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The only things keeping Dennis awake were Dr. Robby’s strong hand on his shoulder and the very real stakes of the highly unstable, bleeding out patient in front of him. He’d been out of it all day. He was constantly checking out mid-conversation and even forgot the code to the lounge. After eight months of working at PTMC and a few days of sleeping there, he knew the place like the back of his hand. But even that, Dennis finds, is a fuzzy image of latex-blue and crimson blood.
Now, as Dennis stares down the barrel of the gun that is the patient's bleeding mouth, the only noise he can hear is his attending’s voice; the only sensation is Robby pulling him to focus on the patient’s neck. “Nope. We can’t see anything past the blood; we’ll use the actual neck.” Robby instructs. His voice was low and gentle, but completely confident. “You’re going to push it in about 25 centimeters…good…mind the trachea…”
His eyes flicker to Dennis’ face once or twice, noticing the way it always took him a second to process the instructions. As he froze, Robby gently placed his hand over the kid’s, guiding the insertion tool into the patient's skin.
Mentally, he curses himself for making Dennis the one to make or break the outcome of this patient. The entire day, he noticed again and again that Dennis was in some sort of slump. He thought he could help the boy regain his confidence, push the baby into the pool, and watch him learn to float on his own. But here he was, sinking.
Robby helps Dennis insert and inflate the tube, practically moving each joint of the boy’s fingers himself. He made a distinct effort not to let Dennis just give up. As the internal balloon inflates and blocks the blood from the inside, the patient stops choking on their own blood and is finally declared stable.
Robby puts a hand on Dennis’s upper back. Normally, the gesture is a soft clap that stays and grips to guide him wherever he needs him. But now, it’s a gentle weight between his shoulder blades, fingers almost rubbing at the tense muscle there.
He speaks in that same quiet and almost soft voice to Dennis.
“You did good…he’s stable...” Robby tries, waiting for Dennis to breathe and snap back into reality. He doesn’t. He just stands there with his hands flexed in the air near his sternum, his eyes practically glazed over as if he’s never seen blood before.
As everyone else clears out of the room, Robby sighs and turns Dennis towards him. His fingers hook just under the bottom of Dennis’s bloodied gloves, slowly peeling them away and disposing of them.
He’s seen the look in Dennis’s eyes before with very new med students, but Dennis is not new. He’s very well accustomed and sometimes even eager to deal with this kind of thing. There was only an internal injury, nothing gory or tragic that he hadn’t seen before. Robby’s at a loss for what’s causing Dennis’ little shutdown, but not for knowing what to do.
He lets out a soft breath through his nose, putting both hands on the boy’s upper arms.
“Whitaker? I’m gonna have you go to the bathroom, wash your face…take five minutes to breathe. Okay?”
He says in the same soft tone as when telling a patient they’re being treated in a way they might not like but can’t argue with. Doctor’s orders.
The sound of Dr. Robby breathing, slow and heavy, is barely making its way through Dennis’s ears. He can barely process the man’s words. He had been sleeping horribly, if at all, the last few days. He assumes that it shows through his deep eye bags and consistent brain fog. Today, the fog wouldn’t waft away with a call of his name or a shake of his shoulder. It’s thick and heavy, almost solid. It’s terrifying, seeing and hearing things that his brain won’t let him process.
The other med team members left soon after the patient was stabilized, with a wave of the attending’s hand. It leaves only the soft, slow breath of Robby and the shallow, almost panicked breath of Dennis. The slow and rhythmic beep of the monitors and the sound of Robby removing his own gloves.
Dennis sees his field of vision shift to the door, watching it get closer. He can’t tell if Robby is guiding him or if his legs are moving on their own. He’s not a part of himself anymore; he can barely feel his own body.
As soon as his brain asks the question, where the hell am I going, his feet stop. He tries to remember. The last thing Robby said was to breathe. Okay…Breathe.. wash your face. Oh. Bathroom. Okay.
He makes a nervous little humming noise in the back of his throat, his hands perfectly clean, still pathetically hanging near his chest like a kid with sticky hands. He looks around, hoping something will trigger a direction. Nothing does. Towards the door he came out of, Dr. Robby is gone.
The hum turns into almost a whimper. He’s lost. He’s lost at his own job. He doesn’t know where to go, or what to do, or how to move, he can’t-
He makes eye contact with Dr. Robby again, who’s now leaning on a desk and talking to Dana. When he sees his student in the middle of the central room, Robby’s heart just…melts. Dennis looks so helpless, the poor kid. Robby pushes himself off the counter and walks forward.
