#whitaker x reader

quick note: This is my first fic in a while so bear with me. I feel like this kind of lost direction midway through but nonetheless I wanted to share it. More Pitt fics to come, so please request either Whitaker, Abbot, or Langdon!

Dennis Whitaker used to spend his days off sleeping. It was a ritual of his–getting off in the evening on Friday and heading straight to his apartment. He would flop belly-down onto his bed, sleeping well into Saturday afternoon.

This is how he spent his first year working at the Pitt.

Since then, things have changed.

He had finished his fourth year of medical school and was now officially an intern. He had moved up in rank, and people respected him more for it.

Dr. Dennis Whitaker.

Dennis Whitaker used to spend his days off sleeping–until his intern year, when he met you.

You transferred to the PTMC during your fourth year of medical school–much like Dennis. On your first day, Dr. Robby assigned you and a few other students to shadow Dr. Whitaker around the hospital.

It didn't take long for the two of you to become quite close, and after a couple of weeks, you started hooking up in secret.

If you were honest with yourself, having sex with your mentor was probably against hospital policy. Of course, Dennis was also aware of this, and he did everything he could to maintain professionalism while at work. Still, it was hard not to show favoritism when it came to you.

When the two of you were alone, however… that was a different story.

Dennis used all that pent-up sexual energy–spending entire shifts pretending like you didn't exist–to absolutely dote on you on your days off. No matter how tired he was physically and emotionally.

Friday, 10:55 p.m.

The door to his apartment swings open, and you and Dennis wearily pile inside. Your backpack slips off your shoulders as you kick off your shoes, while Dennis heads straight to the fridge.

He leans down, the fridge light washing over his face. He has one hand on his knee and the other on the door, holding himself up.

“Want anything?” he asks, pulling out a container of leftovers.

“No. Just you,” you say weakly, shoulders slumping as you rub the day from your face.

He sets the container down and comes over, pulling you into his arms.

“Bad shift, huh?” he murmurs.

“Uh-huh.”

He cradles your head, drawing you into the crook of his neck. He smells like sweat and sanitizing alcohol.

“C’mon,” he says, “let’s get to bed.”

It had become a habit for you to stay at Dennis and Trinity’s apartment through the weekends. Trinity didn't mind either, seeing as the two of you had grown quite close not long after you started working at the PTMC.

It was easier this way–no longer having to commute back and forth to see each other. You and Dennis had even started up a little routine of simple things you did together: ordering takeout, showering, sleeping in the same bed.

The truth is, you weren't just hooking up anymore. On the weekends, you were a real, unspoken couple.

That same Friday, 11:45 p.m.

You lie on Dennis’s bed, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. The room is hot, the windows steamed over from the shower.

You turn onto your side, facing the cracked bathroom door. You can't see Dennis, only a sliver of light slipping through the gap. But you can hear the distant buzzing of his electric toothbrush.

Soon after, he walks into the room. The curls of his hair are wet, dripping down onto his white cotton shirt. The bags under his eyes are more prominent now, and he walks over to the bed with heavy shoulders.

You shift to lie on your back again. He lets out a small huff as he climbs over you.

“Feel better?” you ask, referring to the shower.

“Yeah,” he rasps, clearing his throat. “Tired. But yeah.”

He brushes the damp strands of hair from your face, and his fingers are warm against your skin. He then carefully leans in, planting a soft kiss upon your lips.

Your fingers reach behind his neck to pull him closer, and he whimpers. He lets his hips grind against yours, and you can feel his dick twitch beneath his boxers.

He soon breaks free from the kiss, propping himself up on his forearms.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, looking up at him with sudden disquiet.

“No, not at all. It's just–” His breath comes out labored and shaky. “I’m having a hard time holding myself up. I don't think I can–”

“Flip over,” you interrupt.

He looks at you for a second, like he's thinking about it–but he gives in, flipping over and letting his back hit the mattress.

You mount him and lean down, kissing over his clothed chest. Your hips roll against his lap, and his eyes shut at the feeling.

He feels so hard beneath you, with the tip of his length teasing the pinnacle of where you need him most.

It would be torturous to let this go on any longer.

Your delicate fingers reach for the hem of his boxers and pull them down, allowing his dick to spring free and hit his stomach.

His neck strains against the pillows, and his eyes stay wired shut, as if one look at you would make him come right then and there.

You push your sleep shorts to the side and line his dick up with your entrance, pushing the head of it in only slightly, just to tease him.

The entirety of his body tenses in response, and he whimpers.

“Baby, please…” His voice is soft and pleading.

“You want it, don't you?” you ask gently, tracing your fingers over his chest.

“Y-yes–fuck–yes.” His hips buck upward in desperation, and he looks like he's on the verge of tears.

You feel almost bad for him, but at the same time, his anguish makes you smile.

In one sweep, you lower yourself down on his complete length, making you both moan at the feeling. His hands grip the fat of your hips, fingers squeezing tightly at the first movement of your pelvis.

You lean down again, and this time your mouth finds his, a little softer this time. The kiss is messier, too, with Dennis's tongue darting out in search of the inside of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” he breathes between kisses. He's constantly spilling out whimpers into your mouth now, the feeling all too much for him.

The bed began to creak beneath you as you got into a slow but steady rhythm, rocking your hips back and forth. He hisses in response, trying his hardest not to buck up into you.

His soft, blue eyes follow you as you sit back up, in complete control. He looks so beautiful like this, color spreading across his cheekbones and all the way up to the tips of his ears.

He's embarrassed, too–even more so when you say, “You're so big, Denny.”

He puts his weight on his palms, pushing himself up until he’s sitting level with you. He then leans back in, kissing you again, his hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks.

You rock harder now, the feeling of his dick twitching inside you letting you know that he's close. You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly to feel him squirm under you.

His voice is low and desperate when he speaks. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. I–”

“I know, baby. I know,” you soothe, picking up the pace, chasing your own release. His arms wrap around your shoulders, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck–because, for some reason, Dennis needs to be as close as physically possible when he comes.

You notice the way his breathing speeds up, chest heaving as he recklessly thrusts up into you, seconds away from coming undone. The feeling in your core builds and builds and builds with every rock and thrust–until you feel yourself there right with him.

“Denny,” you breathe. “I’m so close.”

“I can feel it,” he murmurs, “Come with me.”

He buries his face farther into your neck, his fingers grasping the skin of your back. Right as you're about to see stars, he whines and says, “I love you.”

You don't have time to process it, as your orgasm hits you just seconds after the words leave his mouth. He follows shortly after, finishing inside you.

He falls back onto the bed, and you follow, landing faintly on top of him. You rest your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly taper down to a normal pace.

He brushes the hair from your face again–less damp now, a little sweaty. But he doesn't speak. He lets silence stretch between you, and you sense that he may be a little nervous after his… untimely confession.

You decide to break it first.

“Did you mean what you said?”

There's another beat of silence. He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands before speaking.

“Yeah. I think I did.”

You smile, turning your head to look up at him.

“This isn't just about sex anymore, is it?”

Trinity was sick.

She was sick of watching Whitaker trail after you like a puppy. Sick of his heart eyes. Sick of hearing him gush.

“Did you see her with that little kid? She’s a natural.”

“She wore a bubble braid today. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“Have you ever seen Fargo? I haven’t, but she says it's really good, I need to try it.”

“I wish I was as smart as her, did you see how quickly she clocked that liver laceration?”

Not that Trinity couldn’t appreciate an intelligent woman, but it was a liver lac for Christ's sake. There was a time when the boy would shy away from saying things like that, from opening himself up to ridicule. After growing up with three older brothers, he learned quickly what could put a target on your back, and having a crush on a pretty girl was high on the list.

But Trinity just had to push, to dig, to force his obvious feelings out into the open. Once they were, it was like a dam broke.

Because Dennis Whitaker was head over heels in love with you.

From the moment he stepped foot into the pitt, you were on his mind. Almost twelve months ago, as a fresh faced MS4 hiding out in an empty hospital wing, homesick for Nebraska, he had no one. When he caught sight of your face, a bit nervous like his, but with an edge that told him “I know more than you,” he latched.

You were an intern then, like Trinity, and the two of you became fast friends, much to Dennis’ chagrin. Dennis spent his entire disastrous first shift blushing whenever you looked at him, boiling when you started calling him Huckleberry too, and trying not to think too hard about how insanely out of his league you were.

You were strong willed, from the get go. You didn’t waste time stuttering like he did, you didn’t seem to care too much if people liked you, so long as they respected you. But Dennis did both, and he was pretty sure you had no idea.

You teased him, not quite as meanly as Trinity, but there was no way you didn’t notice the way the tip of his ears flamed each time. The way you talked to and about him made him sure you saw him as nothing more than Trinity’s annoying friend. When she sniped, you laughed along, snickering into her shoulder. When he made mistakes, you’d slap him on the back, and tell him he’d “get ’em next time, Huckleberry,” with a little smirk. The first time you’d done that, he’d let out an odd, involuntary little squeak that had Robby cocking his head.

But you had a soft side. And while you and Trinity were much like peas in a pod, you didn’t keep your softness as close to the chest like her. Trinity reserved it only for the quietest moments, the closest of friends. You, on the other hand, were confident enough in your emotional security and standing to provide people with a soft place to land, when you could tell they really needed it. And you were great at reading it.

It was calling Robby away to a quieter place away from everyone when he was about to snap. It was inviting Mel to a girl’s night when she seemed burnt out, and making friendship bracelets to give her something permanent and tangible to commemorate your friendship. It was getting the nurses coffee when patients were disrespectful. It was knocking your knee against Trinity’s and handing her a snack when she was behind on charting, or inviting yourself over after tough shifts when you knew she shouldn’t be alone.

The first time you helped Dennis, he nearly threw up his heart at the gesture.

It was just a week or two after PittFest, your first shift, when Amy’s husband died in the ICU. Everyone knew Whitaker had been holding out hope he would survive. It just didn’t seem right, didn’t seem fair. They had a good, pure, young love, one that didn’t happen to many people. And in an instant, it was gone. And Amy would birth her baby alone.

That night, he’d told Santos to just drive home without him. As he started his trek back to their apartment, breathing in the cool night air, he heard your voice.

“Hey, Huckleberry!” He whipped around. “Wait up!”

For perhaps the first time since meeting you, he didn’t immediately smile at the sight of your face. He gave a weak attempt, one that fell flat, but you didn’t seem bothered. Just fell into step beside him. He eyed you a little, unsure of your motives as you huffed and adjusted your bag.

“What’s up?” he asked.

You shrugged, glancing at him.

“Can’t I just want to walk with you?” you asked, a hint of your usual teasing hidden in a much more sincere voice. “I’m headed this way anyways.”

He didn’t fight you, even if he knew your apartment was in the opposite direction. You walked in silence for a while, letting the air be filled with distant sirens and the scraping of your sneakers against the pavement. Eventually, you broke it.

“Got any plans tonight?” you asked.

He gave an almost chuckle.

“Yeah, me and leftover takeout,” he muttered. “How about you?”

“Well, Trin promised me a ride home this morning,” you said, pretending to sound more annoyed than you were. “We were gonna have a movie night, but I got bumped by you know who.”

He did know who, unfortunately, all too well. He’d heard Garcia’s name screamed through the walls more times than he’d care to remember. He nodded.

“Why not just go home?” he asked. “Call an Uber.”

“Are you kidding? And miss this weather?” you asked, pulling some tangled earbuds out of your bag. “I love fall. October’s probably my favorite month. Didn’t you celebrate Halloween in Amish-land Arkansas?”

His lips actually twitched.

“Broken Bow, Nebraska,” he corrected gently. “And I’m not Amish.”

It was a nice night, he thought, taking it in truly for the first time. The air was crisp, but not biting, and the sky was crystal clear, and spattered with the few stars you could make out from the city. Red, orange, and brown leaves crunched under foot.

