#so does reader's

Dennis's old family truck rocks back and forth lightly, like a warm summer’s breeze is passing through the empty field it’s parked in. But this cool, breezeless autumn night, the rocking is caused by the people inside. 

Your thrusts are inexperienced, uncertain, and so nervous that someone may walk by, and notice the blasphemy happening behind the fogged up windows. No one will; the wheat fields have grown tall enough that the truck is nearly completely hidden.  Your head falls against Dennis's shoulder, head tilted slightly as if to try and kiss him. You never do, though. 

Kissing is too real; a seal on the letter of sin you and Dennis have been writing for the past several months. You’d seal the letter a thousand times over, stick it with a stamp, and send it out to the world. Dennis refuses- for good reason, your families would hardly be accepting of… Whatever it is you and Dennis are. 

Dennis's breath flutters your hair, and his hands claw at your back, red lines surely being left behind. Red lines that will surely be there in the morning, ones you’ll treasure in the mirror, relish in the burn you feel when you hide them beneath a shirt. Red lines- red lights flash in the corner of your eyes, then blue, breaking through the window. 

“Denny, you in there?” John Whitaker’s (Dennis's second older brother) voice follows shortly after a knock on the window.

“S-shoot,” Dennis shoves you off him harshly, your head bouncing off the passenger seat. “Hide yourself!”

“Where?” You hiss back, ducking your head when John brings his flashlight up to the window. “Not exactly many places to shove myself under!”

“Just--” Dennis glares at you, a look of distress, and guilt. You can’t tell if it’s guilt from being caught, or him snapping at you. He grabs his jeans, tossing it over your head.

 “Dennis, I know it’s you, I can see Pa’s lucky rabbit’s foot hangin’ on the rearview! Who’ve you got in there?” John taunts, knocking on the window again. “Is it Elizabeth? I saw her making eyes at you durin’ church the other day!”

“Joooohnnn,” Dennis grows, clutching his shirt to his chest, scooting forward to crank the window down. “Why’re you out here?”

“Pretty sure that’s my question, Denny boy,” you don’t dare try to look up, holding your breath to keep from being noticed. “I was doing my rounds, saw Pa’s truck in the field, and was worried some thief got to it. I was being a good cop, and a great son! You are out past curfew with a girl.”

“Please don’t tell Mama, and Pa,” Dennis begs, his voice wavering slightly. The leather creaks as Dennis moves, presumably to keep John from trying to steal looks into the truck. “I’ll do your chores for the rest of the year, I promise.”

“Calm down, Dennis. I’m not gonna tell. I think it’s good yer breaking loose, you goody two shoes,” John snorts, his utility belt clacking with the shift of his weight, still trying to see who Dennis is rendezvousing with. “Well!... Get home. Now, and be a gentleman, and drop the lady off at home too, huh?”

There’s a shift in his tone that you can’t place, a flatness that wasn’t there before. The relief you feel when you hear him turn away, then a car door opening and shutting, overshadows anything that nags at the back of your mind. 

“Crazy, right?” You laugh awkwardly, crawling over the center console into the passenger seat. “Dennis?” At his lack of response, you turn around, finding him staring out the window where John’s car just was. “Dennis?” 

“What?” His head whips over to you, eyes owlishly wide. “S-sorry. We should go,” he mumbles, maneuvering into the driver’s seat, avoiding any physical contact with you. 

“Yeah… We should.” You nod, pulling your shirt on. Your breathing shudders as he pulls out of the field, heart beating in time with the old, sputtering air conditioning. 

Dennis stops driving around a half mile away from your house. The truck jerks, and Dennis isn’t looking at you when unbuckle. “Not gonna walk me to the front door, Denny?”

The looks he gives you suggests that you just ran over his prized calf instead of making a fun little joke. “Why would I walk you to the door? I’m not your boyfriend, this is a secret! We can’t- I’m not. I’m not gay!”

“I didn’t say you were, Dennis! I was jokin’!” You scoff, taken aback by Dennis's defensiveness. “I’ll--”

“You shouldn’t be joking about stuff like this! Do you know what would’ve happened if John had seen you!? W-we coulda been taken to jail, or he coulda told our parents, and who knows what they’d do to us!” Dennis's arms are flailing about, his voice growing higher, more desperate. “We are sinning! We’re going to go to hell b-because that’s where all the… All the fags go! And you’re here jokin’ that I should be walking you to your house?”