He can’t help the almost fond tone in his voice.
“Hey…you’re all turned around, huh?”
He says. It’s not…teasing…but he has a small smile on his face that he tries to hide.
Dennis nods, a little bob of his head. Robby puts a hand on his shoulder and repeats his directions.
“Go to the bathroom, right there. Wash your face. Alright, bud?” He says gently and points to the restroom sign that clearly marks the door.
Dennis just has to walk. “Yes, sir..” he mutters. He just has to walk.
Robby squeezes his shoulder softly and starts to walk away, moving perpendicular to where the kid is supposed to go. Dennis just fucking follows him, accidentally bumping into the bigger guy’s chest.
Robby sighs, trying not to show how his heart just swelled so much it’s pressing against his ribs. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second and laughs in a bittersweet, ‘he’s so cute. I’m fucked.’ way.
He returns his hands to their rightful spot on Dennis, pressing gently at his lower back and shoulder.
“Alright…c’mon…this way.” Robby shakes his head, eyes crinkling with a mix of pain and fondness. “C’mon, puppy...” he jokes under his breath as Dennis keeps trying to twist his head to keep looking at Robby for directions.
Dennis watches his field of vision spin again like he’s in a video game. He notices briefly that unless he’s looking at Robby, he’s entirely disoriented. His feet, mouth, and hands don’t move unless encouraged by his boss. As they walk into the bathroom, the one with only two stalls and a urinal for the staff, the noise of the rest of the hospital dissipates entirely. Dennis catches sight of himself in the mirror, his blonde little curls sticking to his forehead, his tired eyes, and the blood soaking his scrubs. He almost whimpers,
“M…M-my scru-ubs..” but at least his speech is coming back a little, albeit a little hiccupy.
Robby sighs, still leading the boy to the sink so he’ll wash his face. It’s not dirty, but the cold water should help pull him out of this little episode. Hopefully…
He pats the kid’s back, turning on the water and guiding his shaky hand under it. “I know…they’re all messy, huh?” He can’t even stop the way he practically coos. He just feels so much pity, a thick blanket over what he’s already been feeling for his student.
Dennis sputters at himself in the mirror. “‘S blood… it’s blood…” He says as if he just got here.
Robby nods with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s not yours, Whitaker, don’t worry.” He tries to encourage him to put some of the cold water on his face, but Dennis starts to breathe a little louder, his brain finally working on its own.
His eyes flicker in horror around the bathroom, suddenly tearing paper towels out of the dispenser and scrubbing harshly at the fabric of his scrubs. Robby puts a gentle hand on the boy’s tense wrist and speaks softly, “Hey… hey, don't worry about it. I’ll bring you some new scrubs in a second, okay?” he tries. Dennis lets out a frantic little noise, tugging his shirt away from his chest like he doesn’t want the blood touching his skin.
Any of Robby’s amusement or pity is out the window as he sees how upset the boy is. “Dennis? Why don’t you take off the scrubs so I can exchange them? You don’t have to clean them…” he says with confused concern, gently taking the paper towels from the kid’s shaking hands. That leaves Dennis to return to that frozen state. He just stares at something right past Dr. Robby’s shoulder. The older man sighs and swallows. Much like before, it seems that Dennis needs Robby to pull the strings on his limbs to make him do anything. He steps forward, watching the boy’s face closely. “Do…do you need help?” He asks nervously. For Dennis’ own sake, he really hopes he doesn’t.
Robby can’t begin to push down the thoughts coming up right now. The feelings he’s been berating himself for, trying to rationalize and purge out for months, are at full force. Images of himself imagining his hands peeling off the fabric covering the boy and imagining holding and sweet-talking him until he’s just a happy little thing in his arms haunt the doctor. He’s in his 50’s with a fucking crush. A crush on a boy who’s younger than his tattoo. It’s humiliating, and all he can feel is shame.
But Dennis looks up at him with those big blue eyes, follows Robby’s tentative step back with one forward. Robby wants to circle his arms and find whatever hidden wire is attaching the poor thing to him. Robby feels like a parasite. Dennis looks at him with need in his gaze, need for guidance and help. His care for the boy outweighs the rest of his shame that tries to spill out of him in bile.
