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Dennis turns over onto his left side again, legs twisting under sheets for what feels like the fiftieth time in ten minutes. He huffs out an annoyed breath against his pillow.
He should be asleep. He’s finally warm and cozy in bed and he actually turned in as early as he could tonight. But his mind is racing. Thoughts of the day, of the last week of the year approaching, of Robby, tumble around and around in his brain, never breaking.
The image of Mrs. Sanders comes to mind again, still and quite as her husband sobbed next to her own bedside in Trauma 2. Dennis can’t shake it – the tremble of his hands, the brokenhearted tone of his voice as he begged for more time.
I just want more time. Please.
But December only lasts so long.
It’s that thought and the ever-present looming tick of the clock winding down the night and the year that has him reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
Dennis unplugs it from the charger, the bright light of his lockscreen flashing 1:55 am before he pulls up the only number, the only person he wants to talk to right now.
He clicks Robby, puts it on speak with the volume turned low and stares at the contact photo attached as it rings quietly through the dark night of his bedroom.
It's a picture Dennis took a few months ago - the silhouette of Robby’s back outlined by the warm light of his living room TV. They were eating dinner and watching a Sixers game when Robby leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, reaching for his beer. You can see the side of Dennis’ foot in the bottom corner, propped up on the coffee table. He snuck it quick before Robby could lean back next to him and advise against it.
Probably not a smart idea to have a picture of your boss/secret boyfriend set as his contact photo but Dennis’ll blame it on the alcohol if ever confronted. And maybe he wants someone to point it out, maybe he’s tired of hiding.
Before Dennis can go down memory lane and reminisce over how wonderful and tricky the last six months have been since they got together, the man himself picks up his phone.
“Dennis?” He asks, voice groggy and heavy with sleep and confusion.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Dennis says, already feeling better at just the sound of his voice. He sits his phone down on the edge of his bed, by his elbow. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
He hears the shuffling of bedsheets over the phone as he beats himself up over the head with the stupidity of that question. The crackling of static and the sound of Robby’s glasses hitting the wood of his own nightstand follow.
“What time is it?” Robby asks, voice still rough and low.
Dennis closes his eyes and can almost imagine he’s in his bedroom with him. He pictures the soft deep blue of Robby’s covers, the dark wood of his furniture, the ring stains from mugs on the desk, the books piling up waiting to be read. The smell of him everywhere.
He drops his voice low to match like if he tried hard enough he could just quietly slip through the phone and into the bed beside him without the other man objecting or noticing.
“Almost 2.” He says, simply.
“What’s wrong?” Robby says, voice suddenly a little more awake. He hears another rustle of sheets over the static.
“Nothing.” Dennis reassures quickly and then feels like an idiot again for making it seem like this was any other type of emergency than one of his heart being too big. “I’m sorry. I just- I can’t sleep.”
And I miss you and I wish that I was there with you now. I wish I’d had the courage to ask. I wish I was with you all the time. Twelve hours a day doesn't seem to be enough.
“Yeah?” Robby says, relief and that soft indescribable tenderness that he has when they’re in bed together appears in his voice. A faint groan escapes his lips and Dennis pictures him relaxing back into his sheets, dark brown meeting blue. “It was a long day.”
Things were busy in the ED from the moment their shift started. A couple MVAs in the morning turned into half of a local retirement center coming in with flu complications in the afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Sanders were the only unlucky ones. It was one of the few times Dennis saw Robby all day and even through their moment of silent reflection, Dennis couldn’t find the words in his throat to ask if he could come over after.
“Yeah, it was.” He says, agreeing quietly. Something about hearing Robby breathing over the line yet not being able to see his face makes him feel like he’s finally slipped into some kind of dream. One he’s not sure isn’t a nightmare yet with the rush of visions from this afternoon playing in between them. “I wish it had ended differently. I can’t stop thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Sanders.”
“Hey.” Robby says, softly and with a low exhale. Dennis can almost hear the way his mouth moves up in a sorrowful twist, can almost see the way his eyes drop in sympathy. “You couldn’t...”
“I know.” He says quickly, interrupting because he does know. He’s played it over and over again but his body just doesn’t seem to listen. “I know we couldn’t do anything.”
“But.” Dennis continues, grasping at the words and the feelings flailing his heart open. The grief tastes bitter. “To end the year like that. Losing your wife, your partner. He just watched her die and we couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
His chest hurts so bad he suddenly has to raise a palm to his sternum. The pressure eases but the pain, the memories, the hopeless and selfish part of his brain rattles.
He wants more time too. He wants Robby and him to have a future that lasts fifty more years and ends up with him begging for fifty more.
“I know.” Robby echoes softly, and its like he’s answering more than one question. Like he’s comforting more than one grievance. “Those are always the hardest.”
“Yeah.” Dennis whispers, breath catching in his throat.
They sit a moment in heavy silence, the kind that is not awkward but filled with the yet spoken weight of your heart’s deepest desires. He buries the side of his face into his pillow as they come tumbling out of his mouth.
“I just want more time.” Dennis quotes reverently and feels a tear collect under his eye and dampen the fabric of his pillowcase. “He had fifty years and he just wanted five more minutes.”
Robby’s voice comes out just as soft as before and just a touch shaky. “Puts a lot into perspective.”
“Can you imagine having fifty years with someone?” He asks before he can even think. His heart hammers in his chest, unconscious and yet aware of the confession. “And still not thinking it’s enough time?”
“Yeah.” Robby whispers and Dennis can hear him take a quick deep breath. His voice shakes a little but there’s an audible tick of his lips that lets Dennis know he’s smiling even now. Goosebumps appear over his arms at the sound, drifting up his neck and leaving his whole body tingling. “I can.”