Your bottom lip wobbles as Dennis continues with his tirade, all words you’ve heard from your parents, his parents, the people in town. None of the vitriol was even directed at you, and it was already fear inducing. You don’t want to know what would happen if it was directed at you. 

“I’m sorry, Dennis… It was a bad joke,” you stammer, biting at the dry skin on your lip until you taste blood. “I’ll walk the rest of the way to my house.”

“Good! Get out,” Dennis cries, pursing his lips, and turning his head away from you. “Get out,” he whispers, softer this time.

You don’t say anything else, gathering the jeans you still haven’t put on, leaving the car. You barely have time to close the door before Dennis is peeling away; you watch the back of his truck get smaller, then disappear completely down the hill. The Whitaker farm isn’t far from yours, close enough you can hear the truck backfire when Dennis makes the sharp turn into their driveway. 

A cool breeze ruffles the foliage around you, goosebumps pricking your skin. Your entire body feels mechanical as you pull your jeans on, feet moving on their own to bring you to your house. The front door winces open, in time with your own. You’d go through your window, but the last time you did that, you popped the frame out, and had to make up an excuse about a dislocated shoulder you didn’t have the day before. 

It’s not like you have to worry about your parents waking up; Papa wouldn’t wake up if a tornado was at his head, and anything Mama would be able to hear gets drowned out by Papa’s snoring. It makes for an easy in and out. There’s still precautions you take, of course: avoiding the creaky boards, slowly shutting the door, no lights. The basics. 

“Where’ve you been?” Your papa’s voice comes from behind you, lights flooding the room. 

Your heart sinks like a lead weight in freshwater. There’s a tremor in your hands as you release the doorknob, and it turns full body as you turn around. “I-I was… I was out.”

“Past curfew?” Mama’s voice is tight, shriller than usual. “Were you with someone?”

“No, Ma’am. I just went for a walk, by myself,” you fib, forcing yourself to keep looking at them. The moment you look away, they’ll know you’re lying. They already do, you’re sure. “It was just a walk, I swear it.”

“He says he was just out for a walk, Teresa,” Papa shrugs, fingers curling around his arm, staring right into the depths of your soul. “A walk--”

“You’re lying!” Mama cries, slamming her hand down on the table. “John Whitaker came here and told us! You were with Dennis. You were sinning, and you dare lie to us? Have this devil no mercy on your soul?” Her voice has raised to a pitchy shriek, eyes as wild as her untamed hair. 

The world is spinning around you, too fast for you to handle. It’s all happening too fast. They weren’t supposed to find out, they weren’t supposed to know!

 “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Mama is in front of you now, grabbing your arms tighter than necessary. “What did we do wrong? We raised you right, we raised you good and well. How has a demon managed to possess our sweet boy? How did the devil take hold of you?”

“I’m not a demon, Mama. T-there is no devil in me!” You try to pry her off, but she’s stuck on you. Papa finally moves, encroaching behind Mama. “Please, Mama!”

“That’s the devil speaking,” she hisses, blunt nails digging into your skin. “How long have you and Dennis been sinning?”

“Mama, we haven’t--”

“Don’t lie to me!” She yells, rattling you around like a ragdoll. “You are a demonic child! I should’ve known. I should’ve known our only son had something wrong with him. I don’t know how this happened, I don’t know how you became a faggot. We didn’t raise you this way.”

“You can’t stop the devil’s doings, Teresa,” Papa finally speaks again, setting a hand on Mama’s shoulder, pulling her away from you like you’re the one that’s going to hurt her. “But we cannot condone this. You need to leave. Now.”

“No,” you shake your head, “No, please. Papa, I swear. I’m good. I’m not the devil!” 

Mama is crying into Papa’s chest, wailing loudly with her hand curled around her cross. “Be gone.”

There’s an emptiness to his eyes, no hint of love, not an ounce of recognition. It’s like he’s looking at a stranger, and not his own son. His only son. They’re just throwing you out. Just like that. 

“I don’t get to go get my things?” You ask, voice wavering slightly. That’s the least they can do, give you something!

“We bought those things for our son, and no faggot is a son of ours.” His words are resolute, brooking not even a chance for argument, no place for pleading.

You can only find it in yourself to nod, backing up to the door without breaking eye contact with the man in front of you. You hear the lock slide into place when you close the door, and the doorknob doesn’t move when you twist it. This is really happening. You need to go tell Dennis.

