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Dennis is walking past West 12 on his way to refill his coffee mug when he hears what sounds like an increasingly disgruntled patient.
“I told you, I don’t need one! I don’t even have a uterus!”
Dennis pauses, debating whether or not to stick his head into the room. He’s not sure who’s working with the patient, doesn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. But he’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on and he can probably smooth this over. He sighs and pivots, rapping on the doorframe.
Ogilvie turns, a mild look of panic in his eyes. On the exam bed is a Latino man looking extremely annoyed, his brow furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. Dennis sends him what he hopes to be a placating smile and grabs Ogilvie’s arm to drag him closer to the doorway.
“What is going on?”
Ogilvie points to the computer screen where the patient’s chart is up. “The biological sex marker is F. Trans men are still at risk of pregnancy.”
Dennis sighs, scrolling through the patient’s surgical history. He taps the screen. “Right, but not one who’s had a full hysterectomy and a phallo. You need to read the full history on a patient’s chart, Ogilvie.” He closes his eyes for a couple seconds and sighs. “Why don’t you let me take this one?”
Ogilvie’s eyes widen slightly. “Um, ok. Yeah, thanks.” He hurries out of the room.
Dennis presses his lips together so he won’t smile when he hears the patient behind him mutter, “thank god.” He scans the patient’s – Tony’s – chart and his admitting complaint then turns to face him.
“Hi there, I’m sorry about that. I’m Dr. Whitaker. Can you tell me what brings you in today?”
Tony sighs then nods. “I’ve been having belly pain for a couple of days. It started off like a dull throbbing, but now it’s kind of sharp? Almost like I’m being stabbed, but from the inside.”
Dennis hums and snaps on a pair of gloves. He checks Tony’s breathing and heartrate, both a little high, but still in the normal range.
“I’m gonna have you lay back for me so I can check your abdomen. I’ll just use my hands, and I can do it over your clothes.”
Tony waits a beat but then swings his legs up so he’s lying back on the exam bed.
“Ok, thanks,” Dennis says. “Now, I’m going to press down on your belly in specific spots. You tell me if anything hurts.”
Dennis starts at the upper quadrant to ease Tony into the exam. “You having any other symptoms that are weird for you? Like, vomiting, change in appetite, trouble sleeping?”
Tony nods. “Yeah, I haven’t felt as hungry since the pain started. I’ve also felt a little sick, I guess, but no vomiting.”
Dennis nods and presses down on Tony’s lower right quadrant. When he lifts up, Tony hisses, clearly in pain.
“Yeah, that hurts, man.”
“Ok, you can sit up now,” Dennis says, taking a step back. “I’d like to do a couple of tests to rule out a kidney issue – sorry, you will need to do a urine test, but we won’t have to check for pregnancy.”
Tony rolls his eyes, but his mouth curves up in answer to Dennis’s smile.
“I’m going to confer with someone about my findings, but we might be looking at appendicitis.”
“Does that mean surgery?”
Dennis shakes his head. “Not necessarily. If it’s early enough, we can pump you with some antibiotics instead.”
Tony looks relieved. Dennis isn’t sure if it’s the surgery part or maybe the finances part. He makes a mental note to check in with Noelle in case there’s anything to do about the cost or payment plan.
“I’ll be back in a little while and I’ll send a nurse in to get the samples for the lab tests. Sit tight, Tony, and I’ll see you soon.”
Tony nods in thanks and Dennis steps out of the room, pumping the hand sanitizer twice and rubbing it into his hands. He heads toward the central hub to find a nurse and see if he can find a senior resident or Dr. Al-Hashimi. He practically runs into Cassie coming out of the North corridor and quickly runs his presentation by her.
After finding no results that indicate kidney issues, Tony goes up for a CT, and the images show a clearly inflamed appendix. Dennis discusses the options with Dr. Al-Hashimi and they agree that at this point, it’s worth starting with antibiotics, but they discuss it with Tony to make sure he’s aware of the risk of the infection coming back.
“Yeah, I’d like to try it. Can’t really afford that kind of surgery right now. Money-wise or time-wise,” he says, sliding off the exam bed. “And, hey, thanks, Dr. Whitaker. I mean it. I’m real grateful you stepped in to help. Finding a doctor who knows what the hell he’s doing is a godsend. I’ll tell my friends about you for sure.”
