#whimsy fics

You can feel his eyes darting to you every time he shifts, but you don’t say anything. Not now while Trinity is within earshot, and certainly not after the myriad of comments she’s made in the last week alone about the two of you. “You’re in love with him,” She said as she poured stale breakroom coffee into her mug, needing a quick pick me up in the middle of a long shift just a few days prior.

You rolled your eyes in the moment, but you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks before you could even respond with a dismissive “You’re talking out of your ass again.”

Not even an hour later, she was elbowing you as you both sat charting in a spare moment of downtime, an abrupt nod of her head across the room where Dennis stood, now bright red in the face and doing his best to seem as though he was in the middle of something very important. All it had really managed to do was make him look even more panicked when he ultimately met your eye. “He’s been staring like a lovesick puppy. Why don’t you two just give in already?”

This time, you said nothing in response, simply dropping your eyes back to your computer, typing faster than before in an attempt to escape her. Now, in the quiet darkness of their apartment, with some movie long forgotten in the background, you’re left wondering if she had a point.

Except, it's not really wondering when you know she does. You have for as long as you’ve been denying it, and a part of you thinks he does too.

And then, in the same manner as just a few days ago, his eyes find yours. Your breath catches for a split second, eyes locked on a shade of blue that sends shivers down your spine, and it’s then that certainty settles in heavy over your body. He knows, and he has for just as long as you.

It's weeks later before you even allow yourself to address the idea that is being in love with Dennis Whitaker.

Trinity’s had the day off, and she really is even luckier than usual for that. The influx of patients has been overwhelming in a way that's made the day fly by and drag on all at once, and you’re more than ready to be free from the ever present scent of antiseptic and the unshakable weight of the emergency department as you finish up the last of your charting.

By some spark of luck or chance of fate or interference from a deity you’re not sure you believe in, you and Dennis happen to be leaving at the same time. You see him at your locker, already slinging his jacket over his shoulders. It’s mid-December now- long past the days of light jackets. They’ve been calling for snow any time now, and so you’ve already gone through the hassle of beginning to carry around your heavy coat. Better to be safe than sorry.

As you’re slipping into the warm fabric, Dennis makes an observation. “You’re missing a button,” He says, eyes drifting between your face and your hands that have already moved to verify his words.

“Oh,” you say, lips pressing together as you look down. “Damn-”

You go ahead and continue to fasten the rest of the buttons anyway, one being left open isn’t going to be the end of the world, and shrug as you finish. “I think I’ve got the spare at home somewhere. I’ll sew it back on at some point..probably.”

He nods, and then you do the same before you both begin to head towards the exit. You don’t exchange any more words until you’re outside, wind whipping past you the second you’re out the doors.

You aren’t far at all into your walk to the parking lot- he always insists on making sure you’ve made it to your car- before he’s reaching a hand out to stop you. “It’s snowing,” He says quietly. You can hear something soft and warm in his tone, and it makes you bite back a smile. “Look.”

You direct your gaze to where he’s pointing at a street lamp, the light catching just right on the falling flurries, and you can’t fight the smile anymore. “First snow of the year,” You say in an equally soft tone as you turn to look at him, your shoulder brushing against his own from the proximity.

He nods and turns to smile at you. “Reminds me of home.”

You hum, not sure what the best response is, but knowing it isn’t silence.

He starts walking again, and you trail along by his side, eyes still drifting from the falling flakes you catch under the street lights to him and the ease of each step he takes, suddenly a lot lighter than he was walking out of PTMC. The thought warms your heart, and you find yourself forgetting about the missing button on your coat and the exhaustion of your shift. Instead, your thoughts are filled with nothing but a quiet, all encompassing infatuation for the man beside you.

You don’t know the exact moment things make a shift from strictly platonic and pining to something more, something real. You just know it’s happened. You go from sleeping over in Trinity’s bed or on their couch to waking up tucked into his chest after movie nights. When you walk to your car after shifts together, it’s not just so he can make sure you’ve reached it safely. It’s so you can both ride home together, small-talking about your day as he fidgets with the radio to find the right music. 

You wake up on shared days off to the smell of burnt toast and the unmistakable sound of him singing along to his current favorite song- sometimes one you’ve suggested, sometimes one he’s listened to a million times over.

You don’t hesitate to shuffle out to him with a yawn, his shirt hanging off your body as if it always belonged to you to begin with. And maybe in some ways it has because there’s a notion that he’s always belonged to you and you to him in the same manner. Some twist of fate or act of destiny written among the stars that ensured you two would fall for one another. That this wasn’t a pairing brought together for the sake of friendship. This is love in its truest form.

You don’t mention this new development to anyone, but you don’t hide it either.

Trinity knows because there’s no way to hide your newfound relationship with her roommate. It was inevitable that she’d take note, and if not through observation then by her catching the two of you tangled together one afternoon on the couch. Nothing too graphic, but just short of it as his hands caressed you like you were the most precious thing he’s ever held, and your lips locked with his as if you were speaking love letters directly into his mouth.

Your coworkers follow suit after. Some take note of the way you two arrive and leave together more frequently than before. Even when one of you has no excuse to wait on the other. Others catch sight of the photos that adorn your lockscreens, and more intimately, the photo he has plastered up in his locker. It’s simple- a snapshot of you, unaware but beautiful, smiling just for him- and it’s far too romantic to be anything but.

One night, Perlah is lucky enough to catch sight of the two of you in the parking lot. The day had been long, but you had both ridden to work with Trinity, and so you were stuck until she eventually made her way out to the car. You were leaned back against the door, looking at Dennis as if he’d hung the moon and sun and stars, and he was staring right back with the same intensity. You weren’t caged in per se, but he did have one arm resting against the car as he leaned in to steal a kiss from you mid-sentence. You smiled and nudged him before stealing a kiss of your own, and Perlah felt as if she’d won the lottery as she dialed Princess’ number almost immediately.

From there, word worked its way throughout the emergency department, but you and Dennis paid no mind to it. “We knew it would happen eventually” and “I told you so” echoed throughout as the gossip spread. And maybe they did know, and maybe most of them had said that it would happen- resulting in a betting pool no doubt- but it didn’t matter. Not now.

Dennis Whitaker had been many things to you since he started at the pitt just over a year ago. A coworker, a friend, a crush, a boyfriend. And then, in the worst turn of events possible, he became the love of your life. That upgrade, to most, would be thrilling. To find someone and in just ten months of being together grow to love them more than life itself was exhilarating. Or rather, it should be- you even wanted it to be- but it wasn’t. It was terrifying and overwhelming and every awful word you could possibly imagine because really…it wasn’t any of those things and that was a problem.