Dennis. If John told your parents, then surely he told his own. You don’t feel the shake in your bones as you take off down the road, boots kicking up loose rocks in the road. The lights are on in the Whitaker house, which is more than enough to confirm it. You bang on the front door frantically, trying to peer into the windows. 

John is the one to answer the door, like he’d been expecting you. There’s a smug, almost victorious smile on his face, evil and malicious. John Whitaker (Dennis's father) grabs John by the scruff, shoving him away. Mr. Whitaker is an intimidating man, tall and burly, and judgemental. He’s never liked you, finding you to be a bad influence on Dennis, always distracting him from his chores.

“You’re not welcome here,” he gruffs, standing in front of the door to keep you from daring to enter. “You need to leave our property.” 

“Please, Mr. Whitaker, I need to talk to Dennis, please,” you beg, standing on your toes to try and steal a glance over his shoulder. “I can explain. I can explain everything. Let me explain.”

“Dennis has already explained everything,” Mr. Whitaker says, stepping to the side to reveal Mrs. Whitaker holding Dennis to her chest. He’s crying, you can tell. “He told us everything. Left nothing out.”

Dennis explained it, and his parents didn’t kick him out. This is good news. Maybe if you can just talk to Dennis, he can convince them to let you stay. “He told us how you manipulated him into sinning. You corrupted him with your faggot ways.”

“What?” You can barely hear your own voice over the ringing in your ears. The world spins under your feet, and you nearly stumble. “No, no. That’s not true.”

Dennis wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t blame you for everything. He wouldn’t; he loves you- even if it’s just as a friend. He does. “No, Dennis, please. Please, Dennis, let me talk to you.” You’re crying now, pleading with him. “Dennis, at least look at me! Please! P-please.”

“Y-you tried to corrupt me,” Dennis insists, lifting his head to make eye contact with you. The guilt in his eyes hits you like a freightrain. He really is doing this. “You’ve got demons in your soul, and you’re tryna get me to join you. I-I’m not gay, I’m not like you.”

Like you. Is that what Dennis believes? Is it all that he sees when he looks at you? “No, Dennis. No, please. Don’t do this,” you beg, stepping forward with your eyes fixed on him, and only him. “Don’t let them--”

The last thing you see before the door is slammed in your face is Dennis burying his face into his mother’s chest. The first sob doesn’t tear from your throat until you’re miles down the road, your knees giving out beneath you. You don’t know what to do: no family, nothing to your name… No Dennis. Nothing, and nobody, and nowhere to go.

You look at your arms, the lines of your mother’s nails burning red hot on your skin. You clutch your arms against your chest, hands pushing down on your shoulders. Your skin stings as your fingers press against your back. You press harder, relishing in the sting Dennis left. 

------------ 

Dennis can’t look as his pa shuts the door in your face. He did this to you, he’s just like his parents, and your parents, casting you away like you mean nothing to him. All for the sake of not suffering the same fate that’s met you. 

“There’s some children even God can’t reach,” his mother whispers to him, rubbing his arms consolingly. “I’m just glad he didn’t drag you with him, my sweet boy.”

God? God!? He has nothing to do with this. It’s not God’s fault, it’s not the devil’s fault, it’s their fault. It’s your family’s fault. It’s his fault. He shouldn’t have thrown you under the bus, he should’ve admitted it, and gone with you. He’s a coward, just like the god that can’t accept someone who’s different. 

He wakes up the next morning, and he marches to your house. The trashcans on the corner are full… with your stuff. He recognizes your clothes, your knick-knacks, everything. Your parents didn’t even have the decency to bag it, just tossing it right into the bin. He drops to his knees, gravel digging into his skin.

Dennis grabs a flannel that’s on the ground, pulling it to his chest. He has a million like it, so do you. No one will notice if he takes it, no one will notice if he tucks it into his dresser. He will, though. This one smells like you, it’s the only thing he has left of you. 

Dennis sobs into the fabric, burying his face into it the same way he did in his mother’s chest last night. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but his tears have long stopped falling when he gets up, dragging himself into town. Townsfolk stare at him, and he stares back, just long enough to look at their faces, hoping to find yours.

Maybe you didn’t leave town, someone might’ve been nice enough to let you stay in their house. With the looks Dennis is receiving, though, he doubts it. Word travels quickly in Broken Bow, as both of you learnt last night. 

Dennis searched everywhere, listened to every bit of gossip when he heard people whispering around him. They don’t know where you went; there’s rumors: ‘a bus to California’ ‘he checked himself into the nearest institution’ ‘eaten by coyotes after spending the night on the streets’. All more ridiculous, and devastating than the last. You’re really gone. 

