Archive of Our Own

The doors to The Pitt slid open, the scent of antiseptic and floor cleaner washing over Owen Wilder like a memory half forgotten. The sharp fluorescent lights overhead felt brighter than he remembered, or maybe that was just him. Eight years was a long time to be away from a place, long enough for a city to shift, for familiar faces to fade, for an old life to turn into something distant, almost unrecognizable. But some things never changed, like the way the emergency room hummed with barely contained chaos.

Owen inhaled deeply, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck. Just another shift, he told himself. But as his eyes scanned the bustling ER, they landed on something—or rather, someone—that made his breath catch for just a moment too long.

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch stood at the central nurses’ station, scanning a chart with furrowed brows. He looked exactly the same and yet somehow entirely different. The years had touched him lightly, salt and pepper threading through his dark hair, lines faintly creasing at the corners of his eyes, but he was still Robby. Broad shouldered, intense, a constant force in the emergency room.

And in the next second, those sharp eyes lifted and landed right on Owen.

Owen watched the recognition hit instantly. Robby’s whole body tensed, his fingers tightening around the clipboard in his hands. There was no flicker of warmth, no friendly smile. Just pure, unfiltered shock.

For the briefest of moments, neither of them moved.

Then, the reaction came all at once, in the form of clenched teeth and a flicker of agitation that burned across his features.

“What the hell—” Robby started, his voice rough with disbelief, but before he could finish, a voice cut in.

“Owen Wilder? No way.”

Dana, one of the few people from the old days still standing, approached him with a grin. Unlike Robby, her reaction was open and full of warmth. “I didn’t think I’d see your sorry ass here again. Thought LA had swallowed you whole.”

Owen smiled easily, the tension melting away just enough for him to breathe. “Turns out, Pittsburgh has better food.”

Dana snorted. “Bullshit. You missed the cold and the chaos.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, welcome back to the madness. You’re on shift now?”

Owen nodded. “First official day back.” He glanced at Robby, who still hadn’t said a word. His jaw was tight, the grip on the clipboard still stiff.

“Look like you’ve seen a ghost, Robby.” Dana teased, her gaze flicking between them, trying to ease some of the tension.

Owen gave an easy shrug. “Figured he’d be happy to see me.”

Robby’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Didn’t think I would see you again,” he muttered, his voice tight.

Owen met his gaze directly. “Well. Here I am.”

For a second, he thought Robby might say something else, something sharp, something that cracked open the past. But instead, Robby just exhaled sharply and turned back to his clipboard, muttering something about having work to do.

Owen let out a slow breath. Not the warmest welcome, but he hadn’t exactly expected one. He had left on bad terms, after all. The two had been close until Owen had left. He was hoping he might be able to rekindle that close friendship they once had, but maybe he was wrong.

Still, there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

The ER was relentless, as it always had been. The moment he stepped into the flow, it was as if the last eight years dissolved, and he was just another doctor in the trenches again. Patients came in battered and broken, doctors barked orders, beeping monitors filled the air. Owen fell into his rhythm, focusing on the work, letting muscle memory take over.

But every so often, he caught the eyes. The glances. The whispers.

“That’s really Dr. Wilder? Damn.”

“He doesn’t look like an ER doctor.”

He ignored the comments, focusing on his work instead. 

As Owen checked over a patient, he noticed something from across the trauma bay.

Robby.

Standing by a crash cart, shoulders rigid, staring at him like he was trying not to.

By the time hour four rolled around, Owen had just finished suturing a patient when Dr. Heather Collins leaned against the counter beside him.

“Gotta say, Dr. Wilder, I see why people are talking.”

Owen smirked, securing the last stitch. “About my impeccable suturing skills?”

Heather grinned. “Sure, let’s call it that.” She tipped her head, eyes teasing. “I can tell you’ve got history with a few of the people here.”

Owen shook his head. “Well, I used to work here years ago. Just moved back.”

“Ah. That explains why Robby looks like he swallowed a lemon.”

Owen let out a laugh. “He always had a certain way of showing his emotions.”

Heather hummed. “I’m just saying, if you need a friend, I know a great place for drinks.”

Before Owen could respond, a sharp voice cut in.

“We’re short on staff tonight. Maybe flirting could wait until after shift hours.”

Owen turned to find Robby standing just behind him, arms crossed, irritation practically radiating off him.

Heather gave a slow blink, confused and annoyed at the same time. “Noted, chief.” She shot Owen a knowing look before slipping away.

Owen shook his head, wringing his hands. “Something on your mind, Robby?”

“Just making sure you’re actually here to work.”

Owen huffed a laugh, trying to ease the tension. “You know me.”

“That’s the problem,” Robby muttered before walking off.

Owen watched him go, brow furrowing.

What the hell was that? 

——

An hour later, Owen was charting when he felt a presence beside him. He looked up to see a nurse from earlier, one who had been flirting with him in the supply room. She was smiling, casually resting a hand on the counter.

“So, Dr. Wilder,” she started, her tone playful. “Are all LA doctors—”

A loud slam cut her off.

Owen turned in time to see Robby snapping a patient file shut, his face stormy. “If you’re done chatting, we do have patients.”

The nurse blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Uh—right. Sure.” She hesitated before giving Owen a half smile and walking off.

Owen crossed his arms. “Seriously, what’s your deal?”

Robby barely looked at him. “No deal.”

“You’ve been acting pissy all shift.”

Robby’s jaw clenched. “Maybe I just don’t like watching my staff slack off.”

Owen let out a dry laugh, getting irritated. “Right. Because me talking to someone for ten seconds is slacking off?”

Robby finally turned to him, and there it was, the same stormy, unreadable expression Owen remembered from years ago. The same tension, the same tightly wound frustration that had simmered beneath their last conversation all those years back.

This isn’t about now. It’s about then.

Owen exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Look, Robby, if you’re still mad about me leaving—”

“I’m not.” Robby snapped, too quickly.

Owen frowned. “Really? Because you sure as hell are acting like it.”

Robby’s mouth pressed into a thin line. For a second, it looked like he might say something, something real, but then his expression shuttered, cold and distant.

“Just do your job, Wilder.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Owen sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

Shaking his head, he grabbed a clipboard and went back to work, trying to ignore the lingering weight of the conversation.

Maybe time hadn’t changed everything. Or maybe he just needed to give it just a little more time.

Owen had tried to brush it off as his shift went on.

Robby had never been the warmest person, but the way he was acting now—cold, dismissive, downright hostile—was getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

He hadn’t expected an easy reunion, but this? This was something else. It was like every step he took in The Pitt only pushed him further into Robby’s bad graces.