“Well, don’t worry,” you said, fiddling with your phone. “We’ll get you to a proper Halloween party this year.”

That made him nervous. He wasn’t a big drinker, a lightweight, Trinity said, and he wasn’t big on crowds, either. Especially in the dark, with free flowing alcohol lowering people’s inhibitions. But perhaps it was the idea of being close to you, in your little homemade “slutty Hannibal Lecter” costume, that made him so nervous. He’d overheard you talking about it with Trinity and Samira, like a creep. He didn’t know it would be “little”, exactly, but if it was anything like your Fantastic Mr. Fox costume from last year, that he’d seen when stalking your instagram, like a creep, he wasn’t far off in his imagination.

Before he could think of something to say, some excuse to lay the foundation for, you were handing him an earbud. He just looked at your hand, then up at your face. You quirked a brow.

“You put it in your ear, and music comes out of it,” you said slowly, hint of a smile on your mouth. “Sure you're not amish?”

He swallowed, and his lips twitched again. He took the earpiece, hesitantly, and was shocked to hear Stevie Wonder. You were watching his expression.

“Don’t be so surprised, you’re not the only one who has taste,” you said. “It’s not like I live under a rock.”

He’d smiled fully then, which seemed to be what you were aiming for. He’d gone to bed that night, still heavier, still sad, but with a nice memory to color his dreams. You had walked with him. You had shared your earbuds. You had been close enough for your elbow to brush his several times on the way home.

He’d always had a crush, but that was the night he realized he was really falling for you.

It took about two seconds for Trinity, and the rest of Allegheny General, to notice it. It took about two months for her to get him to admit it out loud.

He was just glad his brothers weren’t there the night he let everything loose. Ever since he was little, he’d had a tendency to fall at the feet of girls he could never get. Or else, in Trinity’s opinion, girls he could never bring himself to approach. Because although she’d be slow to admit it outloud, her little Huckleberry was a catch, in a lot of ways. He was sweet, genuine, and gentlemanly. Not that she’d ever looked for a boy herself, but from what she heard from her straight girlfriends, those types of men were hard to come by.

When she’d talked to you, tried to gauge interest, you’d said you “wouldn’t be opposed to it.” Which, in your language, meant you wanted to kiss him silly.

Now, almost a year after that night, she was officially at her wits end. She stared at Whitaker where he sat staring at you, head in hand, practically radiating lovesickness.

Pathetic.

You were all technically in the middle of hand off, bright and early. You’d always gotten along well with Jack, and everyone knew you were one of Robby’s favorite residents. You stood between them as they checked patients off the list, preparing day shift. Samira, Mel, McKay, and Langdon all stood clustered around the hub while Abbot’s team gathered their belongings.

Trinity watched in second hand embarrassment as Whitaker’s name was called, once, twice, thrice, before he snapped out of his trance. He straightened up to see all eyes on him, and instantly his pale skin flushed red. No one seemed surprised. On the contrary, they all appeared to have a bit of knowing tease in their expressions as he floundered. All except you, of course.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re taking Mr. Gibson, in South 4,” he said tiredly. “And please, do try to listen during hand off. It’s your patient’s life or death.”

Whitaker flushed even darker, eyes flickering to you for only a fraction of a second, before focusing entirely on the tablet that was handed to him.

Robby shot Santos a look, who shrugged helplessly. You just gave Dennis a short smile, and headed off to your own mountain of work.

As everyone dispersed, waving goodbye to Abbot and the night shift, Trinity held Dennis back.

“I’m done,” she hissed, causing his brow to furrow.

“Done?”

“Done taking all your redirected yearning energy!” she said. “No more nights filled with, she looked at me today, oh, she wore a green sweater, can you believe it? She —”

He shushed her furiously, whipping his head around and scanning the area in panic.

“Would you keep it down?”

“Oh please, like everyone doesn’t already know,” she waved away.

“Everyone knows?” Whitaker asked weakly, sounding like a kicked puppy.

“I really don’t have time for this,” sighed Trinity, rubbing her temples. “You are asking her out. Today.”

All the pink drained quickly from Whitaker’s face, leaving him even paler than usual.

“I can’t do that, are you crazy?!”

“Why not?” she asked. “Look, you're not still the bumbling idiot she first met. You're an intern now, you got a haircut, you're doing great!”

He let out a humorless laugh, hand tugging at the haircut she’d convinced him to get by hinting it was your type.

“I’m still a bumbling idiot, around her, at least,” he said defeatedly.

“Yeah, but she likes you,” said Trinity.

Whitaker’s eyes lit up with something like tentative hope.

“Really? She said that?”

“Well, not — not in so many words,” said Trinity, and Whitaker’s face fell again. “But I can tell! You have to trust me.”

“Trust you,” he scoffed. “Like you’ve never steered me wrong.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’ve got to at least know,” she said. “Maybe she’ll say no, but what if she doesn’t? What if you both like each other, and you never say anything, and she moves on with someone else?”

His mouth opened as though to speak, but he just shook his head.

“I’m not exactly good at talking to girls,” he said.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He glared.

“So then help me, smartass.”

She clapped her hands together excitedly, before Dana barked at them to get to work.

Trinity found little breaks throughout the day to help Whitaker work out a strategy. Did it feel a little like high school? Yeah, but it was kind of sweet, too. One of his nails was nearly bitten off by the end of the day.

His head was swarming with pick up lines, and tips he knew he’d never remember.

Eye contact. Stand up straight. Smile. Be concise, don’t ramble. Cut straight to the point. Practice an understanding rejection face, just in case.

He ran through his “lines” in his mind as he watched you at your locker from behind the door of his own. He felt nauseous. He felt stupid. He knew Trinity would force him to do it, no matter the medical emergency he could fake. He could feel her watching him.

As he made his shaky way out through the ambulance bay, staying a careful ten feet behind you, he ran into Robby, who was of course staying late to finish up some last cases. He didn’t look at Whitaker, stayed focused on his cup of something hot, but spoke.

“You might want to be standing next to her for this,” he said quietly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You look like a stalker trailing behind her like that.”

Dennis couldn’t bring himself to string together a sentence before Robby was gone. He was caught up in the mortification of realizing his boss knew about his silly school boy crush, and he didn’t realize he was even still moving until he walked straight into you.

The two of you stumbled, and you looked around at him.

“I’m so sorry!” he said urgently, face already burning. “I — I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. Really.”

You just smiled tiredly at him, swinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re good, Huckleberry,” you said, starting your stroll again and letting him keep next to you.

His eyes never left you, wide and terrified, while his mouth opened and closed like a trout. You sent him a glance out of the corner of your eye.

“Everything okay?”

He pictured Trinity’s angry face, and forced himself to speak.

“Hey,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. You — are you… okay?”

You nodded slowly.

“Pretty okay,” you said. “Got some cramps. Nothing a bubble bath won’t fix.”

“Right,” he said weakly, swiping his sweaty hands on his pants. “Right. So…”

You were reaching the edge of the parking lot, where he knew you’d part ways.

“So,” you repeated.

He cleared his throat again.

“Are you doing — what do you have tomorrow? To do, I mean. Tomorrow.”

Smooth.

“Absolutely nothing,” you said blissfully. “I’m off work, so me, in bed, watching reality TV and ordering pizza. What about you?”

His heart was pounding painfully hard and fast in his chest. He was grateful for the dark, covering his flushed face.

“I’m off too,” he said, then he bit his tongue.

“Cool,” you said.

You were at the rusted railing now, that marked the end of hospital property, and did nothing to keep anything in or out. He could feel you preparing to turn right, nod goodnight and disappear, while he continued home to the left.

“Okay,” he said, resolute, stopping in his tracks and turning stoutly towards you.

You stopped too, confused. He swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“I — I was just wondering,” he said faintly. “I mean, I just — would you want to go out with me?”

He surprised even himself with how quickly it slipped out, eyes widening along with yours. There was a second you just stood together.

“Out?” you asked, slowly.

He gripped the strap of his backpack like a lifeline. If he wanted to back pedal, this was the time. Out as a group! Out to the movies, as friends! But he didn’t. He grit his teeth.

“Like,” his voice cracked and he coughed. “Like on a date.”

You still looked surprised. It wasn’t a great sign, he thought, if you couldn’t even comprehend the idea of him asking you on a date. Couldn’t comprehend the idea of him being that type of person for you. His gaze dropped to the ground.

“You’re asking me out?” you said, still moving slowly, like you were trying to process. “Huckleberry?”

Alright, so it was a bust. He tried to keep a brave face, as he plastered on the realest smile he could muster, wanting just to get home where he could nurse his broken heart in peace and solitude.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It was just an idea. I don’t… expect anything, or anything. I just —”

“Tomorrow night?” you interrupted.

He blinked owlishly. He wasn’t sure how to receive the small smile sneaking onto your face.

“Tomorrow night?”

You nodded, a bit of mirth lining your pretty features.

“Because tomorrow night would be best for me,” you said. “Timing wise, I mean. Unless you want to wait a week.”

His jaw fell a bit. He was pretty sure you just said yes. He shifted his weight nervously.

“Yes, yeah, me too,” he said. “That’s — that’s what I was thinking.”

“Great,” you said sweetly, already taking steps backward. “We should try that new Greek place on Hancock. I’ll text you. Okay?”

He could only manage a small, spasming wave as you smiled and turned, earbuds fit in your ears. He watched you walk away, heart still beating like a drum, although the perceived “danger” was retreating. He might have stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, for hours, if Trinity didn’t come rushing up to him.

She barrelled into him, tugging his arm like a little kid. He just swayed, eyes still fixed on the spot you had turned out of sight.

“Well?” asked Trinity, impatiently. “What did she say?”

Dennis had to make a concerted effort to unstick his throat and form words.

“She said yes,” he said, hushed, like he still didn’t believe it.

Trinity let out an uncharacteristic squeal, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“I told you she liked you!” she said, giving him a hearty shake. “Seriously, Huckleberry, you’ve got to have more faith in yourself. But more importantly, you’ve got to have more faith in me.”

She started steering him back into the parking lot to her car. He shuffled alongside her.

“So, where are you going?”

“That new Greek place, uh — Bistro Elysium, I think it’s called.”

“Nice. What are you gonna wear?”

He stopped dead.

“Oh my god. What am I gonna wear?”

***

Whitaker kept Trinity up until 11 pm helping him pick an outfit. And simultaneously, curbing his pits of panic. Unlike him, she was working the next day, so she stayed half awake as he pulled out options. He didn’t have too many clothes, having spent the last few years completely broke, but Trinity knew some good thrifting spots.

Once she snapped, sick of his whining and second guessing, she pulled something from his closet herself, and stalked off to bed, grumbling. He was grateful all the same. A white t-shirt, some dark jeans, and a worn leather jacket. Simple. Easy.

He got into bed and tried to sleep, but his mind was buzzing. Would you like the outfit? What would you wear? He hoped you would wear the knit cardigan with the flower buttons, he loved seeing you in it. You always looked so happy, and so proud to answer “I made it myself!” whenever anyone asked where you’d gotten it. But he knew he’d be floored if you showed up to the restaurant wearing a paper bag.

He hadn’t had much Greek food, but he knew it was one of your favorites. He cursed himself for not getting it more. Then at least you’d have something to talk about should silence persist. He could impress you, ask you your favorites, tell you his in return.

The next day, he woke up to a text from you.

Goodmorning :D wanna meet there @6?

His stomach jolted. The entire history of text threads between the two of you were about plans surrounding Trinity’s birthday, work, or tiktoks. You also liked to send him movie and music recommendations, classifying him as “uncultured” when you found out he didn’t know who Orson Welles was. He’d of course done his research since then, and The Magnificent Ambersons was now one of his all time favorites.

He typed out a message with a thumbs up that seemed too forced, then one with a period that seemed too somber, before he landed on one.