Robby reaches out, gingerly tugging at the hem of Dennis’s soiled scrubs. He feels guilt bubble in his chest. He should’ve never made him go into that room. He should've sent him home when he noticed just how unsteady the boy was. But part of him just wanted to fix him up, give him a pep talk and a rub on the shoulder, and watch the light come back into his eyes at Robby’s hand. How selfish. Dennis looks so scared, and it tears another scrap off of Robby’s heart. He pulls back. “You want to do it?” He asks, timid and restrained. He’d rather die than make the guy uncomfortable. Dennis looks just as conflicted, but he eventually shakes his head and steps forward again. Robby puffs out his cheeks in a steeling breath and resumes gently pulling off Dennis’s scrub shirt. He doesn’t know what he expects to see, but it’s definitely not this.
Dennis’s heart pounds in his ears, knowing he can’t avoid the conversation to come once Dr. Robby sees what’s under his shirt. He can already feel his chest being exposed, a thin layer of KT tape covering and compressing the mounds of tissue that he hides. He sees his attending’s face drop. Fuck. He wishes he could move his hands. He wishes he were able to even pretend to be fine and wave away Robby’s concern. But his body was completely frozen, only able to move when seeking the comfort and presence of the larger man.
Robby gasps softly at the sight of his student’s compressed chest. He always thought the boy was a little more…feminine, at least he’d repeat it again and again to justify his attraction to him. He was smaller and had softer features, but Robby never really considered that he was actually born a woman.
The tape, Robby notices, is stretching at the edges to try to hold up the tissue on Dennis’s chest. The skin around the beige and now red splattered fabric is an angry pink and yellow color with blisters. He winces as he has to pull the kid’s arms up, further stretching the skin.
Much to Dennis’s surprise, the doctor doesn't even acknowledge that he has breasts, only focusing on the injury he’d been hiding. He whistles lowly, gently examining how the tape is practically tearing his skin. “Oh, kid… we gotta get this off of you…” He murmurs with a frown. Dennis lifts his arms to cover himself, swallowing a hurt noise when the tape pulls. Robby winces sympathetically, “Ouuuchh…ah ah..here..” he gently pushes Dennis’s arms back down as he shrugs off his green jacket and immediately throws it over the boy’s shoulders. “Come on…” he says, not even having to put a hand on his shoulder because Dennis immediately follows each of his steps.
Robby leads him into a small exam room, paging Dana to set up a chart. He expected Dennis to argue the way most doctors would at being treated. I’m fine, I can work, stop giving me special treatment. Instead, the kid is completely pliant, letting himself be sat down on a thin mattress and staring at Robby’s hands as they start to type up a quick chart. The air is filled with tension of almost every kind. It makes Dennis feel colder, like he wants just to crawl over and melt into his boss’s lap. Instead, he pulls his knees up to his chest and closes his eyes into the fabric of the oversized borrowed jacket. It smells just like Robby. A mix of antiseptic and something he can’t name. He doubts the man even uses cologne. He smells effortlessly mild and warm.
They’re silent, the soft clicks of the keyboard and mouse the only sound until Robby wheels the stool next to Dennis’s bed. “Hey…” Robby says quietly, retreating a hand that tried to sneak onto the boy’s back.
“I know that… you probably don’t want anyone else knowing about uh… yknow…” he swallows. “So I’m gonna go grab something called ‘Skin-Tac’... Do you know what that is?” He says quietly. His voice is thick, choking on the urge to sit on the bed and hold Dennis close, murmur little comforts into his hair. He looks even more pathetic in Robby’s big jacket.
Dennis shakes his head into his arms, trying not to let his lip quiver. His body is slowly catching up with the fact that he’s safe with Dr. Robby, in a closed and quiet room now. It’s trying to melt, give way, and break down. He hears a soft, low breath followed by Robby’s quiet explanation. “It’s an adhesive remover… We’ll soak it on for a few minutes… take off the tape so we can help with the blisters and… and tearing.” There’s so much between the pauses in his sentence, so many things said in the quiet breaths through his nose, and the way he rubs a hand over his scruffy face. There’s even more said in Dennis’s silence, hunched over and trembling like a leaf.
Robby swallows thickly and pats his legs before standing up and quietly walking towards the door. He hesitates, waiting for…anything, any acknowledgment the boy will give him. He gets nothing. With a solemn, understanding nod, he finally shuts the door and walks to Central to find Dana. He tries to think of what to say, how to get the kid help without accidentally outing him. His heart feels heavier than any rejection from Dennis ever could. He wishes this weren’t true, but he cares more about the boy’s safety, well-being, and comfort than anything. He’d choose never to see or touch him again if he was sure it would be for the better.