You don’t know exactly where in your life you had developed such an aversion to love and vulnerability. You just know it had settled in somewhere between high school and your first day as a nurse in the pitt and had carried on up until the moment you’d met Dennis. Because with Dennis, vulnerability wasn’t so bad- wasn’t so scary. It came as naturally as breathing. When he told you about his life before moving to Pittsburgh, you felt inclined to tell him about your own childhood and the path that ultimately led you to becoming a nurse in the emergency department of PTMC. When he brought up his family in conversation one night, telling you all that they did to him to turn him into the man you come to know, you couldn’t help but talk about your own family and what they’d done that shaped you. And when he’d finally asked you out over a cup of shitty coffee in the breakroom, you couldn’t stop yourself from agreeing all too eagerly. Perhaps that was what drove you to this point- drove you to quit him completely. He brought out an honesty in you that you weren’t quite ready to face. Not now, maybe not ever. So, you’d dumped him. Face to face, of course. You weren’t a complete monster. And you’d tried your best to stress all the while that this was not his fault without elaborating why you were breaking up with him. How could you look at him and tell him you couldn’t be with him because you’d realized you were in love with him? How could you expect him to understand that? You switched to the night shift almost immediately after, and stuck out the next two months doing everything in your power to avoid his existence in its entirety. If you didn’t see him, didn’t hear him, didn’t acknowledge he was ever real to begin with, you could pretend that you weren’t miserable and pathetic and regretting your choice more than a teenage girl regrets cutting her own bangs. You could pretend that the love you felt for him still didn’t tug on your heart like an anchor caught in something beneath water- no matter how hard you tried to pull it out, it stayed deep, tangled up as if the two had never not been connected.

But the pretending only worked so long as you avoided him, and when one of the few nurses on the day shift that you actually still had a friendship with came to you begging to swap shifts for a day, you were forced to accept the reality that everything about Dennis Whitaker was real and raw and as painful as ever. You knew you’d end up feeling like a pariah from the moment you stepped into the emergency room until the end of your shift, but you didn’t expect just how bad it would hurt. You liked to believe that, at one point, you were one of the most liked nurses on the shift. You got along with all of the doctors- even Robby on his off days and that particularly obnoxious student doctor Ogilvie that had slowly been growing on you like some sort of mold before you swapped shifts. But that was before you broke the heart of Dr. Whitaker- the sweetest, kindest, most empathy-inducing person to work the shift, and you were beyond sure that the twinge of favoritism you’d once earned was long since replaced by disdain.

It was all expected, at least to a degree; the snubbing from Santos, the awkward greetings from Javadi and Mel, the side eyes and whispering from Perlah and Princess. That didn’t make any of it any easier though. What really made it worse was the almost sympathetic look you received from Dana when you shuffled in at 7:00 am sharp, eyes tired and heavy with emotion you couldn’t even begin to find words for. She’d greeted you in a way that was nothing short of motherly before getting you started for the day, and for a moment, you fell into routine and were able to keep yourself busy enough that you could pretend you didn’t notice the way the staff seemed to be waiting on you to implode. You work with someone long enough, and you learn their tells without even trying to. And despite your preconceived notion that everyone in the room hated your guts- only one person did, and that was to be expected from Santos- they could see the way you were fraying at the ends trying to overwork your brain to avoid everything else that seemed wrong.

By the time 3:00 pm rolled around, you had finally shaken off some of the weight of being around Dennis. Sure you’d found yourself choking up a bit when you first saw him, and maybe the first time you had to actually work with him your body had tried to go into fight or flight, but you were making it. You actually believed you were doing rather great. No tears so far, and only the fading effects of anxiety induced nausea acted as the remaining indicators that anything was wrong. You were actually rather proud of yourself. Until the incident.

A combative patient, a poorly placed cabinet, and your own clumsiness crashed down on you one after another until suddenly you were laid out on the floor, ears ringing from the pain as no less than three people stared down at you in worry. By the time you had pushed yourself up off the ground, the room was spinning, and you doubted if you were going to be able to stand up on your own. That split second of hesitation was all it took for a familiar set of hands to pull you up off the ground, leaning your body against his as he led you out of the room. You didn’t even have to look to figure out who it was and that hurt you almost as much as bashing your head on the ground had.

“I’m fine,” You mumble, words not quite as sure as you’d like them to be when defending your coherency.

“We’re checking you out anyway,” Dennis said back, voice almost as quiet as he led you into one of the rooms.

Everything was silent as he ran through the typical procedures. You were concussed, you at least knew that, and with a concussion came protocols that you’d rather not get into. It would be tedious on a good day, but today, when you were already at your worst, it was a living hell that had your stomach churning and your heart beating almost painfully in your chest.

Dennis had barely asked you if you were feeling nauseous before your stomach decided it had had enough. You were quick to turn to the side opposite of where he stood before spewing your guts. You couldn’t possibly throw up on your ex-boyfriend. Breaking his heart had been enough- puking on him would’ve just been cruel.

The worry he’d already been feeling seemed to double at the sight of you leaned over the edge of the hospital bed, eyes screwed shut as you tried to breathe evenly. It took you a minute to begin answering the dozen questions he began to throw your way and by that point, he was fully leaned over you, hand lightly, soothingly rubbing over your back.

You nearly flinched when you noticed it. It was the first physical contact the two of you had shared in months, and it felt like his touch was going to burn through your scrubs. You cracked your eyes open as you sat back up, meeting his stare with a wary one. “I’m fine. That wasn’t because of my head,” you said as you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand and then your hand on your pants. It was gross, but vomit on your mouth was worse. “I mean, it may have been a little. It was mostly the anxiety. Almost entirely.”

Dennis didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips together and gave a tense nod.

Things continued on as they would with any patient with a concussion, no matter how much you tried to argue that you were alright, and right when you thought you were in the clear to go back to work, Robby entered the room.

He and Dennis talked for a moment as if you weren’t even there, not that you were actually listening for once. You should be- you knew that- but your head was hurting and your heart was hurting, and it was not the time for you to care enough about exactly how medically fucked up you were. All that mattered was that you were fucked up enough for Robby to send you home for the rest of the shift.

Dennis was already interjecting the moment you started to crawl off the bed. “She’s going home alone. I think it would be best she stay for at least a few hours. Just so we can watch over her.”

You tried to glare at him, but it wasn’t exactly as menacing as you’d hoped when you were already glaring at everything from the pain. “I’ll be fine.”

You really hated how that had been the only word you’d be able to use to describe how you were from the moment you walked into the emergency room this morning. You were fine to be there. You were fine with working with your ex. You were fine with being concussed. You were fine to take care of yourself. You were fine to-

Robby nodded and looked over to you as if to say “It’s out of my hands” which wouldn’t be the truth, as he is and quite literally always has been, your boss. It is exactly in his hands, and yet his hands were just letting this happen. “Just for a few hours,” he said as he looked at you sympathetically. “Rest. We’ll check in with you later.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the bed, which really wasn’t the smartest idea. That was evident by the pain that shot through you immediately as you squeezed your eyes shut. You heard the door open, footsteps, and then the door closing before you opened your eyes.

Dennis was still standing there, because of course he was, and no matter how many times you blinked, he wouldn’t go away.

“Please,” you whispered, already feeling the emotions clawing their way up your throat. “Don’t.”

He ignored you, stepping closer as his hands came to rest on the bed rails. He leaned on them, looking down at you in a way that made you want nothing more than to sink into the bed and suffocate.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You let out a breath, trying your hardest to seem indifferent and failing miserably. “That’s what you do after a breakup.”

