Chapter Text
Falling in love with Dennis Whitaker felt like being woken up by the sun shining through your curtains in the morning. It wasn’t fast or hard, but gradual and soft.
~*~
After meeting on the day of the Pitt Fest tragedy, you and the newest members of ‘the pitt’ had a shared experience that no other group had in the ED. There was a sense of comfort between all of you. No one else knew what it was like to have their first day at a new hospital be the day of an event so catastrophic. This created a bond that couldn’t be replicated; a tightly knit group that one could even call family.
You had always been close with everyone, especially Trinity who you spent most of your downtime with. And with spending time with her came with her roommate, Whitaker. He was always kind to you despite you egging Trinity on when she teased him.
~*~
Months passed. Your apartment was a thirty minute drive to the hospital, you constantly felt the strain of filling up your gas tank on your bank account. Santos’ place was mere minutes away. As your friendship continued to grow, she would invite you to crash at her place.
“Are you sure Whitaker won’t mind?” You asked in the elevator up to the third floor.
She responded in a huff, “Honestly, I don’t care what he thinks. Technically I’m still doing him a favor.”
“I just can’t promise Huckleberry, won’t do anything weird. He gets weird when the sun goes down I swear.” She mutters as she fishes for her keys.
Before you enter the doorway you can already see what she meant.
Loud music glared from the bathroom. Surely, she must have had another secret roommate she didn’t tell you about because the music was god awful. You glanced towards the bathroom door only to see what disco lights were? Peering from beneath the door.
“Is that him?” You barely manage before breaking out laughing.
“Unfortunately, yes.” She says setting her bags down, not phased by the situation. “You’re laughing now but you won’t be at 5am when he does it again.”
This was the first time you ever beat him home. You’d seen him head for the shower what felt like millions of times while you were over here, but you never heard the music. It truly made your day knowing this information. You also felt bad for Trinity having to hear this twice a day for six months.
You sat down on the couch, checking your emails when you heard the shower turn off. Trinity was in her room getting you a spare set of pajamas. As she exited her room, she had changed into athleisure wear to go down to the gym.
“I’ll be back in like thirty minutes. I just can't deal with all of that right now.” She gestures toward the bathroom, “This is mild, he’s not even singing tonight. He must be in some mood.”
Left to your own devices, you continue to scroll on your phone until the bathroom is available to change. It had been a long day, and you didn’t get to clock out until 8:30pm. To say the least, you were beat. The music stopped playing, replaced with the faint sound of humming; it wasn’t loud, almost harmonic. It felt like a lullaby. After the day you had, combined with the faint sound of your coworker humming, you began to melt into the couch.
The flip of the lightswitches brought you back to reality as you opened your eyes to see Whitaker in sweats, drying his hair with a towel, screaming profanities.
“Holy shit- What are you doing here?”
He must have been barefoot and the floor wet because he nearly slipped on the hardwood floors as he panicked.
You sat there frozen, hadn’t Trinity at least sent him a text? Of course she wasn’t here to explain that you’d had a terrible shift, nearly losing a patient to preeclampsia, the baby included. It was truly the last thing you needed at the end of your shift.
“Um, Santos said I could crash here” Was all you could respond. You looked up from the ground to see him gone. Subconsciously, averting your eyes from him.
Five minutes later, he exits his room and you silently thank god for the fact that he’s fully clothed. He makes his way to the kitchen, filling a kettle and placing it on the stovetop. The apartment is filled with warmtoned, cozy, lamps; there isn’t an overhead light in sight. You could easily drift off to sleep, your nervous system deeming this place safe. The dreamy haze of sleep wants to consume you entirely before you realize you’re still in scrubs and your shoes are still on. No matter what, you need to at least change into pajamas. Willing yourself to get off the couch you can hear the faint humming, only this time it’s coming from the kitchen.
As you exit the bathroom, having showered and changed into the spare pajamas, you see a pile of neatly folded blankets on the corner of the couch. You scan the room and your eyes land on Whitaker sitting at the dining table writing in a journal. Picking up one of the blankets you notice a mug of tea on the coffee table with a spoon and honey beside it. You glance back at him with a knowing look.
“I- uh, forgot how you take your tea.” He sheepishly says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Even though it’s in low lighting, you swear his cheeks are pink.
“Thanks Whitaker.” You pick up the mug.
He closes the journal, “Of course, L/N.”
Mug in hand, he crosses the room in a relaxed fashion, landing on the adjacent side of the couch. A singular wet curl sticks to his forehead as he picks up the remote. Your eyes meet for a brief second before he looks away.
“You weren’t ready to go to bed yet, were you?” He says gently, cocking his head.
You silently shake your head. He puts on a random television program you aren’t following. Leaning your head against the back of the couch you listen to the low hum of the tv. Encompassed in the warmth of the blankets.
Slowly you nod off, exhausted from the thought of having to go through all of this again tomorrow. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to this schedule. It didn’t help that you were away from home, not just your apartment but your hometown. You missed your childhood bedroom and the comfort of your family close by. But at the end of each day, no matter how challenging, you knew medicine was what you were meant to do. This placement was the next stepping stone to get there.
