breathing, not sure he’s really here.

the stones in him have multiplied something awful. pinning him down to his seat. the party is happening all around him yet he is none the wiser. small whispers in his head beg him to tune back in, to make sure the topic of conversation isn’t him. they’ve never said anything to his face, but it feels like he has dissolved into the couch and there’s nothing on the surface.

nobody really says anything. they don’t speak to him, just at him. like whatever bone they throw he’ll catch it like a desperate dog. and he feels like one. he’s begging for someone to catch his eye and softly tell him that the last 10 minutes weren’t real. just some ugly manifestation of his deep insecurity. but dennis is rarely that lucky.

the air blowing at him in trinitys car isn’t really enough to wake up from this nightmare. she’s babbling on about whatever the girls were talking about at the party, but dennis can’t help but stare at her phone. he knows nothing will pop up, it’s useless to look. every chat was muted. it was purposeful.

but he can’t look away from the crash. it’s as if the more he stares the more he can see through it, and see the truth.

he’s not sure trinity really notices, not sure she notices anything about him at all.

when they arrive at the apartment dennis is all mechanical. automatic muscle memory is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. he will go through the motions, he will do all the right things. but nothing will ever feel right again.

he sees the apartment in a different light, in all the wrong ways. the lights are weird, he never noticed how dark his hallway was. never noticed how still it was too, seemingly it used to breathe with him and now it’s just settled like a dead weight. suddenly he doesn’t really recognize it, one long maze with dizzying twists and turn ever changing to add to the confusion. it’s all fuzzy like in those hazy margins between sleeping and wakefulness, where you’re not sure where you stand. not sure how to.

he’s gripping his arm tightly like some type of beacon, the only thing tethering him from just slipping into that haze. he doesn’t know just yet what type of hell he wants to give in to.

dennis walks to his room, trinity says something at him but he doesn’t really catch it. all muddy with every other thing going on in his brain.

he shuts the door so gently, as if being quiet enough means he doesn’t disturb the silence that has enveloped the place. it’s nauseating, like sways on a boat. he’s on high alert now. not sure where to plant his feet. one wrong move can send him out, trinity can barely stand him as is.

suddenly he’s scared. scared that the door will open, almost blowing right through the hinges. that trinity will come barreling straight through yelling something terrible, throwing bags at his face and telling him to pack his shit and get the fuck out.

(he’s played this scene before in his head, funnily enough. everything is temporary. unfortunately he thought there would finally be an exception)

he can’t fathom that though. where would he go? who would he call? after knowing what it’s like to have it all, could he go without? could he stomach it once more?

his belly twists into knots. nothing to help the aches. the only thing he can do is pray to get through the night.

and he does, thought he doesn’t know if he’s grateful.

dennis goes through the motions of getting ready for work, bleary eyed and unaware. he takes a cold shower either to wake him up or to save trinity the hot water, he doesn’t know. unfortunately it’s left him with this chill running under his skin like fireworks. he wants to put it out.

he takes the bus instead, leaving earlier to catch it. doesn’t want to be more of a burden.

arriving at the hospital is…hard. dozens of eyes staring at him as if nothing is wrong. every one is going about as if his world wasn’t absolutely shattered. his world has stopped spinning but everyone else keeps moving. his eyes glaze over everything, never stopping enough to focus on anything in particular. there’s this quiet buzzing in his ears like flies in a summer night. he would kill to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare.

a soft hand lands on his shoulder. “you okay whitaker?” a voice says, he doesn’t pay much mind to its owner. he simply nods and shrugs the hand off. he doesn’t feel like talking, doesn’t know what will come out.

it seems that everyone has caught onto his mood. most of the girls are looking at him with confusion and some vague pity. like he’s a wounded puppy.

trinity keeps looking at him all alien. she doesn’t even ask, but her stares burn right through him.

he makes it through a rather uneventful shift, surprisingly.

but just his luck, trinity manages to corner him before he can catch the bus again.

“trying to escape for the bus again?” she asks, crossing her arms. “why’d you leave this morning before me? we always go together.”

and the word together just lands all wrong in dennis’ head. there is no together, no them, no nothing. and a spark of anger flares up inside dennis. he doesn’t know what game she’s playing, but he does he knows the truth.

and he can’t help himself, “why do you care?”. he tries for it to bite, to dig teeth in trinity. but it comes out all wounded.

she scoffs. she scoffs. “what’s that supposed to mean? am i not allowed to care? to worry? you’ve been looking all sad and mopey today-no, since last night!”

dennis stares at her for a moment. trying to see if he can notice any change in her eyes. all these months, he thought he knew her. did he not? or did she change?

trinity takes a step forward. “dennis come on, talk to me.” she says placatingly, like towards a child. and it stings.

“i think you guys have done enough talking.” he mutters, looking off to the side. he’s fighting the tears, just like he did during his lunch break in the bathroom. too ashamed to sit with anyone in the break room.

“huh?”, trinity says. “what? what are you talking about?”

a beat passes, dennis opens and closes his mouth. “i saw it.”

trinity furrows her brows. “saw what?” she asks impatiently.

“your phone.” he grips his arms, preparing a shield. “the texts. the groups. the photos. everything, trinity. i saw everything.” his voice breaks, just like his heart. he feels like someone took a scalpel and cut sternum to belly button. it hurts, but mostly he feels exposed and vulnerable and ugly. it’s horrifying.

trinity stares at him wide eyed. “i-dennis it’s not- it’s not what you-”

“what i think?, no. it’s exactly what i know it is.” he swallows around the stone in his throat. “i’m sorry for…for everything i guess. i’m sorry for thinking that there was more to what we had. and with everyone else. i never-” he lets out a shaky breath, “i never meant to annoy anyone. i thought…you guys liked having me around. if i knew sooner i wouldn’t have…stuck around. i guess. i’m sorry.” dennis starts turning away.

a hand shoots out towards his wrist. “wait dennis-”

“i’ll move out. don’t worry about it. i’ll be out of your hair soon.” he tries to finish it off a smile but it’s tearing him apart.

“what are you guys still doing here?” a new voice chimed in, and with it came abbot and robby. starting off humorous until they feel the tension in the space. they notice dennis body turned away, trinity’s hand wrapped around his wrist. dennis follows their line of vision and snaps his arm back.