Dana finds him first, a questioning look on her face as she immediately clocks the stress in his expression. Her voice is that same soft, smoker-rasped accent as always. “The hell have you been? What’s goin’ on?” She asks, demanding an answer but laying a loving hand on Robby’s arm.
Robby shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head with a defeated shrug. “Just…I..I can’t really tell you why, Dana, but Whitaker will be in 4b as a patient until he’s ready to go home. He cannot work any longer today.” He says, not leaving a long enough breath for her to pry. “I do not want anyone in that room besides him until further notice, and that includes Santos.”
Dana tries to question again, worried about the kid she’s grown quite fond of, following Robby to the supply room as he dodges any conversation from the other people. He gently interrupts her before she can even get a syllable out.
“I am officially Dennis’s doctor, and because no one here is family or an emergency contact, I’m going to honor patient confidentiality, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep an eye on that door and make sure no one tries to go talk to him.” It’s a common delivery for him, fast-paced, clear, and firm instructions in a quiet voice, one that people find very hard to argue with. Dana sighs, knowing she can’t exactly pry. Legally.
“I-..... okay. Okay. I’ll keep an eye out. Just… Tell him I’m…praying for him… okay?” She says, putting a hand over the golden cross necklace, one very similar to the one that Whitaker hides under his scrubs.
Robby nods and gives a pinched smile at Dana, patting the hand on his arm before grabbing the Skin-Tac along with some nonstick gauze and other things he might be able to use. He doesn’t miss the almost comical look of confusion on the charge nurse’s face, her lip curling as she sees the odd combination in his arms.
As Dennis sits alone in the cold room, he presses his face as deep into the fabric of Dr. Robby’s jacket as he can, his nose smooshing to the side painfully. His expression is pained and screwed up into a grimace, the feeling of his own heavy chest against the cold zipper sickening.
Whether it was the winter, the traumatizing work 3 days a week, or some sort of cruel joke from god, everything seemed to be going wrong in his life. His body ached everywhere, especially around his ribs, where a cheap, increasingly tight binder sat. At night, he either lay on his back and felt the parasitical mounds press on his chest and obscure his view, or he lay on his side, feeling the skin and heavy tissue pull and ache.
He keeps his body tense, trying to go back to the numb, vacant feeling from earlier instead of this all-too-real and painful overflow of emotions and exhaustion. His heart begins to pound uncomfortably as he hears the quiet slide of the door and Robby’s hesitant footsteps. He feels fucking sick, suffocated, and nauseous from anxiety. He can’t move, terrified to let one single muscle relax because he knows as soon as it does, he’ll shatter at Robby’s feet.
The quiet rolling of the stool and shuffling of scrubs echo in Dennis’s ears like drums, a sign of impending doom to rejection. Robby might laugh, back away uncomfortably, possibly even fire him for being so fragile and unfit. A spark of heat on his shoulder that he realizes is Robby’s hand makes him jump and gasp in a sob. He doesn’t dare to breathe.
Robby’s heart lurches, his eyes flickering to the way Dennis is rubbing two layers of his jacket between two fingers. His hand is frozen, just resting on the boy’s shoulder awkwardly as he feels it shake with a broken inhale. He can barely see a smidge of Dennis’s skin as he hides every part of his face possible. His face curls into a sympathetic frown, his hand gently gripping Dennis’s shoulder to rub his thumb on his neck. He takes a hesitating breath, “Dennis…?” he tries, part of him hoping that he’ll be shoved away so he doesn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of his heart melting all over him. He can’t let himself have the opportunity to hold or to touch Whitaker.
As soon as Dennis feels his attending’s thumb gently press into the back of his neck, his body betrays him with a gagging sob. His limbs feel weak, succumbing to whatever force is tugging him towards Robby.
He covers his hands with the lent sleeves, tears starting to stream down his cheeks and into the divots of his eye bags.
Robby stands immediately, putting the tray of supplies down on the rolly-chair as he wraps two strong arms around the little ball of exhaustion in front of him. It’s unprofessional in every way, whether due to Dennis being a patient, a subordinate coworker, or about half his age. Nevertheless, the strings of their limbs are pulled taut together once Dennis lets out the saddest little cry he’s ever heard. Robby all but cradles his head in his arms, one hand gently resting over his own hoodie that he hides in like a turtle.