Sounds good! See you then :)

Then he agonized over whether or not the smiley face was too much, though he couldn’t unsend it, because you had already seen it and responded with… a sticker he didn’t understand of a person he didn’t know. He just hearted it happily and went to make himself some breakfast.

As he ate eggs and microwaved hashbrowns, he poured over the restaurant’s menu, trying to memorize all the dishes he was pretty sure he heard you mention before. Trinity graciously agreed to late rent so he’d have the cash to get you whatever you wanted.

Of course he would need to pay for the date. It was the same christian farmboy part of him that added a light blue button up over his t-shirt as he got ready. He knew Trinity would roll her eyes, but he couldn’t help hearing his mother’s stern tone, tearing him a new one for taking a girl out in a shirt without a collar. He already wasn’t picking you up. He had tried to convince you, but you insisted walking was fine, since your apartment was “so close anyways.”

After spending the entire day rehearsing his order in his head, double checking his outfit from every possible angle, texting Trinity throughout his fluctuating anxiety levels, and practicing talking points in front of the mirror, he was shaking as he tied his shoelaces. The drive wasn’t far from the apartment, about ten or fifteen minutes, and he was unsurprised he beat you there.

“How many?” the hostess asked as he stepped inside.

“Two,” he said, suppressing a smile.

He checked his watch as he sat down at a table for two. It was only 5:45, and you’d agreed on 6:00. He’d been determined to get here before you, but now he regretted it. He wished he had brought a book, but would that have been rude? He could have looked at his phone, but he didn’t want to be scrolling when you walked in. He wanted to look engaged and excited. So he fiddled with the menu, pretending to read, though he’d had his order memorized for at least six hours.

He couldn’t help glancing at the door periodically, and by periodically, it was every two minutes. Every time someone came in, or even just walked past the door, he jolted a little, straightening. But he was always left disappointed. Around 6:28, someone with your same haircut passed by the window, and he sighed.

By 6:45, he was getting worried, and he was starting to get pitying looks from the staff. You weren’t often late, but it happened. Maybe your clocks were behind. Maybe you took a nap and slept through the alarm. Maybe there was a plumbing emergency, and you had to wait for the super. But surely, you would have texted.

He checked his phone. There was nothing. He sent off his own text, desperately hoping it came off as casually concerned, and not almost-out-of-my-mind anxious.

Hey, just checking in. Everything okay?

He stared at the little blue bubble for too long. Then the door chimed — he snapped his head up, only to be met with a sweet looking couple. He tried not to get sulky as he watched them sit across from one another, smiling, holding hands, and being happy. Good for them, he thought bitterly, picking at a grain in the wood table.

He sent another text. Then another.

At around 7, someone finally came over, to fill the empty water glass he was rotating. It was lucky the restaurant wasn’t busier, or he was sure they’d ask him to leave. But the nice-looking older woman whose nametag read “Lydia”, looked nothing but sorry for him.

“Waiting for someone, dearie?” she asked, in that too-sweet tone that clearly said poor thing.

He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“She’s on her way,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince Lydia or himself. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

He hated the pitying smile she gave him. She patted his hand.

“Sure you don’t want to order anything?”

He started to say no, but hesitated. He checked his watch again: 7:07. You weren’t coming, but he might as well get some good food.

“Actually, can I order some things to go?”

He shot Trinity a quick text.

Still at work?

She responded quickly.

of course

who do u think i am someone with a work life balance?

He ordered a few pita wraps, souvlaki, some vegetarian moussaka, and some baklava. He almost forwent the spanakopita, your favorite according to Trinity, out of spite, but it felt stupid. He was mad, he thought, as he loaded the bags of food into the passenger seat. But more than anything, he was hurt.

Why? He would have understood if you had rejected his advance, but why say yes only to stand him up? The most invasive parts of his mind were convinced it was all a prank from the start. Maybe one of those little games you played. Maybe you were at your apartment right now, laughing at the idea of him sitting alone, stupid enough to actually think you’d go out with him.

The logical part of him knew that that was crazy. You could be a little mean, but you weren’t cruel like that. And even if you didn’t want to date him, he was your friend. You’d probably gotten cold feet. Said yes in the moment to make it less awkward, out of pity, but couldn’t bring yourself to go through with the date nor face him with rejection.

None of the options made him feel any better. The smell of the rich food next to him, though he’d barely eaten, was nauseating rather than enticing. He wanted to take an advil, get in bed, and forget the day ever happened.

As he pulled into the PTMC parking lot, he texted Trinity that he was outside, and to come get the food. He didn’t feel much like interacting with people, who might ask why he got the food, why he was dressed nice, what he was doing out. He wasn’t about to tell them what a loser he was. Trinity, he realized, had probably already told everyone about the date.

He rested his forehead on the steering wheel with a long suffering groan. He needed to go home. Where the hell was Trinity?

He texted her again.

Where are you???

Trin I really need to go home.

Please come outside.

I swear I will leave you here.

But he wouldn’t, and the food would start getting cold soon. So, against better judgement, he grabbed the bags and got out of the car.

He was going to kill Trinity in her sleep, he thought, as he walked through the side entrance and immediately caught the eye of three people he knew. He kept his gaze on the ground, maneuvering the turns on muscle memory until he reached the break room. He dumped the food on the table.

He tried to sneak back out the way he came, but he was spotted the second he stepped through the door.

“Whitaker!” Robby shouted.

He went over to the hub, reluctantly. Robby had his glasses perched on his nose, arms crossed, like a father about to give a lecture. Dennis chewed his thumb nail.

“I brought a bunch of Greek from that new place,” he said, averting his eyes. “It’s in the breakroom for whoever wants it.”

“You said Greek?”

Great, the night shift was here to share in the moment. Shen was rubbing his hands together.

“Break room,” said Robby.

Shen and Ellis turned right around and headed in that direction, throwing weak thanks at Dennis behind their shoulders.

“We appreciate that,” said Robby good naturedly. “Look, I’m sorry —”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” said Whitaker with a stiff smile, face pinkening quickly. He was humiliated enough as it was. “Do you know where Santos is?”

Robby raised a brow.

“South 4.”

Without another word, Dennis marched on, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact.

“You’d better have a good reason for ignoring me,” he said with an edge as he opened the door. “Because I’ve been sitting —”

He ripped the curtain back, but cut himself off when he saw the scene.

Trinity, Mel, and Jack were standing around the bed, and in the bed, was you.

His heart dropped down to his stomach as he took in the monitors and tubes connected to you under a gown. You were on an IV, heart rate elevated, fever, and looking a little green around the gills. You opened your eyes sleepily as he entered, and a weak smile pulled at your lips.

“Denny,” you said, stretching his name out long like you were happy to see him. “You’re here.”

His cheeks flamed instantly, an initial reaction of embarrassment. You’d never called him Denny before. You’d barely called him Dennis. No one called him Denny.

His second feeling, that hit him like a wave, was guilty relief. You hadn’t stood him up, at least, not on purpose. You’d been stuck in a hospital bed, apparently sick as a dog. You hadn’t forgotten him, or ignored him.

What anger he’d built up at you quickly dissolved into worry. He looked to Trinity for an explanation.

“Appendicitis,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry about date night, Denny. She didn’t text you?”

He just shook his head and took a seat by your bedside. He opened his mouth to say something to you, ask if you were alright, but you booped his nose and sent him melting again.

“You’re cute,” you giggled. “Like — like a ghost. A British ghost.”

“She’s also on some painkillers while we wait for surgery to open up,” Jack supplied with an amused lilt.

It made sense, Whitaker thought, as you played happily with his hands, but it didn’t stop his cheeks from flaming from a familiar fluster. Even laid up, you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. And any smile like the one you wore now could only prove to brighten your face more, no matter how gray you looked.

“We’ll give you two some privacy,” said Mel.

She practically had to drag Trinity from the room.

“Keep it PG in here!” she called with a smirk.

Jack chuckled, looking reluctant to leave himself, but pulled the curtain closed as he left the room. With them gone and the glass door shut, it felt weirdly quiet. And Whitaker was suddenly rather nervous to be alone with you.

You, on the other hand, seemed too content, threading your fingers through his. He wasn’t about to stop you. Your hands were soft, and he loved the heat of them close to his. It was then he realized just how long it’d been since he’d even held hands with someone.

“You gave me a good scare there,” he said softly, eyes trained on your expression.

Yours moved slowly up to his and blinked lazily. Your smile was widening.

“What do you mean?” 

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“I just didn’t know where you were,” he said. “You never showed up, and you never texted.”

In an instant, your pretty smile fell into a frown. He immediately regretted saying anything, he should have waited until you were out of surgery, and out of pain meds. He tightened his hold on your hand and tried to smile. You were still frowning.

“Oh, no,” you said. “I didn’t think of it. I didn’t — were you all alone? Did I leave you all alone?”

“Not all alone!” he said quickly, leaning forward. “There — um… there was a waitress!”

You started blinking faster, and your lip started trembling.

“No, no, no!” he said desperately, scooting his chair ever closer. “Don’t cry, don’t cry! It wasn’t for that long, and — and we’re together now, right?”

You sniffled, tears welling but not falling. You looked thoughtful.

“Right,” you said eventually, and his smile turned true. “That’s right. This is the date then.”

He glanced around the sterile white room, needles in your arm, and though he couldn’t see it, he was sure a group of coworkers were outside your door talking about you, and he grimaced.

“Or,” he said, being careful not to upset you any more, “we could just hang out tonight, and when you get better, we can try going to a restaurant again. How’s that?”

Your tears were now forgotten, but you huffed. You seemed to be cycling through stages of grief.

“I can’t believe this,” you said with a childish pout. “All the shitty dates I’ve been on in my life, and for a guy I actually like, I get appendicitis. Now?”

He couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at that.

“A guy you like, huh?” he said shyly.

“Duh,” you said. “I’ve never agreed to go out with a coworker before, you know. You’re just — too fucking cute!”

His whole body felt flooded with heat.

“Well,” he said, somewhat squeakily, “you’re pretty fucking cute yourself.”

You let go of his hands and pulled the sheet over your face. He couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d never seen you like this, and he doubted he’d ever see it again. Embarrassed, and smiley, and open. He was sure you’d regret it later, but he was enjoying it greatly. Not only did you not stand him up, you liked him.

He felt like a teenager, butterflies taking over his stomach. He reached over and gently pulled the sheet from your face, only for you to immediately throw both arms over it. He could see a small smile underneath, though.

The door pushed open suddenly, letting the bustling noise of the ER in briefly. The curtain was whipped back to reveal Garcia. When she saw Whitaker sitting so close, hands resting on your bed, and you, flustered and hiding, she raised a brow.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said smugly.

Dennis moved his hands back to his lap as you peaked out from under your arms.

“Yoyo!” you said happily, dropping them completely. “Did Trin send you in here to find out if Denny had kissed me yet? Because he’s still holding out on me.”

Garcia grinned devilishly at Whitaker, who spluttered.

“Denny?” she asked, moving over to check your stats on the monitor. “No, unfortunately. I’m here to send you up to surgery.”

“Are you doing it?” you asked, eyes going wide. “You’re so smart, Yoyo. I hope it's you.”

“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling with a touch of fondness as she looked down at you and unlocked your bed wheels. “Move over, Huckleberry.”

“Yeah, Huckleberry,” you giggled, with none of Garcia’s snap.

He jumped quickly aside to let Garcia wheel you through the door. He trailed behind as you rolled out towards the hub. As soon as he was out of your sight, you whined.

“Where’s Dennis?”

He jogged quickly ahead to walk at your side, and you calmed instantly, holding out your hand. He took it, careful not to upset the pulse ox. 

“Well isn’t this sweet?” said Dana as they passed by the hub. “You’re keeping her company.”

She was standing with an impressive group, composed of Mel, Samira, Trinity, Abbot, Robby, Shen, Princess, and Perlah.

“Isn’t your shift over?” he said awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but at them.