Dennis feels empty, his heart ripped out, and gone with you. His best friend… Maybe there’s a little consolation. You got away, right? You always talked about it: leaving. Dennis always clammed up when you mentioned it; it’s just another thing that scares him. He’s never been out of Broken Bow, let alone Nebraska, like you dreamed about.

Maybe this is better for you. Or maybe it’s just how he’s trying to rationalize you being gone, Dennis isn’t sure. The fabric of your flannel warms him, tightening around him uncomfortably. He doesn’t take it off, though. He can’t. He won’t.

Dennis finds himself wandering back to your house, slinking up the front door. He knows your father is working in your family’s field, and your mother is likely in town, so he can enter freely. You don’t have any siblings to ruin your life.. And someone else’s. He slinks in through the front door, creeping up the stairs. 

He stands in the middle of your empty room, his mind unable to make sense of the room he once knew so well being completely stripped. It keeps trying to fill in the blanks: an unmade bed with mismatched sheets, clothes strewn across the floor, and haphazardly tossed in a basket, picture frames and wood carvings on the top of your dresser. He remembers everything, all of it, but it’s not there. 

Come this Friday, it won’t exist at all, and with your belongings, you. The town will pretend you never existed, not unless they need to gossip in hushed tones about the devil boy who tried to corrupt the Whitaker’s youngest son. The worst part is, they’ll never know it was Dennis's fault: he started it, he initiated it, and he was the one who couldn’t give you up. 

Dennis carries the weight with him everyday. Every time you don’t interrupt his daily chores, when you aren’t sitting a hair too close to him in church, everything. There’s times he wakes up and expects you to be there. The guilt eats at him until there’s nothing left, wearing him down to the bone, and when he builds himself back up, there’s still something lacking. 

----

Dennis finds himself pressed between Trinity and Javadi at some club, the glass tabletop he’s leaning against slightly sticky- it might also just be his sweat-slicked skin. Even as scantily clad as he is in the fishnet top Trinity insisted he had to wear, he’s still overheating. From dancing on the packed floor, obviously, and not the fact that Dr. Robby is sitting across from him in a t-shirt that’s just a size too small. 

“Stare harder, he hasn’t noticed yet,” Trinity snorts under her breath, jabbing her elbow into Dennis's arm in what she likes to call a loving, and playful manner. “Seriously, you’re going to burn holes into him.”

“Stop, I haven’t been staring at him,” Dennis mumbles, forcing his eyes away from Robby to glare at Trinity. “He’s just in front of me, hard not to look at him when I’m looking straight.”

Trinity pauses, drink half to her lips, and looks Dennis up, then down, then up again. “Huckleberry, nothing about you is looking straight right now.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” Dennis huffs, smacking Trinity’s shoulder. “I just.. I.. I’m not staring at him!”

“Riiiight, and I’m ‘not’ about to go flirt with the bartender over there.” The finger quotes she does when she says ‘not’ makes Dennis roll his eyes. “Craaaash, let’s go get you refill!”

“But I don’t need a--” Trinity gives her a pointed look, waving an incredibly discreet hand between Dennis and Robby. “Ooooh, I do need a refill. Yes, let’s go!”

“I need a refill too!” Dennis raises his voice over the blasting music, holding his empty glass in the air.

“Huh? Can’t hear you!” Trinity spins around, shrugging with a smirk before disappearing into the crowd.

Dennis shakes his head, sighing deeply as he sets his glass back down. He does need a refill if he’s going to be dealing with Trinity’s antics all night, and if he wants enough confidence to broach talking to Robby. 

“You need a drink, Whitaker?” Robby’s voice drags Dennis out of his own thoughts, and Robby holds out the whiskey he’s been nursing for the past ten minutes. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“I.. uhm.. A-are you sure?” Dennis can feel his cheeks heat up, gingerly reaching for the crystal tumbler. “Thank you,” he mumbles sheepishly, taking a sip of the whiskey, face screwing up at the slight burn.

“Not a fan of whiskey there, kid?” Robby snorts, leaning back in the tall, leather-lined chair he’s in, tongue absentmindedly running over his bottom lip. 

“Reminds me of home,” Dennis coughs, passing the glass back over to Robby. “S-since whiskey is commonly made with corn, and corn is.. Y’know.”

“Nebraska, right?” Robby nods, watching Dennis intently. “Doesn’t answer the question, though. Not a fan?”