Robby whispers into the fabric, “It’s okay…You’re okay…” and tuts at Dennis like he’s a fussy baby.
Dennis sobs quietly, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth to stop it from trembling or turning into that ugly crying face he always gets. He leans into the warm weight of Robby sitting on the cot with him, on the verge of falling into his lap while still curled up in a ball, swimming in his hoodie.
He whines, weary and miserable, into the warmth, “‘M tired.” He says.
Robby’s stupid old heart melts, and he starts petting his student’s head; his only concern now is soothing those little cries. “Oh kiddo…” He whispers, not lost on the irony of him calling the person he was in love with kiddo, despite the shame. “You’re so tired, huh?... We’ll get you some rest… it’s gonna be okay..” Before Dennis even has the chance to protest and cry that he needs to work, he soothes him. “Shhh…Just… ssshh.. Shh shh..”
Dennis sniffles, his cries watering down to little whimpers. He turns his head to breathe fresh air, giving Robby sight of his face for the first time since he melted down. It’s all red from being shoved into a warm space, wet with tears, and completely lax for the first time in a long, long time. He doesn’t look up, knowing he’ll see the dangerous sight of Robby’s brown puppy-dog eyes. They just sit there for a few more moments, a quiet sense of catharsis washing over them.
Robby’s heart finally feels a little bit less like a pressurized can near heat when he finally gets to just look down at the angel-like face of Whitaker. His arm is being used as a rest for the younger man’s chin, his thumb brushing over the top of his head. The pained noises are gone, but little tears still catch the fluorescent light as they fall from Dennis’s eyes. Without a second thought, only pure instinct, Robby slips his hand under the hoodie to wipe one away and cradle his cheek.
He keeps his voice soft, without any effort. It’s hard not to talk to Dennis like he’s a hurt puppy.
“I’m gonna take off my jacket now… m’kay? I’ll be careful…” He murmurs, using every bone in his body to resist pressing a little kiss to Dennis’s head.
Their limbs slowly slide apart, just enough for Dennis to nod and let Robby unzip the cocoon of green fabric. Without much more talking, mostly since Dennis is about to fall asleep, Robby soaks the beige and bloodied tape with Skin-tac, carefully and awkwardly rubbing it around Dennis’s most vulnerable area. He’s lying back, arms at his sides, and on display. His doctor gently peels off the tape now that the adhesive has dissolved enough, leaving curved lines of blisters. He sighs sadly.
“Dennis…” he starts, trying not to sound disappointed. He thinks if he did, Dennis might start whimpering and shaking again. “I don’t know much about… this kind of thing… but I’m sure there are resources… we could-”
Dennis shakes his head, shutting his eyes again. “It’s not… Just…just not..” he whispers weakly. “‘M sorry.” Robby brings his hand up, gently rubbing the side of Dennis’s head. “You’re okay…” They lock eyes, an understanding of gratitude and care silently being exchanged between them with a soft nod.
Robby carefully tends to the little blisters and tears on Dennis’s chest, his heart aching with sympathy whenever the boy winces, and the way he refuses to look down. He can’t imagine having something so…invasive attached to him. He lets out a quick huff, “I’m so sorry…” He whispers.
Dennis looks at the ceiling, avoiding letting the stupid mounds he wishes were cancerous into his line of sight. Another tear falls down his cheek. “I…I’m so sick of it…” He whispers thickly. Robby grabs his hand, a silent reassurance that he’s here and listening. “I can’t sleep… I h-hurt my ribs with my regular binder, and s-someone said that tape is less harmful, but it just… it itches and stings and I can feel it…p-pulling.” He breathes in a shuddery sob, letting his head fall to the side to look at Robby. He laughs bitterly, bottom lip sticking out like a pout. “And they make me look so fat.” He half-jokes.
Robby looks at him with undeniable awe in his eyes, shaking his head at how precious he looks, pouting down at him playfully. There he is. Robby laughs softly at his little self-deprecating joke, shaking his head and rubbing his thumb over the younger’s knuckles. “Ah, c’mon…nothing wrong with that…you’re still pretty easy on the eyes…” He murmurs.
Dennis feels his cheeks burn so much he’s worried he might faint. He averts his eyes, looking back up at the ceiling and trying to force himself to stop that stupid smile. Robby huffs softly, finally finishing up dressing the irritated skin on Dennis’s chest. He stands, gently reaching out to zip up the green jacket.