“You broke up with me. I should be avoiding you,” He said in a way that most would think condescending. You knew better.

“I figured it would be easier for me to do.” You shifted in the bed, hands twisting into the sheets in an attempt to keep them busy. “You seemed like you had questions I couldn’t answer.” He looked at you as he leaned back to cross his arms over his chest. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

You looked away, feeling tears starting to sting your eyes. You hated crying. You especially hated crying in front of other people. “Both.”

He moved around the bed to the side that had by now long since been cleaned up, trying to force eye contact. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched you close your eyes instead.

“I don’t get what happened. I thought you were happy. I know I was. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” you breathed out. “Everything-”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” He cut you off, his voice coming out louder than intended before he cleared his throat and tried again. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Please..give me something.”

When you opened your eyes again, you couldn’t tell if the ache in your head or the ache in your chest was worse because he was staring at you with those sad blue eyes again, and it was eating you alive.

“I panicked, okay? I realized how I was feeling about you, and I freaked out. I left because it felt easier than saying I was falling in love with you. And I hate that I can’t even try to lie about that to you. Because you know I can’t lie. Not when it comes to you. I realized I love you, and so I broke up with you and I switched to the night shift and I planned to never see you again because I thought it would be easier.”

He was silent for a long time, and you were half expecting him to just walk out of the room, leaving you to suffer under your own mistakes as tears spilled down your cheeks. But he didn’t, and a part of you knew why.

“Did it..Did it make it easier?” He asked.

You shook your head, the action making you wince. “Not at all.”

“Good,” He said so matter-of-factly it made your brows furrow. “I hope it was shitty.”

It felt so out of place to hear something like that from him, but you knew it was deserved. Much worse was deserved, really, but Dennis was far too good a man for that. “It was really shitty. Every bit of it.” You shifted to wipe the tears off your cheeks, but it did little when new ones replaced them almost immediately. “Everything has been so shitty, and it’s my fault. I’m not trying to get sympathy for that. I know I fucked up. I know I deserve this. I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but I am. I have been since I did it. Since before I did it.”

He stepped away for a minute, and you really believed he was leaving, but then he stopped at the cabinet and returned to you with tissues, and you couldn’t begin to understand why he was still being nice to you. He pressed a few into your hand, urging you to wipe your face with them. As you did so, he spoke again.

“I love you too. I did two months ago. I do now for what it’s worth.”

Your head snapped up to him so hard it made you groan in pain, but you pushed it away just as quick. “You what?”

“I love you,” he repeated plain as day. “If you’d told me you were scared, I’d have told you that. I wanted to tell you, but you didn’t give me the chance.”

Your stomach churned in a way that had you considering if you’d vomit again as you let his words settle in the room. 

He loved you. He loves you. Currently. Presently. In this very moment, he loves you.

You’re an idiot.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you said, knowing thinking it wasn’t enough. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “I need more than an apology.”

“Dennis-” you tried to say before he was cutting you off for the second time.

“You broke my heart. How are you going to fix it?”

Your head was spinning, from his words, from the pain, from your own stupidity and confusion, and a million other things that made thinking feel nearly impossible.

“I don’t know,” You said after a moment, not avoiding finding an answer, but genuinely unsure of one. He pursed his lips and moved to stand by your head, one of his hands moving to brush his fingers along your cheek. It was soft, barely there. Like the touch of a ghost some skeptic would argue as the wind brushing by.

“We’re going to talk about it when you feel better. You owe me that much. And we’ll figure out what scared you, and we’ll work on it. You said you love me. Not loved. We’re going to work on this.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, craving it after months without. It was instinctual. It was as natural as breathing. “Okay..” You said quietly.

He smiled, something small that still held tension but was almost reminiscent of the way he used to smile at you. “Okay. I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit.”

You gave a wobbly smile in return, feeling for the first time in months as though something was actually right in your world.

The thing about growing up best friends with Dennis Whitaker is that, from a young age, everyone in town was convinced you two were going to fall in love. It was never an “if”. It was always a “when”. You suppose they were right because, by the time you reached high school, there was a clear shift in your dynamic.

It wasn’t by choice, of course, but it happened anyway. You both changed- started noticing things you hadn’t before. You grew up. Suddenly, study sessions turned into stealing kisses and praying one of his family members- especially his brothers- didn’t walk by the open door and see. Sneaking away from youth group every chance you had. Movie dates, stargazing in the bed of his brother’s truck, prom nights- all the expected moments childhood sweethearts are meant to share right down to planning a future together.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he suddenly broke things off the day before he was meant to leave for college. An entire future had died with just a handful of words.

You didn’t say anything in response. At least, you don’t think you did. All you can remember is the look on his face, the way it felt for your heart to shatter like priceless china on asphalt, and how difficult it was to drive home after with tears that just wouldn’t stop.

It’s safe to say you didn’t tell him goodbye, and he didn’t ask why.

Dennis didn’t come back to Broken Bow very much after that, but when he did, you went out of your way to avoid seeing him. His mother reached out after she’d heard the news, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say much more to her than was considered polite. It wasn’t her fault; you just weren’t equipped to handle the complex emotions brought forth with losing the love of your life.

You left town a few years after he did with the hope that a new city would let you escape the memories that haunted your day to day life. A new job, a new home, a new you. And hey- you’d always heard Pittsburgh is supposed to be pretty cool.

It’s years before you make the trip out to Broken Bow again. You feel some level of guilt for not seeing your family for so long, but the fear of being thrown back into something that had been such a huge part of your life outweighed any rational thought until very recently. And Dennis was meant to be a doctor by now, so it wasn’t too hard to convince yourself that there was a slim to none chance of seeing him. It had to be almost impossible to get time off, even without it being a holiday. Still, your hands shake the entire car ride from your childhood home to the church you used to attend. You weren’t even really religious back then, but it made your mom happy and had always given you an excuse to hang out with Dennis. Now, though, you feel like praying might not be such a bad idea if it means absolving you of any chance of seeing him. As you step into the church donning your Sunday’s best- or the closest thing you have to it nowadays- you can’t help but notice that things aren’t that different than you remember. They’re just older. You guess that’s how small towns are, though- like an old photograph, never changing but dulling with time.

It’s already pretty full by the time you walk in, but that was your goal when you decided to take your sweet time getting ready. The Whitaker family was always notoriously early to ensure a pew in the front row. Showing up this late almost guarantees you a spot in the last. You can only hope you’re that lucky.

And miraculously, you are that lucky as your mother grumbles and heads toward the very last row of pews. You have to fight back a smile. 

But then, as some sort of divine retribution for your happiness at your mother’s expense, your eyes meet a pair of unforgettable blue ones, and you instantly feel like throwing up. If there’s a god, you know he’s laughing at you.

You’re walking out of the church before you know your feet are moving, and you flinch as you hear your mother call your name. You flinch harder when you hear him do the same, but you don’t stop walking.