“Isn’t this supposed to be your day off?” said Abbot teasingly

Trinity raised her phone and snapped a photo.

“Hey, what about — what about HIPAA, or something!”

“I didn’t see anything,” said Robby.

“Goodbye!” Whitaker grumbled as they reached the elevator.

“Yeah, you go wait hand and foot, like a good boyfriend!” said Trinity as the doors closed.

He flipped her off.

Still, he was there by your bed side almost two hours later when you came to, and helped you shuffle back and forth from the bathroom. Unfortunately, not long after that, the nurses could no longer ignore that visiting hours were long over, and they kicked him out.

You were barely awake at that point, but your grip proved to be very strong still, as you clinged to his hand.

“Why do you have to go?” you whined.

“They’re making me,” he said. “I’ll come back and visit you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you sighed, like it was a great emotional charge.

You let go, but he hovered by your bed for a second. Cheeks already heating for the millionth time that night, he leaned down and gave you a quick peck on the forehead. You practically preened, smiling wide, eyes closed.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, lingering by the door.

“Night,” you muttered, before falling into sleep. He stayed for just a second, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, before leaving.

Despite everything, it was one of the best dates he’d ever been on.

The next morning, just as he was parking his car in the lot, his phone pinged with a text from you.

I STOOD YOU UP OMFG

He just chuckled, preparing to type back, when another text came in.

Promise I’ll make it up to you ;)

His face glowed red and he choked on his coffee. He was in for quite the ride.

---

requests open!

after dennis came home from his first shift at the pittsburgh ER, he was devastated. you welcomed him with a tight hug and let him sink into you on your shared bed.

he had called you from the hospital, saying he’d have to stay longer because of the pittfest shooting, and the entire time you waited, you kept hoping he’d be okay, that the day wouldn’t break him completely.

by the time he finally walked through the door, his expression alone said more than a thousand words ever could. so that night, you simply held him, gently playing with his hair until he fell asleep in your arms. you let him process it all without asking questions. you were there if he needed to talk, but by now you knew him well enough to see when all he really needed was to be held.

the next morning, you woke up a little earlier and went to make him an omelette, his favorite, along with coffee. as you were still preparing everything, you felt two arms wrap around you from behind.

“morning, sleepyhead. you okay?” you murmured softly as he rested his head against your shoulder.

in response, he just nodded, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck, which made you let out a quiet giggle.

“just a few more minutes and you’ll get to eat. if you feel like it, you can tell me about… yesterday,” you whispered.

“i’d like that…” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before letting go and moving to sit at the table.

and then he told you everything. after resting and eating, his cheeks still full of food made with love, he opened up about the patient he lost, about how many times he had to change his scrubs, the rats running around the emergency room, how out of place he felt among all the confident, skilled doctors, and then the tragedy at the end of the day. you just listened, letting him get it all out.

it was also the first time he mentioned amy, though at the time you didn’t think much of it.

he said he was glad he could soothe her, even just a little, but that it was heartbreaking knowing she was carrying the child of someone who would never get to see their baby’s face.

still, it was one of the rare moments he felt truly helpful and useful during the shift, especially when he offered to help her at the farm and her entire demeanor seemed to calm down a little.

you nodded along, thinking it was just something he said in the moment to comfort someone, especially a grieving woman, but as the months passed, you slowly realized that his promise to amy had never been empty at all.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the first time you were left feeling hurt by your sweet dennis was during a weekend.

a lot of time had passed since his first shift, and dennis had changed in a lot of ways. he had grown a mullet, picked up a bit of sass from his colleague trinity santos, who you got along with pretty well whenever you visited dennis at the hospital to drop off lunch or something he had forgotten that day, and overall, it seemed like he had finally found his place in emergency medicine, but with that came more responsibility and less time for the two of you.

if it wasn’t him who was busy, it was you, juggling college classes, assignments, and your part time job all at once. so your dates with denny usually ended up indoors, curled up watching a movie that faded into the background as you either fell asleep or, on better nights, got distracted by each other. dennis always seemed far more interested in your lips and the soft warmth of your body than whatever storyline was playing on the tv anyways.

but this weekend was supposed to be different. for once, both of you were mostly free, and he had promised to take you somewhere fancy. you deserved it, he said. you deserved to be taken care of for once, after all the days you spent taking care of him.

“doll yourself up and leave everything to me. i have to stop by somewhere in the morning, but by four i’ll come get you and we’ll spend a lovely day together, okay?” he had said earlier, while you looked at him with a sleepy smile. he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, lingering just for a second as he admired you, beautiful even like this, soft and unguarded in the morning light, before heading out.

that was hours ago.

now it was already thirty minutes past four. you were sitting in your shared bedroom, your makeup done, your hair styled, dressed in one of your prettiest dresses. it hugged your figure perfectly, always earning you that soft, stunned “wow” from dennis, even though he had seen you wear it countless times. it was his favorite.

but he was nowhere to be seen.

you had called and texted him, but every call went straight to voicemail, and your messages stayed on delivered.

when you thought about it more, a quiet unease settled in your chest. denny hadn’t even told you where he was going. the thought made your stomach twist. did something happen to him?

the longer you waited, the worse it felt. the dress, that made you feel pretty just a little while ago, now felt too tight, pressing against your ribs as your anxiety crept in. your makeup started to feel heavy on your skin, suffocating, and your perfectly styled hair pulled at your scalp until it began to ache.

when you glanced at the clock again, it was already almost six.

and just as you were about to call trinity, ready to fully freak out, you heard the door softly open. you hurried over, only to see dennis by the door, calmly taking off his shoes like nothing had happened.

“hey… sorry i’m late,” he said quietly, his voice a little uneven. then he finally looked up at you.

you just stared at him, trying to process it. this wasn’t like him. he had been late before, sure, but he used to be the one to panic, rushing in, apologizing over and over like the world was ending. now he just stood there.

“you look really pretty,” he added after a second, quieter than usual. no soft “wow” no hint of that familiar warmth. he just sounded kind of tired.

“i’ll take a quick shower and we can still go somewhere. i’ll find a place, i’m sure something’s open…”

“dennis,” you cut in, your voice tighter than you meant it to be. “where were you?”

he paused, clearly not expecting that.

“i told you, i’m sorry. i just got held up—”

“you didn’t respond to me. not once,” you said, stepping closer. “i called you like five times. i had no idea where you were or if something happened. do you get that?”

he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know, i know. i should’ve texted. it just… got busy.”

“busy where?”

there was a small pause before he answered. “at the farm. with amy.”

you blinked, thrown off. “amy?”

“yeah. she needed help. i thought i’d just stop by for a bit, do something small, but…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “her baby’s only a few weeks old and she was really overwhelmed. i didn’t feel right just leaving her there like that.”he said it like it was obvious, like it made perfect sense.

“so you stayed. for hours,” you said slowly.

he didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough.

“are you serious right now?” your voice rose before you could stop it. “you stood me up, didn’t pick up your phone, and you’re telling me it’s because you didn’t want to leave another woman alone? and not just a woman, but the widow of your deceased patient? do you hear yourself?”

“hey, i said i’m sorry,” he replied, a bit sharper now. “what was i supposed to do? just walk out when she’s clearly struggling?”

“you could’ve texted me,” you shot back. “you could’ve told me anything. i’ve been sitting here for almost two hours thinking something happened to you.”

he sighed, like the whole thing was exhausting. “okay, yeah. i should’ve texted. i get it.”

“no, you don’t get it,” you said, shaking your head. “this wasn’t just ‘you forgot to text.’ you made plans. you promised.”

he looked at you for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “i mean… it’s not like you’re dealing with a newborn right now, unlike her.”

the second the words left his mouth, the air shifted.

you just stared at him in disbelief. “wow. okay.”

he ran a hand through his hair, stepping closer. “that’s not what i meant. i just… look, i miss nebraska sometimes, okay? being out there, helping like that… it feels familiar. it feels like i’m actually doing something that matters.”

“and this doesn’t?” you asked quietly.

he hesitated. “that’s not what i said.”

he let out a breath, softer now. “i’m sorry. really. i should’ve handled it better. it won’t happen again.”

you looked at him for a moment before averting your eyes, taking a slow breath, then another, trying to blink the tears away before they could fall. this just… didn’t feel right. just this morning, dennis had looked at you with so much love. it would be unfair not to accept his words now, wouldn’t it?

but it still hurt. it really did.

you had tried so hard to look pretty for him, and now all you felt was stupid. stupid for wasting your time, stupid for sitting there for hours, stupid for feeling like you had turned into something he had to squeeze in after spending his day somewhere else. like you were just another thing waiting for him at the end of it.

you didn’t want to be jealous. not of her. she had lost someone she loved, had a newborn to take care of and a whole farm. you kept telling yourself dennis was just being kind, that he had always been too kind for his own good.

he wouldn’t… cheat on you with a grieving woman.

right?

it must have shown on your face, because before you could fully spiral, before the tears could slip past your control, dennis stepped closer and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

“hey,” he said softly. “look at me.”

you hesitated, but slowly did.

“i said i’m sorry. you told me what was wrong, and we talked it out. everything’s fine, okay?” his voice was calm, almost too calm. “you don’t need to cry.”

you were already too overwhelmed to argue. you just nodded, swallowing hard.

“just… touch up your makeup, yeah? give me a minute. i’m here.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before stepping away and heading towards the shower.

you went back to your shared bedroom and sat in front of the vanity mirror. your eyes were red at the edges, still glossy from tears that hadn’t fully fallen, mascara slightly smudged under your lower lashes. as you carefully fixed it, you kept replaying what had just happened in your head.

this was… so not like your denny.

he didn’t usually brush things off like that. he didn’t usually decide that “you talked it out” and then move on like nothing happened, especially not when you were still clearly upset.

but maybe you were overthinking it. you had to be. one bad moment with your otherwise caring boyfriend didn’t suddenly rewrite your entire relationship, right?

still, your chest felt tight as you stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to smooth out the expression on your face like that could fix what you were feeling inside.

in the shower, dennis just stood under the running water, unmoving for a while. he couldn’t tell if he was trying to wash off the sweat from a long day outside in the sun, or something heavier he didn’t want to name.

guilt, maybe.

not even fully guilt, just… that uneasy feeling sitting under his ribs that he hadn’t handled things the way he normally would have.

he didn’t really understand why he had spoken to you like that. usually, he was the one over-apologizing, even when you weren’t asking for it. but lately, something had shifted in him. a new kind of confidence, or maybe just a different way of justifying things to himself.

he didn’t think he needed to feel bad about amy. not really.

he was helping her. he was doing the right thing.

that was what he kept telling himself as the water ran over his face, louder than the thoughts he didn’t want to fully face.

and somewhere in the background of it all, without him really saying it out loud, your sadness became something he pushed aside to make room for that belief.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the second time happened a few weeks after that. by then, you were already a little worn down.

you didn’t work in the ER, but your job as a barista still drained you in its own way. you weren’t saving lives, but some customers surely did act like you were actively ruining theirs if their latte wasn’t perfect, even when the issue had nothing to do with you.

and lately, it had been one difficult shift after another.

you couldn’t tell if it was the summer heat making everyone more irritable, but it didn’t help your mood either. especially when you kept checking your phone for any notifications from dennis and there was either nothing at all, or messages like:

behind on charting, won’t be able to pick you up :(

there was an accident on the road and it’s all coming to us, sorry love, don’t wait for me for dinner

you’re working, right? amy will pick me up after my shift, she needs help with building some furniture for the nursery, don’t know when i’ll get home yet. good luck!

any time amy’s name appeared, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. you wanted to be understanding, you really did, but did she not have anyone else? no friends, no family, anyone at all?

it started to feel ridiculous.

and by now, you knew you weren’t the only one who thought so.

once, when you mentioned it to trinity, she had scoffed and called it weird, saying it wasn’t professional at all, that if anyone else at the hospital behaved like that, they’d be reprimanded immediately.

you didn’t really disagree.

but at the same time, you felt almost silly bringing it up again when you and dennis had already “talked” about it before. sort of.

you leaned against the cash register, exhaustion settling into your bones as another shift dragged on. your eyes drifted over to the pastry display, where an apple pie sat neatly behind the glass.

dennis really liked apple pie.

he always said it reminded him of home, how his grandma used to bake the sweetest ones.

you smiled a little at the memory and made a quiet mental note to bake him one soon.

it seemed like your relationship was lacking something sweet these days, and you didn’t want it to turn sour. after all, aside from the amy situation, everything else still felt like it was working. when you were doing your assignments, he would still kiss your temple on his way out, leaving a bowl of fruit on your desk so you’d have “something in your system.” he still held you close when you fell asleep, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you just needed to focus on the good things a little more.

as soon as you clocked out, you went grocery shopping, feeling inspired to make the best apple pie in the world.

when dennis came home later that day, the sun already long gone, he found you waiting for him.