“Yeah, Nebraska,” he confirms, scooting ever-so-slightly closer to Robby’s side of the table. “... It’s not my favorite, I guess. It’s good! Just not my favorite.”

“It can be an acquired taste, you kinda get used to it after a while,” Robby leans forward again, tilting his head slightly. “What’s Nebraska like, aside from.. Corny?”

Dennis can’t help the snort that leaves him, “That’s horrible,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it is pretty corny… But it’s home. I’m not sure how to describe it other than that.”

“Do you miss it?”

Yeaaah, Dennis really needs that refill now. The last thing he expected was for Robby to start asking about home. Figures, the one time they're alone together and Robby has Dennis talking about stupid Broken Bow, Nebraska. 

“Some things, yeah. People mostly,” he answers vaguely, looking over the railing, down at the dancefloor on the first level of the club. “My parents, my brothers.” There’s a name that lingers in the back of his mind, the same of that always does when he thinks about home; he can’t bring himself to say it aloud, though. Hasn’t for years. 

“Family’s pretty important,” Robby agrees, standing up with a deep groan. “No friends though?.. No girlfriends?”

“No, no girlfriends,” Dennis laughs nervously, watching Robby come closer. 

“No boyfriends?” Robby pries, stopping when his shoulder presses against Dennis's. 

“... N-no. No boyfriends.” It’s true, he never had a boyfriend. “Broken Bow’s not exactly the most accepting place.”

“Pittsburgh must be quite a relief then.” Robby looks Dennis over, sucking air sharply through his teeth. “... It’s nice seeing you loosen up.”

“Dr. Robby, are you flirting with me?” Dennis asks, head tilting slightly. Please say yes, please say yes.

“What if I am?” Robby asks back, head tilting the same way Dennis has his. “Is that a problem, Dr. Whitaker?” 

Dennis giggles--like giggles--his head spinning slightly. Maybe he didn’t need another drink; attention is doing plenty to intoxicate him. “Not at all.” Dennis sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, feeling a surge of confidence as he strokes Robby’s arms. 

Robby grins, leaning closer to whisper in Dennis's ear when Trinity’s voice breaks through the crowd, “Huckleberry! You’re never going to believe this!” 

Dennis squints, trying to see why exactly Trinity is barreling through the crowds like a crazy person, “Someone just me and Javadi drinks, right? Yeah, I know, obviously they would, we’re cute as fuck- anyway, get this! He’s from Nebraska, maybe you guys know each other!” 

The grin on her face suggests that she knows exactly what Dennis is about to say: “Not everybody from Nebraska knows each other,” he sighs. Trinity does this constantly: any midwestern state is ‘you guys must know each other!’.

“Well, Vicky is bringing him over anyway. He’s cute.. For a guy,” she snickers, curling a lip up. “You can see!”

“I’m kind of…” Dennis trails off, looking between Trinity and Robby, widening his eyes at her to try and get the point across. 

“Vicky-dicky-doo-dah, bring the corn husker!” Trinity, who Dennis realizes is going to be hogging the bathroom tonight, and probably tomorrow morning, cheers. 

Dennis groans, head dipping down in embarrassment. Poor Robby, and poor random stranger that happens to be from Nebraska- and poor HIM! He was just getting into a vibe with Robby. It was finally happening!

“Meeeet your fellow Nebraskan!” Javadi giggles, fluttering her fingers at the man who Dennis refuses to look up and meets the eyes of out of pure shame. 

“I am soooo sorry, I don’t know these people at all, actually.” Dennis says, lifting his head to glower at Trinity, and to finally look at the poor soul they’ve kidnapped. “I’m Den--”

------------ 

You weave through the crowd, trying to surf your way to the bar. It’s your first night out since you’ve gotten to Pittsburgh, and it’s… Different. People here are loud, and expressive- unabashedly themselves, and proud about it. It reminds you of if New Jersey and San Francisco had a baby (both cities you’ve traveled through in the past decade).

Somebody shoulder checks you without apology, knocking you into someone who squeals. “Ope, I am so sorry,” you gasp, setting your fingers over your lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes I’m fine--”

“Dude! Major party foul!” A much more offended lady grabs the one you bumped into, pulling her into her side. “Seriously!”

“I’m sorry, again. I’ll buy you a round,” you promise, wincing at her raised tone. “I’m--”

“You shoulda lead with that guy! Free drinks,” the black haired lady wiggles her shoulder, bumping the other one. “I’m Trinity, this is Crash, aka Javadi, aka Vicky!”