Kim sweeps in to do the final discharge as Dennis and Dr. Al-Hashimi walk out of West 12. Dennis had hoped to avoid a conversation, but when Dr. Al-Hashimi not so subtly steers him toward the breakroom, he groans internally.
“So… what was that about?” she asks, her eyebrows halfway up her forehead.
Dennis waves a hand. “Just… well, the patient is trans, but his initial provider had some, er, trouble with communicating with him.”
She fixes him with that penetrating stare that always makes him feel like he should be reciting muscle groups or all the bones in the foot for a pop quiz.
“Can you elaborate on that?”
Dennis sighs and explains what had happened. Dr. Al-Hashimi looks at him thoughtfully.
“You know, Dennis, I’m glad you were there to step in. I know that working with some minority groups is an area that needs improvement at PTMC.”
Dennis snorts then clamps his lips together in a flat line at Dr. Al-Hashimi’s sharp look.
“Would you be willing to do some kind of seminar around trans issues? You know, dos and don’ts, that kind of thing, for the staff? I think it would be very valuable professional development for them.”
“What, like, teach people how not to be ass – er, jerks to transgender patients?”
It looks like Dr. Al-Hashimi is struggling not to smile. “Yes, exactly. What do you say?”
Dennis scratches the back of his neck. “Can I think about it?”
She nods, her lips curving into a patient smile. “Of course. Let me know your answer by the end of the week?”
She rises then and leaves him in the breakroom with his thoughts.
***
“I don’t know, Huckleberry. Sounds like a win-win. You get to put something cool on your C.V. and also get to yell at people higher up the food chain than you. What’s the downside here?”
Trinity continues tapping at the keyboard, making notes in the patient chart. Dennis rolls his eyes.
“Because then that’s what I’ll be known for: the trans resident. I mean, I’m not really hiding it, but I feel like I don’t get clocked for being trans. Gay, maybe, but not trans.”
Still typing, Trinity looks over at him with her eyebrows high. “Gay, maybe?”
“Shut up,” Dennis mumbles, shoving her arm. “I just wish I could talk it over with Dr. Robby first before I make a decision. It’s not that I don’t like Dr. Al-Hashimi, just. You know. Haven’t known her as long.”
Trinity nods, then twists her mouth. “What about Dr. Abbot?”
“What, asking him instead?”
“Duh. You liked working with him on night shift, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”
“Again with the maybe,” Trinity says, rising from the seat and logging out of the station. “I’m gonna go grab something from the board. Wish me luck that it’s a triple A or something equally cool.”
Dennis rolls his eyes at her again, but doesn’t comment. He turns her suggestion over in his mind. Asking Dr. Abbot really is not a bad idea. He did enjoy his time on the night shift, and Dr. Abbot’s no-bullshit manner would probably help clarify the pros and cons.
He finishes the rest of his shift mostly putting Dr. Al-Hashimi’s request to the side, instead focusing on the patients he picks off the board and the handful of traumas he assists on. He’s coming out of Trauma One after the MVC patient he’d been working on with Cassie heads up to surgery, when Dr. Abbot walks in from the ambulance bay, his camo backpack on one shoulder. Dennis isn’t surprised to see him almost an hour before his shift starts.
“Oh, hey, Dr. Abbot?” Dennis hurries to catch up to him.
Dr. Abbot looks over at Dennis and nods. “What’s up, Whitaker?”
“Could I talk to you for a second?”
“Something wrong?” Dr. Abbot says, setting his backpack up on the central hub counter. Dana takes it for him and slides it under the counter next to her chair.
“I don’t think so. I mean, no.”
Dr. Abbot’s eyes narrow a little and he scans them up and down Dennis’s body, like he’s checking for injuries. He jerks his head toward the gap between the Central and West rooms and Dennis follows him to the coffee station.
“What’s up?” Dr. Abbot says again, his voice lower, when they stop next to the coffee counter.
Dennis shifts his weight back and forth on his feet, starting to feel stupid for making such a big deal about this. But he explains what had happened with Ogilvie’s patient and Dr. Al-Hashimi’s training idea.
“I’m just… I mean, if Dr. Robby were here, I’d ask him, but.”
Dr. Abbot hums, filling a disposable cup with coffee that must be slightly burnt by now. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to ask me, Whitaker. So.” He fixes Dennis with an intense gaze. “Do you want to do it?”