“surprise!” you said brightly, bouncing slightly on your toes, apron dusted with flour still tied around your waist. the whole apartment smelled warm and sweet, like baked apples and cinnamon.

he paused in the doorway for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “what is this?”

you grabbed his hand immediately, pulling him towards the kitchen. “just come see.”

his eyes landed on the pie sitting on the counter. “woah,” he murmured, more genuine now. “baby, you didn’t have to do all this. weren’t you working today?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling as you watched his reaction, “but i don’t know. i just wanted to. i know how much you like it.”

that softened him. he turned to you right away, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your lips, then another to your cheek like he couldn’t decide where to land.

“you’re sweet,” he said quietly.

you smiled into him, letting yourself lean into the moment.

“let me wash my hands first,” he said after a second, already loosening his grip. “and then i’m going to absolutely destroy that pie. can’t have your effort going to waste.”

he laughed as he said it, a bit lighter now, and before you could respond, he spun you around once in his arms.

it was new. a little unexpected. stronger than before. now that you thought about it, ever since he started going to the farm more often, he did gain some muscle that he didn’t have before.

you let out a small laugh, steadying yourself against him. “okay, okay.”

while dennis was getting changed into his comfortable home clothes, you cut the pie and made him a cup of tea with two sugar cubes. he liked everything sweet.

when he came back, he kissed your cheek again and immediately dug in.

you watched him closely, waiting for his reaction.

“mhmm.” he let out a satisfied hum with his mouth full, which made you laugh, a small spark of pride warming your chest. “it’s so sweet, baby. thank you, i love it.”

he reached for his tea, still chewing. “though it would be nice if you used whipped cream too. amy did it when i was at hers and it tasted like a dream.”

he said it casually, like it didn’t mean anything at all, like it was just a passing thought he decided to share.

but your expression shifted immediately. happiness dropped into something tighter, disbelief and hurt mixing in your chest.

“are you comparing me to her?” you frowned.

dennis paused, eyebrows pulling together like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.

“no? i just said it’s a tip for next time. don’t take it so personally.” he gave you a small smile, already moving on, like it was nothing.

then he continued talking about something from his shift, completely slipping back into his day, like the moment had already passed.

but you hadn’t.

you stayed still for a second too long, trying to figure out if he really didn’t see it or if he just didn’t care enough to. neither option felt good.

“i’m tired. i’m going to bed.” you said quietly, cutting through his sentence as you took off your apron.

he blinked. “oh. okay. night, baby.”

and then he went right back to eating.

you walked into the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it run loudly so it could cover the sound of your sobs. you just sat on the cold floor, knees pulled in, tears slipping down your cheeks faster than you could stop them.

so much so for wanting to do something sweet for your boyfriend.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the third time dennis hurt you came pretty quickly after that. by then, it didn’t even take much to make you feel sad.

over time, as dennis kept shining brighter, his job clearly fulfilling him, combined with all the farm visits and the confidence he had grown into, something else started happening too.

you wanted to be happy for him. you really did.

but the more he seemed to step into the light, the more you felt like you were being left somewhere behind in the dark.

at first, it showed in small things. forgetting to turn in your assignments. being late to your shifts at the café. then it got worse. you couldn’t sleep properly anymore.

the only times dennis was home, he was usually exhausted, barely able to do more than kiss you hello before collapsing into bed. your movie nights disappeared. your time together shrank into almost nothing. and somehow, the quiet moments became the hardest.

when he was asleep beside you, snoring softly, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist, that was the only time you still felt like you belonged in his world. like you still had a place there.

and even then, it didn’t last.

because the second you tried to fall asleep, a thought would creep in, heavy and persistent.

what if you let go for too long and he just… drifted away?

so you stayed awake.

and then there was the faucet.

it started dripping one night, a steady, uneven sound echoing through the apartment. and if your thoughts weren’t enough to keep you up, that quiet, repetitive tap of water hitting the sink made sure you wouldn’t rest at all.

by morning, you felt completely drained.

when dennis was getting ready for his shift, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his socks, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back.

“baby…” you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. “the faucet’s dripping. can you fix it? i can’t sleep because of it…”the dark circles under your eyes had only gotten worse over the past few days.

“oh,” he said lightly, like it hadn’t even crossed his mind before. “i didn’t notice.” he turned slightly towards you, gently taking one of your hands off his waist and pressing a quick kiss to your palm.

“yeah, of course. i’ll take care of it when i get home. you’re not dating a farm boy for nothing.” he gave you a small smile, easy and reassuring, before standing up to finish getting ready for his shift.

as dennis left for work, you were left alone in the apartment with that… sound. the quiet space only made it worse, the steady dripping echoing through the rooms like it was filling every corner.

but it was okay. denny said he was going to fix it.

you took a deep breath and made yourself a light breakfast, then sat down to study and work on your assignments. you tried to focus, really, but the grating sound of the faucet kept pulling you out of it. over and over again.

at some point, you weren’t even sure if it was the sound itself that was driving you mad, or if it was everything else piling up inside you, finally starting to crack.

you texted dennis around the time his shift was supposed to end, but once again, you were left on delivered. you rolled your eyes, already knowing what that meant.

but it was okay. maybe amy just needed help with groceries or something small, and he’d be home soon. after all, he promised he’d fix the faucet for you.

and still, nothing.

by midnight, dennis still hadn’t shown up. his dinner sat untouched on the table, wrapped in foil, long gone cold. you didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. you just sat there, staring at the sink, at the constant drip, your chest tight as your thoughts spiraled.

you couldn’t live like this.

2am passed. still nothing.

eventually, you went to the bedroom and lay down, staring at the ceiling, waiting. and waiting.

dennis finally came home at 5am. he moved quietly through the apartment, like he didn’t want to wake you. or maybe like he didn’t want to deal with you being awake.

unfortunately for both of you, you hadn’t slept at all.

“where the hell were you?” you said the moment you saw him, your voice flat from pure exhaustion.

he paused for a second before answering. “i’m so sorry, baby. i swear i wasn’t ignoring you. i left my phone at work by accident, and by the time i realized, i was already at amy’s. the storms this week caused a lot of damage on the farm, so i had to stay and help. and then it got late, and she didn’t want me driving back when i was that tired. but… i’m here now.”

you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“yeah. to get clean clothes. you’re not here for me.”

he frowned slightly, like that wasn’t fair.

“you promised you’d fix the faucet, dennis. i haven’t slept in days. why are her problems always more important than mine?”

he stepped closer, gently holding your face in his hands like that would calm you down.

“it’s not like that, baby. i promise i’ll fix it today, okay? actually promise. it just slipped my mind.”

he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. you didn’t kiss him back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

he glanced at the time right after.

“after work, okay? i’m already late and robby’s gonna be on my ass if i don’t show up. bye. love you.”

and just like that, he was already moving again, grabbing his things and heading out, leaving you standing there in the same apartment, with the same dripping sound still echoing in the background.

you took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself, but it got harder the moment you realized your own shift started in three hours.

great.

you could barely handle customers on a full night of sleep, let alone like this, after nights of barely resting at all. you already felt it in your body, the heaviness behind your eyes, the way everything seemed just a little harder.

you groaned quietly, frustration bubbling up. at yourself, at amy, but most of all at your boyfriend. all the apologies, all the promises that never really seemed to reach you anymore. it felt like those only meant something when they were directed at her.

you pushed yourself up anyway.

slowly, you got ready, moving through everything on autopilot. you made yourself the strongest cup of coffee you could manage and forced it down before heading out.

to say the shift dragged would’ve been an understatement.

everything felt off. you kept making small mistakes, ringing up hot drinks instead of iced ones, spilling milk on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you poured coffee. even the simplest things felt like too much.

you were just so tired.

during a quieter moment, when the line finally died down, your coworker approached you. mark. you didn’t know him that well, just small talk here and there, but enough to know he was a year older, also in college, and had really nice hair.

“hey… you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, careful. “you don’t seem like yourself today.”

you let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. “you can say it. i look like shit.”

he gave you a small, almost amused smile, but didn’t argue.

“thanks for asking though,” you added, shrugging lightly. “i just… couldn’t sleep. there’s this faucet in my apartment that won’t stop dripping, and i can’t fall asleep with it. and i don’t even know how to fix it myself, so…”

mark nodded, listening. then, after a second, “are you free after your shift?”

you looked at him, a bit confused.

“i mean,” he continued, leaning slightly against the counter, arms loosely crossed, “i’m pretty handy. i could take a look at it for you. probably fix it pretty quickly.”

for the first time in what felt like weeks, something in you lifted. just a little.

“really?” you blinked. “that… that would actually mean a lot. are you sure you don’t mind?”

he smiled easily. “i wouldn’t offer if i did.”

then, a little softer, a little more playful, “besides, i’ve been meaning to get to know you better anyway.” he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “don’t tell anyone, but you’re kind of my favorite here.”

you couldn’t help it, you giggled, the sound feeling unfamiliar but nice.

he winked, then straightened up again as another customer walked in, already slipping back into work like nothing happened.

after that, the rest of your shift felt a little easier. anytime you got dazed or lost, mark would quietly slide in and take over for you, telling you to take five and go easy on yourself.

it felt… nice. being seen, being taken care of, even in such a small way. even if a part of you kept insisting it was probably just politeness, nothing more.

when you got back to your apartment with mark, you actually got to know him a bit better. he told you he was majoring in sculpting at one of the fancy art colleges in pittsburgh, joking that being handy was probably the only reason he got accepted. he talked about playing basketball, about his two younger sisters, and somewhere along the way, the conversation just… flowed.

you found yourself laughing more than you expected. it was nice, talking about things that had nothing to do with dennis for once.

you liked trinity, you really did, but she always circled back to him. and right now, you just couldn’t handle thinking about any of it.

you ended up making a quick pasta as a small thank you, insisting he stay for at least a few bites before leaving. after that, you walked him to the door, exchanging a quick, easy goodbye.

once the apartment fell quiet again, it didn’t feel as heavy as before. not as suffocating. and the second your back hit the couch, exhaustion took over. you fell asleep almost instantly, finally getting the rest your body had been begging for.

dennis came home hours later.

you only stirred when you heard dennis’ keys, your body too tired to fully wake up.

he stepped into the living room, his voice low. “hey…”

you barely responded, just a small nod before turning onto your side, your back facing him. you didn’t have the energy to talk to him. not now.

he sighed quietly and went to change, but then paused.

something felt… off.

the apartment was too quiet.

he walked towards the kitchen, glancing at the sink, and froze for a second. the faucet wasn’t dripping anymore. but there were two plates sitting there, neither of them his.

he stood there for a moment before speaking.

“hey… what happened to the faucet?” he asked, his voice careful, though there was something tense underneath it.

you stirred slightly, pushing yourself up just enough to look at him.

“oh. yeah. that,” you mumbled, still half asleep. “my coworker fixed it. i was a mess at work, didn’t sleep, so he offered…”

you stretched a little, not thinking much of it.

dennis, however, did.

his expression tightened just slightly, a strained kind of smile settling on his face as he stepped closer.