Maybe he should’ve just stayed in LA.

The thought wormed its way into his mind as he scrubbed his hands at the sink, the sound of rushing water dull against the chaos beyond the trauma bay. Maybe coming back had been a mistake. Maybe he had been stupid to think that after eight years, Pittsburgh could still feel like home.

That Robby might still be his best friend.

He exhaled sharply, shutting off the tap and wiping his hands on a paper towel. There was no time to wallow. Patients needed care, and no matter how Robby felt about him, Owen had a job to do.

——

The next few hours blurred together in a steady rhythm of cases. Fractured ribs, a deep laceration from a construction accident, a kid who had swallowed a penny. Owen moved through them on autopilot, his body going through the motions while his mind was still stuck in the past.

Then came the mistake.

He had been reviewing orders for a patient with a post-op infection when something on the chart caught his eye. 

That’s not what he wrote.

He frowned, scanning the numbers again. The dose of medication—8 cc. That wasn’t right. He’d written 3 cc. His damn handwriting must have made it look more like an 8.

He quickly corrected it, striking through the number and rewriting it more clearly. No harm done. He turned to walk away.

But of course, Robby caught it. Had he just been waiting for Owen to mess up?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Owen barely had time to turn before Robby snatched the chart up, his eyes scanning the order before flicking up to Owen with pure disbelief.

“You almost dosed this guy with over double what was needed.” Robby snapped, voice cutting through the hum of the ER. “Are you trying to land a patient into renal failure on your first damn shift back?”

“I wrote three,” he said, nodding toward the chart. “The way it looked—”

“Oh, so now it’s the ink’s fault?” Robby let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve been back one shift, and you’re already making reckless mistakes. Jesus, Wilder, do I need to double check everything you do?”

Don’t take the bait.

Owen felt the heat rising in his chest, a slow, simmering anger beneath the exhaustion.

“No, it won’t happen again, Dr. Robinavitch.” Owen bit out.

Robby exhaled sharply, shoving the chart into Owen’s hands with more force than necessary. “Forget it. Just—pay better attention.”

Then he turned and walked off, leaving Owen standing there, pulse thrumming in his ears, frustration burning in his chest. He exhaled slowly, staring down at the tile floor without really seeing it. 

It wasn’t just that Robby was angry. It was the way he looked at him. Like he was a disappointment. Like he had expected Owen to screw up.

Owen forced himself to push it down. He had messed up. Robby was right to be pissed.

Still, it didn’t stop the bitterness that settled in his stomach as he turned back to work.

——

It was late when Dana found him in the breakroom.

He was sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. He hadn’t taken a sip.

Dana dropped into the seat across from him, her sharp gaze scanning his face. “Alright, spill. What’s up with you and Robby?”

Owen huffed a laugh. “You mean besides the fact that he seems to hate me?”

Dana tilted her head. “Hate’s a strong word.”

“Feels pretty accurate.”

She studied him for a moment before sighing. “Look, he’s been harder on people lately. It’s not just you.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Dana leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “It’s been like this for the last few years. He’s got more responsibility, more stress. And this month—” She hesitated. “It’s just… a rough one.”

Owen frowned. “Why?”

Dana’s lips pressed together before she said, “This month will be the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

The words landed like a weight in Owen’s chest.

Dr. Adamson.

A name he hadn’t heard in years, but one that had once meant so much.

Memories surfaced, of a man with a steady voice and kind eyes, a mentor who had guided them all through the chaos of the ER with such skill. He had been one of the best doctors Owen had ever known.

And he had been especially good to Robby.

Owen ran a hand through his hair. “I—I didn’t know.”

Dana nodded. “Four years ago. Hit Robby hard.”

Owen exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He remembered how Robby used to look up to Dr. Adamson, how the older doctor had been one of the few people who could get Robby to slow down, to actually breathe.

Losing someone like that, it made sense why Robby had been so upset.

Dana nudged his arm. “So, don’t take it too personally if he’s being an ass.”

Owen let out a quiet laugh. “What if he’s always an ass?”

Dana smirked. “Then, congrats, you’re officially back at The Pitt.”

Owen chuckled, shaking his head. But even as the moment lightened, his thoughts lingered on Robby.

Maybe this wasn’t just about the past. Maybe it wasn’t just about Owen leaving.

Maybe Robby was carrying a weight that had nothing to do with him at all.

Still, knowing that didn’t make the hurt sting any less.

Owen found Robby near the nurse’s station, hunched over a computer, pen tapping absently against a paper. His expression was tight, the shadows beneath his eyes deeper than they had been hours ago.

Owen hesitated, but Dana’s words echoed in his mind. 

Robby had been harsh, but maybe he wasn’t the only one carrying something heavy. Maybe Owen wasn’t seeing the full picture.

Steeling himself, he stepped forward. “Hey.”

Robby didn’t look up. “What?”

Owen ignored the irritation laced in his voice. “I, uh… I just wanted to say—I remember Dr. Adamson…”

Robby’s pen stopped tapping.

Owen continued carefully. “He was a good man. One of the best doctors I ever worked with.”

Robby’s grip on the pen tightened. “Yeah. He was.”

Owen swallowed. “I know it must be hard for you. I just… I wanted to acknowledge that.”

For a moment, Robby said nothing. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze, eyes dark and unreadable. “You wanted to acknowledge it?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

Owen frowned. “I just mean—”

“Don’t.” Robby snapped the pen shut with a sharp click. “Don’t pretend you understand.”

Owen’s chest tightened. “I’m not pretending, Robby. I worked with him too.”

Robby let out a dry, humorless laugh. “For six years. I worked with him for fourteen.”

Owen clenched his jaw. “That doesn’t mean I don’t get to miss him.”

Robby scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. And now you suddenly care about it?”

Owen’s stomach twisted. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” Robby snapped, stepping closer, his voice lowering. “Trying to ease your guilty conscience? Trying to smooth things over so we can all play nice?”

Owen exhaled sharply. “Jesus, Robby. Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

Robby didn’t answer. Just shook his head, turning away from him, and stalked off.

Owen stood there, fists clenched at his sides, chest tight.

That solidified in Owen’s mind what this was really about. Robby wasn’t just having a rough month. He was pissed that Owen was back.

Maybe he didn’t really belong here anymore after all.

——

Hours passed, and Owen buried himself in his work, trying to ignore the heaviness pressing against his ribs.