“Uh, well. I don’t know. I mean, I think it’d be helpful for – ”
Dr. Abbot cuts him off. “Ah-ah, that’s not what I asked. Do you want to do it?”
Dennis pauses, letting himself think through the potential outcomes: being too visible, maybe getting picked on more, but then also helping patients, finding something good about his own varied experiences with healthcare providers.
“I… I think so.”
“No one’s holding a gun to your head here. It’s a big ask. Obviously, I don’t understand all the potential downsides, but I know it’s not cool to ask people in marginalized groups to educate the rest of us.” He huffs out a laugh that sounds a little bitter. “God knows I fucking hate being a disability PSA sometimes.”
When his eyes find Dennis’s again, they’re warm, full of understanding. Dennis feels his shoulders relax and takes a full breath. He nods.
“I want to do it.”
Dr. Abbot nods back at him. “Ok. I’ll talk to Dr. Al-Hashimi, see what we need to do to set it up.” He takes a step away, then stops, putting his hand on Dennis’s shoulder. “You change your mind, you feel uncomfortable, anyone gives you shit, you come to me. I mean it.”
Dennis nods quickly. “Yeah, uh, yep. Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
Dr. Abbot huffs another laugh, this one considerably less bitter, and squeezes Dennis’s shoulder before dropping his hand. “You can just call me Abbot, kid.”
Dennis’s brain might do a hard restart as the attending walks away, a little speech bubble with “kid” floating in the air above where Abbot had been standing. He shakes his head to clear it, scoffing at himself.
It had taken him months to shake his crush on Dr. Robby. No way is he going down that road again. He turns back toward the central hub. There’s probably enough time to grab another patient before the rest of the night shift show up.
***
“Oh my god. What the hell.”
Dennis is ready for the ground to swallow him up. Maybe he should wear a paper bag over his head. Or, between the two of them, maybe he and Trinity can tear each one of the posters down if they hurry.
“Look, there’s another one up down there!” Trinity points with one hand, the other slapped over her mouth to stifle her guffaws.
Dennis moans, rubbing his hand down his face. Adorning what seems to be every 15 feet of hallway at the Pitt is a poster for his upcoming talk on trans issues in healthcare. The posters feature his face prominently. It looks like someone had taken his ID badge picture and photoshopped it to look like an author photo on the back of a dust jacket. They’d also put him in a range of backgrounds. One poster shows Dennis in a sterile medical suite, another in a park for some reason, and another in a boardroom.
“Fuck me,” Dennis whines.
“Looking good, Whitaker,” Jesse says, winking at him, as he walks by with some blood samples.
“I’m never going to live this down.”
“Nope!” Trinity says gleefully as they head down the locker hallway.
Dennis has mostly resigned himself to the mockery his coworkers will inevitably bestow upon him as he approaches the central hub.
“I like the outdoor version. It’s whimsical,” Perlah says to Princess.
Princess hums. “I don’t know. The executive suite one is pretty good. Though it makes it seem like our dear Whitaker has turned traitor, traitor, administrator.”
Perlah snorts and they both turn to face him at the same time after sharing a sharp smile between themselves.
“Please don’t make me more miserable than I already am,” Dennis says, dropping his head onto his crossed arms on the counter.
Princess reaches over and pats his shoulder. “We do it because we love you.”
“At least the talk is next Friday, so you’ve only got a week and a half until the posters come down,” Trinity says.
Dennis turns his head toward her, his eyes narrowed. She does seem a little contrite, but there’s a sparkle in her eye. Dennis pictures walking into his room after a shift next weekend, his room plastered with all the posters Trinity manages to save from the garbage. There’s no way she won’t take advantage of his misery in some way. He groans and stands up straight, pushing off the counter.
“Can we just do rounds?”
“Ay, there’s our poster boy!” Ellis comes up to them from the South corridor, flanked by Shen, who’s drinking from an iced coffee that’s only half-gone.
“Can we not?” Dennis asks, scratching his nose.
“I’ve never known someone famous before,” Shen says, taking another drink. “Can I have your autograph?”
“All right, all right, boys and girls, and, uh, everyone who’s not one of those things, which is fine,” Abbot calls as he approaches the counter.
