L3m0ns
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“It’s going to be fine,” Jack promises him, as if he can promise him that. “Flu’s not taking you down, is it?”
“Guess it’s your job to make sure it doesn’t,” Robby replies. Despite the verbal blows Jack just aimed right into his ribs, he still feels bad for the way Jack’s face drains of color once he’s said it. “Jack—”
“Go lay down before it starts,” Jack instructs him, and Robby recognizes Dr. Abbot taking over in more ways than one. “I’ll come check on you in an hour, alright?”
For one more heartbeat, Jack doesn’t move. Again, Robby feels the pang down the center of his chest into his stomach that simultaneously tells him to kiss him and reminds him that he can’t.
or: robby catches a deadly flu in the pitt while treating patients. jack is his only hope for survival.
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Robby dies of a massive heart attack and Jack is so pissed his own heart gives out too.
(Or, a reunion in the afterlife).
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Robby isn’t stupid. He knew what he was getting into when they started hooking up on their days off. Abbot needed something to take the edge off and Robby needed someone to fill the loneliest nights. A win-win situation. It should have worked perfectly.
He didn’t plan on falling for him.
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"Everything okay?" Jack asks immediately.
"I can't sleep," Robby admits easily.
It's always been easy to tell Jack what's wrong. Jack never judges, never rejects him.
"And before you say anything, yes, I've tried all the usual tricks."
"Come over," he says instead.
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It's the anniversary of the Pittfest shooting and Robby can't sleep. Jack uses a few tricks up his sleeve to help Robby relax. -
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(READER IS A TRANS MALE.)
You feel everything fall apart around you. It seems as though no ones on your side, and guilt plagues your mind, dysphoria swallows you. There's only one man who can pick up the pieces.