His next patient was an elderly woman with pneumonia, needing adjustments to her antibiotic regimen. He sat at a computer terminal, inputting the orders into The Pitt’s charting system.

The interface was different from what he’d used in LA. He had spent the past week reviewing it. His fingers moved quickly, checking boxes.

He barely had time to breathe before a sharp voice cut through the air.

“You put in the wrong medication.”

Owen turned, finding Robby standing behind him, arms crossed.

Owen frowned. “What?”

Robby moved past him, tapping at the screen. “She was administered azithromycin, not amoxicillin.”

Owen brought his face closer to the screen, trying to focus his eyes on the small writing in that particular section. It was a small error, easily fixable. He was going to get his glasses before he submitted anything anyway.

Robby let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “Damn, Wilder. You’re really on a roll tonight.”

Owen’s shoulders tensed. “I was going to double check. I just forgot my glasses at—“

Robby hummed, cutting him off. “Oh, sure you were.”

Owen exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the desk. “It’s a new system. Of course I would double check.”

Robby tilted his head. “Huh. Weird. Everyone else seemed to manage just fine.”

The words stung more than Owen wanted to admit. “Are you seriously implying I can’t do my job?”

Robby didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. The look on his face said enough.

Owen swallowed hard, heat crawling up his neck—not just from embarrassment, but frustration, and hurt.

Robby turned away, muttering, “Just fix it.” before turning to walk away.

Owen sat there, staring at the screen, pulse thrumming in his ears.

The words nearly slipped out then. ‘What the hell is your problem?’ But he already knew what Robby would say.

You left.

That’s what this was about, right?

Owen set his jaw, blinking hard. Screw this.

He found his glasses on the nursing station counter, corrected the order, logged out of the system, and left the desk without another word.

The hallway was quiet. A rare moment of stillness in the chaos of the ER.

Owen leaned against the wall, letting his head drop back, closing his eyes.

This was too much.

Too much anger. Too much exhaustion. Too much of feeling like he didn’t belong here anymore.

A voice broke the silence. “You look like hell.”

Owen cracked one eye open. Dana stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression softer than usual.

He let out a tired chuckle. “Thanks.”

She stepped closer. “You okay?”

Owen exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

Dana hesitated before leaning against the wall beside him. “Rough day back?”

Owen laughed dryly. “That’s one way to put it.”

A beat of silence passed. Then, quietly, he admitted, “I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”

Dana frowned. “Owen—”

“I mean it,” he cut in, voice quieter now. “Maybe LA wasn’t home, but at least there, I didn’t feel like an outsider. Like I wasn’t wanted.”

Dana’s face softened. “You are wanted.”

Owen scoffed, shaking his head. “Tell that to Robby.”

Dana sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “He’s complicated.”

Owen let out a breath. “Yeah. No kidding.”

Dana was about to say something else, but she knew there was nothing else she could say to make him feel better. Robby had been Owen’s person eight years ago. And Owen had been Robby’s.

——

Robby didn’t speak to Owen for the rest of the shift.

At first, Owen thought maybe he was just busy, preoccupied with patients, paperwork, or the million other things that always kept the ER running. But as the hours dragged on, he started noticing the pattern.

Robby wasn’t just busy. He was avoiding him.

Every time Owen entered a room, Robby seemed to find a reason to leave. If Owen approached the nurse’s station, Robby would suddenly become engrossed in a chart, head down, focused. The sharp comments, the frustrated sighs, the clipped tone, all of it was gone.

In its place was… nothing.

Owen wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

Now it felt like Robby had decided he wasn’t worth the energy. Like he’d made his peace with cutting Owen out completely.

And that hurt.

——

It had been days.

And Dana wasn’t stupid.

Owen could tell she’d noticed the shift by the way her eyes lingered on Robby whenever he left the room too quickly. The way she studied Owen, like she was assessing the damage.

And eventually, she’d had enough.

Owen had just finished up with a patient when he caught sight of her in the hallway, pinning Robby with a look.

Owen couldn’t hear what she was saying, but from the way Robby’s jaw tightened and his shoulders stiffened, he could guess.

Robby muttered something under his breath, turning to walk away, but Dana grabbed his arm.

This time, Owen caught her voice, low, but firm. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but stop taking it out on him.”

Robby pulled away. “I’m not taking anything out on anyone.”

Dana’s expression didn’t change. “Right. That’s why you’re acting like he doesn’t exist.”

Owen’s stomach twisted. He didn’t wait to hear the rest. He couldn’t.

Because if he stayed, if he stood there long enough, he might hear the truth. Might hear just how little Robby wanted him here.

So instead, Owen turned on his heel and walked the other way.

He tried to shake it off. Tried.

He told himself it didn’t matter if Robby wanted nothing to do with him.

This wasn’t about their friendship, or whatever was left of it. It was about the job.

So he threw himself into work.

And, surprisingly, it was Trinity Santos who pulled him out of his own head for a moment.

Trinity was an intern, a bright, eager presence in the ER, with a wicked sense of humor and a sharp mind. She was quick, both in learning and in wit, and despite the long hours, she never seemed to lose that spark of energy.

Owen liked her. She reminded him of what it had felt like, once, to love this job without hesitation.

She also had no filter.

“You know, Dr. Wilder,” she said one evening, smirking as they stood by the nurse’s station, “you’re kind of a big deal around here.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Oh, yeah.” She leaned in. “Half the staff is convinced you walked straight out of a medical drama.”

Owen chuckled. “That so?”

Trinity grinned. “Absolutely. Tall, broody, tragic backstory, you’re prime-time material.”

Owen laughed, shaking his head. “Tragic backstory?”

She shrugged. “Come on. Mysterious past and a haunted expression whenever you think no one’s looking—”

Owen groaned. “I do not have a haunted expression.”

Trinity raised an eyebrow. “My guy. You literally sighed dramatically earlier. Don’t deny it.”

Owen chuckled again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, maybe I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

Trinity grinned. “See? That’s tragic backstory energy.”

Owen rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. 

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robby watching.

——

The next time Owen crossed paths with Robby, it was in the hallway, in the middle of a shift.

They didn’t slow down as they passed each other, until Robby’s voice cut through the air.

“Making friends fast, huh?”

Owen frowned, stopping in his tracks, surprised that Robby was back to talking to him. “What?”

Robby turned slightly, expression unreadable. “Didn’t take long for you to become everyone’s favorite.”

Owen’s stomach sank.

There was something off about the way Robby said it, like an accusation, like he was pissed about something.

But Owen was too tired, too drained, to try and decode whatever the hell was going on in Robby’s head.