“leaving.” he walks off. no one follows

so he doesn’t say anything, to anyone.

for some odd reason the people closest to him have this ability to sniff him out like a dog, so he has to be extra careful. he keeps any physical discomfort to a minimum. he will smile straight through the stabbing headache, and stand like a heavy post through dizzy sways. dennis will brave through the day, everyone none the wiser to the boiling inside of him.

but at night he sinks into his bed, just so tired and so heavy. through feverish dreams his mind conjures up fake dreams of his mothers hands carding through his hair. or maybe even his dad at the edge of his bed holding a spoonful of medicine.

“open up denny. it won’t taste good but i promise you’ll feel better.”

but it’s not real. none of that was. there was no time to be sick back in his childhood house. no excuse.

he remembers crying through sunday morning, getting ready for mass. feeling so so sick and too ashamed to say anything, knowing what consequences would follow.

dennis would hold his hurting belly like it could keep the hurt from pouring out. only late at night would he let it spill out all alone hunched over the toilet, trying to contain his cries.

he’s a doctor know. he can rationalize it. the bacterial contact, the contaminations, the lowered immune system fighting out whatever’s in. he knows fevers are just like a compass pointing north, a signal that says something is wrong. he should know he’s not magically doing it on purpose, and dennis should know it doesn’t make him pathetic or weak.

but it doesn’t work like that, not really.

so he continues licking his wounds in private.

when he wakes up still feeling the same, if not worse, he cries silently staring at the mirror. he’s trying so hard to keep it all inside but he can feel it staring to bubble up inside him.

he swallows around the lump in his throat and gets ready for his shift. he doesn’t eat, he can’t stomach it, and hides that fact from trinity.

in fact he hides everything, from everyone.

he starts avoiding everyone like the plague. this odd game of if i can’t see them they can’t see me. it’s childish. but at least it keeps him busy from the fact that his symptoms are worsening.

dennis really avoids robby. it’s hard, obviously, that’s his boss and now boyfriend. but he knows the man can catch a lie like a blood sniffing shark.

he’s grateful, for the first time, that jack is on night shift. there’s only so much hiding he can do from one of his boyfriends, imagine two. so dennis tends to his patient, doesn’t let anything get in his way. but deep down he’s so miserable. he doesn’t really know what he wants, but he just wants it to go away.

the end of his shift is approaching and dennis can’t help but be glad that soon it’s over. he knows he’s not at his best, and if he continues at this rate his coworkers are definitely going to notice something is off.

just when he’s about to head out, already longing for his bed and four tylenols, he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

“whitaker. a word please.” robby’s smooth voice cuts through the silence. and dennis doesn’t know what the older man sees in his face for him to continue with a sharp “now.”, but he follows anyways.

and now he’s cornered. jack has apparently materialized next to them, and dennis is now standing between his two partners being stared at like an alien.

jack doesn’t say anything as he stares him up and down, nor as he brings up a hand to dennis’ forehead.

“hey!” dennis says as he swats jacks hand away. which is the wrong move, as the jerky movement causes his stomach to lurch like a wave. he clamps his mouth shuts and wills the nausea away.

the older man simply ignores his little tantrum and continues on, “you’re hot. not warm dennis, hot. you’re pale, breathings larbored, and even a little green.”

“i’m not.” dennis says petulantly like a child, the phantom feeling of his leg stomping coursing through him.

jack tsks. “yeah and i’m batman.” he scoffs. “you’re sick, and you’re pretending you’re not. which is worse than just admitting that you’re sick.”

dennis turns his head away. “i’m not sick. i’m fine. and i’m going home.”

a hand shoots out to grip his wrist. “not alone, you’re not.” robby interjects. “you’ve been sick all day. i’ve noticed. others noticed. let’s get you home okay? you need to rest.” he ends softly.

and dennis feels his stomach turns again, out of nausea or shame he can’t tell. but it twists a knife inside of him, the thought that he wasn’t able to hide it well enough. not just because he was found out, but because it means he failed. he failed at the simplest thing, to keep the hurt to himself.

tears pool in his sad round eyes. his shoulders square up for something, he just doesn’t know what. he knows robby and jack would never hurt him. but just because they haven’t, doesn’t mean nobody else ever has.

“no. no, i’ll go to apartment. im fine.” dennis says quietly, trying to pry his wrist from robby’s grip.

“den come on, are you gonna keep lying to us? to yourself?” jack says, and despite the words sounding harsh they’re delivered with hurt.

but to dennis this isn’t easy. saying he’s sick is like admitting defeat. it’s like pulling teeth.

saying he wasn’t feeling well as a kid only got him hurt, and he won’t let that happen to him ever again. doesn’t matter whatever he has to put himself through to keep people from finding out.

the tears rear their ugly head and fall down the slope of his fever flushed cheeks.

“i’m sorry. im sorry i tried to stop it. im sorry. i dont know. i dont know.” dennis whispers softly between hitches of his breath.

suddenly dennis is wrapped in warm strong arms. “dennis hey, it’s okay. it’s okay we got ya.” a hand makes his way to his head to brush through his curls.

“i don’t know why i get like this.” dennis cries, “im sorry.”

dennis does know. that’s the worst part. he knows how he would get hurt when he was sick. how there was no rest, no comfort. medicine wasn’t something his family kept. he would simply have to ride out the waves on his own and pray to god he would take it all away from him.

he’s shushed softly, “don’t worry about it baby it’s okay. you’re okay. let’s get you home and get some food in you okay? you’re okay” a kiss lands on his temple.

the ride to jack and robby’s house was quiet. dennis was laying on jacks lap in the back seat, feeling calloused hands tuck curls behind his ears, missing the concerned glances robby was sending through the rear view mirror and the silent conversation with jack robby was having.

“i thought you worked tonight.” dennis says, muffled against jacks strong thigh.

“not today sweetheart, don’t worry about it.”

when they arrive at the house jack leads him to the couch and helps him lay down. he removed dennis’ scrubs and replaces them with a soft pair of sweatpants and an old college hoodie belonging to robby.

the older pair take turns feeding him spoonfuls soup and re-wetting the damp rag on his forehead.

“i wish you would’ve told us you weren’t feeling well.” jack says softly as his hand finds his way to dennis soft hair? subtlety checking if the fever has gone down. “i know it’s not easy, but you haven’t said why.”

“not that you have to, not now.” robby interjects, setting the almost empty bowl of soup on the coffee table.

dennis shrugs and hides more into jacks lap. “it’s stupid.” he murmurs into the warm skin.