The front door opening brought you back to the reality of not being home. An all too familiar pit stirs in your stomach.
Trinity comes into the room, taking off her shoes.
“Is he bothering you?” She gestures to Whitaker sitting beside you.
“How would I be bothering her?” He responds exacerbated, arms flailing.
A faint smile spreads across your lips as they bicker over you. The noise brings you even more comfort because at least it isn’t silent like your apartment. Eventually, the bickering stops, replaced with snide remarks under their breaths. Whitaker turns to you, as she leaves,
“I’m sorry if I was bothering you-”
You cut him off, “You weren’t bothering me.”
“Oh ok.” He rubs the back of his neck again. “I should probably let you sleep, I noticed you dozing off.”
“Sorry about that-”
This time he interrupts, “-no! Don’t be. Let me get you extra blankets.”
You look at the pile of blankets already beside you but he’s already back from the linen closet, blankets in hand. Reaching out to take them from him, your hands brush. Your eyes meet again, his appearing unaffected by the connection.
“Thanks again.” Heat rushes to your cheeks.
“My room’s down the hall. Please let me know if you need anything. Trinity is an ass to wake up at night.” He softly smiles, walking backwards to his bedroom, banging his head against the doorframe.
This results in hushed chuckles from both of you. A final wave from him and he closes his door.
You wake up in a cold sweat, turning to look at the clock, it’s only a little after midnight. You’d hoped you were able to sleep longer. The pit in your stomach is heavy and you don’t want to deal with it. Not here, not now. Waking up in an unfamiliar place, not in your apartment, not in your home, not in your state; it was all too much. You’d been able to hold it together for so long. Why break now?
For gods sake, you’re in your late twenties, you shouldn’t be getting homesick anymore. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over. Tilting your head back you cursed at yourself. As the first hot tears stream down your face, a door opens.
Quickly wiping your tears you look over and see Whitaker, his hair wild, moving in all directions. He stops in his tracks once he notices you sitting up.
“Did I wake you?” He whispers.
You silently shake your head, turning to look at the ceiling as more tears threaten to spill out. This needs to stop. You silently chastise yourself.
He notices your eyes glistening, immediately kneeling next to the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
He hovers his hand over your back, unsure if he should touch you. Your shoulders start to hiccup as the tears pour out, unable to stop them. Fuck, not here. There’s no point in trying to stop it. You wipe your tears and lean back, connecting with his hand. He leans in closer and rubs circles on your back.
Barely audible, he whispers your first name.
Eyes blurry with tears as you look at him. His face filled with worry, eyes searching your face to see how he can help you.
“Home.” Is the only word you can manage.
After that one simple word, the energy in the room shifts. His eyes stop searching your face and meet yours, his face somehow softer than before. He shares a knowing look with you. Your eyes say everything he needs to know.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispers as he continues to rub circles on your back.
“Does it get any easier?” You ask.
“Some days are easier than others. I try to keep myself busy enough that I don’t have time to think about it.” He chuckles, “Not sure how healthy that is, but it’s all I have right now.”
Realization of your situation sets in. Embarrassment and self-awareness fills your body.
“I’m sorry about all of this.” You gesture at yourself.
“Don’t be, I get it. I’m just glad you don’t hold it in.”
“Sometimes I wish I did because it gets me into embarrassing situations like this.” You laugh at yourself.
All he wants to do is take it all away, this feeling he knows all too well.
“I know I can’t sleep unless I’m in my bed when I’m feeling like this.” The circles on your back stop, his hand lingering. “Why don’t you go take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I really couldn’t Whitaker.” You attempt to sober up so he can stop worrying. “I’m really fine now.”
He says nothing heading for the kitchen, filling up a single glass of water, and entering his room. You’re relieved this embarrassing moment is over. As you adjust your covers to lay back down, he exits his room. Running his hand through his hair approaching you.
A sigh escapes him before speaking. “I got you a glass of water. I really insist. You’ve had a hard, long day. You need sleep.”
His tone is so genuine and sincere. He means this with his whole body. An ache filled his chest witnessing you experience a feeling he felt daily. The quiet moments of each day were filled with a debilitating homesickness that couldn’t be cured. Even though he was creating a new sense of home in the pitt, nothing compared to home. He missed the rolling green fields that surrounded his home in the spring. His childhood dog, a fat beagle named Cooper. God, he missed his mom.
It was only natural to try and comfort you when this feeling consumed him daily.
All it took was one more “Please” from him and you reluctantly stood. He remained in the doorway as you entered his room. It was barren for the most part, but if you looked closely you could see little snippets of him. A snowglobe here, neatly stacked notebooks there. A framed photo sat on his desk of a teenage Whitaker proudly standing at a fair with his 4H goat. You turn to him after looking around.
“Are you sure?” You ask one final time as you sit down on the still made bed.
Leaning his head on the doorframe, he whispers one final, “Yes.”