You don’t have a car, given the fact that your mother drove, and the keys are still tucked away in her purse, so your only escape is going to be trekking it the few miles it takes to get back to your house. You don’t make it very far, though, before you hear the rumble of an old truck behind you. You know it’s him before he even calls out, but it still doesn’t prepare you for it. The sound of your name from his lips is as familiar as it is chilling.

“Leave me alone,” you yell before looking back- a decision you immediately regret when tears start to sting your eyes. You turn away again and keep walking.

“Please,” he says, hanging halfway out the truck window as he speeds up enough to keep pace with you. “Let me take you back to the church..or home. You don’t need to walk that far.”

“Why do I care what you think?” You ask as you come to a stop, arms crossed over your chest as your nails dig into your skin. He has to slam on the brakes to avoid passing you.

A sigh escapes his lips, guilt that he can’t quite hide settling on his features. “Your mom is gonna worry if you actually try to walk home.”

“I don’t care,” you say. It’s only half a lie.

“We both know you do. Please.”

And somewhere between telling him to go fuck himself and his incessant begging, you’re convinced to get in the truck, and you hate yourself for it.

You settle into the passenger seat and press your body as close to the door as you can get. His eyes constantly drift to you as he starts to drive off. You can feel it, and it makes you turn towards the door even more to hide the tears that won’t stop pooling in your eyes. He notices them anyway and reaches across you to the glove compartment. He passes you a wad of napkins from various fast food restaurants. Neither of you says anything, but you take them and dab your eyes.

By the time he’s pulling into your driveway, the silence feels suffocating, and you’ve got a million questions and accusations swimming through your head. Because the moment he gets the car parked- or maybe it was even the moment you got into the truck at all- you become seventeen again: devastated, sick to your stomach, and at a loss for words.

You reach for the handle before you hear the click of the lock echo in the otherwise silent truck. You turn to look at him.

“We need to talk.”

You sigh. And then you nod. And then you try to make your escape just as he’s locking the door again. This happens several times until you begin to contemplate going out the window. A hand on your wrist stops you before the thought is even complete.

“Please. Seriously.”

This time, you settle into the seat and look at him. “There’s nothing to say. It’s been years.”

He purses his lips as he gives you a look that can only be described as empathetically pathetic. “It’s been years, but you’re still crying about it. I know you. I know-”

“You don’t fucking know me! It’s been eight fucking years, Dennis! We haven’t spoken in eight years. You dumped me, you fucking left, and now, eight years later, you want to talk about it?”

You hate that you can’t stop pointing out how long it's been, and you really hate that you can’t come up with a better adjective than “fucking” in your anger.

“I wanted to reach out, but college got busy, and then med school. I didn’t have a chance,” he says, and you know to a degree he’s got a point. When you eventually went to college, things were hell. And you weren’t even pre med.

“If you really wanted to, you would’ve found time.”

He doesn’t argue this time because he knows you’re right. He doesn’t want you to be, but you are.

“I loved you in every way it’s possible to love someone. Even after you hurt me, I loved you. I left town and didn’t come back for years because everything here reminds me of you, and it hurts. It’s not even about you breaking my heart anymore. You were my best friend. I lost everything in one day, and you didn’t even think twice about it.”

You take a deep breath as your voice starts to shake. It’s not easy saying this, but you’ve started, and now you can’t stop.

“I still think about you all the time. That’s crazy, isn’t it? I wonder how you’re doing, if you’ve become a doctor yet, if you’re happy. But I know it’s not my business to know now. You made sure of that. What’s done is done, Dennis.” His name feels almost painful to say. “I’m always going to love you, but I’ve accepted that things happened the way they did. No amount of talking will change that.”

You can see the way he’s having to actually force his eyes to stay on you as they begin to go watery. He was never a fan of others seeing him so vulnerable. You used to be an exception. Not anymore.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and nods. You think for a moment that’s all you’ll get, but then he’s looking at you again.

“It was never because I stopped loving you,” he says, voice so quiet you can only just hear it over the rumble of the truck. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. But I also couldn’t take you with me, and I couldn’t ask you to wait in case I came back. I’m sorry.”

You clench your jaw, tension building again just as it was finally fading. The last time he apologized to you, he broke your heart. Somehow, now, he was doing it all over again.

And just like before, you don’t say anything. At least, you don’t think you do. All you can see is the guilt on his face as you click open the lock and climb out of the truck. All you can feel is a weight settling so heavy over your chest that it’s hard to breathe. All you know is, once again, you’re heartbroken.

Dennis leaves Broken Bow a day later. You leave after three.

It’s a few weeks after meeting Trinity that you find yourself sitting in the waiting room of PTMC. You wish you could say it was because you were waiting to have a fun girls' night after she finishes her shift, but your arm and the deformed way it looks cradled against your chest says otherwise. The hastily applied bandage on your forehead serves to further the idea that this is not a visit for enjoyable reasons.

They say waiting in the emergency room is a good thing, and deep down you know that’s true, but you’ve been here forever, and your head and your arm hurt, and you just want to go home.

By the time you begin to accept that you might just live here now, someone calls your name. You follow a nurse past a dozen injured patients and busy doctors before you’re being dropped off in a curtained area. You sit on the hospital bed, staying as still as possible for the sake of your arm. Before long, a different nurse joins you.

Despite your pain and exhaustion from waiting, you can’t help but smile at her. She’s pretty, and there’s something about her that just feels comforting. Not in a motherly way, but like that of an older sister. When she introduces herself as Princess, you can’t help but think that the name is almost too fitting.

After her initial assessment and your embarrassing explanation of falling off your kitchen counter, Princess begins to leave the curtained area, but you stop her just in time.

“Sorry, but is Dr.-” you hesitate, suddenly aware that you, in fact, do not know her last name. “Trinity working today?”

Princess looks at you for a moment and then smiles. “You mean Dr. Santos? Yeah, she’s here. Are you a friend of hers?”

You nod, and she seems to brighten up even more.

“I’ll let her know you’re here. See if we can get you taken care of a little sooner.” She winks as she heads out, and you feel just a smidge better about your situation.

You wait again, and then you wait some more, and then you wait even more before the curtain stirs again. You sit up, expecting to see Trinity or maybe Princess again.

What you don’t expect is a mop of dishwater blonde curls and blue eyes that you’ve seen more in the last month than you have in years.

“This is a nightmare,” you think.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Whitaker. Dr. Santos is caught up right now, but she asked me-” he pauses when he finally looks up at you.

“This is a nightmare,” you say out loud.

There’s a million emotions flashing across his face before they all die out in favor of tense professionalism. He walks towards the computer, scans his badge, and then looks at you as if he’s only just met you today.

“Looks like we’re waiting on X-rays still and a CT. It’s not uncommon for those to take a while. Your chart says you fell off a counter?”

Something inside you dies when he speaks to you like that, but all you can do is nod.

You watch him type something up before he steps away from the computer and towards you. Your entire body tenses.

“No dizziness or nausea?” He asks as he moves to pull back the bandage on your forehead. You move away.

“I’m not going to say anything,” he mutters. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

He looks at you, practically pleading with his eyes. You cave because you always have when he looks at you like that, and allow him to peel the bandage away.