It’s the final straw and Dennis can’t help when, “What the fuck,” slips out. He feels his cheeks heat up and he clears his throat as Abbot raises an eyebrow at him.
“Just trying to be inclusive,” Abbot says.
“Oh, there’s loads of things you can go with,” Trinity jumps in. “Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. Folks. Comrades.”
“Friends and enemies,” Ellis offers.
“Esteemed colleagues,” Shen says.
“Ok, ok,” Abbot says, holding up his hands. “Thank you for the suggestions, I’ll put them in the comment box. Let’s round.”
The shift starts off normal, aside from a handful of remarks from coworkers and one or two from patients who recognize him from the posters. Dennis is most amused by the people who ask him what kind of expertise he has in trans issues. He’s got mixed feelings about the standards around passing on a good day, but it does tickle him a little to find that many people just don’t know that he’s trans. The next day, there are a few less comments and Dennis settles back into his normal routine.
But then he begins to pick up on something.
“Hey, Whitaker? Could you take the patient in Central 9? I thought I could handle it, but another one of mine got more complicated than I expected,” Samira says as they pass each other in the hallway.
“Uh, sure, yeah,” Dennis says, turning around and heading there. “Hi, there, I’m Dr. Whitaker. What brings you in today?” He logs into the room’s workstation to see the patient, Lux’s chart already pulled up.
“Oh, hi. Wait, Dr. Whitaker?” The woman’s expression brightens noticeably.
“Yep,” Dennis says, grabbing a set of gloves out of the box on the wall.
“What a relief. I know Tony.”
Understanding dawns and Dennis nods. “Ok, great! What brings you in today?”
“Well, I’ve been having some issues with my injection site. I keep getting this sore, even though I use alcohol pads. And it’s only on one side.” Lux lifts up her shirt and Dennis can see a band-aid stuck near her belly button. She slowly peels off the band-aid so Dennis can get a look at it.
Within the hour, Dennis has discharged Lux with some antibiotic ointment and some ideas for injection site care to try going forward. He heads to the board to select a new patient.
“Oh, Whitaker, just the guy I was looking for,” Langdon says across the counter. He points with his thumb toward one of the South rooms. “Could you help me out with a patient in South 17?”
“Uh, sure,” Dennis says, unsure about why a senior resident would need his help.
When he walks through the curtain, he groans internally. They’re doing this on purpose. They must be.
Langdon had walked in first, but now hovers next to the curtain, his arms crossed and his face plastered with a mildly uncomfortable smile. Dennis eyes the patient’s chart quickly and turns to her with a smile.
“Lisa? I’m Dr. Whitaker. It looks like your ankle’s been giving you some trouble?”
Lisa scrubs her hand over her buzzed head and grimaces. “Yeah, I was in the gym doing some deadlifts. I thought maybe I just rolled my ankle, but the pain wouldn’t go away even with taking a couple ibuprofen.”
Dennis rolls over to the exam bed on the stool. “Ok, I’m going to have you take your shoe off and I’m going to do a manual exam, feel out your bones and connective tissue, to see what we’re looking at.”
She nods and Dennis pulls on some gloves and begins manipulating her socked foot. When he presses against her fifth metatarsal, Lisa grimaces and hisses. Dennis hums affirmatively and rolls back on the stool.
“I definitely want to get an x-ray of your foot. I think this might be a small fracture. Hang tight and I’ll get you in line for that.”
Dennis stands and after Langdon follows him out, he pulls the curtain closed on South 17.
“Thanks, man,” Langdon says as they walk toward the central hub. “I appreciate it.”
“Um,” Whitaker says and takes a deep breath. “Why would you need help with a broken foot?”
Langdon freezes, his eyes resembling saucers. “Oh, I just… you know, I wasn’t, uh…”
Dennis sighs. “Was it because she presents very masculine? Because that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. That particular patient is still cisgender.”
Langdon looks like he’d rather be having his arm slowly saw off with plastic knives than having this conversation. “Maybe,” he mumbles, studying his fingernails.
Dennis only just resists the urge to growl. “You can just ask people. Or check their chart to see if they’ve added their pronouns. No one’s gonna call the police if you make a mistake, Langdon.”
“I know,” he says quickly, in a way that suggests to Dennis false bravado.
“Whatever,” Dennis says under his breath. “I can take over for Lisa. I’ll get her set up with an x-ray.”