So he just exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you want from me, Robby.”

Robby’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Owen let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”

He turned to leave, but then stopped.

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was frustration, or maybe it was the fact that no matter what he did, Robby was never going to be okay with him being here.

But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I wish you’d just go back to ignoring me,” Owen said quietly, defeated. “I’m tired of the comments.”

Something flickered in Robby’s expression, just for a second. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

When he spoke, his voice was flat. “Consider it done.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Owen stood there, pulse thrumming in his ears, something breaking inside him.

——

The hospital was a blur of motion and sterile white walls, but Owen barely noticed anymore.

For the past few days, he had fallen into a pattern of silence, of mechanical movement. He worked without thinking, without feeling, his mind far too tired to hold onto anything resembling hope or desire.

When he’d first come back to Pittsburgh, he’d told himself he could fix things, fix everything. His life, his friendship, the gap he’d left behind when he walked away from this ER all those years ago. He had convinced himself that coming back would be enough to right his wrongs, to find peace. 

But now? Now, he wasn’t so sure.

There was no peace here. No forgiveness. No chance of reconciliation.

And no matter how much he wanted to believe things could go back to normal, he was starting to wonder if maybe it wasn’t possible with Robby. Maybe it never had been.

Owen spent his shifts immersed in work, allowing the constant crisis of the ER to swallow him whole. The beeping of monitors, the chaos of trauma cases, the hum of the fluorescent lights, it all blended together. There was nothing personal about it anymore, just the constant urgency, one task to the next.

He worked his cases, completed his rounds, assisted where needed, all the while trying to push his own emotions as far into the background as possible. He couldn’t afford to feel. Not now.

He’d let himself believe, for a moment, that maybe Robby could still care. That maybe there was hope. But the way Robby had shut him down, so completely, so coldly, had hammered the final nail in that coffin.

Owen wasn’t angry anymore. He was tired.

——

The Pitt was humming with its usual noises of shouts, rolling gurneys, monitors beeping in uneven rhythms, but to Owen, it all blurred into white noise. He was running on autopilot after his last three shifts, eyes heavy, brain sharp despite the fog. Something about the pace, the urgency, kept him moving.

He was just finishing a chart when—

“ETA three minutes,” someone called out. “Unconscious male, GSW to the chest from a robbery.”

Owen was already moving.

In the trauma bay, he yanked on gloves, pulling a gown into place. Robby was there too. Their eyes met for half a second, and something passed between them. Instinct, memory, heat. It fizzled before it could catch.

The doors slammed open. The paramedics rushed in with a man who was maybe late forties. Blood soaked his front. His skin was pale.

“GSW to the upper right chest,” one of the medics said, moving fast. “Lost consciousness en route—“

Owen couldn't concentrate on what the paramedic said next. 

The patient was wearing military dog tags.

 He was a vet.

Owen shoved the reaction down. Later, he told himself. Later.

The next few minutes were a blur of adrenaline and coordination. Oxygen. Pressure. Blood.

Robby and Owen worked in tandem like they hadn’t lost a beat from eight years ago. Each motion anticipated. Owen passed instruments, adjusted doses, moved with precision, like a dance they both knew by heart.

But the air between them was ice cold.

“His BP’s dropping again,” Owen said, glancing at the monitor. “Should we push another unit—”

“I’m making the calls.” Robby snapped, loud enough to cut through the chaos. “You don’t need to chime in every two seconds.”

The entire room stilled for a beat. Student Doctor Whitaker and a few of the nurses froze. Even the monitor seemed to beep more hesitantly.

Owen blinked. His mouth opened, then closed.

“I was just trying to—”

“I know what you were trying to do,” Robby cut in sharply, eyes fixed on the patient, voice cold. “Just move out of my way.”

Owen stepped back. His hands trembled slightly, but he clenched them into fists.

Eventually, the room regained its rhythm. But not for long.

Despite every intervention, every ounce of blood, everything they did, they lost him.

Robby called it at 15:37.

Everyone started to move out, quiet and professional, the usual aftermath of a failed trauma. The nurses left first. Whitaker, lingered uncertainly, but when Owen didn’t move, he quietly exited too.

Owen stood frozen. Staring at the body.

The man had bled out under their hands. He looked like someone Owen had known—James? Maybe. From Kandahar. Same jawline. Same haircut. Same hollowed out expression before the end.

The room smelled like copper and antiseptic, but he could make out the faint, phantom scent of sun-baked soil.

Robby stood off to the side, arms crossed. He didn’t say anything.

In the past, he would’ve come over. Put a hand on Owen’s back. Said something soft. Called him O, maybe. Asked if he was okay.

Now?

Nothing.

He watched for another moment, then turned and walked out.

Owen stayed.

He stood there for what felt like forever, watching the man’s chest that would never rise again. The ache in his own chest was familiar now, like the heavy hum of grief that had lived in him since his mother’s passing, since his deployment, since… well. Since he left Robby behind.

Eventually, he stepped out of the trauma room and into the hallway, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights.

Robby was standing by the nurse’s station, writing something down. His expression was blank, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the pen.

Owen slowed just enough as he passed him. He swiped a hand across his face, calming his haunted expression.

“I wasn’t trying to undermine you in there.” Owen said, voice quiet but hoarse. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Robby looked up. 

Owen’s eyes met his, wounded. “I know my place here.”

He brushed past Robby without waiting for a response.

The hallway felt too long. Too cold.

And behind him, Robby didn’t move.

——

The rest of the shift passed in a blur, the ER filled with the usual chaotic energy of emergency cases, but Owen felt as though he were moving through water. Everything felt like it was happening around him, but he was detached. No longer really part of it.

He saw Robby in passing a few times, but they never spoke. The tension between them was a constant hum in the background, a reminder that whatever had been left unsaid was now unsolvable.

Owen was grateful for the distance. He didn’t want to face the possibility of more confrontation. At least when Robby wasn’t looking at him, when he wasn’t snapping at him, Owen could almost pretend that things had never been different.

But it wasn’t enough.

By the end of the shift, Owen was mentally drained, the fog of exhaustion clouding his thoughts. He was halfway through signing off on a set of charts when he felt the familiar tug in his chest. The one that told him he had left something unfinished in his life. The unresolved ache that always seemed to be there, just beneath the surface, whenever he thought of Robby.

His hand froze mid-signature, his mind reeling as he thought back to all those years ago, the argument, the distance, the guilt that had never left him.

‘Maybe I should’ve just stayed in LA.’ He thought. ‘Maybe I wouldn’t feel like this if I had just stayed away.’