“It’s bleeding a lot, but it’s not too deep or too long, so you should be good without stitches.”

You hold your breath until he moves back, gathering a few things to clean and rebandage the wound. The bandage had been changed by Princess not that long ago, so both of you know it’s not entirely necessary, but neither of you says anything either.

After far too long of silence, he speaks again. “So you live in Pittsburgh now?”

You side-eye him. “You said you weren’t going to say anything.”

He gives you a look, and you sigh.

“Yeah..” you mumble. “Needed a change of pace.”

He nods. “How do you like it?”

“Are you seriously making small talk?”

He moves away, having finished dressing your wound. “Would you prefer we sit in silence?”

He waits for you to roll your eyes because he knows you’re going to. He knows your mannerisms too well even after all this time. “How do you know Santos?”

“We met at a bar a few weeks ago. If I’d known she was your coworker-”

He cuts you off. “Roommate.”

You pause, and then you let out a much too loud laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re Huckleberry?”

His cheeks go pink.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that your roommate wanted to hook us up. God- I’ve just got the best fucking luck.”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “She what?”

You nod. “Apparently, we’ve been deemed so pathetic she thinks we’d be a perfect match. Thank fuck I said no.”

His brows furrow, and his entire expression screams everything from confusion to annoyance to devastation.

“She told you I’m pathetic?” He asks, eyes meeting yours.

“Among other things,” you say, a humorous lit still leaking into your tone. None of this is really funny, but if you don’t pretend it is, you may end up on a psych hold.

“What other things?”

You shrug and then wince at the way it disturbs your arm. “She said you were whiny and weren’t over me. That you said it was a mistake, and you miss me. I mean, I didn’t know that she was talking about me in the moment, but now that I do…”

He looks embarrassed, and you feel just a little bad. “It was. I do. You were my best friend.”

“That doesn’t change what you did.”

He nods. “I know.”

You open your mouth to speak only to be interrupted by a new voice.

“They’re ready to get your scans now,” Princess says, oblivious to the tension in the room until she catches sight of you and Dennis and the awkwardness that radiates off the two of you in waves. She pauses and then smiles anyway. “You ready?”

Yes,” you say a little too quickly.

All Dennis can do is watch as you’re taken away for your scans. His heart aches. Then, he sees Trinity charting at central, and the ache shifts. Now, with misplaced anger settling over him in waves, he makes his way over to her.

“Did you know?” He less asks and more accuses. He knows she didn’t because if she did, then you would’ve, and if you knew, this whole situation would have been avoided.

Trinity smiles, not quite picking up on his tone, or expression for that matter, as she barely spares him a glance. “How did I know that she was your type? She just gave off Huckleberry energy. It was something in her sad, pretty eyes.

“No,” he says, trying not to think about your pretty eyes and how they’ve looked the last several times he’s seen them. “Did you know she’s my ex?”

Trinity turns to him as if to say something dripping with sarcasm before she freezes. “The ex?” She asks, and he nods. “But that means- oh, you really are a fuckleberry.”

Dennis sighs and drops into the seat beside her. “I know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

The question hits him in a way he can’t quite explain. “What do you mean? I tried apologizing. I tried to explain it all, and she didn’t want to hear it. I don’t blame her for that either. I wouldn’t want to. There’s nothing else to do but just deal with it.”

Trinity sighs this time before giving him a look that he has come to recognize as meaning “You’re a fucking idiot”.

“You both moved to Pittsburgh with no clue the other would end up here. You both went home at the same time without there being a holiday or any real reason to. You’re both still hung up on a relationship that lasted less time than you’ve been apart. And, she ended up at your job during your shift.”

“That last one is because of you.” She gives him a dirty look, and he shuts up instantly.

“After a certain point, it’s not a coincidence anymore. It’s a sign,” she says, and then, without missing a beat. “Right, Crash?”

Victoria, who thought she’d gone unnoticed in her eavesdropping, jumps as she is addressed. “I mean- without the full story, I can’t really say much.”

Trinity spins in her seat to face the girl, and Dennis cringes in anticipation.

“He dumped his childhood best friend and girlfriend of four years because he didn’t want her to be miserable, which he didn’t explain, before he fucked off for school and didn’t speak to her for eight years. Didn’t even give her an excuse either. Did I miss anything?” She says, glancing back at him. He shakes his head, and she turns back. “You’re all caught up now.”

“Holy shit,” Victoria breathes out. “Whitaker, you’re kind of an asshole-”

He winces. “I know.”

She gives him a sympathetic look, and her voice softens. “Santos is absolutely right, though.”

Trinity’s face screams “I told you so”.

He sinks down further into his chair and drags a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

The pair of them share a look, silently communicating for far too long. Long enough, he almost considers just leaving because, really, he can’t imagine anything that can be done to fix this.

“Since I’m such a good person,” Trinity begins, earning herself a look from them both. “We’ll help you fix your fuck up.”

“We?” Victoria asks, eyes going wide. Then, she glances at Dennis, and a guilty look settles on her features. “I mean, yeah. Of course we will.”

Dennis shakes his head and leans against the station on his elbows, “You guys really don’t need to do anything. I’ve accepted what happened. I’m not trying to cause her any more problems.”

“I don’t know if it would be more problems. Just... an extension of an existing one,” Victoria says with an attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Just leave it,” He says, standing from his seat and taking a deep breath. “It is what it is. You should take over as her doctor. I’ve got other patients to check on.”

For once, Trinity doesn’t say anything as he walks away. That is, until he’s out of earshot.

“I cannot take him mopping around the apartment for the rest of our lives. I don’t think I can last until the end of the week at the rate he’s going,” She says as she turns to Victoria again.

Victoria gives her a look of disbelief. “How do you expect to actually do that?”

Trinity simply shrugs. “No idea. We’ll figure it out, though.”

You’re discharged by Trinity a few hours later with a cast, an apology, and a promise to get dinner the next time you two hang out. You aren’t too sure when or if that will actually happen, but you don’t turn down the offer.

“I can’t believe it. You and Huckleberry,” She says as she walks you toward the exit.

You raise an eyebrow. “Before today, you were trying to hook us up.”

She bumps the shoulder of your non-broken arm. “That’s different. That was before I knew about all the fuckery.”

“Yeah,” you say and then draw in a breath. “Lots of fuckery.”

She pauses as you both get closer to the exit. “Have you ever tried to talk through it?”

You stop beside her and start to pick at your cast. She smacks your hand away, and you pout ever so slightly. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit,” She says as she looks at you. “I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

You stop her. “But I’m not sorry. I don’t have anything to be sorry about.” You don’t deny the other two statements. It goes unmentioned but not unnoticed. “You didn’t reach out either.” She starts walking again, leaving you to stare for a moment before rushing to catch up.

“And that was my job?” You ask as you make it to her side again.

“Maybe,” She shrugs. “I’m just saying you could have. You should now. At the very least for closure.”

The word “closure” short-circuits your brain just a bit. You’ve never really seen that as an option, but here it is- presenting itself to you like a slap to the face.