“Just Javadi is fine,” Javadi giggles, shrugging away Trinity. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to buy us drinks,” she says, waving her hands through the air. 

You laugh as Trinity elbows her, introducing yourself. “No, I insist, I’ve got y’all covered,” you laugh, waving down a bartender. He’s handsome, and based on the way he looks you over, you figure he feels the same way about you; his eyes on you makes your skin crawl a little. “Another round for these two.. Please?”

“Anything for you,” he nods, quickly sliding two bright, umbrellaed drinks in front of them. “What about you? You want anything, babe?”

“No. No, thank you,” you deny, sitting down on one of the glittery, leather chairs. 

“You don’t drink?” Trinity asks, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “Lameeee-o, but respectable.”

“Not in unfamiliar places, no, I don’t,” you tell her, shoulders easing under the weight of her arm. 

“You’re not from the big PA?” Trinity questions, turning slightly to look at you.

“No, haha. I’m from the small NE- Nebraska,” you clarify, regaining Javadi’s attention, and making Trinity’s eyes go wide as dishplates. 

“NO WAY! We have a friend from Nebraska, maybe you know him!” You snort at her, grunting as her hands come down heavily on your shoulders. “He’s super cute, and a doctorrrr. We are too- not yet technically, we’ve still got a few years of residency. Which is booooo.”

“Very ‘boooo’,” Javadi chimes in with a heavy nod, leaning over to join the conversation. “What do you do? Are you a farmer?” 

“No, no, not a farmer. Left my corn husking days behind forever ago. I just… Drift, I guess? I’ve travelled a lot, nowhere’s stuck.”

“No place like home?” Jadavi asks, her lips slightly pursed, downturned in thought, almost.

“No place like home,” you acquiesce quietly, staring at the sparkling blue glass top. “Anywayyy! I do like it here, in Pittsburgh, it’s nice. Been here a few weeks, think I’ll be staying a while.”

“Well, you have two new friends, sooooo I hope you do stick around,” Javadi comes around to your other side, squeezing you tightly between them. “And you might have more, we should go introduce you to the others! Our other coworkers are somewhere around here, Joy, and Emma- she’s a sweetie.”

“Yesss, let’s go introduce you to our huckleberry! We’ll see if you know him!” Trinity claps, disappearing into the crowd. 

You and Javadi laugh, watching her leave; you don’t have long before she’s pulling you out of your stool, dragging you along with her at the sound of Trinity’s voice. “You’ll like him! He’s super sweet.”

You bump into her again when she stops, “Meeeet your fellow Nebraskan!” Javadi giggles, fluttering her fingers all around you. 

“I am soooo sorry, I don’t know these people at all, actually.” The man groans, face hidden by his hands. “I’m Den--”

“Dennis.”

You can’t breathe as you meet blue eyes that are all too familiar. Except they're not familiar, not really. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’d never once seen, a warmth in his smile that was always so dim.

“... Hi.”

“Hi.”

Your lips part to say something, but you don’t. What can you? ‘I missed you’? ‘How have you been?’ ‘I hate you for what you did’? ‘Why are you here in Pittsburgh?’ 

“I--”

“You do know each other! See? I knew it, everybody knows everybody in Nebraska,” Trinity shrugs, jerking your attention away from Dennis. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We were best--”

“We grew up down the street from each other, Broken Bow’s a small town,” Dennis interjects, looking at you, then Trinity, then the man next to him, and back to you. He frowns slightly, biting the inside of his cheek. “Our families were close.”

“Yeah… Our families,” you mumble, now focused on the man who has his arm around Dennis. Is he why Dennis just lied? Is he ashamed of you- or himself? 

“Well, a friend of Whitaker’s is a friend of mine. Michael Robinavitch,” the man Dennis is tucked into finally speaks, leaning forward with his hand outreached. “You can call me ‘Robby’, though. Everyone does.”

“Nice to meet you, Robby. Do you work with Trinity and Javadi?” You ask, forcing a smile on your face as you shake his hand.

“I do, yes. I’m one of the senior attendings at PTMC. So, I’m like their boss,” Robby laughs lightly, pulling his hand away from yours to settle it back onto Dennis's shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “Dennis is my favorite. Don’t tell everyone else.”

“What?” A.) You have no clue what ‘PTMC’ is. B.) Why would Dennis be Robby’s favorite? That implies Dennis works with Trinity and Javadi, which would mean he’s.. A doctor. 