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the footsteps until Collins appeared beside him.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked, looking him over carefully.

Owen didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t talk about this, not with anyone. He already felt raw enough as it was.

“I’m fine.” he said again, his voice tight, and he could tell by the look on Heather’s face that she knew he was lying.

But instead of pressing him, She only gave him a sympathetic nod.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “But you should know, you’re not fooling me, Owen. You’ve been pulling away for a while.”

Owen wanted to brush her off. He wanted to tell her he was just tired or that it was nothing. But the words wouldn’t come, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he might break.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” He muttered, almost to himself.

Heather’s expression softened. “What, coming back to Pittsburgh?”

Owen nodded, his gaze shifting to the floor as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know if it was worth it,” he said quietly, almost ashamed of the vulnerability in his voice.

Collins didn’t say anything right away. She just placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“You can’t keep doing this on your own, Owen,” she said quietly. “You’re a part of this team, and that means you don’t have to carry everything alone. You can talk to me, always.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, and for the first time in days, he felt something stir inside him, a faint hint of something that wasn’t numbness.

“I don’t know what to do.” He admitted, his voice breaking slightly.

Heather nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “None of us do. But you don’t have to do it by yourself.”

Owen wanted to say something, wanted to thank her, but his voice caught in his throat. Instead, he simply nodded.

——

By the time Owen was ready to leave for the night, the hospital was quieting down, the constant flow of patients slowing.

As he walked through the ER, he passed Robby, who was still there, finishing up his own charting.

It wasn’t a dramatic encounter, just the barest exchange of glances. But something about the way Robby looked at him made Owen pause for a second.

Robby’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that Owen couldn’t quite place, something that tugged at him, something that made him feel like he was falling through the cracks.

But Robby didn’t say anything. He didn’t move toward him, didn’t speak.

Instead, he just turned back to his paperwork and continued working, as though he didn’t even see Owen.

And that was all it took.

Owen turned away, his heart sinking as he walked out of the ER.

——

Owen had been running on fumes for days now, but this—this was different. His exhaustion had burrowed deep, gnawing at his bones, dragging his every movement. Sleep had been a distant thing for weeks now, slipping just beyond his grasp every time he closed his eyes.

He told himself it was just the stress of adjusting, of settling back into a life he wasn’t sure he fit into anymore. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. The nightmares had been worse. The weight of everything he had seen, everything he had done, was pressing down harder than usual.

Still, he kept pushing through. He had to.

At least, until the gun went off.

The shots rang out—three, maybe four, it was hard to tell over the roaring in his ears.

The chaos of the ER erupted instantly. People screamed, scrambling for cover. Security tackled the man, struggling to get the gun away from him. The noise, the sheer, deafening noise, burrowed into Owen’s skull like a hammer striking metal.

His body locked up. His breath hitched, shallow and fast, and his hands dug into the desk, nails pressing hard against the surface as his vision tunneled.

No, no, no, not here, not now.

But his body had already decided for him.

The hospital around him warped, the walls stretching, shifting. The fluorescent lights overhead turned blindingly harsh, the air too thin, suffocating. The distant shouts of nurses and security melted into something else, something worse. Radio chatter, distant explosions, the rapid fire of gunshots tearing through the night.

He could smell it. The dirt, the smoke, the sweat. His uniform clinging to his skin, drenched in dust and blood.

His lungs squeezed.

He wasn’t in Pittsburgh anymore. He was there.

“Owen?” A voice, sharp and alarmed, barely broke through the fog in his head.

He was on the floor. When had he fallen?

His body was trembling, shaking as he gasped for air. His fingers dug into his scrubs, nails biting into his palms.

He felt hands on him, someone touching his shoulders, trying to steady him. Dana’s voice, firm but worried, cut through the haze.

“Owen? Hey, look at me. You’re having a panic attack. You need to breathe.”

Owen couldn’t breath. Couldn’t reply.

“Owen, honey? It’s ok, the bullets just hit the ceiling, everything is fine.”

This wasn’t helping. His breathing quickened.

Another voice, Dr. Collins this time, spoke calm but urgent. “We need to get him lying back before he passes out.”

Owen barely heard them. His mind was spiraling too fast, his chest squeezing tighter with every breath.

It was happening again. God, it had been so long since he’d had one of these. And in public? What a nightmare.

He thought he had gotten past this. Thought he had buried it deep enough that it wouldn’t resurface, that he wouldn’t be that broken, trembling version of himself anymore.

But the panic didn’t care.

He curled in on himself, gasping.

And then, through the blur of fear, his eyes locked onto one person.

Robby.

He was standing a few feet back, frozen, his hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to move but didn’t know how.

Owen’s stomach twisted. He needed—God, he needed—

His throat clenched, and it took every ounce of effort to force the words out, past the shaking and the gasping.

“I—need—”

Dana leaned in closer. “What do you need, Owen?”

His vision blurred, tears pricking behind his eyes. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to be this pathetic, but the panic was too much, clawing at his chest. His body was betraying him, and there was only one person who had ever been able to pull him back from the edge so easily.

“Robby,” he choked out. His chest heaved, breath jagged, pleading.

“I need— Robby.”

Silence.

For a moment, no one moved. Robby’s face shifted. Shock, hesitation, something else Owen couldn’t place.

Then, everything else faded.

Dana and Dr. Collins stepped back immediately, giving Robby space. He hesitated only a second longer before his instincts kicked in.

“Everyone, get back to work.” Robby ordered loudly.

Everyone turned and shuffled away, and for that Owen was grateful.

And then—

Robby was in front of him, kneeling down. His eyes softer than they had been in so long.

And just like that, the years fell away.

Owen barely registered the movement, but before he could stop himself, he pressed his shaking palm against Robby’s chest. Just like he used to.

Robby exhaled slowly, deliberately, and placed his own hands over Owen’s.

“Hey, O.” he said, voice low, steady. “Remember this?”

Owen could barely nod, his breath still coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“In and out,” Robby murmured, his voice the only thing keeping Owen grounded. He took a slow, deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling. “Follow me. Breathe with me.”

Owen tried.

Tried to match the steady rhythm of Robby’s breathing, tried to focus on the warmth beneath his palm, the solidness of Robby’s chest rising and falling.

It wasn’t immediate. It never was. But little by little, the panic started to loosen its grip.

Robby’s voice didn’t waver. “That’s it. Slow and steady.”

Owen’s body was still shaking, but his breaths were coming easier now, no longer strangled gasps.