“your coworker?” he repeated. “like… a guy?”

you frowned, confusion mixing with irritation as you sat up more properly.

“yeah. why? does it matter?”you pushed yourself off the couch, already exhausted again. “whatever. i’m going to bed. i need sleep.”

you tried to walk past him, but he caught your arm, stopping you.

“i don’t like you inviting other guys into our place to fix things,” he said, his tone firmer now. “that’s what you have a boyfriend for.”

for a second, you just stared at him.

“do i?” you said, your voice sharp despite how tired you felt.

you pulled your arm out of his grip.

“because i haven’t seen him in a while.”

his jaw tightened, but you didn’t stop.

“i asked you to fix it first. you brushed me off for amy. you don’t get to play house at a farm with some other woman and then get mad at me for accepting help from someone else. that’s not fair, dennis.”

dennis looked at you for a moment, clearly deciding what to do next. if it had been the dennis you first fell in love with, he probably would’ve dropped his gaze, stumbled over his words, and started muttering multiple apologies, though the dennis you started dating wouldn’t have let things get this bad with you in the first place.

but now he wanted to use his newfound confidence. to show you he had become better, not just for himself and his coworkers, but for you too.

so instead of backing down, he closed the distance between you and kissed you.

it was sudden, passionate, catching you completely off guard. your eyes widened, and before you could react properly, he pressed you back against the nearest wall, his lips moving down to your neck, slowly sucking at your sensitive spot.

your breath got caught in your throat, your body reacting before your mind could catch up, hands instinctively wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

for a brief moment, it felt like everything else faded. like things were normal again.

dennis pulled back just enough to look at you, something almost smug flickering across his face.

“you don’t need other guys for this,” he said quietly, as his hand slowly slipped into your pants, his lips returning to your neck. “could that coworker of yours do this to you, huh?”

and for a moment, you did feel it. the warmth, the closeness, the pull. and it would’ve been a lie to say you didn’t get wet from his touches, because you did. however it was his fault you were this needy in the first place. months of distance, of being tired, of him barely being there or only half present when he was. you don’t even remember the last time the two of you got intimate.

and just like that, something in you snapped back. because as quickly as your body responded, your mind caught up as well.

the missed calls. the empty apartment. the nights you spent staring at the ceiling. the sound of the faucet. amy. always amy.

your hands pushed against his chest.

“stop. stop!” you raised your voice.

dennis stepped back immediately, actual fear in his eyes. he had never forced himself on you, and this was the first time you had ever fully rejected him like that.

you stood there, breathing uneven, and then it all came out at once.

“you can’t do that. you can’t leave me hanging for months, walking away from me when i need you, choosing some other woman who should be relying on literally anyone else but you, and then come back and act like this fixes it.”

your voice shook, but you didn’t stop.

“waltzing back in here to try to do some jealous power play on me? saying how you can make me feel things that my coworker can’t? when’s the last time you even did anything like that for me, dennis?”

a bitter, exhausted laugh slipped out of you as you ran a hand through your hair.

“i love you, dennis,” you said more quietly now, voice breaking a little at the edges. “i still do. but i deserve better than this.”

you looked at him for a second longer, then turned away.

“i’m going to bed.” you walked past him, heading to the bedroom, leaving him standing there in silence. he couldn’t react in any way, because deep down he knew you were right. he just didn’t want to accept it.

didn’t want to admit that everything he thought was making him better, stronger, someone you could be proud of, was slowly pushing you away instead.

that night, he stayed on the couch.

he didn’t dare come into the bedroom. not after everything.

and as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering on the couch pillows from your nap, he realized how far away you suddenly felt.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the fourth time dennis hurt you came the next morning.

you woke up with a headache worse than any hangover you’d ever had, and instead of feeling well rested after finally getting the sleep your body desperately craved, you just felt awful.

you didn’t even want to get up, knowing you’d have to face dennis again, face that difficult and weird situation he put you into.

you just wanted to stay in bed. sleep the whole day away, maybe even the next one too, but unfortunately, you couldn’t.

you glanced at the empty side of the bed, the one dennis usually slept on, the cold bedsheets showing that he didn’t sleep there at all.

with a heavy sight you got up from the bed and carefully navigated your way through the hallway into the living room. you took a deep breath before you opened the door and then carefully stepped inside, bracing yourself for what was yet to come.

dennis was still there, which by now, was rather unusual. he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes tired, but they lit up a little when he saw you in the doorway.

you two just looked at each other for a moment, awkward silence filling the room. after another beat of silence, dennis opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his phone started ringing.

he glanced at it, hesitating for a second, clearly unsure if he should pick up.

“amy?” you asked, your voice flat, already knowing the answer.

“y-yeah, but uh let me just take this, it’ll be quick, and then we can finish our conversation from yesterday, okay?” his voice wavered slightly.

you let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“bold of you to assume i want to finish that conversation,” you said, your tone tired more than anything. “i said everything i needed to, so go ahead. pick up. wouldn’t want to leave poor amy hanging, right?” you rolled your eyes and turned away, walking out of the living room.

you meant to go back to your bedroom, to get dressed and leave, just get out of the apartment for a while.

but you didn’t go far.

you stopped just behind the door in the hallway, your chest tight, your curiosity and anxiety keeping you there.

you needed to hear it. needed to know how he talked to her. what he sounded like speaking to other woman than you.

you heard him click his tongue before picking up the call, the tension in him slipping out in that small sound.

“uh, hi amy. what’s up?” he said, his voice a little gentler now, like he didn’t want her to hear that he was stressed.

“oh, theo’s teething? is that what’s making him act up? i’m sorry to hear that.” after a pause, probably listening to what else she had to say, he responded with a light laugh in his voice. “you’d like me to come on sunday?” he repeated, glancing at the calendar hanging in your living room.

sunday was marked as your anniversary date. officially three years together. dana had once joked that even some marriages don’t last that long.

you tensed at the mention of that, waiting for his answer just as much as amy.

“y-yeah, i don’t know…” he started, clearly aware he was busy. with you. he was supposed to be busy with you.

but he didn’t finish, as amy probably started insisting. at least that’s what you assumed.

dennis ran a hand over his face before responding. “okay, sure. i’ll come. probably in the morning, because—”

and the moment you heard his defeated “okay” you didn’t even for him to finish the rest of his sentence. you had already heard enough.

you rushed to your bedroom and shut the door behind you, louder than necessary, making sure it made a sound.

you didn’t even know what came over you in that moment. probably all the pent up sadness, the anger, the constant feeling of being pushed aside finally spilling over. the more you thought about it, the more worse you felt.

you did everything for this man. you were there when he had nothing, when he was struggling financially, when he didn’t even have a place to stay. you welcomed him into your home and made it a home for both of you. you supported his decisions, tried your best to build up his confidence, to make him feel like he was enough.

and now he was using the widow of his dead patient, which was insane in itself, to boost his ego?

for what?

were you never enough?

was it because you were a city girl, while amy could give him that quiet life he always talked about? the white fence, the baby, the farm?

you couldn’t do this anymore. you just couldn’t.

so with shaking hands, you pulled out a suitcase and started packing. quickly, carelessly, not even looking at what you were grabbing, just throwing clothes in, one after another.

the moment dennis heard the loud thud from the bedroom, he ended the call with amy almost immediately and rushed in.

he froze for a second when he saw you.

“what are you doing?” he asked, frowning, already stepping forward.

then he moved closer, panic kicking in as he started pulling your clothes back out of the suitcase.

“what are you doing?” he repeated, more urgent now.

“what are you doing, dennis?” you snapped back, your voice rising as you yanked your sweater out of his hands.

“i’m tired of this. i’m tired of feeling like the other woman in my own relationship.”

your chest was heaving now, emotions spilling out faster than you could control.

“you’re going to her place even on our anniversary? seriously? grow a backbone. why couldn’t you say no to her for once, the same way you keep saying no to me?”

the words came out sharp, unfiltered, driven by everything you had been holding in.

and something in dennis… snapped.

he didn’t mean it. not really.

he was just angry. mostly at himself, honestly.

but it all came out wrong.

“yeah?” he shot back, his voice tight. “you know what? i always thought you were a good person, but now it just feels like you simply liked me better when i was at my lowest.”

you froze.

“yeah,” he continued, words spilling out faster now. “when i was that broke, clumsy med student with nothing. no money, no place, nothing. and you got something out of that.”

your heart dropped.

“you used it. you used me to feel better about yourself. and now that i’m not beneath you anymore, now that people actually see something in me, even another woman… you just can’t handle it.”

the room fell silent after that.

you just stared at him, like you didn’t even recognize the person standing in front of you anymore.

“if that’s what you really think,” you said quietly, your voice shaking but steady enough, “then i don’t understand why you’re even here.”

you swallowed, forcing the next words out.

“it’s over, dennis. i want you to leave. right now. and if you won’t, i will.”

your eyes were glossy, but your tone stayed stern.

for a moment, he just stood there, blinking, like he didn’t fully realize what he had just done. then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

the door closed behind him.

and suddenly, it was quiet again.

you sank down onto the floor of your bedroom, the suitcase still half full, clothes scattered everywhere around you.

little pieces of your life together, now just painful reminders you didn’t know what to do with.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

time moved on, but neither did you and dennis. it had been almost a week since he left the apartment, and unfortunately for both of you, today was that fateful sunday.

you decided to stay in, considering all the plans you once had for that day were long gone. you bought yourself a big tub of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and planned to spend the entire day inside, rewatching your favorite show, not even bothering to open the blinds.

dennis, on the other hand, picked up a shift. it was a convenient excuse not to go to amy’s, and at the same time, he needed something to distract himself. he figured if he focused on his patients, maybe he wouldn’t have to think about everything else.

unfortunately for him, his coworkers had other plans.

the first one to bring it up, as expected, was trinity. he had been staying at her place for the past few days. at first, she gave him space, knowing when to leave things alone, but patience had never really been her strength, and she had clearly had enough.

“so, when are you planning on fixing your fuck up, huckleberry?” she said bluntly, her tone sharp as they both sat down to do charting.

“what fuck up?” he replied, not even looking up, like he didn’t know exactly what she meant.

“oh, don’t play dumb,” she scoffed. “just a few days ago you were going on and on about how you were gonna treat your ‘queen’ on sunday, and now you’re here instead. and don’t think i didn’t notice the fifteen cans of beer in my fridge. if you drink all of that and throw up in my apartment, i swear…”

he exhaled, rubbing his face, clearly not being in the mood for this conversation.

trinity just shook her head. “to think you threw it all away for that farm girl…” she muttered.

that was enough to set him off.

“look, i really don’t want you bringing that up, especially here, okay?” he said, his voice lower now, but tense.

trinity raised her eyebrows, her tone immediately turning more biting.

“wow. look at that. acting like a victim,” she said, a sarcastic smile creeping onto her face. “as if i haven’t told you multiple times how weird this whole thing is. you kept telling me how your girlfriend is this perfect, understanding angel, and i kept thinking, who in their right mind would actually be okay with that? now look at that, she wasn’t okay with that.”

he stayed quiet.

“for fuck’s sake, amy was picking you up from work more often than your own girlfriend at this point. everyone saw it. and you didn’t seem to mind back then,” she added, her voice sharper now, as she she stood up, grabbing her things.

“i’m saying this because i actually care, huckleberry. fix it today, or you’re going to regret it.” and with that, she walked off.

dennis sat there for a moment, then dropped his face into his hands.

after a second, dana leaned slightly towards him.

“she’s right, kid. harsh, but right.”

“you too, dana… don’t even start.” he muttered, already ready to get up and grab another case just to avoid the conversation, but she stopped him.

“look, i know it’s not my business,” she said more gently, “but that girl of yours… she seemed really sweet. and she loved you. that was obvious.”

he didn’t respond.