“it’s not stupid if it makes you rather hide and be miserable than accept help.”

dennis sniffles, “let’s talk about it later alright? just focus on resting.” robby says as he bends to lay a soft kiss on dennis flushed cheek.

the younger man obeys and shuts his eyes. he will open up tomorrow, right now he can soak up all the comfort he never got as a child. he’ll appreciate the hand in his hair, the thigh under his head, the soup in his stomach, and the constant fever checks. he’ll let the older pair mother hen around his sickness, even though it’s hard to wave that white flag around.

dennis was the youngest of his brothers. by that point his parents have not only given up on raising another child, but also refused to even pay him much mind. some nights they’d only give him the bare minimum of food, like the smallest pieces of meats and whatever left they could scrape off the pan. other nights they would only hand him whatever scraps they didn’t want. and on the worst nights, he didn’t get fed at all. there were some meals where they didn’t bother calling him to the table. there was a clear hierarchy in the house, a natural food chain, and dennis was permanently stuck at the bottom.

being homeless didn’t help. he scraped by during his med school years but his homelessness only fueled the fire, the one that reminded him to take what you need, don’t get too attached, don’t let anyone know, don’t let anyone go through this too.

when he started his rotations at ptmc he was able to snag a few sandwiches here and there, but he never took more than necessary for the fear of leaving patients without any or even his colleagues.

dennis never passes up on free food, not when someone gets motivated to bring something to the people on shift, but he always makes sure to be the last to take any. he doesn’t want to leave anyone without. he can’t be greedy.

“denny, your brothers are older. you understand that right? they need this more than you do. stop crying.”

“maybe you should’ve gotten here faster.”

“i didn’t think you’d want this.”

“do you deserve to eat?”

and oh, that one was the worst one. when he was bad it was used a punishment. there wasn’t much else they could take from him. and sure, he got the occasional beating with whatever his family could find, but when they wanted to be particularly cruel they would withhold his food. dennis didn’t have much too him at all, everything was a hand-me-down. there was nothing of value they could take or destroy, but this. this they could control.

it left him off kilter. he doesn’t know how to really act around food. it’s complicated. being full feels like he’s done something he shouldn’t have. like a child being caught with their hand halfway down the cookie jar. he feels the eyes staring through him whenever his stomach his full. the food weighs heavily in him. it’ll feel more like guilt.

it also left him with a complicated relationship with his body and his weight. in his eyes gaining weight means he’s failed. because it meant he indulged, it meant took what wasn’t his to take, it meant he was losing that control.

dennis couldn’t have control over many things in his life. not his familial situation, his economics, his housing…and he was so desperate to find it wherever he could. he wanted to be good, he wanted to prove he could be good.

so it became easy, the game of how long without. and he’s rationalized as you can’t miss what you didn’t have.

(some nights he dreams of stuffing his face with everything he’s wanted, but that feeling he’s searching for never comes.)

secretly, dennis loves the feeling. he loves the empty growling his stomach produces like an old theater echoing roaring laughter. like heavy thunder booming across time and space. he knows it’s bad, he knows he’s playing a risky game. but he can’t help it. it’s the only thing in his life he can take by the reigns and steer.

moving in with trinity doesn’t exactly help, it only makes it harder to hide. she rarely comments on his odd eating habits, not that he lets her see him in such a vulnerable state that often. but when she does,

“dennis are you gonna eat?”

“dude that’s not enough for dinner?”

“why are you scarfing it down? it’s not gonna grow legs and walk off.”

it leaves him in this odd limbo where he doesn’t know what to do. doesn’t know where to plant his feet like when you miss the last step while taking the stairs and your heart plummets right through the floor. so he doesn’t say anything at all, and tries not to stay long enough for her to notice.

and it’s not a problem. until it is.

until one moment he’s trying to get to his next patient and the next he opens his eyes to bright fluorescent lights, a cold linoleum floor to his back, and what feels like thousand eyes boring holes through him.

“stay down, whitaker.” a deep voice says as he feels a hand press down on his chest. instincts fighting over reason.

he shakes his head, less like a no and more so trying to get his bearings. “no i’m-i’m fine. i’m sorry. i’m sorry, im okay. got up too fast, i think.” he pushes back against the hand but he’s too shaky to do much damage at all.

“nope. not playing this game. you’re lucky i caught your head before you cracked it open on the floor, kid. would’ve made for a gnarly sight right? but im not in the mood for stitches right now so it’s your lucky day.” the deep voice adds and dennis is finally able to get a good look and put a face the voice (though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t recognize it. he could find the older man blind, with sound alone).

the words should be funny, but they land a little flat against the situation. “you’re getting checked, and you’re not gonna fight it capiche?

the fight in him simmers down, dennis truly is tired and out of it. but he just wants to close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare, from the terrifying ordeal of having passed out in front of his coworkers and bosses. how humiliating. would they find out? would the fire him because he can’t take care of himself? because he’s sick?

the tests don’t lie. he’s dehydrated and malnourished. he’s slightly underweight for his height and right now too shaky to properly hold the cup of juice in his hands.

they stare at him all alien. because why would he be going through this?

it’s not entirely a kept secret that he was once living in the hospital, much to his dismay. so he’s supposed to be better now that he’s living with trinity, and not…not this.

“i’m not dumb, you know.” trinity mumbles, leaning back into the hospital chair next to dennis’ bed. “i know you don’t eat.”

dennis opens his mouth to refute but his efforts are futile.

“shut up and let me finish.” she holds up her hand. “i didn’t know to go about it. i mean you’re skittish around food on a good day but on bad ones you outright vanish. you stare at your plate like it grew eyes. or you stuff your face like if you don’t it’ll be taken away from you.” she sighs out.

“i’m sorry.” dennis says around the knots in his stomach.

trinity pinches the bridge of her nose. “what the hell are you even sorry for?”

“alright alright let the poor boy relax.” a new voice chimes in and dennis whips his head to the other side of him.

trinity huffs. “i’m mad, and upset. But i care about you okay? I’m gonna go talk a walk…blow off some steam.” she gets up and leaves the room.

dennis looks down and clasps his hands together, not knowing what to do with them. “i didn’t mean to make her mad.”

“she’s not mad at you. nobody is.” robby says gently. “we’re just…worried. you’re one of us now, we care for our own.” the older man reaches out to lay his hand over dennis’.