Robby kept his hands over Owen’s, a silent, steadying force.

Memories crashed over him. Not of war, not of fear, but of this.

Of years ago, when Robby had always been the one to pull him back. When the shifts were bad, when the weight of everything became too much, when Owen couldn’t breathe, Robby had been there. Always.

And now, despite everything, despite the years and the distance and the anger. He still was.

Owen squeezed his eyes shut, the shame burning beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, his voice barely audible.

Robby’s fingers curled around his. “Don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

Owen let out a shaky breath, finally able to fill his lungs completely. The tremors in his body slowed. The world felt solid again.

Then the shame came crashing down like a tidal wave.

He hadn’t had an episode this bad in years. And now, in front of everyone, he had crumbled like a pathetic, broken thing.

And worst of all? The person who had pulled him back was the same man who had spent the last few weeks making it painfully clear that he didn’t want anything to do with him.

Owen’s fingers twitched against the fabric of Robby’s scrubs, but the second he realized where his hand still rested, where Robby’s hands still held onto him, anchoring him. He ripped away.

Robby’s eyes widened slightly, his hands freezing in midair where they had just been wrapped around Owen’s.

Owen forced himself to his feet, every part of him still humming with the remnants of adrenaline. His head was spinning, his stomach churning, and all he could think was that he needed to get out.

“I—” His voice cracked, raw and uneven. He shook his head, not trusting himself to look Robby in the eye. “I need to go.”

“Owen—”

He didn’t wait to hear whatever Robby was about to say. He turned, pushing past Dana and Santos in the hall, ignoring the concerned looks and whispered voices as he walked away.

Not ran. Just walked. Because if he ran, he’d really feel like a coward.

He pushed into the locker room, the fluorescent light flickering faintly above him as he sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

Soon, it had been twenty minutes since he left the floor, but his heart still hadn’t settled completely.

His fingers twitched, and he clenched them into fists. He hated this. Hated how weak he felt, how out of control everything had become.

He had thought coming back to Pittsburgh would save him. He thought, stupidly, naively, that maybe he could find some kind of home here again.

But tonight had made it glaringly obvious.

He didn’t belong here.

His hands trembled, and he forced them still. He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely heard the door creak open until footsteps echoed softly against the tiled floor.

He already knew who it was before he looked up.

Robby stood just inside the doorway, his face unreadable, tension rolling off him in waves. He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should come closer or not.

Owen let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “What? You come to tell me how much more of a mess I am?” His voice was rough, but he was so damn tired of this, of whatever game Robby had been playing with him since he got back.

Robby didn’t answer. He just exhaled slowly before walking toward him. He didn’t sit, just stood a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides.

Owen scoffed, looking away. “You don’t have to pretend to care, Robby. I get it, alright? I get that you—” His throat tightened. “I get that you hate me.”

Something flashed across Robby’s face. Pain? Guilt? Owen wasn’t sure. But still, he said nothing.

Owen huffed a humorless laugh. “You don’t deny it.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Owen dug his fingers into his thighs, grounding himself.

“Do you have any idea how hard the last few months have been?” His voice cracked slightly, and he hated it, but he couldn’t stop himself now. “Do you even care?”

Robby’s lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Owen swallowed hard, his chest burning. “I lost my mom, Robby.” The words came out quiet. “She was sick for years, and I—I did everything I could. I put my life on hold. I stayed in LA because she needed me.” He let out a shaky breath. “And then she died. And I was just… left there. With nothing.”

Robby’s face softened, his jaw tensing like he was physically holding himself back from speaking.

Owen let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I thought coming here would help. I thought—hell, I don’t know. Maybe I thought if I lost her, then at least I might still have you.”

The words spilled out before he could stop them. And God, did they hurt.

Robby inhaled sharply.

Owen laughed bitterly. “But I was wrong. Because clearly, I don’t have you either. Maybe I used to, but not anymore. And now I have no one.” His voice broke on the last word, and he immediately gritted his teeth, hating the weakness in it.

He forced himself to look at Robby then, really look at him. “So, congratulations. You win, Robby. I shouldn’t have come back.”

Silence hung between them like a thick, suffocating fog.

Robby’s hands clenched at his sides. Then—finally—he spoke.

Robby let out a shaky breath, raking a hand through his hair. His voice was quiet but strained, like he was barely holding himself together. “You think I hate you?”

Owen gave him a look. “Are you really gonna stand there and pretend you don’t?”

Robby closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before opening them again. And when he did, something broke.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, voice raw. He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “God, Owen, I could never actually hate you.”

Owen frowned, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Then what the hell has all this been? You’ve been treating me like—”

“Because I’m a coward,” Robby cut in, his voice sharp and full of self loathing. “Because I spent years trying to convince myself I didn’t feel this way, and then you left, and I was hurt, and I thought—” His voice faltered for a second before he pushed on. “I thought if I buried it, if I pushed it down deep enough, it’d go away.”

Owen’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

Robby let out a sharp, uneven breath, as he finally met Owen’s eyes.

“I’ve been in love with you.” Robby ran a shaking hand down his face. “God, for so long.”

Owen froze.

His breath caught, his entire body going rigid.

Robby gave a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s fucking stupid, right?” His voice was shaking. “I was too much of a coward to ever tell you, and then you left, and I thought—” He ran a hand down his face. “I thought it didn’t matter. That it’d go away. That I’d be able to move on.”

Owen felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him.

He stared, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His mind was scrambling to make sense of it.

Robby had been in love with him? For years?

Owen let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “You—” He shook his head. “You’ve been treating me like shit because you…?”

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” Robby said bluntly, his voice breaking.

Owen exhaled sharply, leaning forward, his hands gripping the edges of the bench like he needed something solid to hold onto. His thoughts were racing, colliding, breaking apart.

Robby had been in love with him.

Owen stared at Robby, heart hammering against his ribs. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, trying to process what had just been said.

Robby had been in love with him. For years.

The thought alone made his stomach twist in ways he couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t fear, or discomfort—it was something else. Something warm and unfamiliar that settled beneath his ribs.

And God, he wished he could say he hadn’t felt it too.

Because maybe he hadn’t realized it then, maybe it had taken this, this return, this loss, this aching mess between them, but now? Now, he knew.

Owen swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “You—” He exhaled, shaking his head with disbelief. “You have been acting like this, and the reason was because you were—”

Robby gave a small, humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Like I said. I’m a fucking idiot. And I was hurting.”