“Hey, thanks, man,” Langdon calls after him.
It’s a close thing, but Dennis doesn’t flip him off over his shoulder.
***
The following Friday morning dawns relatively clear, the early sun lasering right into Dennis’s eyes. He’d forgotten to close the drapes when he’d fallen into bed the night before. He groans when he remembers today is the day of his presentation. Abbot and Dr. Underwood had gone back and forth, but finally agreed that it would be recorded so that anyone needing to work at the time can watch it later, rather than Dennis needing to do multiple sessions. At least he’s not working a shift today, so he doesn’t have to go back to work afterward.
Over the last week, Dennis had been ending up with a suspiciously high number of trans patients. At first, he’d suspected that his coworkers were doing it, and some of them certainly were: asking him in for a consult and then mysteriously walking off while he spoke with the patient or literally tagging him in while they excused themselves.
But then patients would make comments that they’d heard about him, and someone finally told him that his name had been shared around some private facebook groups and signal chats as a safe provider to see. Dennis still isn’t sure what to think of that. He’s only an intern. It feels like too much responsibility. But maybe with this training, he can encourage his colleagues to step up more and do better so that the department as a whole will be seen as a safe place to seek help.
Dennis is too nervous to eat any breakfast, though he pours two scalding cups of coffee down his throat by the time he climbs into Trinity’s front seat. She sends him a smile as she pulls into traffic.
“You’re going to kick ass, Huckleberry.”
He just sort of groans in response, his cheek against the window, still cool despite the rising temperatures outside.
Dennis isn’t sure what size of group to expect when he gets into the conference room. It turns out there’s maybe 40 people there, squeezed together on folding chairs. Dennis recognizes a lot of them, other doctors, nurses, and techs from the ED, but it also looks like, based on the rainbow of scrub colors, that there are several people from other departments, ranging in age and position.
Dennis swallows nervously when Dr. Underwood stands to introduce him.
“And now, please join me in welcoming one of our emergency department interns, Dr. Dennis Whitaker!”
There’s a smattering of polite applause and Dennis wants to bolt out of the room. He fiddles with the clicker in his hand and gives a wave to the audience with his other. His eyes catch on Abbot standing along the back wall, shifting his weight back and forth every few seconds. He’s giving Dennis a small smile and like he’s just had a shot of espresso, Dennis feels more energized.
He launches into his presentation, starting off with the very basics: what is the acronym, what does it mean be Two Spirit, what does it mean to be nonbinary, why is it harmful to deadname and misgender people. As he gets deeper into his slides, he gets into the zone. The audience sort of melts away aside from the occasional chuckles at the – sometimes inadvertent – jokes Dennis makes.
By the time he’s wrapping up the talk after walking through the informed consent model of trans healthcare, he’s slightly out of breath and his throat is parched, but he feels a great sense of accomplishment.
“Ok, well, that was a lot of information. Are there any questions?”
He mentally crosses his fingers that there won’t be, but several hands go up. Dr. Underwood stands to moderate, pointing at someone from ICU.
“Yeah,” says the older woman, whose badge shows she’s a nurse. “I heard from a friend whose granddaughter is friends with a kid who goes to Colfax K-8. And she said that there are litter boxes set up in the bathrooms so that kids who identify as furries can use them instead of the toilets. I don’t think that’s right.”
Dennis stares at the woman for a couple of seconds, at first convinced that she’s joking. But seeing her pinched brow, he realizes that she’s serious.
“That’s not a thing. Literally not a thing,” Dennis says, hoping he’s managing to keep the disdain out of his voice. “If there are litter boxes, it’s probably for service animals. Or it’s for active shooter emergency kits. But it has nothing to do with trans kids.”
The nurse seems miffed, but she doesn’t reply. There’s a silence, a bit uncomfortable, in the room.
“Grace, you had your hand up before?” Dr. Underwood points to a doctor in pediatrics.
“Oh, uh, yes. What do we do if a kid comes in and wants us to use one name, but their parent doesn’t approve?”
Dennis has no idea. Why are all these people looking at him like he’s got all the answers? He glances over at Dr. Underwood, but she’s not looking his way.
“Well, you know, first do no harm. It’s harmful to misgender and deadname trans people. So, to the extent you can, always affirm a patient’s gender. If the patient is old enough, let them know that they can have their medical appointment without the presence of their parent.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure, legally, with the hospital…” He looks over at Dr. Underwood for help.