“and she’s right you know. don’t think we haven’t noticed. we is maybe…a lot of people. but me and santos definitely have, dana too probably since she knows everything.” and the last bit finally gets a little smile from the young man in the hospital bed. “oh, and-”

a knock resounds off the door before it opens, allowing abbot to come in. “i came as quick as i could. well–as quick as stopping for some food allows me to be.” jack shuffles in bearing bags of take out from a local burger joint.

both him and robby start opening the bags and taking the food and plates out, making sure the three of them have nice portions. jack chatters lightly about the traffic and his day, not wanting the silence to win.

when they set the food in front of dennis, his world stops spinning. he can’t eat, doesn’t feel like he should. he’s made a fool of himself and lost control, he just needs to grasp onto something. dennis needs to plant his feet somewhere so he doesn’t spin out. so he can let gravity win this time around.

jack and robby have started digging in and are playing this game of trying not to look at him which is somehow worse than if they just looked.

“talk to us. walk us through your brain. what’s it telling you?” jack asks, finally daring to break the silence. robby gives him a look but the other man just shrugs.

dennis thinks for a second. “i don’t…know where to start.”

jack looks at him, “does it matter? start where you want. we can always circle back one hundred times if that’s what it takes.” he says, voice softer than before.

“it’s just a lot.”

“what is?”

dennis sighs, gesturing around with his hands. “this. this is.” he brings his hands up to his face and rubs. “i just can’t. i shouldn’t. so i cant.” tears start pooling in his eyes.

“eat? you think you shouldn’t eat?” robby asks gently.

dennis nods, looking away. “if it’s…about the way you look. dennis you’ve always been perfect if that’s what this is about. there’s nothing you need to change. you know we’d always take you in any form you take. you’re much more than what you look like.”

the younger man appreciates the words but, “it’s not about that. i mean–not entirely. kinda? but not really.”

“alright.” robby nods, “then what’s going on?”

dennis opens his mouth and the floodgates open. he pours out about his childhood. the neglect, the punishments, his father. he talks about his relationship with food, how it’s a reward he has to work for and not just a given. through tears he recounts his time being homeless. he hasn’t really touched on that since he started seeing both jack and robby, but it comes out of him all the same. dennis talks about the fears, about the uncertainty of when he could eat next. he tells them how sometimes it’s about punishment, how sometimes it’s much more than that.

he tells them that gaining weight is a bad thing. not for vanity reasons, but because it’s a physical manifestation of control slipping from him. how he has to be good, and not spiral out. dennis recounts the shame he’s been carrying all these years for not fitting in around food like others do. how he feels like an outlier in group settings, how he avoids gatherings with food yet can’t help himself but to take at least something because you just never know when’s the next time.

but worse of all, he admits how he’s so fucking hungry all the time. how it takes over and grows roots inside him. some days it’s all he thinks about. the absolute gnawing desperation inside of him. he tells them that some nights he desperately wants to cave in but he simply doesn’t know how. even if he deserved it, where would he begin?

they listen to him through it all, holding him gently and not speaking, not wanting him to shut it off. when dennis finishes, he’s a mess of snot and tears.

“i wish you could know how taking care of yourself isn’t a bad thing. there’s nothing to make up for, no mistake to agonize over. you don’t owe anything to anyone. you don’t have to play this part dennis. you don’t have to do this to yourself just because no one else will.” robby’s eyes shine with tears. “and no one else ever will get that chance again. not for as long as me and jack are alive.”

that gets a wet chuckle out of dennis, but it doesn’t last long before he quiets back down.

jack shifts, “i can’t lie and say i’ve never seen the appeal. the idea of hurting yourself? we all have had our ways. always trying to reach a goal, always ending up moving the goalpost. but right now, here with us, there’s no need to punish yourself. there’s no reward for it, at the end what do you have to show for it? there’s nothing.” he reaches over to grip dennis small soft hands in his calloused ones. “that should’ve never happened to you at all. you were a child, you were hurt. the weaponized whatever they could against you, just for leverage. but it’s over now, we promise you.”

“and no one’s mad at me?” dennis bravely asks through the lump in his throat.

robby brushes a stray curl out of dennis forehead. “never baby, never.” he presses a kiss to the blonds temple. “we wish we could’ve helped you sooner. but we have all the time in the world to convince you you’re someone worth being taken care of.”

and the older pair wants to tell him more. how sometimes bad, angry, people do bad things to be able to take control. to fall back on those shitty actions just because they’re spiraling out everywhere else. to tell him that what they did to him had nothing to do with him. that he’s perfect as is. doesn’t matter what standard he holds himself to, doesn’t matter how he looks like. he’s perfect as is. it’s not about the body he wears. not about how he looks. and though he’s beautiful, it’s about the fact that it’s the body that keeps him here with him. the same body they hold each night. it kills them to see how dennis is treating the only part of him they can touch.

but they won’t say this, not yet. robby and jack hold him through this night, and in the next and the next and the next they’ll say all of this however much it’ll take to take flight until it lands.

he built these walls around him and very rarely would someone slip right through. no one had for a while, until trinity.

trinity with her big personality and sharp tongue came waltzing in, and dennis was helpless at the intrusion.

he was wary at first, naturally. life had taught him that his path was filled with constant stones in his ways, lessons he hasn’t learned. he was protecting his heart, shielding away the parts of him that bruise the easiest. but he also desperately wanted someone to let in, to see the parts of him he barely shows to himself. and he found that in trinity, he thought it was mutual.

and eventually he started to let in a few others from the pitt. nowhere near the same amount as trinity, but he had found his own little family in his work. one where they could laugh with each other on the good days and hold each other on the bad ones. one where they can go out and let go, and carry each other at the end of the night.

but dennis was wrong. he gripped the phone tightly in his palm, small pixels staring back at him showing what started chipping away at his bruised heart. he saw the pictures, all the hang outs without him. going places they all wanted to go to. he read every message that tore him right up, the ones that complained about him. each word felt like burning stars digging into his back, soft flesh giving way.

dennis felt sick. he was so naive to think he could have one good thing without life slapping him in the face. he couldn’t bare witness to the sight the phone was giving him, the stone inside his stomach only amplified further and further. giving way to something so soft and fragile inside of him and cracking it down straight through like a glass with stress points.

tears sprung without warning, humiliation in his eyes clouding his vision. he was so fucking dumb, that’s the worst part. he should’ve known, but he’s always the last one to find out. he’s always the last one to leave. always alone, always apart. he was always alone in a room full of people. carrying his loneliness inside of him like a bruise of honor.