Owen tilted his head, studying him. The Robby in front of him wasn’t the sharp, cold version he had been dealing with for weeks. No, this was the Robby he remembered. The one who had always looked after him, who had always known how to pull him back from the edge. The one he had trusted, always.

His chest ached. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Robby huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Because you’re straight,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And I thought if I told you, you’d look at me differently. That I’d ruin everything.”

Owen felt his throat tighten. He had never really thought about it, how Robby saw him. How he must have spent all those years assuming there wasn’t even a chance.

And God, Owen wanted to be mad. He wanted to tell Robby how fucking stupid that was, how unfair it was to both of them. But instead, he let out a small breath and leaned forward slightly.

“Robby.” His voice was quieter now, softer. “You never would have ruined anything.”

Robby met his eyes, his expression hesitant, like he didn’t quite believe it.

Owen sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “And for the record?” He leaned back a little. “I never said I was straight.”

Robby blinked. Owen could practically see the moment his brain short-circuited. “You—”

Robby’s lips parted slightly, his eyes searching Owen’s like he was trying to make sense of what was happening.

And then Owen did something he probably should have thought through, but didn’t.

He closed the space between them.

It was tentative at first, just a whisper of contact, just a test. But the second their lips met, something inside Owen cracked wide open.

Robby froze for half a second. Then, suddenly, he was kissing back.

And God, he was warm.

Owen hadn’t realized how much he needed this, needed something solid, something real, something that made him feel grounded again.

Robby’s hands hesitated for just a moment before finally gripping the fabric of Owen’s scrubs, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on, but he wanted to.

Owen exhaled softly, letting himself lean in further, tilting his head to deepen the kiss just enough to make it real.

By the time they finally pulled apart, Robby was breathless. His lips were parted slightly, his cheeks a little pink, his eyes wide and so fucking soft.

And then, just like that, his expression crumpled.

“Jesus, Owen,” Robby whispered, shaking his head as if trying to pull himself back to reality. His voice was thick, unsteady. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Owen blinked, still dazed from the kiss. “Robby—”

“No.” Robby pulled back slightly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ve been awful. I’ve been cruel. I—” He exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before looking back at Owen. “I don’t even know how to explain it. I just—” His breath hitched. “You left. And I was so mad, and I never let myself say why. I just held onto it. And then you came back, and I—” He clenched his jaw. “I pushed you away because I didn’t know what else to do. I just—” His voice cracked, and for the first time since Owen had returned, Robby looked wrecked.

Owen’s chest ached.

Robby let out a breath, shaking his head. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.” He swallowed hard. “And I hate that I made you feel like you shouldn’t have come back. That I made you think I—” He stopped, like he couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “I don’t hate you, Owen. I never could. I—” He huffed a soft, bitter sigh. “God, I’m just so fucking sorry.”

Owen stared at him, his throat tightening. His first instinct was to snap back, to push—because he’d been hurting for weeks. But Robby looked so gutted that the anger just…faded.

Because this was the Robby he remembered.

The Robby who had always cared, even when he didn’t know how to say it.

Owen sighed, his voice quieter when he finally spoke. “You really were awful.”

Robby let out a soft sigh, nodding. “Yeah.”

Owen hesitated, looking down for a moment. “But…” He inhaled deeply, looking back up at him. “I forgive you.”

Robby blinked, his brows furrowing slightly like he couldn’t quite believe it. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Yeah well,” Owen admitted. “I still forgive you.”

Robby exhaled, looking at him like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Owen just shook his head and reached out, curling his fingers around Robby’s wrist, giving it a light squeeze. “We’re okay.”

And Robby let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years.

——

Owen never really thought he’d find himself here, with Robby, in this strange, unspoken place between friendship and something more. He wouldn’t call it dating, not exactly. There were no candlelit dinners, no official titles, no grand declarations. But there were long nights spent at Robby’s apartment, sitting close enough that their legs brushed, eating greasy takeout straight from the cartons. There were soft, lingering kisses in the quiet moments before Owen left for the night. There were texts at random hours that didn’t always say much but meant everything.

And then there was Robby himself.

It wasn’t just that he was softer now. It was the way he hovered.

Owen first noticed it when he got stuck with a difficult patient, an agitated man with a head wound who kept jerking away angrily from anyone who tried to examine him. Owen had dealt with plenty of difficult patients before, but the moment Robby walked by and noticed, he stopped in his tracks.

“Dr. Wilder,” Robby said, tone flat, but there was an underlying sharpness that wasn’t directed at Owen so much as the patient. “Need a hand?”

Owen barely had time to answer before Robby was stepping closer, arms crossed, his entire presence shifting. Gone was the Robby who kissed him in the dim light of his apartment—this Robby was stern, solid, immovable. He stared down the patient, jaw set, making it very clear that if the man tried anything, he wouldn’t get far.

The patient must have sensed it because, just like that, he stopped resisting.

“Jesus,” Owen muttered after the man finally let him work. He glanced at Robby, raising an eyebrow. “You trying to scare my patients into compliance?”

Robby didn’t even blink. “If it works.”

Owen rolled his eyes, but a warmth curled in his chest.

——

It wasn’t just Owen who noticed Robby’s shift in behavior, everyone did.

Dr. Collins, ever the observer, leaned against the nurses’ station one evening and stared as Robby casually placed a cup of coffee on Owen’s workstation without a word.

“Did he just—” Collins started.

“Yeah,” Santos whispered, watching as Owen picked up the cup, clearly unphased.

“But last month, he was practically biting his head off every time they were in the same room?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now he’s—”

“Bringing him coffee, yes,” Dana interjected, sounding far too amused.

The ER staff, known for thriving off chaos and gossip, had no idea what to make of this. Robby Robinavitch was suddenly a completely different person when it came to Dr. Wilder. He wasn’t just tolerating him; he was soft with him.

At first, no one dared to bring it up. But then one of the nurses made the mistake of whispering about it a little too loudly near Robby’s vicinity.

Robby turned, brow arching. “What?”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

The nurse froze. “Nothing.”

“Hm.” Robby gave a slow, deliberate nod, as if deciding whether or not to let it go. He must have, because he turned back to his work, leaving the staff wide-eyed and speechless.

——

The careful part of all this was what got to Owen the most.

It wasn’t just the way Robby looked at him now, or how he touched him, like he was memorizing every detail. It was how Robby was making up for everything in ways Owen didn’t expect.

Like not snapping at him anymore. Like not avoiding him. Like asking if he was okay and actually waiting for an answer.

But it also frustrated him.

Because this wasn’t really how they were. Robby had always been rough around the edges, quick-witted and sharp, never one to handle things too delicately. And Owen didn’t want him to treat him differently now just because of what had happened.