“Yes, well, we’ll have a memo about this issue coming out next week,” she offers.
Dennis receives a handful of other questions, but soon, the top of the hour comes, and the chairs begin to empty as people head back to their shifts. Trinity comes up to him and punches his arm.
“Good job there, Huckleberry. You didn’t die and you didn’t kill anyone else,” she sends him a pointed look.
He chuckles weakly. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Gotta get to the ED. See you when I see you.”
He nods at her and watches her go. Dr. Underwood approaches him then, shaking his hand and thanking him for his presentation. Finally, it’s just him and Abbot, for some reason. The attending is still leaning against the back wall near the door. Dennis picks up his clicker and grabs his flash drive from the conference room computer.
“Good job, Whitaker,” Abbot says as Dennis makes his way toward the door. “Good presentation, and you handled the asinine questions well.”
Dennis snorts. “At least no one asked if I have a dick in my pants.”
Abbot’s eyes narrow slightly before he looks away and there’s a beat of silence.
“That was a joke,” Dennis adds, in case it hadn’t been clear.
Abbot clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, how about I take you to breakfast? You know, as a congratulations on getting through the thing?”
“Oh!”
Dennis is surprised. Is it weird that Abbot, who’s technically his boss, at least sort of, is asking him out to eat? Well, it’s not a date. It’s probably fine. Dennis is surprised by how much he wants it to be fine.
“Um. Yeah. That sounds really good, actually.”
“Great,” Abbot says, gesturing for Dennis to go ahead of him to the elevator. “I’ll just grab my bag from my locker.”
Half an hour later, they’re sitting in a diner a couple blocks away from the hospital, drinking coffee. Dennis squints as a ray of sun beams into his eyes through the large front windows before it disappears behind a cloud.
“So, really. It wasn’t too bad, was it?” Abbot asks.
“I really hope that’s not the beginning of you asking if I want to do it again.” Dennis shudders.
Abbot laughs hard at that, tossing his head back against the booth. “No. No, kid, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Dennis resolutely compels his body not to shudder at Abbot’s use of kid again.
“Honestly,” Abbot continues, “you shouldn’t have had to do that in the first place. It’s something the attendings and senior residents should be teaching. Hell, it’s something that should be covered in MS1.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Dennis mutters.
The server brings their food. Abbot had ordered a stack of pancakes along with scrambled eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns. Dennis had just gotten a Belgian waffle piled with strawberries and whipped cream. They eat in silence for a few minutes.
“You doing ok, taking care of Robby’s place while he’s gone?”
Dennis finishes chewing his bite of waffles and nods. “Yeah. I mostly just go over a couple times a week to bring in the mail, water the plants, make sure everything’s ok.”
“How come you didn’t just move in? That’s what I expected, young, er, attractive guy like you? Figured you’d want to bachelor it up.”
Dennis shrugs, unwilling to explain too much – either about Trinity or why his cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “I’ve been living with Santos? Didn’t feel right to just abandon her.”
Abbot looks at him, his eyes sharp and assessing. He gives a grunt and takes a drink of coffee. “That’s a good friend.”
Dennis leans forward, reaching with his hand, but pulling short before touching Abbot’s forearm. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
Abbot laughs again, tossing his napkin on his plate now that he’s finished. “Well,” he says. “I’m just about bushed. You mind if we head out?”
“Oh, no, not at all!” Dennis swallows the rest of his coffee and goes to pull out his wallet, but Abbot waves him off, setting a couple of twenties and a ten on the table.
Dennis waves as Jack pulls away from the curb outside his building, a warm feeling in his chest, maybe from more than the sunny day. He ends up taking a long nap when he gets back upstairs to the apartment. When he wakes, he putters around, watching some tv, cleaning the kitchen, scrolling on his phone.
All in all, it’s a rather nice day off, even if it had been stressful at the very beginning. He goes to bed a little early so that he can be well-rested for his next shift. He wakes up just before his alarm goes off and sits up to stretch.
Staring back at him, splashed all over the back of his bedroom door and one entire wall, is himself, the posters from his presentation now covered with a range of rainbow and Pride stickers and several “you go, boy” messages.
Dennis groans. “Trinity!”