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Dennis is trying to be everywhere at once.
Which, frankly, is no small feat: final year of med school, preparing for his graduation exams, working a job just to keep a roof over his head and, God help him, today is supposed to be his first day in the ER.
Any one of these things on its own would already be a challenge.
But there’s one small detail no one knows about.
One that makes everything so much harder.
Dennis is Spider-Man.
Night patrols. Fights. Saving people.
Sometimes it’s dislocated, sometimes cuts and bruises he has to patch up or stitch himself, sitting on the bathroom floor under a flickering light, because explaining to a doctor where all of that came from would be… too much.
Still, he usually tries to keep those two lives separate. Almost always.
The only thing he doesn’t quite understand is his neighbor across the hall. Robby.
They don't know each other well, they don’t even see each other that often. And yet, somehow, every conversation between them ends with this strange feeling like something is left unsaid, hanging in the air between them.
Robby is too observant. For some reason, he always notices how exhausted Dennis is. The way his gaze lingers on bruises Dennis didn’t manage to hide beneath long sleeves. Sometimes he makes comments about how normal people don't come home at four in the morning every night. And every single time, there’s something in his voice a mix of irritation… and concern.
It only makes the tension between them worse.
Dennis doesn’t understand why this guy pays so much attention to him at all.
Tonight turns out to be especially brutal.
Too many small incidents. Too many people needing help. And one especially nasty fight that leaves Dennis’ ears ringing and his arm in need of stitches.
By the time he's swinging home, the sky is already starting to lighten. The cold pre-dawn wind cuts against his face. The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and with it comes the exhaustion. It hits him hard and fast, without warning. Dennis manages to grab onto the familiar facade and haul himself up to the window. Just a little more. Get inside. Treat the wounds. Sleep for at least a couple of hours.
He's supposed to show up for his first ER shift as an intern this very morning.
He cracks the window open and slips inside and that's when his strength gives out. Completely. The floor tilts. The room spins.
One step.
Another.
Then he's falling.
He barely manages to pull off his mask before darkness swallows him whole.
When consciousness starts to return, the first thing he notices is that something is wrong.
The smell. This isn’t his apartment. It smells like coffee, cleaning supplies, something neat, almost sterile.
Dennis frowns, trying to move, but his body responds with dull, heavy pain.
Footsteps sound somewhere very close.
They stop right in front of him.
A short, tense, stretching silence.
Then a familiar voice. Low. Controlled. And, at this moment, very surprised.
“…Dennis?”
Awareness rushes back into place too fast. His eyes snap open, then immediately squeeze shut at the pain. But the ceiling isn't his. The window isn't where it should be. Neither is the furniture. And right in front of him is Robby. His neighbor. They stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Then Robby’s gaze drops to the mask, to the torn suit, to the blood on his gloves.
The silence becomes almost tangible.
Finally, Robby exhales slowly.
“…I’m starting to suspect,” he says dryly, “that you have some very unusual nighttime habits.”
Dennis tries to say something. But the words don’t come. His tongue feels numb, and the edges of his vision start to darken again.
And the last thought that flashes through his mind, sharp and almost hysterical:
Oh shit this is Robby’s apartment.
Dennis comes back to himself with a jerk.
The first thing he feels is pain, it pulsing in his side, pulling through his shoulder, echoing unpleasantly in his head.
The second is warmth.
A steady hand wrapped around his wrist.
He inhales sharply and opens his eyes. Robby is sitting right next to him, and Dennis is on a soft couch. One of Robby’s hands is holding his wrist, the other carefully tending to small cuts.
For a few seconds, they just look at each other again.
Too close. Definitely too close for neighbors, in Dennis' opinion.
And then realization hits him all at once.
One, his mask is off.
Two, Robby is sitting so close he can feel the heat of his body.
“You’re awake,” Robby says calmly.
His voice is steady. Almost professional.
But the tension in his fingers where they rest on Dennis’ wrist betrays him.
“I—” Dennis tries to sit up.
Robby immediately presses a hand to his chest.
“No. Don’t even think about it.”
It sounds like an order.
Dennis grimaces but still tries to argue.
“I need to go home.”
“You are home. Just in the apartment across the hall,” Robby replies dryly.
He carefully lifts the edge of the suit and starts cleaning another cut.
“And in case you didn’t notice, you’re bleeding all over my couch.”
Dennis looks down. There is blood, sure. But not that much.
“I’ve had worse,” he mutters.
Robby pauses for a second, then looks up at him.
That look is… too attentive.
“I don’t doubt that.”
He stands and disappears, presumably into the bathroom. A minute later, he returns with a proper first aid kit.A big one. Professional.
“Seriously?” Dennis breathes out.
“I like to be prepared for surprises.”
Robby sits back down. A little closer than before, it seems. Close enough that their knees are almost touching.
He pulls on gloves, opens antiseptic, takes out a needle, and says quietly:
“This is going to hurt.”
“I’ve handled worse. I’m a superhero,” Dennis snorts.
“You’re an idiot,” Robby replies calmly.
And he pours the antiseptic directly into the wound and starts stitching, stitch by stitch.
Dennis hisses through his teeth.
Robby doesn’t react. His movements are precise. Careful. Almost gentle. Every now and then, his fingers brush against Dennis’ skin. Each time, it sends a shiver down Dennis’s spine.
Dennis finds himself watching him. The way Robby frowns in concentration. How close his face is. How quietly he breathes.
“Is this how you spend every night?” Robby asks unexpectedly.
“Do you always patch up superheroes who break into your apartment through the window?”
Robby huffs a quiet laugh.
The thread tightens.
“I’m starting to understand why you look like a Victorian ghost child.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Dennis, you once fell asleep in the laundromat. On top of a washing machine.”
“That was one time.”
“Three.”
Dennis closes his eyes.
“That doesn’t count.”
Robby finishes the bandage and slowly pulls off his gloves.
For a few seconds, he just looks at him.
Too closely.
“You realize you could die out there, right?”
Dennis shrugs.
“People die every day.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I can't let them die when I have the power to save them”
Silence settles between them. Heavy.
Finally, Robby sighs and nods.
“Fine. You need to sleep.”
“I can walk home.”
“Dennis.”
That tone again. The kind that doesn’t leave room for argument.
Dennis gives in.
A few hours later, the ER is roaring like the whole city decided to break down at once.
Gurneys rattle down the corridors. Voices overlap. Monitors beep without pause.
Dennis stands at the registration desk, trying to look like someone who's slept more than forty minutes. He's failing miserably. His arm aches under the white coat. The bandage pulls with every breath.
“Intern?” a nurse asks.
“Not quite.”
“Doesn't matter, the others will be here soon.”
Dennis barely manages a nod. He adjusts his sleeve. The wound pulls, but it’s manageable. He’s dealt with worse.
Footsteps.
Confident. Steady.
Someone says:
“Oh, and here’s the attending!”
Dennis looks up and freezes.
Because Robby walks into the department.
With a badge.
He stops when he sees Dennis. Just for a second. A very brief one. But it’s enough. Their eyes meet.
And in that moment, it clicks.
Robby.
His neighbor.
Dennis feels something inside him tighten.
The man who stitched him up just a few hours ago. The one who saw him without the mask. Is the head of the emergency department where Dennis is about to intern.
“Alright. Let’s begin the shift.”
But when Robby walks past him, his fingers brush against Dennis's elbow for just a moment. A light, almost accidental touch.
It makes Dennis's breath catch.
And somehow, that makes it a lot harder for Dennis to focus on medicine.