So, one night, after finishing their dinner in Robby’s apartment, Owen finally said it.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me, you know.”

Robby, who had been picking at his leftover fries, looked up, confused. “What?”

“You’re tiptoeing. Around me.” Owen exhaled. “I get why. But you don’t have to.”

Robby frowned, clearly torn between arguing and actually taking in what Owen was saying.

Finally, he muttered, “I just don’t want to screw this up again.”

Owen softened. “Then don’t. But don’t start acting like I’m fragile. Because I’m not.”

Robby studied him for a long moment, then finally sighed. “Okay.”

And just like that, the tension shifted.

Later, after too many old episodes of House playing in the background and the city lights casting soft glows across the apartment walls, Owen felt himself sinking.

He was exhausted. But, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave.

He turned his head slightly, glancing at Robby beside him on the couch. Robby looked relaxed in a way that Owen rarely saw, his arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, a piece of his hair sticking up from the side of his head.

Owen reached up, brushing it back before he could overthink it.

Robby stilled, looking at him with something that was both familiar and new.

And then, just like that, Owen kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Unrushed.

By the time they pulled apart, Robby’s expression was so open, so raw, that it made Owen’s breath catch.

“You staying tonight?” Robby asked, voice quiet.

Owen thought about it. Then nodded. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Robby smiled, just barely.

All Owen could do in response was kiss him again.

——

Time had passed, and things were good.

Owen was just trying to get through the shift without anything too dramatic happening. For once, the ER wasn’t a complete disaster. No gunshots, no brawls, no disasters waiting to unfold. He had two hours left before he could go home, shower, and curl up on Robby’s couch with whatever unhealthy food they were picking up tonight.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

He was standing at the nurses’ station, scrolling through patient charts on the computer, when a voice cut in from his right.

“You’re new around here, right?” The guy asked, flashing a confident smile.

Owen glanced up. A paramedic stood beside him, tall, broad-shouldered, confident. He recognized him vaguely, though they hadn’t spoken much before.

“New, but not really,” Owen replied. “I worked here years ago. Just moved back from LA.”

“LA?” The paramedic’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a hell of a place to come back from. You must’ve loved it there.”

Owen hesitated. Loved it? That wasn’t the right word. LA had been where he built his life, sure, but it wasn’t home.

“It had its moments,” he finally said.

“Bet you had people falling at your feet out there,” the paramedic joked. “A guy like you? You must’ve had your pick.”

Owen forced a laugh, uncomfortable now. “Something like that.”

It happened often enough—the flirting—not just from this guy, but from nurses, other doctors, patients, even random people on the street. He was used to it. He never encouraged it, but he was always nice, polite, brushing it off without being rude.

Before the guy could say anything else, Owen felt it.

That familiar, almost tangible shift in the air.

Robby.

Owen didn’t even need to look to know he was standing nearby, watching, listening.

He caught a brief glimpse, Robby walking past them with a stony expression, his grip on his coffee cup just a little too tight.

But instead of snapping, rolling his eyes, making some sarcastic comment, he said nothing.

He just kept walking.

Owen blinked, thrown off.

That was… new.

Owen forgot about the moment until later that night.

They were curled up on Robby’s couch, eating greasy takeout from containers that were probably one more bad decision away from giving them severe heartburn.

It had become routine at this point. Their nights spent not quite dating, but definitely more than just friends. It was a weird stage, not bad, just unknown.

Owen didn’t mind it. He liked this. He liked being with Robby.

But tonight, something was off.

Robby wasn’t eating much. He kept glancing at Owen, then looking away. His usual sarcasm was absent, his normal ease replaced by something else entirely.

Owen chewed his food slowly, watching him.

After a while, he spoke.

“You’re being weird.”

Robby scoffed. “I'm always weird.”

“Yeah, but you’re being weird-weird.”

Robby took a sip of his drink, still avoiding his gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Owen sighed, setting his food down. “Alright. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Robby.”

Robby still wouldn’t look at him. “Just drop it, Owen.”

Owen didn’t drop it.

Instead, he studied him carefully. Robby wasn’t usually one to sulk. He got angry, annoyed, sharp, but not this.

It wasn’t just about the paramedic, was it?

Owen thought back to the last few days—to the way Robby had been… different.

Softer. Gentler. But almost too careful.

Like he was scared of something.

And now, this?

“This is about earlier, isn’t it?” He asked.

Robby stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Owen tilted his head. “At the hospital. With the paramedic.”

That got him.

Robby’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling a little where they rested on his knee.

Owen watched him for a moment, then pressed. “Talk to me.”

Robby exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, okay? It’s stupid.”

Owen reached out, touching his arm. “It’s obviously not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

Robby finally met his gaze.

And what Owen saw there made his chest ache.

Something vulnerable. Something uncertain.

“It’s just…” Robby hesitated, visibly struggling to get the words out. “You could have anyone you wanted, Owen.”

Owen blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” Robby muttered, looking away “You have this whole fucking effortless charm thing, and everyone flirts with you. I mean you could have anyone in this city.”

Owen stared at him, speechless.

Robby shook his head, still not looking at him. “And I just—fuck, I don’t even know where we stand. We haven’t talked about it, and I don’t want to push you into anything, but—”

“Robby.”

Owen’s voice was soft, but firm.

Robby finally glanced at him, and Owen took the opportunity to wiggle closer to him.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Owen murmured, eyes warm.

Robby scowled. “Wow, thanks—”

Owen cut him off by pressing his hand to the side of Robby’s neck.

“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “I don’t care who flirts with me. I don’t care about whatever the hell anyone else thinks.”

Robby swallowed, saying nothing.

“I’m not planning on seeing anyone else,” he continued. “You don’t have to wonder about that.”

Robby inhaled sharply, his fingers gripping Owen’s waist now.

“You mean that?” He asked, voice almost hesitant.

Owen smiled.  “Yeah. I mean that.”

Robby exhaled shakily.

Owen kissed him, slow, warm, lingering. Robby melted against him, fingers curling into Owen’s shirt, holding him there.

Owen shifted closer, his hands tangling in Robby’s hoodie, his heartbeat steady and strong as Robby’s lips moved with his.

Owen could feel the tension draining out of Robby’s body, replaced by something softer.

Something that felt like home.

And as they finally broke apart, Owen smiled.

“You’re stuck with me, you know.” He murmured.

Robby huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I think I can live with that.”

Owen kissed him again, making sure Robby believed him.