“I’m a doctor, at the ER- or an ER. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.” Dennis answers, avoiding your eyes. “I’m a year one resident this year.”

“Oh. T-that’s great, Dennis,” you breathe out, heart skipping a beat. He’s a doctor. He got out of Broken Bow, he got out. “Really great. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. They’re dimmer, like you’ve dimmed him by being around.

“So! You and Dennis clearly need to do some catching up, why don’t you sit?” Robby offers, gesturing at the empty side of their table. “You can tell me all about Dennis when he was a kid. I’m sure you’ve got loads of embarrassing stories.” 

The way Robby grins at Dennis makes your heart clench. The way Dennis lights up, laughing and elbowing him, makes you a little sick. “I think I should go, actually. I don’t want to impose, this is obviously some sort of coworkers night out!” Just coworkers. Only coworkers.

“It’s no worries, at all,” Robby promises, waving a hand at the chairs again. “Please.”

“No, I really--”

“Stay.. Please?” Dennis catches your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Please?” He pleads again, tugging on your sleeve.

Your hands tremble slightly, but you nod, “I can stay.” You shouldn’t, but you’re going to. All because Dennis asked. Just like before. 

“Fantastic!” Trinity chirps, cozying into the chair next to you. “Tell us about little Huckleberry, what was he like? Was he an evil twerp?”

Dennis groans in embarrassment, scrunching his nose up at you like you’re sharing an inside joke. “I wasn’t, thank you very much!”

“No, he was a goody two-shoes,” you snort, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “He really was.”

“Pssh, lame. I’m gonna go catch up with the others if there’s nothing funny to hear about Huck Finn,” Trinity sighs, standing right back up with a groan. “Have fun!”

That slight moment of reprieve dissipates the moment Trinity is gone, leaving you, Dennis, and Robby in an awkward silence. Or you in awkward silence while Dennis and Robby whisper to each other in a way that suggests a little more than ‘coworkers’. 

“Dennis really has no stories?” Robby asks, turning to you once more. “No broken vases, late night hang outs, nothing?”

“No, nothing. Dennis was as good as they come. Not a sin to his name.” The pause Dennis has makes you immediately regret the wording. It’s true, though. You were always the sinner. 

“Not like you,” Dennis snorts, rolling his eyes, “Breaking your leg tryna climb up our barn.”

“Hey! You were on the roof too!” You gasp in mock offense, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“I had a ladder!” Dennis reminds you, throwing his hands up, crossing them over his chest.

“I knew that… eventually!” You laugh, sticking your chin up at him. You wanted to hang out with Dennis while he tried to fix the barn’s roof, and instead of asking Dennis for help, you decided to try and scale the Whitaker barn. It ended with you on your ass, and your leg bent unnaturally. “Took six-fucking-weeks to heal.”

“You two sound awfully close,” Robby pipes in, an amused smile on his face. No jealousy, no accusations, just an observation, but Dennis clams up anyway.

“I guess,” he shrugs, cuddling closer to Robby. They’re incredibly close, closer than Dennis would ever sit next to you, ever. 

“So do you guys,” you comment, quite the opposite tone from Robby. You’re jealous of Robby, of how Dennis just leans into him, in public, like there’s nothing he wants to hide. “How long has Dennis been at the P.. PMTC?”

“PTMC.” Robby corrects, twisting his finger into one of Dennis's curls. “Two years. He came to the Pitt as a year-4, and has stayed with us for his first year of residency.” 

“That’s great. How long do you plan on staying at ‘The Pitt’, Dennis?” You ask, genuinely curious. Does Dennis plan on going back to Nebraska? Is he going to go somewhere else?

“How long do you?” Dennis retorts, face blank as he stares at you. “How long have you been in Pittsburgh to begin with?”

“I’m not sure, Dennis. Do you have a problem with me living here?” You question, brows furrowing slightly. “A few weeks, almost a month. Came down from Maine.”

------------ 

Maine. Why were you in Maine? Dennis wants to ask, he wants to ask a lot of things, he has so many questions for you, but no idea how to ask them without words he doesn’t mean spilling out. 

“No, I don’t have a problem with you living here. I just don’t know why you do. You never mentioned wanting to live in Pittsburgh,” Dennis explains, clearly getting defensive. He doesn’t mean to, but here he is.

 “That’s nice, are you settling in well?” Robby asks, drawing Dennis back in. He’s so sweet. If only he knew.