he simply turns trinity’s phone back down. doesn’t remember why he came to this room at all, so dennis goes into the bathroom and tries to collect himself. he hears the party going on in the other room. a cacophony of voices once so comforting now only repeat in his head what he saw written down, the ugly truth. it repeats what he should’ve known all along. the buzzing murmuring makes his heart beat like a wild horse. ‘get a fucking grip’ he thinks, swallowing around the glass in his throat.

but suddenly he’s five years old, staring with his round moon eyes at his brothers and begging them to tell him why won’t they play with him.

the next moment he’s ten years old and crying something ugly and yelling at his parents that why won’t they love him.

then he’s fifteen years old digging his knees into the church’s tiled floor pleading with god to fix whatever storm is brewing in his heart and to open up the sky, to part the sea, to burn the tree. just one message dear god, tell me what i can fix.

he’s twenty years old, homeless in the streets wishing for someone to look at him and not through him.

and now he’s twenty seven, gripping the sink so tightly his knuckles have turned white, looking at his fallen reflection and thinking ‘when will this end’

the voices outside laugh in unison, wringing out the sound of a cruel joke he’s not a part of. he wonders just how many he’s missed, he wonders how many are about him.

dennis wipes his eyes before the tears fall. he squares his shoulders. the lights above him shine in a such way, the view in front of him so reminiscent of that little boy in nebraska. he doesn’t feel any different at all from that five year old boy. much less now. sometimes he thinks that’s all he will be, a good for nothing boy just wasting everyone’s time, always in everyone’s way. a boy desperately trying to wrap his head around that fact that there’s something wrong with him that he doesn’t know.

that everyone else is in on this secret he will never find out.

so dennis will leave and join back the party. plastering a fake smile barely held up by its strings. he will play along if that’s what it takes to get through this. he won’t cause trouble, he will breathe this moment down.

but truly, he will forever be twenty seven inside that bathroom.

so now he’s dealing with an extremely modern phone with no idea how to really use it. he has the basic apps, like messaging and calls and safari, and maybe a game or two but doesn’t like playing much now due to ads overriding his experience. dennis doesn’t even decorate it, it has the cheapest case he could find and the pre installed wallpapers.

the mistakes he’s made are outstanding. he’s texted the wrong person before (naturally), typed out and sent his google searches to messaging chats, accidentally renamed the wifi instead of putting in the password (actually he renamed it the password, so that was a fun one for trinity to fix), has factory reset it once, added a new place on the map instead of looking for it (trinity was baffled he managed that), amongst other things. he’s also so grandpa coded with using his index finger to navigate his phone, and when trinity calls him old he will retort back that it gives him a better grip on his phone and more precision with clicking things (which he desperately needs).

now imagine jack and robby. they’re not exactly pros or anything, but know how to work around a phone just fine. in fact, maybe a little better than average with their years of experience of learning new technology coming out over the years. they think it’s incredibly endearing whenever whitaker accidentally sends them a random picture, blurry with only half his face in frame. it’s not even purposeful, he had no idea he even took or sent anything at all.

whenever the two older men ask dennis to search something up, dennis ends up with a completely different result. and the two of them have to team up to help dennis avoid clicking scammy pop ups and to avoid spam calls and messages.

(one time he called them panicking because he got a message of an outstanding toll debt.

“dennis, baby, you don’t even have a car.”

“well then how did they get my number!”)

it’s incredibly sweet to the older pair, and if anything it makes them feel useful in a way they haven’t before.

shamelessly plugging my hucklerobby angsty fic :3

summary:

The steady headache that pulsed behind Dennis’ eyes was a clear indicator of the type of day he was going to have.

He knows his feelings for his attending go deeper than admiration but that’s his secret to keep. He won’t let anyone else have it, not even Robby.

or

Sometimes Dennis can still taste the sourness in the back of his throat after leaving a sermon. And now these words seemed to haunt him the most. He would hear them be played back to him in this horrifying twist of guilt and shame.

dennis can hear the blood coursing through everyone’s veins. his senses heightening, begging him to do anything. to bite and to take and to drink. the hunger is revealing itself, rearing its ugly head with two sharp teeth. the fluorescent overhead lights is burning holes through him. he’s perpetually cold, but right now there’s this searing burn overtaking his insides. it’s hard to think straight when he feels like he’s on fire.

he barely works through the smell of blood in the air, resisting his fangs from making an appearance. he can feel them poking through and it’s only a matter of time before they slip right out.

dennis knows robby is taunting him. he knows he’s dangling this precious little relief over his head, he knows it’s a game. everytime robby looks at him, the attending tilts his head–and to everyone else it looks normal–but to dennis and dennis only, he is baring his neck. a simple gesture to many but to the poor and hungry vampire it’s a siren call. a beautiful melody trying to lure him to warm water deep below.

“hey dennis? let’s talk over here for a moment.” robby says and gestures with his neck, letting the skin pull taut.

dennis nods and swallows around the thick saliva in his throat. he’s so fucking thirsty.

“you seem…restless. antsy. any reason in particular?” robby asks with a sickeningly sweet smile. his eyes betraying the sweet nature of the question. robby knows the game, and he knows he’s winning.

“i’m not” dennis stutters out. he’s focusing on the repetitive up and down motion of robby’s adam apple as he talks, the salty sweat coating the breakable skin. he knows how easy it is to go for his jugular. and dennis is fast, robby wouldn’t even know what hit him.

but he can’t lose, not when he’s this close. he knows that robby needs this almost just as much as him.

robby smoothes dennis’ shoulders with his hands, pausing and letting his thumbs rest right on dennis throat. there’s no pulse, no bump bump bump flourishing under his thumb. but he can feel the shakiness overtaking the poor boy. he almost feels sorry for him. “lying is a sin whitaker.” he caresses the cold velvety soft pale skin. “i can see badly you need it, it’s written all over your face.”

and he does. dennis needs it bad. there’s electricity everywhere crawling underneath the surface and he feels that he might combust right then and there. but there’s something so satisfying to delaying the gratification, to press on the bruise, to pick the scab. there’s something so beautiful in relinquishing the control, to put down the act, and to let robby hold it all in his hands.

“i don’t, sir. i’ve got it under control.”

“you keep leaning close to every neck. you’re lucky no one has caught on.” robby says and dennis feels his non beating heart stop. “it’s okay, it’s okay,” robby soothes, “soon. you can wait a little longer right?”

and dennis, the ever loving obedient boy, nods feverishly.