Dennis’ chest cracks open again, and he can not clutch any of the emotions that come flowing out like blood this time. They seep through his hands, down into his sheets staining his whole body, his whole bed, his whole room. His whole world is reduced to one word. It’s the only thing that sticks.
“Robby.” He says, voice shaking.
His voice thickens over the line and Dennis closes his eyes, seeing Robby’s own beautiful brown gaze glistening. “I know, baby.”
“I wish things were different with us, too.” Dennis says, finally gripping at all the secrets of his heart that he’s kept locked up since the first moment his eyes met Robby’s. Since the first moment their lips touched. “I wish we didn’t have to hide. I wish I was there with you now. Right beside you.”
“Then come over.” Robby says, quick and breathless. “We can talk face to face.”
And yet the reality sits in the air, over the distance between Robby’s house and the one Dennis still shares with Trinity. He remembers it’s 2am and pitch black and that they both work tomorrow. Something about the lightness that’s appeared in his chest has him giggling silently, smiling deliriously into his pillow.
“It’s funny.” He says, breathless himself. Dennis revels in this new chapter of their lives, in this new spoken truth. Maybe he is dreaming after all. “I’ve wanted to say this to you for weeks, months, since that very first shift. I can only seem to admit it over the phone in the dark.”
There’s silence on the other end, not even a rustle of the sheets or an exhale of breath. It’s so long before Robby speaks that in any other circumstance, Dennis would have been worried.
“When I got home a couple hours ago,” Robby starts, clearing his throat. His voice is soft and low and a little rough just like it was when he answered the phone. “I kept walking back and forth to the doorway looking for your shoes. You always leave them flung across the mat instead of by the rack. I kept finding myself going to right something that wasn’t even there.”
Robby lets out a small bewildered laugh and Dennis can only listen and memorize the sound, struck speechless.
“I have all these blankets and pillows on the bed that I never use.” He says, and a rustling of a pillow can be heard along with his smile. “I’ve got orange juice in the fridge that you know I don’t touch.”
Dennis breathes out a laugh of his own and then delights when their voices mix and harmonize together. He thinks about the face Robby makes every morning he’s there and has a glass of juice and tries to kiss him after. The squint of his nose, the shake of his shoulders, the way he melts and accepts the affection anyway.
“You’ve dug out your own space here next to me already without realizing it.” Robby says, pride and awe in his tone that thickens his voice. “I guess I’ve been scared of ruining that by saying it out loud.”
It’s a feeling Dennis understands, it being the same reason he himself hasn’t spoken up about wanting to be out. They’ve been together since the summer, since after he started his residency and while they both agreed to keep it quiet and on the down low it’s been Robby who’s been a little more strict and decisive about no one at work knowing. He didn’t want anyone thinking Dennis slept his way up or have anyone think there was any favoritism being shown even though Dennis works with Dr. King more often these days than he does with Robby.
“There’s a point I get to in every relationship I’ve been in.” Robby says, voice still low with emotion but with an added hint of self loathing. “I shut down or the other person taps out or we both lose the interest to even try anymore.”
“But it’s only gotten better with you.” He says, and Dennis feels his heart stitching itself back together. The irony makes him grin. “I just didn’t want to pop that bubble.”
“You couldn’t.” Dennis whispers, thinking that no words has he ever said have ever been more true.
Robby laughs softly in his ear, still a little disbelieving and it makes him want to curl up in his arms and kiss away any doubt.
“I’m sorry.” He says, a rustling of the sheets accompanying the sound of his voice like he’s preparing for Dennis to appear and do exactly what he was just thinking. “I should’ve told you all this a long time ago, too.”
“It’s okay.” Dennis says, voice still a reverent whisper. Timing is everything, it seems. He has learned to notice when it’s divine. “We both just needed a little time. To build up the courage.”
He hears Robby’s smile and aches to trace the lines that appear on his face every time he does.
“I guess so.” He murmurs, quietly.
Dennis can sense the three little words floating across the static between but he doesn’t reach for them. Not yet. He doesn’t want to imagine or remember what Robby’s smile looks like when he hears it, how soft his eyes glow. He wants to be able to touch them the next time he tells him he loves him.
“How about I pick you up in the morning?” Robby continues after a moment, voice still low and as soft as the pillow still under his head. “We can get some breakfast and talk more before our shifts start. Figure out a time we want to disclose.”
Dennis smiles so wide into his pillow that the material dips, the fabric straining. He’s sure he’s fallen asleep already and he’s dreaming the night away. He didn’t realize it would feel this good.
“Really?” He asks, almost embarrassed by the joyful surprise that’s obvious in his voice.
Robby chuckles, wonderfully tender and teasing. “Yeah, really.”
“Okay, yeah. Yes.” Dennis says, tripping over words in sync with the sudden rapid beat of his heart again. This time, his chest doesn’t hurt. It’s as happy and warm as he can remember being. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.” Robby says, light as air.
It’s like a rubber band snaps, the blink of a moment passing into another and another and Dennis’ eyes blink slowing with every breath, falling faster and deeper. His heart beating steady and the pounding lulling him into a tranquility the same way hearing Robby’s breathing slowing down on the other end of the line is doing.
“Can you stay on the phone until I fall asleep?” He asks, his voice coming out no louder than a mumble. He pulls his covers in tighter around himself, taking a deeper breath than he has since he stared at Robby’s contact photo before this conversation even started. “Just a little longer.”
“I'm not going anywhere, baby.” Robby says, voice drifting over the line like a long caress of his fingers. “We have all the time in the world.”
And the last thing Dennis remembers thinking before falling into that long awaited sleep is this:
I believe him.