Dennis sits up too, looking up at him with his wet blue eyes. “I can...” he clears his throat “I can just wear a gown…” he says as Robby smooths the hoodie down over his arms.
Robby smiles and shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. You can bring it back when you’re better.” Dennis tilts his head. “When I’m… I can work.” He tries to argue. Robby keeps petting his arms, looking down at him like he’s his whole world. “Ah ah ah… You’re gonna go home…rest…take care of the blisters and stuff…I don’t want to see you back here until at least monday. Mkay?”
Dennis feels himself melting at the little tuts and gentle chiding. It makes him feel like a little kid. But not like the little kid he was, getting scolded and yelled at for spilling a bowl of rice, getting berated and insulted at any given moment. He felt like a protected and loved little kid. His body instinctively leaned closer into the doctor’s space. “Yes sir.” he says sheepishly, holding probably the longest eye contact he ever has. “You can take your jacket back…” He tries again.
Robby gives him a once over, squeezing his arms and sucking in a breath. “No no…You look really…comfy in it. You were hiding in it like a little turtle..” He laughs quietly. “So cute…” he adds.
When his eyes meet Dennis’s again, they’re faces are much closer. The invisible strings that have been pulling his hands to his shoulders for months have been woven through their mouths now.
Robby’s heart kicks quickly at his chest, as if it’s trying to get out and jump at Dennis’s own. He’s terrified, but can’t stop.
“Dennis…” He warns, even as his hand slides up to cradle the side of his cheek. Dennis ignores his warning, focuses on what his body is telling him to do. He pushes himself up on weak arms and wraps his arms around the older’s waist. With a soft gasp, as if surprising himself, he presses his lips against Robby’s. Robby immediately whines into the kiss, his hands gripping wherever they lay on Dennis.
“No…” he mutters, diving back in anyway. “I can’t- mmph…”
Dennis feels his lips tremble and he pushes more insistently. “‘M sorry…” he cries, still connected and holding him. Their words are all lies, entirely born from fear.
Robby’s arms hook under Dennis’s, pulling them up around his shoulders so he can wrap his own around the small waist. “Oh baby…” He croons sadly, still pressing the sweetest little kisses to his soft lips. Dennis sobs at the pet name. It’s already so painfully sweet, but the exhaustion makes him even more sensitive and he starts to cry again. Robby travels his kisses to the side of his cheek, just gentle smooches as he hums and starts to rub his back.
He finally buries his head in Dennis’s neck, holding him close and slowly swaying him side to side. “Shhh shh.. I’m sorry…Ssshh baby..” He whispers, silently cursing Dennis’s blisters that stop him from pressing himself right against his boy’s heart.
Almost immediately, Dennis is quieted down, reduced to one or two little coos. His fingers fidget with the nape of Robby’s neck, the fluffy hair there that he hasn’t trimmed in a few weeks. He nuzzles his face against the bigger man, letting out a soft and deep breath.
Robby smiles at the little cooing noises coming from the fragile man, cradling the back of his head once more and allowing him to rub his cheek against his own. “You’re okay…It’s gonna be okay, dove.” He whispers, a hint of a tease in his voice. He told him once that he kind of looks like a dove, just the way his nose was shaped and how fragile he looked. At the time, he didn’t mention the soft beauty that him and the bird also shared. But now he can.
Dennis laughs at the callback, his smile weepy but warm as he closes his eyes. “‘M gonna fall asleep now, Robby…” He hums, sounding like he’s already dreaming. Robby presses a little kiss to his cheek and he can feel the man’s smile against his skin. “I know, Denny… you can sleep…” He hums, helping him lay down. He tries to sit on the bed to stay with him but Dennis stops him.
“Mnm.” He shakes his head tiredly. “Go cure somethin’...” He mutters lazily. Robby laughs and shakes his head fondly. “Alright Whitaker…Don’t write me up.” He whispers, standing up, pressing a deep kiss to the boy’s forehead and dimming those horrible overhead lights.
He opens his mouth to say a goodnight, but stops when he hears Dennis snoring- more like purring already. Poor tired thing. He just turns on his heel and gently shuts the door, pressing the backs of his hands to his cheeks to try to cool them down and force his smile to stop splitting his face. “..Ssshhhit.” He whispers, biting his lip with a mix of regret and pure giddyness. He’s still smiling as he lightly slaps the sides of his face before walking back onto the floor to do his job.
He’s is terminally enamoured.