“good boy.”

the praise is the only thing that gets him through the rest of his shift. he is good. and he won’t, can’t, let robby down. so he braves on, puts on his metaphorical armor and squares his shoulder to prepare for the blows. he powers right through every urge. he doesn’t lean into any exposed neck, doesn’t linger where blood smells, he doesn’t listen to his vampire instincts.

it’s the longest he’s gone without blood since being with robby. he’s been spoiled, according to the attending, and needed to learn how to control himself. but dennis doesn’t know how to explain just how good it feels to-

“come on dennis,” the blond man feels the heavy weight of hands set on his shoulder and steer him. “let’s go home.”

dennis can feel the anticipation, the excitement brewing in his stomach. he feels like a loaded gun, like an animal in a hot car. dennis stays silent during the drive home, letting robby’s rhythmic squeeze of his thigh lull him into a calm trance. he’s clenching and unclenching his hands, digging his nails into his skin the same way he would his fangs. he tries not to think about that comparison.

when they reach home, dennis is quick to unbuckle and enter while robby is taking his time. the man has no reason to rush, but he can’t deny how this little game has been making him feel.

in truth, robby is just as desperate. he’s longing for dennis’ sharp fangs to pierce his soft neck. but he can’t let the other man know just how wrapped around his finger he is.

when the both of them are inside their mouths slot together like a compass needle pointing north. they’re clawing at each other so desperately, feeding the desire. the only sound in the house is the messy kiss and their clothes dropping. robby thought he would have a bit more self control but he couldn’t hold it back once he entered that door. it was driving him insane all day seeing whitaker all pent up and desperate like a dog. all hot and bothered.

dennis can’t help the whimpers that escape him, the soft mantra of please please please. he needs it so bad he feels his fangs threatening to escape. he’s pressing into robby and holding him as if he can melt away. dennis doesn’t know for how long he begs until he finally hears the permission.

“yes baby. yes please. please baby feed. take what you need.” robby says, and dennis feels the green light inside of him burst open.

his fangs unsheathe, ripping through his gums. robby bares his neck in surrender though he holds all the reigns. he licks the warm skin, tongue peaking out and pressing down. dennis inches forward and ghosts his mouth over the exposed flesh, letting his fangs run against the skin. time slows down right now, the hunger is there but not at the forefront of his mind. he wants to savor the moment and drag it out. he runs his sharp fangs over the the skin, letting it catch.

and finally, dennis lets the soft flesh give way under the force of his bite. a burst of flavor immediately hits him. the burning in his skin now replaced by the buzzing euphoria. he feels the world fade out in waves, replaced by the rush of blood entering him. dennis can’t stay away, he sucks on the tender skin like it’s the last time he ever will. he’s dizzy with it and grinding up against robby as he gets his fill. he’s whimpering so softly, almost like a wounded animal. it feels like it’s been eons since he’s had the pleasure of feeding from robby. his deliciously sweet and metallic blood so fulfilling, so enriching.

dennis feels closer to heaven than the day he died and turned.

he can’t help himself, suckling on his partners skin like he will milk him dry. he only pulls away when he feels robby start to sway, dizzy unlike pleasure and more so blood loss.

robby brings the pad of his thumb to press against the exposed sharp edge of dennis’ fang, the stray blood drop staining his finger.

also imagine his horrifying realization that the same doctor who would go almost every night without fail to that rooftop is dr robby.

the same robby who he helped after a panic attack, the same robby who’s going on a sabbatical, the same robby who was on the verge of breaking down his whole last shift before leaving, the same robby who offered up his place like it was nothing, the same robby who said to him “if i don’t come back”.

dennis, genuinely confused, “uhh sorta? sure?”

but nothing ever changed how his father saw him. his brothers would take advantage of his eagerness to prove himself. either delegating the worst tasks to him or purposefully sending him off just to not have to deal with him. or locking him out of the house for the night.

when dennis realizes this, he starts making himself small. he tries to not call attention to himself. didn’t make a fuzz if his parents forget him at home when they went out. didn’t make a fuzz when his brothers left him at the school instead of all coming home together in their fathers truck, leaving him to find his way back by himself.

(one time they made him walk back in the middle of a rainstorm, it took him almost double the usual time to get home. and all he was greeted with was a complaint about tracking mud and water into the house.)

so when dennis moves in with trinity, he’s on edge. trinity holds the power to rip the rug from underneath him. he makes himself useful, and scarce. dennis makes trinity breakfast, but doesn’t eat any himself. he exclusively showers with cold water to leave enough hot water for her. he doesn’t hang out in the shared spaces, feeling like he’s invading. he never unpacks either, leaving his pitiful bag next to the bed.

and whenever trinity makes a jab at him, he never fights back. he takes it, quietly, and sees if there’s anything he can change. dennis doesn’t see anything wrong with it either, it reminds him of his brothers. all the roughhousing and verbal jabs. he doesn’t know any better, and doesn’t think he would deserve it.

one night while dennis is doing dishes he drops a plate. it shatters before he’s able to fully catch it and it slices into his palm. tears spring in his eyes, all he can think about is how mad trinity will be. he tries to clean up quickly when he hears familiar footsteps approaching.

“dennis?! are you-” trinity starts.

“i’m sorry. im so sorry. i didn’t mean to, it slipped. please i’m so sorry i won’t do it again i promise. i’ll pay for it-i can pay double. i’ll make up for it. please i’m so sorry i didnt mean it.” dennis cries out, piling some of the broken shards of ceramic onto his hands, uncaring of the tiny cuts they leave in their wake.

when trinity goes up to him he flinches back, he knows trinity would never. but it doesn’t stop his brain from trying to protect him like when he was a child.

she stops in her tracks and lifts up her hands, feeling way out of her element. “dennis, it’s okay. it was a mistake, they happen. just–just leave the pieces there okay? you’re hurting yourself.” trinity says and then gets up to find a broom.

“n-no it’s okay, really. it’s fine. and plus i deserve it. i shouldn’t have dropped it.”

trinity stares at him, broom in hand. “no.”

“what?”