“I’ll consider it,” You mumble, and she seems like she believes it. For now, at least.

She smiles at you and pats you on the back with just a bit more force than expected. “Good. I’ll send you his number.”

You mutter out a thanks, though, unless he’s changed his number, you still have it.

She runs through the discharge instructions again, making you promise to come back when it’s time, with the fear that she will hunt you down if you don’t. You genuinely believe she will, so you assure her you’ll be back before finally escaping the hospital and heading home.

The bar is unsurprisingly busy for a Friday night, but you’ve managed to snag a seat right beside the bartender. It’s not as if you’re going through drinks fast enough to require being so close, but it’s nice to know you have the option.

You hear the girl before you see her, which is already a feat in itself over the sound of a pair of girls belting out a drunken rendition of Sabrina Carpenter’s Nobody’s Son. You still don’t know how you ended up at a karaoke bar to begin with, but surprisingly- and to a degree relievingly- they didn’t sound half bad.

“Is it not the point of karaoke to sound shitty?” she asks as she settles down on a stool one away from your own.

You don’t know if she’s talking to you, but you respond anyway. “If it is, clearly they didn’t get the memo.”

“Clearly,” she mutters before ordering another beer. “Don’t expect all that when I’m up there. I treat this as my scream therapy.”

“What? And here I was expecting a Broadway level performance.”

She laughs, something sarcastic yet charming. “Yeah, no. This is a release.”

“Better than some alternatives.”

She nods as she turns to face you now. Her eyes scan over you like she’s studying you, but in the most uninterested way possible. 

“You look like you could use a release. Shit day?” she asks, turning back to the bar.

“Day, week, month, year, decade. Take your pick,” you say bitterly as you take a sip of your own drink.

“Damn,” she mutters. “Sounds rough.”

You don’t know why, but you feel the need to clarify.

“Honestly, it’s really fucking stupid,” you begin as you slump further into your seat. “I went back to my hometown recently and had a super miserable conversation with my ex from high school. Shit was said. It sucked, and now I’m wallowing.”

She blinks for a moment and then speaks. “Wow..that’s..that’s kinda pathetic. Not even kinda- that’s really pathetic.”

Your shoulders drop more, and you cradle your drink in shame. “Yeah, I know.”

She sighs, a twinge of pity crossing her features as she looks at you. “My roommate is in the same boat, actually. Never got over this girl he dated forever ago. He got home a few days ago, and I caught him all snotty nosed and whiny about it. I felt kinda bad for him. Still do, but I’m not gonna tell him that.”

She pauses for a bit too long, and you assume the conversation has died out, so you take a swig of your drink.

“Maybe you two should hook up. They say the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head as you choke on your drink. She gives you a look as you cough and try to catch your breath. When you’re finally back to normal, you laugh. There’s no possible way she can be serious, but she says it so plain and dry that it makes you wonder just a bit.

“Not a great idea. I mean- you’re a stranger. He’s even more of a stranger. This could be some fucked up plot to like…harvest my organs or something.”

“Could be,” she says as she stands up from her stool and downs the rest of her beer. “We are both doctors.”

You raise a brow and nod. “Impressive.”

She gives you a smile, and it feels relatively genuine. “Stick around until after my song, and I’ll tell you why that’s not true.”

You smile back and nod. You still don’t have many friends out here, and even if this only lasts the night, it’s something.

You find out later on that her name is Trinity, and that when Trinity drinks, she’s a lot more open. She tells you that she works at PTMC on the day shift with her roommate- she calls him Huckleberry, and you don’t bother to question that- and her not-girlfriend, Garcia. When she gives you more details on their situationship, you feel a pang of sympathy.

“Seems like you could do better,” You slur as you lean against your elbow on the bar. “Garcia really comes off as if she’s not gonna treat this, or you, seriously. You’re hot and funny- you need someone who's going to properly appreciate you. Not blow you off or only come around to fuck.”

She gives you a pout and pulls her bottle closer. “But she’s hot-”

“And mean-”

“And that makes her hot!” She whines as she throws her head back with a huff.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “You’re fucked with this one.”

“Says you. You’re hung up on a guy you dated like a decade ago,” She says and gives you a very judgmental look. “Let me repeat that- a guy a decade ago.”

You frown, turning away from her slightly. “It’s not that simple. I grew up with him. He was my best friend. And my first love. You never fully get over your first love.”

She turns you back to face her, her cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. “Bullshit. I barely remember mine.”

“Lucky you.” You take a sip of your drink.

“Have you dated anyone since then?”

The question makes you bristle defensively. “Yeah- nothing serious, but I’ve dated.”

“Really?” You can feel the doubt as much as you can hear it.

“Yes. A few guys here and there. None of them felt like the boyfriend type, so it never lasted. It just didn’t work,” you say with a shrug.

She smirks. “Because you’re somehow still in love with your loser fucking ex.”

It’s your turn to pout as you sink down and rest your chin on the bar. It’s gross and sticky, but you’re not sober enough to care.

You deny it again, and to no surprise, she doesn’t believe you. It’s a steady topic that continues to cycle through the rest of your conversation as you both sober up. Eventually, you’re both sober enough to call for rides. As you’re waiting, she holds out her hand to you.

You give her a confused look before she demands “Phone”. You don’t argue.

You watch as she inputs her number and then passes your phone back to you.

“Unfortunately,” she begins. “We have to be friends now.”

“We don’t have to be-” you start, but then she’s cutting in.

She huffs as if this is an inconvenience. “Yes, we do. You’re a sad little thing with no friends, and you’re hung up on your ex.”

You scrunch your face up, unable to hide your offense. “I have friends.” You don’t deny the rest.

“Not good ones if you’re here alone. I’m taking you under my wing. I’ll help you get laid.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks…that’s exactly what I need- sex.”

“Good,” She smiles. “Let me know when you’re home.”

You nod and smile back because, honestly, you do like the thought of being her friend. Even if she thinks you’re pathetic. “You do the same.”

She stands up and gives a salute before she’s walking out of the bar. Not long after, you make your exit as well, feeling better than you have in days.

You don’t realize how much you take for granted using two arms until suddenly everything you do seems to take twice as long, and it’s driving you crazy.

But unsurprisingly, that’s just one of the few things that has you considering how detrimental it would be if you just dropped everything and made your escape to who the hell knows where. Just some place different. You’ve run from your problems before, though, and all you really got were new ones to take their place, so you don’t bother trying again. You’ll deal with these few somehow. You think. You hope.

Only time can really tell.

It’s two weeks into your six week recovery period when you finally cave and message Dennis. You’ve been dwelling on it and dodging Trinity’s questions for too long. If you don’t do it soon, you never will- something she pointed out the last time she texted you, just ten minutes ago.

It takes you five more minutes to type out your first message.

“Hey Dennis, it’s y/n. Are you free to talk?”

The formality of the message makes you cringe, but you don’t know how else to go about it.

You don’t expect to get a message back anytime soon, but you get one almost instantly.

“Hey, I’m free. Is everything okay? Your arm doing alright?”