“people mess up. trust me, i’ve had my fair share with my husband. but if the love is real, it’s worth fighting for.”

then she leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice.

“and it’s definitely not worth losing over… whatever this is with a patient’s family.”

she gave him a look before going back to her work.

dennis stayed there, shoulders slumping as he processed everything that was said to him just now, because well, they were right.

all of them.

and you… you had been right from the start.

he had seen it, even if he didn’t want to admit it. the way you held onto him a little tighter in the mornings, the way your smile slowly faded over time.

somewhere along the way, he had lost the balance between taking care of himself… and forgetting to take care of you.

before dennis could dwell on it any longer, a trauma was called in and he was needed immediately.

dennis quickly pulled on protective eyewear and a sterile gown, falling into the routine as he joined the rest of the team rushing to receive the patient. it was serious enough to require a trauma surgeon and immediate transfer to the OR, which meant everything had to move fast.

garcia was the one called in, and at that, dennis couldn’t help but roll his eyes. she had never really spared him when it came to snarky remarks, and now, knowing trinity, she probably knew everything already.

“oh, if it isn’t the funky music,” she said when she spotted him, her tone light despite the situation. “i know you’ve been going around breaking hearts, but don’t break this one too, okay?” she shot him a teasing look before turning back to the patient.

dennis huffed quietly under his breath but didn’t respond, focusing on what needed to be done as the team worked to stabilize the patient.

unfortunately for him, robby had been there the whole time too.

once things finally settled and the patient was stable, robby motioned for dennis to step aside, leading him towards the ambulance bay doors.

“you alright?” robby asked, arms crossed, studying him for a moment.

dennis frowned slightly. “yeah. why?”

robby raised a brow. “because you’ve been off all day. tired, distracted. not like you.”

dennis exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m fine. just didn’t sleep much.”

robby didn’t seem convinced. he leaned back slightly against the wall, still watching him.

“that all?”

there was a pause.

dennis hesitated, glancing away for a second like he was debating whether to say anything at all.

“it’s just… stuff at home,” he admitted finally, quieter now.

robby didn’t interrupt.

“i messed up,” dennis added after a moment, his voice low. “with my girlfriend. like… really messed up.”

he let out a short breath, shaking his head slightly.

“i don’t even know how it got this bad.”

robby hummed quietly, not surprised. “that explains the mood.”

dennis let out a tired laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“yeah.”

there was a short silence before robby spoke again.

“you gonna fix it?”

dennis didn’t answer right away.

he just stood there for a second, the question settling heavier than he expected.

“…i don’t know if i can,” he admitted.

robby shrugged slightly. “then figure it out. because whatever’s going on, it’s clearly getting to you.”

he pushed himself off the wall, giving dennis a small nod.

“get your head back in the game. we still got a shift to finish.”

and just like that, robby walked off, leaving dennis standing there with his thoughts again, only now he couldn’t ignore them as easily.

the end of the shift couldn’t come soon enough. dennis rushed through handoffs with the night shift, barely listening as perlah and princess exchanged knowing looks, whispering to each other in a language he didn’t understand, but he could guess exactly what it was about. at this point, it felt like the whole hospital knew about his fuck up.

he didn’t even bother changing out of his scrubs. he just grabbed his things and hurried out, stopping by the nearest flower shop and spending almost all the money he had left, which wasn’t much, considering he had only just started getting paychecks, on the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers.

then he drove to your place.

he still had the key.

dennis stood outside for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before unlocking the door and quietly stepping inside.

the apartment was dark, except for the soft glow coming from the living room, along with the familiar soundtrack of your favorite show. one he had gotten to know pretty well over time. he remembered you rewatching it during breakfasts back when he was still in med school. he used to tease you about how you could probably recite every line by heart, and you never denied it. he had grown to love it too. mostly because it reminded him of you.

he swallowed and slowly made his way towards the living room.

when he stepped in, he saw you curled up under a blanket on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine next to you. your eyes were puffy and tired, like you had been crying for hours.

his chest tightened at the sight. he hated himself for letting it get this far. for being the reason you looked like this.

“hey…” he whispered softly.

you looked at him, taking a second to fully register his presence, before a small sniffle escaped you.

“get out,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your voice shook. “i don’t want to see you.” you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your face completely.

dennis stepped closer, careful and hesitant.

“darling… baby, please just hear me out,” he started, his voice already shaky. “i know you said everything you needed to that day, but i didn’t, and i… i’m sorry. okay? i didn’t mean any of the things i said at that moment.”

he swallowed hard, his voice threatening to break.

“you are a good person. you always have been. and i should’ve been grateful that you stayed with me when i had nothing, when i was… pretty useless, honestly. and then i go and treat you like this…” he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i’m a fool. i know i am.”

his voice cracked despite his effort to keep it together.

“you’re the best thing in my life, and i don’t want to lose that. i don’t want to lose you.”

he took another small step closer, still not touching you.

“i’ll cut amy off. completely. i swear i never thought of her in a romantic way, not once, but i should’ve realized how it looked, how it felt for you. but i didn’t. i messed up. badly.”

he ran a hand through his hair, his words coming out more rushed now.

“i just… i felt good for once. at the farm, i know what i’m doing. i feel useful there. like i actually stand out. in the hospital, there are so many people who are better, stronger, more confident and then there’s you…” he let out a small, almost breathless laugh. “you’re the strongest, most amazing, most beautiful person i’ve ever met. and i think i just… lost myself trying to prove i could be something too.”

his voice softened again.

“and in the process, i pushed away the most important person in my life.”

there was a pause.

“i regret it. more than anything.”

he finally stepped closer to the couch, slowly lowering himself down in front of you, but still keeping a small distance, giving you space.

“can you… just give me a chance to fix this?”

after a few seconds, you pulled the blanket down, your face still tear-streaked, your eyes red. you had listened to everything. every word.

but you didn’t know what to say.

you loved him.

you really did.

but was that enough?

was it right to let him back in after everything?

as if he could read the doubt in your expression, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“you don’t have to forgive me. not now… maybe not ever,” he admitted. “but if there’s even a chance… let me earn it. let me prove to you that i can be better. that i can be the man you deserve.”

he swallowed, then carefully got down on his knees in front of you, placing the bouquet beside you before gently reaching for your hands. this time, he waited, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to.

“i, dennis whitaker, promise that i’ll take care of you,” he said softly. “i’ll fix every stupid faucet, anything that bothers you. i’ll take you anywhere you want to go. i’ll do all those dumb things like putting my coat over puddles just so you don’t get your shoes wet.”

a faint, sad smile tugged at his lips.

“i’ll rub your neck when you’re studying, and in return i just… want to be the one who gets to wake up next to you. the one who gets to eat your pies and whatever you bake until i’m old and annoying.”

his grip on your hands tightened just slightly.

“please. just one more chance. you’re the only one for me.”

there was a beat of silence, as if you were still weighing everything he had said, still deciding what to do with it.

then you let out a small sniffle.

“if i ever hear about amy again,” you started, your voice shaky but holding onto that familiar edge, “or if you ever dare to say my pies aren’t perfect, i’ll sell your clothes on ebay and come to the hospital to show everyone your donald duck boxers.”

a quiet, broken giggle slipped out of you.

dennis let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, a soft, relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“yeah… that’s fair,” he murmured. “that’s definitely what i deserve.”

he smiled softly before looking at you properly again, his expression warmer now, but still careful.

“thank you. for letting me try again. i love you.”

you sniffled once more, your lips pressing into a small, tired smile.

“you’re lucky i love you too.”

“i really am.” he whispered.

that night was finally the first one in a while where you actually slept a little peacefully.

dennis took the bottle of wine away from you, putting it back into the kitchen cabinet and making you tea instead before gently tucking you into bed.

for a moment, he hesitated.

he wasn’t sure if he deserved to lie next to you yet. part of him thought he should just take the couch again, give you space, not assume anything.

but then you reached out for him. your hand searching for his without even opening your eyes.

that was enough to convince him. he slipped into bed beside you, and the moment you settled, resting your head against his chest, something in him softened completely.

he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting carefully against your back as he felt you slowly drift off to sleep.

he stayed like that for a while, just holding you. making sure you were really resting.

and once your breathing evened out, he carefully reached for his phone.

he stared at the screen for a moment before typing out a message to amy, that he was going to focus on building his own family now. with you. and that if things got too overwhelming, she should reach out to the hospital psychologist, but that he couldn’t be there for her anymore, because he was needed somewhere else.

he sent it, then turned his phone off completely.

when he looked back at you, you were still curled up against him, your chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

his expression softened, but his eyes stung. a few quiet tears slipped down his cheeks as he brushed his thumb gently against your arm.

“i’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this to you again. promise.”

fin.

general masterlist 🩺 the pitt masterlist

He has a crush on you. A nurse, his coworker. The prettiest woman he’s ever seen in his life. 

Its horrible. 

And he knows better, that’s the thing! He’s told himself time and time and time again that he would never do that. He’s seen coworkers’ relationships get fucked up and fail miserably. He’s seen cases of unrequited love that end in HR meetings and night shift swaps. All his crush will do cause drama and chaos in a place that is already too full of drama and chaos. 

And yet...

Dennis’ heart starts to pound wildly before he even fully registered that it’s you that is walking up to him. It’s like his body responds to you without him even meaning to, orbiting you like a planet to a sun every time you’re in his vicinity.

“Hi!” You greet happily, setting your tablet down and leaning against the counter as you look at him. Your smile is beautiful, and Dennis wishes he could sear the image of you into the backs of his eyelids. 

“Hi.”

“Your hair looks nice today,” Dennis blinks at your words, his brain stumbling and struggling over every syllable that leaves your mouth. It’s like his entire capacity for thinking vanishes the moment you lay your eyes on him. 

“What?” 

Your laugh is like a sound from heaven, and your hand falls onto his arm as you lean into the motion. His skin burns where yours touches it. “I said your hair looks nice. Why do you look so shocked?”

Well, shit. He feels as a blush flourishes over the skin of his face and neck. He’d bet money even the tips of his ears are bright red. You pull your hand away from his arm to tuck some hair behind your ear and he has to swallow back a sound that threatens to escape him at the loss of your touch. 

“I… I uh…” He shakes his head, no coherent thoughts able to form or produce themselves as words. “I washed it…”

You laugh again, even sweeter and more boisterous this time. 

If Dennis wasn’t… himself, he’d been sure you were trying to flirt with him. Instead, he feels like maybe you’re joking and he just doesn’t get it.

“Oh, Dr. Whitaker…” Your laugh turn into a fit of giggles that seem to have a hard time going away. “You’re so cute.”

Oh, you definitely have to be fucking with him again. There’s no way you aren’t laughing at him, that he isn’t the butt of some joke. 

You notice the moment his face falls. Yours does too, your smile slowly fading into a look of concern he’s really only ever seen directed at patients. It makes him feel exposed in a way that he hates, knowing you can read him so well, that he’s so obvious. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He wants to laugh. And cry. His stomach is in knots and he feels like he might puke. You’re making fun of him. Never once in his life has a girl like you given him attention, and there’s absolutely no way that you’re serious. The feeling gets under his skin, urgent and familiar.

“You can give it up now.” Your eyebrows furrow even further together at his words, and especially at the tone of them. “It’s not funny anymore, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” Your eyes dart quickly over different parts of his face, like you might somehow discover the answer there. 

Dennis purses his lips, and lowers his voice and his gaze. “I really wish you’d stop making fun of me.”

Something shifts in your expression, your face a mosaic of all sorts of things he can’t possibly know. It settles on something between hurt and pity. “Dennis, what are you talking about?”

He hardly notices the use of his first name, his tongue digging into the inside of his cheek as his gaze bounces around nervously to make sure no one is close enough to hear the two of you. He’d pull you aside into the stairwell if it wouldn’t be absolutely devastating to his already bruised and battered ego. “You keep saying things like that. But it’s not funny. Not to me.”