“Fantastically,” you grit out, still staring at Dennis. He swears you’re trying to burn holes into his already damned soul. 

“Do you have a job?- If you ever need one, we could always use more nurses,” Robby jokes, jostling Dennis slightly.

“I’ve got a job,” you laugh awkwardly, smiling at Robby the same way you used to smile at your guy's pastor. Dennis recognizes it all too well. “Even if I didn’t, I don’t think I could handle being a nurse.”

“Considering you passed out the first time my pa had you around to help with calving, probably not,” Dennis mutters, sipping on his--or Robby’s, technically--whiskey. 

“A fainter, huh? Don’t worry, we’ve got one of our own,” Robby hums, jutting his head in the direction Javadi last was. 

Dennis watches the gears in your head turn, before it finally clicks. “... Crash.”

“Yeah, that’s what Trin’ likes to call her,” Dennis confirms, staring at the golden liquid.

 “Speaking of Trinity, it’s getting late, so I’m gonna go find her, so I can get everyone another round,” Robby says, dragging a finger over Dennis's neck, bringing his head up with a sly smirk. “I’ll get you something a little lighter than the whiskey,” Robby whispers to Dennis, leaning down, so his breath fans over Dennis's lips. “Don’t move.”

------------ 

Watching Robby kiss Dennis is torture, but seeing the pure happiness on Dennis’s face afterwards is worse. You’re happy for him. You are… You are. “You guys are together?”

“We’re just.. I don’t know what we are,” Dennis admits, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, he shouldn’t have.. I shouldn’t- kissing in front of you was inappropriate.”

“It’s fine, Dennis. Really,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest. Neither of you say anything else, just looking at each other the same. exact. way you did that night. When you were begging Dennis to explain to them. “Do you love him?”

“I like him,” Dennis answers quietly. “A lot.”

“Enough to kiss him, obviously. Must’ve not liked me at all then,” you laugh softly, tearily. “I’m gonna go now. Tell Robby it was nice meeting him. Trinity and Javadi too.”

“I will,” Dennis nods, and he doesn’t try to stop you from leaving this time. You can feel his eyes on you; you don't look back to meet them.

------------ 

“Where’d your friend go?” Trinity asks, returning with a tray of drinks, alongside all their friends. 

“He had to go,” Dennis tells her, eyes fixated on the seat you were just in. He just let you walk away… Again. 

“Dang, we didn’t get his number,” Javadi pouts, plopping in the seat he’s looking at. “You don’t have his number, do you?”

“You could always try and catch him in the parking lot,” Joy points out, casually sipping a very bright and obnoxious drink that does not at all match her.  

“Ooh! Yeah, I’ll go--”

“I’ll go,” Dennis stands up a little too quickly, nearly knocking the chair backwards. “I’ll see if I can stop him.”

You’re standing at the curb when Dennis leaves the club, staring out at the streets that are too busy for this time of night.

“... I loved you,” Dennis calls out, stopping a few feet away from you. 

You don’t look at him, and for a second he wonders if you didn’t hear him. “Ain’t gotta lie to me, Dennis. I’m an adult, I can take it,” you respond after a beat, tucking your hands in your pockets.”

You don’t believe him, of course you don’t. He can’t blame you. No one does what he did to the people they love. Except your own parents, and his parents… Maybe he doesn’t have the best idea of what love really is. 

“I did. I loved you. You were my best friend.” Dennis says, swallowing thickly.

“Your ‘best friend’,” you look at him, and the bright lights from the club reflect on your glassy eyes, and allow him to see the wavering of your smile. “Is that all I was?”

“I was scared, is that what you want me to say? I was a coward, and what I did to you was wrong. I regretted it every day.” Dennis tilts his head up, exhaling slowly. “Every day.”

------------ 

‘Every day’ he says. He regretted it. How sweet. Just like you remembered it, every day you didn’t wake up in your bed, in Broken Bow with everyone you’d ever known. 

“You don’t anymore?” You inquire, head tipping to the side slightly. 

“I do.”

“But?”

“But I wouldn’t be here--where I am today--if I went with you.”

There it is. Dennis was never going to take the fall with you, no matter how much you begged, or pleaded with him. Dennis got to be with his family every day because he wasn’t gay. Now he gets to be a doctor with his friends, and his boyfriend. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, Dennis. Truly, I am.”

“I hope you find yours.”

You won’t. It drowned in a sea of blue and red a long time ago. 

“Me too.”