You puff out your cheeks. It’s been so long since you’ve seen his name in your notifications that it almost seems wrong. Maybe it is. You don’t want to think too hard about it

“Yeah yeah. Arms all good.”

You hesitate and then send another message.

“I mean talk about us.”

“What happened at the hospital?”

“All of it.”

Your phone is ringing before you can take a proper breath.

“Hey.” Your voice comes out so small.

“Hey,” There's a pause. “How do you want to do this?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to find the right words. Then, you disregard every thought to ask, “What did I do wrong?”

“Not even a second passes before he’s responding, sounding so sure it rattles your bones. “Nothing. Ever. You were- are perfect.”

“I’m not.”

“You are to me,” He says, and you can’t doubt how genuine he is.

You shift your phone against your ear. “Maybe I was. I’m different now. It’s been-”

He cuts you off, sounding exasperated. “Eight years. I know. I don’t care.”

You don’t say anything. You just let the weight of his words hang between you.

“I miss you.” There’s a waver to his voice that makes it seem like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to say this. In a way, you feel like he shouldn’t, but you don’t stop him. You need to hear it as much as he needs to say it. “I miss my best friend. I still don’t have anyone who understands me like you did. Not even Trinity. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t let myself open up to anyone else because I knew no one would get me like-”

You interrupt, and there’s a hint of a smile on your lips. You don’t know why this makes you smile. Maybe it’s that he’s been no better off than you. Maybe it’s because you finally feel seen. “Like me. I’m the same. I hate it, but I stopped trying. It felt useless.”

You picture him nodding along because he doesn’t say anything in response.

A silence falls over you that feels more charged than awkward. Then, you whisper out, “I miss you too.”

You hear the sigh of relief he lets out. It makes you feel good, both because he reciprocates the thought and because you know he’s been dwelling on it for a while now.

“What do we do now?” He asks. You can hear him tapping his knuckles against something in the background, and familiarity settles heavy over you. Old habits die hard.

“We try to know each other again. See where that goes. Maybe friends.”

It doesn’t sound like much, but to both of you, it’s an opening. A hope for more than you are now. A chance to reclaim a bit of yourselves. Maybe even the closure Trinity had been talking about back at the hospital.

“We could get dinner?” He offers up. “One night after my shift.”

You shake your head before you remember he can’t see you. “Dinner is too much. It’s too date-ish. Coffee on your next day off?”

You both make a point not to acknowledge the concept of a coffee date. That would just ruin everything.

“I’m free Saturday.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. “A weekend off as a doctor? Unexpected.”

He laughs, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“I know, right? So..Saturday at ten?”

“Sounds like a plan. Have Trinity pick the place. She’s got good taste,” You say, your fingers tapping on your phone in time with his knuckles.

You can’t see him roll his eyes, but you can feel it. You can hear his smile when he speaks. “She’ll love to know you think so highly of her.”

“How could I not? You should’ve seen her the night we met. Left a really lasting impression.”

“Oh, I’m sure she did,” He says. “I’ll ask her where we should go.”

“Good,” You say with a nod. “I’ll see you Saturday then.”

“I’ll see you Saturday,” He echoes.

As you hang up the phone, it’s as if suddenly your entire body feels lighter. You take a moment to enjoy the feeling before pulling up your messages. You keep it short and sweet.

“Thank you”

Trinity responds within minutes with a photo of Dennis leaning against what must be their kitchen counter. He’s smiling like an idiot down at his phone, completely oblivious to her. The sight gives you something similar to butterflies, but much more erratic. It gives you moths bouncing around a light fixture.

“You’re welcome.”

You send back a heart and then set your phone down for the night.

His lips trail down your neck, wet and desperate. You can tell he’s fighting back every urge to leave marks in his wake, and while you wouldn’t mind a physical reminder of what’s happening this very moment, you know your boss wouldn’t be too pleased to see you covered in hickeys.

You wonder if he can feel your pulse in your throat, and the way it jumps when he thumbs over your nipples, making your hips twitch forward and a pathetic whine of his name to slip past your lips. Your entire body feels electrified just from this much attention, and you’re not sure how you’re going to manage when any part of him finds its way between your legs.

It’s not hard to tell that he’s just as nervous as you, his movements more hesitant than they had been back when you two were young, dumb, and hopelessly in love, fooling around in the backseat of his brother’s truck. Time apart has done as much good as it has harm though. For every bit of nerves, there’s that much more need fueling your movements. It’s almost as if the two of you are blushing virgins again when it comes to exploring each other’s bodies, but there’s still an air of familiarity and experience that has chills shooting down your spine with every touch.

When he pulls you closer, his hips rolling against your own, you have to bite back a moan. The thin layer of his boxers and your underwear barely acts as a barrier, and only continues to become more and more frustrating the wetter you get. There’s a part of you that wants to savor this moment, but there’s more of you that craves to be full of him for the first time in nearly a decade, so despite your anxieties, you awkwardly shift until you can push your underwear down, leaving your body fully exposed to his hungry gaze.

One of his hands glides down your body, dipping between your thighs. You can feel his hesitancy, so you do the unthinkable and grab his wrist, forcing him to dip his fingers into your dripping folds.

“Please,” You breathe out as his fingertips ghost over your clit. “Please, Dennis. I need you.”

Your words are more than enough encouragement to have him sinking two long, thin fingers into you. Each thrust of them is slow and deliberate as he savors the clench of your cunt. If you’re this tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how your squeeze his cock when it’s finally buried deep inside you. 

He crooks his fingers, brows furrowed as he searches for the spot he knows will work you up the quickest. When he finds it, you keen and he smirks.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and hoarse with need. “That’s my girl.”

Your back arches off the bed, eyes fluttering shut as he puts all his attention on that spot, pulling you closer and closer to the edge before you even realize. You don’t know if it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve been touched by someone else or because it’s been so long since you’ve been touched by him, but as his thumb finds your clit and your hands shoot out to grip his shoulders, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter. 

You can hear the messy schlick of your cunt as his fingers move faster, bullying into that spot with each thrust, and it has your whole body burning hot. You’re embarrassed at just how needy you are, but it feels too good for you to do anything about it.

“So pretty like this,” he mumbles, eyes glued to where his fingers are fucking into you harder. “You don’t know how bad I’ve missed you. Been fucking my fist every night, imagining it was you. Shit- you’re gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you, baby? Please?”

The last part comes out so much more whiny than the rest, and you swear it pushes you right to the edge. All you can do is nod, too caught up in a haze of pleasure to give him a proper verbal response.

“Gotta cum for me first then. You can do that, can’t you, pretty girl? Just soak my fingers, and I’ll fuck you as much as you want.”

His words have your breath catching in your throat. He had never been one for dirty talk when you were younger, but then again, it was never really a priority. A few depraved words here and there, but nothing like now. Back then, it was all moans and whines. Now, he’s got you on the verge of cumming from his voice alone.

Your hips grind in time with his movements, and as his thumb presses harder on your clit, you gush around his fingers with a loud, drawn out moan.