“Why do you think I’m joking?” You lean away from him, voice lower than he’s ever heard it. You look… devastated, if he’s being honest with himself. “Do you think I’m making fun of you?”

“Aren’t you?” The words leave his lips faster and more broken than he would ever admit. You don’t respond. Instead, you grab his wrist, and you lead him to the stairwell, away from prying eyes and ears. 

When you finally turn back to him, there’s a pain in your eyes that only makes him feel worse. “Do you really think I’m making fun of you?”

Dennis falters. Of course you’re making fun of him, you have to be. Because if you aren’t…

He can’t let his mind go down that route. He needs to squash this crush he has on you and any indication that you even find him tolerable would make his life a thousand times more difficult. 

You speak up again before he can muster up any kind of answer. “Do you really think I’m that cruel?” 

“You have to be.” The words aren’t purposeful, but he says them all the same. You blink, emotions swirling in your irises, and he stutters out another, “B-Because otherwise that… that means you mean it.” 

“I do mean it.” Somehow, your words hit even harder than his, and the entire world stills, everything gone but you and him. You reach out for his hand and Dennis feels like he might keel over. “I really mean it, I’m sorry if you thought I was making fun of you.” 

Dennis squeezes his eyes shut, his palm probably sweaty where it presses against your own. His stomach is in knots, his jaw clenches so hard he knows it’ll ache in the morning, but his heart feels lighter. Somehow, something about your admission makes him feel better despite it making the situation astronomically worse. 

“I’m sorry…” Is what he manages to choke out. “I shouldn’t have- I know you aren’t mean, I just…” His voice trails off when he meets your gaze again. He wonders what he looks like: bloodshot, puffy eyes, bright red nose, messy hair. And you, beautiful, perfect you, softly tilt your head, eyes still shining despite everything as you blink slowly. It makes his throat dry and he can’t find any more words.

You seem to realize he isn’t going to finish, and purse your lips. Your fingers twiddle mindlessly together, hands clasped in front of you. “I mean it.” You finally say again, confidently reaching a hand up to push a piece of his hair back into place. “Your hair does look nice. And you are cute.” 

Dennis thinks he might die. Like actually, truly might have a heart attack and die. “Th-Thanks.” 

You brighten, and if he hadn’t just been personally subjected to the previous upset in your expression, he would have never known you’d been upset at all. 

“I have some patients to check on.” Your hands gesture toward the stairwell door behind you, and Dennis gives you a dumbfounded nod. You turn to leave, but pause, steel your shoulders, and turn back to face him again. 

“Dr. Whitaker?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to go out for dinner after your shift?” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

He makes his way home from an awful shift in the ED, body aching and mind begging to be home with you. He misses you so much when you’re apart. There’s nothing he wants more than you wrapped in his arms, safe and happy. He gets out of the car and groans as his body discovers new pains radiating from his back.

The walk from the curb to your apartment feels like an eternity, his hands fumble with the keys and a soft sigh escapes his lips as he enters. 

The familiar sight of your cozy, warmly decorated apartment always makes him smile, and his smile grows when his nose is met with the smell of his favourite food, butter chicken. He loves buying it from this one place near the hospital, but ever since you made it for him you completely changed his mind, the way you make it is unlike any other. He sets his bag by the door and slips off his shoes, taking quick steps to the kitchen. 

His eyes immediately soften when they find you, wearing his shirt and your fuzzy pajama pants. You're softly swaying to the music you have playing, humming as you watch the stove. His hands quickly cup your hips, head resting on your shoulder. You smile immediately as you feel him press against you, noticing a weariness in his stature.

“Baby, how was your shift?” You ask softly, flipping around and wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You press a quick kiss to his lips.

A subtle sigh leaves him, arms encircling you in a hug, “Hard.” He mumbles breathlessly into your skin.

Your hand rubs his back and you nod understandingly, “Talk about it? Or cuddle and watch a movie?” 

His lips curve into a sweet smile, and he picks you up into his arms, holding your thighs and kneading the soft skin, “Movie sounds great, but you sound better.” He chuckles, peppering kisses on your neck as he places you on the counter.

 “You’re adorable.” You laugh, “The food's gonna burn Denny, I made your favorite.” 

 His smile widens, and his hands continue their soft squeezes into your thighs, “Okay..okay, I’ll set you free, for now.” He murmurs cheekily, pressing a final kiss to your lips.

He sets you down on the floor. His hands rub your sides again as you watch the stove, “Thank you for cooking, you really didn’t have to.” He smiles, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head. 

“I felt like cooking, and I know you’ve been craving butter chicken.” 

His eyes widen and he laughs, “How’d you know that?”

“You’re kinda always craving butter chicken.” You smile. He gives you another soft kiss, this time on your lips, and leans in to give one on your cheek, “You know me so well, I missed you.” He whines, pulling you into another hug from behind. 

“I missed you too, always.” You mumble softly. You let him hold you for a moment before gently pulling away and plating the food. You hand him a big bowl and plop on the couch beside him, wrapping both of you in a blanket.

He groans as he takes the first bite, “Fuck, I love you…this is so good.” he hums in pleasure.

You laugh and ruffle his hair, “I love you too, you’re so cute, you know that? 

He smiles sweetly, mouth full. He swallows and says, “And you look unbelievably amazing in my shirt.” He leaves a tender kiss on your forehead, putting his bowl down and lying in your lap, head nuzzling into your chest. 

You giggle and smile, “Gonna finish your food later?” 

“Mhmmm,” He whines gently, wrapping his arms around you and smiling against your skin. You can feel as he inhales your scent, gripping your side just a bit tighter as he does so.

You pause your music and put a movie on, playing with Dennis’ hair as he continues resting upon your chest, gently drawing patterns across your waist.

"You've been so needy lately" You chuckle, cupping his cheek.

"The Very First Day."

She stood just outside the double doors, clutching her badge a little tighter than necessary.

Third year.

She told herself she wasn’t nervous. She was lying.

''Aren’t you coming in?''

She turned.

Whitaker his name printed neatly on the badge clipped to his navy scrubs stood a few feet away. He didn’t look tired, he looked like he belonged to this place. Like the chaos bent around him instead of touching him.

Seeing him felt unexpectedly steadying. Like a cool breeze on a suffocatingly hot day.

''Oh! hi. I mean... yes. I was just about to.''

Her voice came out a little breathless. And he noticed.

He nodded once, calm but softer now. ''Come with me.''

When he looked at her, really looked at her, something tightened quietly in his chest. The way she stood there trying to look composed, but clearly overwhelmed, reminded him of his own first day. Only she looked brighter. Like she didn’t just want to survive the day. She wanted to love it.

Whitaker walked in beside her, slowing his pace just enough so she wouldn’t feel like she had to chase after him.

Their shoulders almost brushed through the doors.

The first to notice them was Dana, who raised an eyebrow before exchanging a subtle look with Robby. Across the station, Princess saw them too and gently nudged Perlah’s bag, tilting her head in their direction. They didn’t say anything.

But the way he walked slightly closer to her than necessary and the way she kept glancing at him like he was something steady in the middle of all that noise didn’t go unnoticed.

Dr. Robinavitch gathered the new students near the nurses’ station, giving a quick introduction before assigning everyone to different areas to cover as many patients as possible.

When he called her name along with Ogilvie’s and told them to shadow Whitaker, she felt a small, secret spark of relief.

Whitaker glanced at her from the corner of his eye as the group began to disperse.

''It looks like you’re stuck with me today,'' he murmured, lowering his voice just enough so only she could hear.

There was the faintest hint of teasing in it and she didn’t hesitate.

''And I’m glad for that.''

For a second, he forgot to move.

He almost smiled.

Something softer flickered in his expression before he straightened again, the professional mask sliding carefully back into place.

''Stick close,'' he said.

Like she’d do anything else.

They started with something simple. Abdominal pain. Middle-aged man. Stable vitals.

Every time Whitaker asked a question, Ogilvie answered first, louder than necessary, almost stepping over her words just to be noticed.

She didn’t try to compete. She knew he was usually right anyway.

Still, Whitaker noticed.

The way Ogilvie leaned forward. The way he cut her off. The way she quietly stepped back instead of fighting for space.

After a few minutes, Whitaker exhaled softly.

''Why don’t you take the history?'' he said, looking at her.

Ogilvie blinked.

She did too.

''Me?'' she asked.

He gave a small nod. ''You.''

And just like that, the room felt smaller.

She stumbled once. Asked the pain scale twice. Forgot to clarify the onset but she caught herself. She corrected it and Whitaker didn’t interrupt, he just watched.

When they stepped outside the room, she turned to him immediately, searching his face.

''Okay,'' he said calmly. ''Differential?''

He was still looking at her.

Ogilvie opened his mouth again.

''Please,'' Whitaker said, his tone polite but firm. ''Let. her. answer.''

The hallway went quiet.

She started listing possibilities too quickly, nerves tangling her words together and Whitaker let her finish.

''You’re not wrong,'' he said finally. "Good job."

And this time, he didn’t quite hide the small smile that followed.

It wasn’t big.

But it was there.

And it was only for her.

Mid-shift, a pediatric laceration came in. A little boy, crying hysterically, blood dripping from his eyebrow.

Ogilvie made a face at the noise, clearly annoyed by the screaming.

She didn’t hesitate.

She followed the stretcher in and immediately crouched beside it.

''Hey,'' she said softly, like the chaos around them didn’t exist. ''Do you like superheroes?''

The boy sniffed, hiccupping through tears.

Whitaker paused in the doorway.

Within minutes, the kid was rambling about his favorite character while she listened like it was the most important conversation in the world.

Whitaker felt something shift quietly in his chest.

When it was time to suture, Ogilvie stepped forward quickly, already pulling on gloves.

''I’ve got it,'' he said.

But she glanced up at Whitaker instead.

''Can I try?''

There it was again. That hopeful look. He should’ve said no, It would’ve been easier, cleaner and less complicated.

Instead, he stepped beside her.

''Okay,'' he said quietly. ''I’ll guide you.''

Ogilvie exhaled sharply and stepped back, rolling his eyes.

Whitaker moved closer, close enough to adjust her angle without drawing attention to it. His hand covered hers lightly, steadying her wrist, guiding the tension of the thread.

Her breath caught.

He felt it.

''Relax,'' he murmured, his voice low enough that it felt private. ''You’re steady.''

She focused harder, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek in concentration.

The stitch wasn’t perfect but it held and the little boy didn’t cry once.

She looked at Whitaker like she had just climbed Everest.

''You make it look so easy,'' she said, still glowing.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close he had been. ''It’s not.''

She shook her head softly. ''It is when you do it.''

He didn’t know what to do with that.

So instead of answering, he gave the boy a small wave goodbye and stepped aside to let the parents back into the room.

Professional.

And trying very hard not to think about the way her hand had fit so easily in his.

Near the end of the shift, the hospital calmed just enough to breathe.

She was at the workstation, scribbling notes with deep concentration, occasionally pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Whitaker watched her for a second longer than necessary and Trinity noticed.

From across the room, she narrowed her eyes, then moved quickly, far too deliberately, to investigate.

She stopped directly in his line of sight, blocking it.

''What are you looking at?'' she asked, crossing her arms. ''Or should I say… who?''

Whitaker straightened immediately, like he’d just been caught doing something illegal.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture as if preparing to respond to a trauma call instead of his roommate.

''Nothing,'' he said. ''And no one.''

Trinity raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t stupid. As his roommate, she knew him better than most people did. She knew the way he avoided things.

And she definitely knew that look.

''Mm-hm,'' she hummed. ''Whatever you do, it’s not my business, Huckleberry.''

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.

''Just don’t bring her home.''

Whitaker’s jaw tightened just enough to betray him.

''I wasn’t planning to.''

But his eyes flickered, just for a second, back to where she stood laughing softly at something Ogilvie said.