reabinos
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"Tell me to go," Whitaker says quietly. "If that’s what you want, say it."
Robby’s throat works. "You should—" He stops, swallows hard. "You should go."
"Then step back."
Robby doesn’t.Between the nonstop traumas and Robby touching him like it doesn’t mean anything while actively flirting with Collins, Whitaker is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Thankfully, it ends better than it began.- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by reabinos
18 Jan 2026
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The elevator lurches once, then stalls. The emergency light flickers weakly, casting Robby and Whitaker in a dim, red glow before plunging them into near-total darkness. The only sound is their breathing—Whitaker’s still too fast, Robby’s measured, deliberate.
"You knew this might happen?" Whitaker asks.
"Yeah," Robby says. "Big storms like this fuck with the hospital's generators. We were lucky we got this far."
"Lucky," Whitaker echoes, the word coming out too soft.Robby and Whitaker get stuck in an elevator during a storm, and three weeks of tension catches up to them.
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“Whitaker, you need to sit down. You have a concussion.” The voice next to him tries to tell him, and it's almost familiar this time.
“Yeah I realized that, I am a fuckin' doctor. Student doctor. Whatever.” he replies, turning to squint at the man sitting next to him. “Look, can you just get Dr. Robby? He’ll tell you I'm fine, I gotta get back to work, I got… patients and shit.”
The man looks at someone behind him, some expression he can’t quite figure out. He starts to say something else, and—oh shit he’s gonna throw up fuck—he tries to lean away and not vomit all over anyone else. He doesn't quite make it.
“Shit,” yeah, he definitely ruined that guy’s shoes. Whoops. “Sorry.”
prosopagnosia
1. A form of visual agnosia characterized by difficulty with face recognition despite intact low-level visual processing.- Language:
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Bookmarked by reabinos
16 Jan 2026
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Every Boston Raider knows that although their captain has a girl in every port, he’s got a soft spot for the one in Montreal. Dr. Shane Hollander knows it’s better to have a semi-regular source of casual sex than try to make a relationship work during residency. Ilya Rozanov knows that the doctor he’s fucking in Montreal is unaware that he plays hockey, and in fact probably thinks he’s Bratva.
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Bookmarked by reabinos
07 Jan 2026
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Shane’s heart drops into his stomach. “Ilya,” he breathes. His vision goes blurry, throat tight. He tries to swallow it down and focus, shove his swirling thoughts into a neat little box, but it’s impossible. He feels—he might throw up, actually. “Are you seriously telling me you tried to fucking kill yourself?”
“Yes,” Ilya agrees blandly, “It did not work.”
Ilya calls Shane from the hospital. Shane handles it very normally.
Bookmarked by reabinos
06 Jan 2026