“don’t you ever fucking say that about yourself, do you hear me? don’t ever say that you deserve to be hurt, much less over a simple mistake. it’s a plate dennis, we can get another plate anywhere. what i’m…worried about…is you. i don’t want to hear any bullshit like that coming out of you again.” she says as she bends forwards to sweep the shards into the dustpan. trinity leaves it on the floor as she then proceeds to grab dennis and haul him to her bathroom.

she turns on the faucet and guides his hands under the water, and gets the first aid kit tucked away under the sink.

as she starts dressing the cuts on his hands she starts, “i don’t know who made you believe that a simple mistake should be paid for in pain, but i do hope you know they’re out of their mind.”

trinity then adds quietly, “and i hope whoever caused you to flinch like that is fucking dead.”

dennis stills. “trin-”

“you think i haven’t noticed? that you live here like a ghost haunting it? you refuse to hang out in the living room, you haven’t unpacked your shit, and i hope you know im not dumb enough to believe that you ‘ate before i did’ whenever you make breakfast. i was hoping you would settle down and not think that i would kick you out at the drop of a hat but it seems you need a remainder.” trinity says, finishing up the bandages.

“i let you move in because i wanted to. you don’t owe me shit, not even rent. all i ask is to not make a mess or whatever. that doesn’t mean to act like it might be your last day living here. i…dennis i want you here. you’re my friend and-”

dennis gapes, “i’m your friend?”

“yes you idiot what did you think?”

“i don’t know!, that you were my friend but not that i was yours? i felt like a leech”

trinity levels him with a cold stare. “that’s genuinely the dumbest thing i’ve heard in my life and i’ve had to work shifts with shitheads who can’t tell left from right and essentially shoot up caffeine to function.”

“you’re my friend dennis. you listen to me when i rant about garcia. you make me breakfast, you help clean, you help me at work. you let me force you to watch my favorite shitty movies. we are a package deal alright?”

dennis feels a smile tug at his lips. “alright.”

“perfect, now who do i have to kill?” dennis can’t help the laugh that escapes him, and trinity joins in on it too.

pt. 2,

the next morning greets dennis with a pounding headache. for a split second he forgets what happened the previous night and thinks he’s woken up in a random house and in a random bed, which wouldn’t be impossible considering his latest track record. right when he’s about to get up to hastily leave before any guy could realize, it all hits him. the stranger at the bar, robby, his house, his hands untying his shoes, his hands in his hair, his name on his lips-

suddenly he feels very sick very fast.

dennis is thankful to whatever is listening that the door he opened was to a bathroom and not a walk in closet because he immediately dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and expelled all the contents of his stomach. he’s feeling absolutely miserable, embarrassed, and most of all exposed. his stomach is cramping, his throat is burning, and all he wants is to forget this ever happened and go back to the apartment.

suddenly he feels a gentle hand rub up and down his back as he’s crouched down and draped over the toilet.

“it’s alright, just get it all out.” robby says as he continues rubbing circles on dennis’ back. uncaring of the fact that the other man is actively throwing up.

dennis wants to reply but another bout of nausea shuts him right up. it’s only once he feels his stomach uncomfortably empty that he can finally lean back and sit down against the floor. he brings the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, not really caring that it gross. dennis feels the older man step away for a second and come back with a cup of water and ibuprofen. he’s incredibly grateful for it as he chugs the water and the pill to chase away the lingering taste of bile in his mouth.

“i’m sorry.” is all dennis can think to say right now. there’s much more he wants to say, but doesn’t know where to start. but he brings his hand to rub at his chest, his heart, as if he could localize the pain. his cheeks turn painfully red, humiliation running rampant in his veins like fire coursing them. it burns.

robby gently hums. “what for? throwing up? you’re probably hungover as fuck right now dennis. i don’t mind. at least you made it to the bathroom.” he huffs, but there’s not much humor behind it. he’s clearly dancing around the issue at hand. the real reason why dennis was hungover in his bathroom, the real reason why dennis was here at all.

“i don’t know.” the younger man replies, closing his eyes against the fluorescent bathroom light. with his eyes closed he can almost pretend this is all a bad dream. for a moment he’s just in his own bathroom back at the apartment with trinity. coming home from another hookup, just another way to hurt himself, alone in the bathroom feeling sorry for himself and angry he’s doing this at all.

robby doesn’t reply but maneuvers dennis to his feet and guides him out to the living room. in the morning light dennis can actually appreciate the place. it’s nicely decorated but there’s not really anything behind it all. robbys got all the right things but it doesn’t feel like the real thing.

“i ordered something to eat. i know you’re probably not hungry but you need something greasy and something in your stomach.” robby says as he deposits a miserable looking whitaker on his couch, leaving to the kitchen and coming back with two plates of a hearty breakfast.

the tv is on and playing an old action movie dennis doesn’t know the name of but has seen some clips quite a few times. it’s nothing but a waiting game now, so dennis settles back into the couch. he gets lost in the movie and plays around his food like a child. he’s barely listening but it’s enough to distract him from whatever mess his head would be brewing otherwise. it reminds him of coming home late with trinity and her putting on a random movie to watch together to decompress, they would talk sometimes but other times they’d sit in silence and-

‘oh god’ dennis thinks, “trinity.”

“what?” robby calls out next to him, dennis unaware of when the man had even sat beside him on the couch.

“i- trinity. i need to call her. she’s probably wondering where i am-” he starts, whipping his head around and patting his pockets to check for his phone.

robby digs into his own pocket and pulls out the phone, extending the hand towards dennis. “don’t worry, i messaged her. i saw she was blowing up your phone and i called her with mine.”

dennis stills. he wonders what exactly robby told her, and if trinity spilled anything to him about his…habits lately. for a moment he feels like a child being caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. the shame coiling in his stomach while his parents’ disappointed dagger eyes stared right through him.

“you should call her. she likely wants to hear from you herself.” robby adds as dennis reaches out for the device.

dennis can’t help himself, “did she tell you anything?” he blurts out.

“tell me what?”

“so she didn’t.” dennis feels himself minutely relax.

“oh no, she did.” and suddenly there’s no ground beneath dennis. no solid ground to plant his feet on, to hold on to. nothing to tether him. “she had a lot to say, we…we had a lot to say.” robby finishes.

there’s not really much dennis can do but ride out the waves, will himself to not fight the tide. if the truth is out there—or a truth, whatever it might be—it’s already done. it means he’s already lost the battle, no chance to wear his armor. he’s used up all of his resilience for what, kept it to himself for nothing. dennis feels the dagger dig inside him, it twists. he’s swallowing around glass.