He works you through your orgasm, voice softer now as he talks you down. So many whispers of “good girl” and “so perfect for me” and a million other phrases of the same vein leave you in a floaty headspace as you melt back into the bed.

When he pulls his fingers from your cunt, he doesn’t hesitate to bring them to his mouth, sucking them clean of your cum. It makes you clench around nothing, already ready for more. And with the way he looks at you, you know that’s exactly what he’s going to give you.

Six weeks couldn’t have come soon enough.Though you’ve grown accustomed to the thick, obnoxious cast on your arm, you’ve not grown to like it. Luckily, you’re finally able to get it off.

The PTMC Emergency Department is as busy as ever, but you choose not to think too hard on it.

You also try not to think too hard about the say they’re about to sawto your arm. You know it won’t cut you- only the cast- but there’s a twinge of paranoia you can’t shake.

As you’re waiting for someone to bring said saw to your curtained area, you use the moment to people watch. Victoria passes by and shoots you a smile before her face immediately sours as a tall, curly-haired boy trails behind her, saying God knows what.

Then, you see Mel towards the middle of the room talking animatedly with a man that is looking at her as if she is everything good and beautiful and pure in the world. She is, but the way he stares says it’s more than that. You tuck the thought away to ask about later on.

A few others pass by- an older man with a tired expression and tension in his shoulders that suggests a world of experience and the issues that come with it, a nurse with two braids and the softest, most doe-like features that you would think she was pulled straight from a children' s fantasy book where her heart of gold is what hold the world around her together, and a short doctor with a nose piercing and a perpetually unimpressed expression that suggests that she is both too cool and too disinterested to be here. Each person only furthers your idea that Dennis has the most interesting- and attractive- coworkers. He fits right in perfectly.

The people watching keeps you busy enough that you lose track of time. Suddenly, Dennis and Trinity appear, and she looks all too excited to be there.

“You ready?” She asks as she gestures to your cast with the saw.

You nod, though you know you look less than sure about that. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Huck can hold your hand if you’re feeling nervous,” She says with a teasing smile. “That’s why I brought him.”

Dennis immediately holds his hands up in defense as his cheeks flush pink. “That is not what I’m here for. She just told me you’d come in, and I wanted to check on you- check on your arm.”

His panic makes you smile and relax a bit as you meet his eye. “I’m okay. Unnecessarily nervous and ready to get this cast off before I start to feel like it’s a permanent attachment, but okay.”

You watch as he shifts awkwardly and taps his knuckles against his leg. He looks nervous, and you have a pretty good idea about what he’s working himself up to say. You and Trinity both wait with bated breath, only making the poor guy squirm even more.

“Do you..I mean- would you want me to..y’know..stick around?” He finally asks. Trinity’s head snaps to you as if the two of you are her own personal soap opera.

“If you’re not too busy-”

“He’s not.” and “I’m not.” echo out into the small space simultaneously, and it makes you smile.

Dennis steps beside you and rests a hand on each shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. You glance back at him.

Trinity positions your arm into place and begins the cast removal. She’s precise and careful, but you still refuse to look at it.

Instead, you try to people watch again. It only does so much to distract you at first, but then the same older doctor from earlier passes by. He glances your way before doing a double take. You assume he meets Dennis’ eye from the way he raises an eyebrow, and Dennis tenses.

The removal doesn’t take much longer, and neither does the recheck to make sure everything has healed well. You’re filled with relief to find out it has.

When Trinity insists Dennis walks you out after you’re cleared, you don’t argue and neither does he, but you do give her a look. She simply winks back as Dennis bumps your shoulder and nods towards the exit. You follow him without question.

“You’re a free woman now. Any plans to celebrate that?”

You eye him for his weird word choice, but he just keeps walking.

“I’ll probably go break the other one now just to even things out,” You say with a shrug.

“Don’t you dare. That’d be your dominant arm, and I don’t think either of us wants me to have to take care of you for six weeks. Mostly because I know you’d try and do something dumb while you’ve only got one hand, and it’s one thing with it as your nondominant hand- you’re still pretty capable then- but with your dominant hand-”

You cut him off- not harsh, not rude, just curious. “What makes you think you’d take care of me?”

He takes a moment, and you watch as confusion spreads over his features. “Who else would you want to?”

His words make your face feel warm and your head fuzzy, as if TV static had scrambled your brain. You could say Trinity, but you’ve only known her just over two months now, and that seems a bit much for a new friendship. You could also say one of your coworkers, but you’re definitely not close enough with any of them for that either. Ultimately, you cave and tell him the truth.

“No one. Just you.”

He smiles, and so do you, because his gap tooth grin is contagious.

By then, you’ve made it to the exit, but neither of you is quite ready to part. He fidgets with the badge on his hip, and you watch him. You’ve known him long enough to know all his tells, and it's clear he’s fighting an internal battle. It’s also clear that he’s losing. Eventually the badge snaps back against his hip.

“Could I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

You freeze. The question catches you off guard, and you feel your heart stutter, and you freeze because that’s all you can do. There’s a level of guilt that seeps into your skin as you stare at him. He’s distraught- completely and utterly so as your silence drags on- and you’re not doing anything to help that at all.

Apologies are heavy on his tongue and heavy in the air, and you’re letting him flounder as you watch on. He looks genuinely regretful he ever opened his mouth, and then-

“Okay.”

You don’t realize you’ve said it until his body visibly deflates in relief. It would make you feel better if you weren’t panicked now.

“Yeah?” He asks, blue eyes lighting up in a way that comforts you and sets your body on edge all at once. “Dinner. Like a date.”

A part of you regrets saying yes. A bigger part of you regrets regretting that. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Like a date,” you repeat.

You both stand there for a beat, worry mixing with a million other emotions. The longer you hesitate, the more you find your heart coming around to the idea of a date with Dennis, and the less you care about the arguments your brain is making.

“If you aren’t sure about this, we don’t have to. I know it’s a lot, and it’s soon, but every time I see you I just can’t stop missing everything. And after the other night when you fell asleep on me, I thought you might miss it too.”

His words snap you out of your own spiral and into his.

“I do miss it, Den,” You say as you watch him carefully to catch every minor reaction. His fingers twitch and you barely resist the urge to reach out for them. “I’m just nervous that-”

“That it’s gonna happen again. Yeah, I figured.” He sounds dejected- which is fair- but you can only be so forgiving when it comes to protecting your heart. “I can’t blame you for that. I won’t. But if you even in the slightest want to give this a chance, then please let me try to prove to you that I will never let us end up in this situation again. I didn’t want to hurt you then, but I’d rather die than hurt you now.”

“Dennis,” You mutter, but he doesn’t stop.

“I will spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be the man you deserve if you’re willing to give me just one chance to do it.”

He looks like he’s gearing up to go again when you reach out and cup his cheek.

“Dennis,” You say again, this time as stern as it is soft. He stares at you in a way that makes it feel like he won’t breathe again until you finish speaking, so you spare him the oxygen deprivation. “It’s a date.”

He lets out a loud sigh and both of you seem to melt with relief.

“Tomorrow night then?”

You nod.

He smiles. “Okay.”