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Robby hadn’t meant to end up here.
He’d driven until the city lights thinned out, until the stress from the hospital felt far enough behind him that he could breathe again.
The neon sign for the club glowed in the dark — the kind of place where the windows were blacked out and the parking lot was full of trucks.
He figured it was anonymous enough.
Loud enough.
Forgettable enough.
Inside, the bass thumped through the floor, and the crowd was rowdy in a way that made it clear this wasn’t a place for subtlety.
Robby kept his head down, ordered a drink, and tried to disappear.
Then the next performer stepped on stage.
And Robby forgot how to breathe.
Dennis — Dennis Whitaker — walked into the spotlight wearing almost nothing, confidence rolling off him in a way Robby had never seen at the hospital.
The crowd roared. Dennis grabbed the pole, swung, and the lights caught his face.
Robby’s heart slammed into his ribs.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Couldn’t.
Dennis didn’t see him — he was too focused, too in the zone, too busy being someone magnetic and breathtaking and completely unexpected.
By the time the set ended, Robby’s drink was still untouched.
He found the man with the clipboard. “Private room,” Robby said, voice low. “The last dancer.”
The man nodded. “Room three.”
Robby followed him down a hallway lit in red. A bouncer stood behind a curtain that was mostly open in the corner of the private room, arms crossed, watching everything with the bored vigilance of someone who’d seen too much.
Robby sat on the couch, pulse hammering.
Then the curtain drew back.
Dennis stepped inside — and froze.
“Robby?” His voice cracked. “What—what are you doing here?”
Robby stood, stepping toward him. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Dennis stepped more into the room, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t expect anyone from work to ever come here.”
Before Robby could respond, the bouncer coughed — loud, pointed.
Dennis glanced over. The bouncer gave him a look that said get to work or management will be on your ass.
Dennis rolled his eyes. “They’re strict,” he muttered under his breath. “If I don’t actually dance, they dock my pay.”
Robby’s jaw tightened. “Dennis—”
“I know,” Dennis said softly. “Just… let me get through this part.”
He stepped closer, guiding Robby back onto the couch. His hands trembled just a little as he started the dance — slow, hesitant, nothing like the confidence he’d shown on stage.
Robby’s breath caught. “Dennis… why are you doing this?”
Dennis let out a shaky exhale, still moving because the bouncer was watching like a hawk. “Medical school loans,” he murmured. “Rent. Groceries. Everything my resident salary doesn’t cover. I’m not ashamed of it, but I didn’t want anyone at the hospital to know.”
Robby’s voice dropped. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”
Dennis paused mid‑movement, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Robby, I don’t have a choice and—”
“Quit.”
Dennis blinked. “I can’t. I make good money here. I need it.”
“I’ll cover it.”
Dennis froze completely now, dance forgotten. “You’ll… what?”
“I’ll pay whatever you make here,” Robby said, steady and certain. “Every week. Every month. Whatever it takes. Just don’t do this anymore.”
Dennis stared at him like he’d spoken another language. “Why would you do that?”
Robby swallowed. “Because I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.”
The music thumped faintly through the walls.
The bouncer shifted, watching them more closely now that Dennis had stopped moving.
Dennis leaned in — slow, hesitant, giving Robby every chance to pull away.
Robby didn’t.
Their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, like something they’d both been holding back for far too long.
Dennis’s hands slid to Robby’s jaw. Robby’s fingers curled into the fabric at Dennis’s waist, pulling him closer.
The bouncer lunged forward instantly.
“Hey! No kissing. No touching. You know the rules—”
Dennis didn’t even look at him.
“Fuck off,” he snapped, breathless but firm. “I quit.”
The bouncer blinked, thrown off. “You what?”
“You heard me.” Dennis grabbed Robby’s hand. “I’m done.”
Robby stood, still stunned, still breathless. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Dennis nodded, squeezing his hand once before grabbing his stuff and following him out the door, past the bouncer, past the red lights, past the noise and the neon and the life he never wanted to come back to.
Outside, the night air hit cool and clean.
Dennis exhaled like he hadn’t breathed in months.
Robby opened the passenger door of his truck. “Come home with me.”
Dennis slid in without hesitation.
And everything else — the club, the noise, the past — stayed behind them.