“oh.” dennis replies lamely, his mouth forming around words he doesn’t dare say out loud. he doesn’t know what they are, but in his head they take shape inwards. they take ground, grow roots, and dig deep. they push out sharp fangs and pierce right through. they take over like a cancer, and he’s powerless against the swelling storm in his heavy head.

robby turns his body towards the younger man. “she had…concerns. i did too.” he starts, “i started noticing something that was…upsetting. you became quieter, unsure in a way that reminded me of when you first started your rotation here with me. it didn’t seem like you were really there and i mean- it never affected your work but, you weren’t you.” robby sniffs and looks down.

“i overhead trinity calling you for not coming home, for not calling or texting. i saw the bruises, the marks, but i didn’t want to dig into something that wasn’t my business.” the older man sighs. “but it became my business last night when i saw you and that guy. that disgusting-” robby cuts himself off and licks his teeth. “he could’ve really hurt you dennis. he was stone cold sober and you…you were gone. it was your face, your body, but your mind was somewhere else entirely and that was terrifying.”

truthfully, dennis wants to cry. but he desperately wants some form of control back. he wants to shout, wants to twist and contort his body like a child throwing a tantrum. he wants to call attention to anything else than the truth that’s sitting between them. dennis wants to fight back, spew out ugly truths about the other, shift the light to someone else. but he won’t. he can’t. unless-

he scoffs. “as if you care.” and now his sharp teeth have reared their ugly little heads. his brain is misfiring, he’s sad and humiliated but it comes out all wrong and angry. he wants to twist his wires, connect them where they should. but there’s this chill hardening the liquid metals in his blood, springing him up and he’s starting to build the walls around him.

robby gapes, “what? you think i don’t care?” he says. hurt at the mere thought of uncaring.

dennis can’t stop the huff that escapes him (nor the tears pooling in his eyes like shining pearls), “i’m just a student to you. i’m nothing. so yeah, why would you?” he spits out, aiming for venom but it lands like how it truly is. it’s all insecure and small, no matter how loudly he said it. the wall cracked, letting that darkness spill through. he’s just that to robby, just a student. nothing more, and maybe everything less. but he wants more, he wants it all.

“dennis…” robby starts, helplessly staring at him with his round sad brown eyes.

“you don’t want me. how could you?” his tears fall like accident tire marks on a road, the desperate braking against the inevitable. and finally, his faucet stops pouring. it’s all out, all his cards are laid on the table. it’s not as scary as he thought, but the worst is only yet to come. he’s already imagining the disgust clouding the older man’s eyes. the coiling back of his body, the fear of contagion. he can hear the words he will say, the ones that kick him out and shut him down. he’s lucky if they would only be in the context of the home, and not his job.

robby’s own tears mar his face. “dennis, how could i not?” he whispers. his hands open up in front of him, like a show of hands. as if he’s telling dennis that he’s safe and won’t be hurt. telling him that it’s the truth.

and dennis wants to believe him. but he’s saying it as if it’s easy. as if there’s nothing difficult about wanting him.

“i was scared, you know? that first day i met you. there was something reeling me in, to you, and i was powerless. i couldn’t keep away. and then in pedes you- you reached out to me in a way barely anyone can. you saw a different side to me i rarely show even to myself, and you didn’t run. instead you gave me your hand.” robby extends his hand towards the younger man, like a lighthouse to a rocking ship in the middle of a storm. guiding him where exactly to go.

“let me be there, this time, for you.” robby finishes.

their hands clasp together, fingers slotting together like puzzle pieces they didn’t know each other were missing. like wires clicking into their slots. dennis’ anger dissipates like droplets of water on a burning stones. everything comes rushing back to him, and he feels himself falling towards to robby.

robby holds him, wrapping his arms around him not like he’s fragile, but something worth protecting.

he wordlessly cries into robby. sobs pouring out of him like concrete spilling out, shedding the weight he’s been carrying like his personal cross to bear. robby soothes him gently, lets dennis push out every shard of glass of hurt that was digging into his skin and making a home out of him.

it feels like hours pass when dennis finally looks up. the light is spilling in, painting in light robby’s silhouette. dennis feels his stearing wheel heart settle, finding home.

- cannot for the LIFE of him hide his baffled/shocked facial expression. everyone will know

- genuinely misses so many jokes it’s painful for others to witness

- trinity had to give him explicit permission to use ANYTHING in the apartment. she was getting sick of him asking to use anything. (ie “can i get something from the fridge?” “can i eat this?” “can i watch tv?” , “oh my god yes dennis do whatever you want im not your mom”)

- basically eats the same thing everyday. and then randomly switches up to something else for a while when trinity already bulk bought the previous food. (it’s a cycle, or circle because he will go back)

- always stimming and fidgeting with his hands, ALWAYS. trinity desperately wants him to get a fidget toys, and he does have them, but bringing it to work is a whole ordeal and he doesn’t want to ruin or lose it (or worse, have people ask for it) so hand stimming it is

- the bright white overhead light at the hospital gives him headaches and overstimulates him by the end of his shift, when he gets home he will lay in the dark for hours in his room

- hates taking pills bc of the feeling of it going down his throat. he’s convinced it stays stuck there. HAS to eat a little something to make sure it’s down and GONE

- didn’t understand trinity’s mean demeanor. he was either clueless to a lot of small jabs or took them personally. when trinity finally showed her soft side dennis realized she was just joking with him in the way she knew how to. he tries to reciprocate but everything falls flat, trinity has to teach him how to be “mean” back. (he’s def said something a little too mean without realizing and apologized profusely once he did)

- is BLUNT but simultaneously a people pleaser…somehow

- tucks in his scrub shirt bc he read somewhere that’s how it’s supposed to be safer so it doesn’t get caught, and he is not a rule breaker (it doesn’t really matter anymore but he follows despite seemingly being the only one who does. he also hates the elastic leaving marks on his skin and the shirt helps stop that)

- is a crier. any emotion makes him cry. especially when he’s overwhelmed and overstimulated

- tries not to cry in front of others tho, he was constantly labeled a cry baby as a child. nobody ever understood his needs as a kids

- chronic resting sad face. constantly asked if he’s okay. (he is? he doesn’t know why people ask all the time)

- has comfort clothes for around the house he cycles through. has 4 shirts and pants he uses all the time and rarely mixes up the shirts with dif pants

- will find the weirdest most specific way to describe things (ie “it tastes…stinky.” “dennis something cannot taste stinky. that’s a smell.” “no i swear!”)