Work Text:
Robby’s turning fifty-nine tomorrow.
Which is, cool. He supposes. Never really thought he’d get that old. Hadn’t expected to live longer than fifty-four. Had had a plan and everything. A plan that fell apart in the face of a twenty eight year old first year resident. So he’s here, five years older and probably not any wiser. Happier though, that he definitely is. Because that same twenty-eight-year-old resident is now a thirty-two-year-old fellow. And Robby’s fiancé. Or he will be, when Robby finally gets the courage to fucking ask him. Which he will, any day now. Has the ring and everything already. Because he wants to marry Dennis. Never thought he’d want to marry anyone, but he wants to marry him.
It’s just, Robby’s turning fifty-nine tomorrow.
And he’s very aware, in a way that he usually isn’t, of just how much younger Dennis is than him. Not that that matters, he’s an adult, and they love each other. No, the age gap isn’t the problem. It’s just, he’s suddenly become aware of how much more attractive Dennis is than him. Because Dennis, Dennis is hot. Capital H hot. All curls and lean muscle and big, blue eyes. All confidence and swagger while still being soft, gentle. Perfect. He’s perfect. And Robby is… not. Hadn’t exactly noticed, just how mismatched they are. Not until right this second.
Gets out of the shower, only to realize he didn’t actually bring any clothes to change into with him. Walks into the bedroom to grab some. Catches a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror in the corner, the one they only have because Dennis likes to be able to see Robby during, no matter what position they’re in. The mirror helps. Forgets it’s there most of the time, otherwise. Stops in front of it now. Takes himself in. Can’t help but focus on all the areas about himself he hates. Has always hated.
He has a belly, not a beer gut cause he doesn’t really drink, but a belly nonetheless. Love handles, too. Has had them for years, but can see where Dennis' penchant for cooking Midwest comfort food has made them worse. Isn’t toned like he used to be, when he was younger. Leans in, furrows his brow. Watches as the lines on his forehead appear. As the lines next to his eyes pop out. They’re deeper, too, than they used to be. His hair is more grey, not fully like Abbot, but more salt than pepper.
Tilts his head, watches as the wrinkly old man who’s turning fifty-nine tomorrow in the mirror does the same. Wonders what exactly it is that Dennis sees in him. Knows he isn’t horribly unattractive. His beard is, nice. Soft. And he has nice eyes. Kind. He’s tall, too. Has a good six inches on Dennis, something that delights him to no end because it means Dennis is the perfect height for him. Perfect for forehead kisses and cuddling, and resting his chin on his shoulder while he cooks dinner. Knows he isn’t like, some swamp creature.
Feels like one, though, compared to Dennis. Because Dennis is, Dennis. Perfect and wonderful and funny and amazing. The man Robby wants to spend the rest of his life with. The man he wants to ask to marry him. And Robby is, old. Run down. Past his prime. Is wondering, as he looks in the mirror, why Dennis would ever say yes. He could have anyone he wanted, why the fuck would he say yes to Robby. Could do so much better than him. Younger, not as damaged. Physically or mentally. More in shape, more put together.
Thinks of the ring in his underwear drawer. Simple, silver. A single Alexandrite embedded in the band. Low enough not to snag on anything. An Alexandrite because it’s Robby’s birthstone. Thought it was kinda romantic. Like he’d be carrying part of him around with him. Likes the idea of his own ring having a sapphire in it, for Dennis’ birth month. So he can carry Dennis with him, too. Knows the ring itself kind of already does that, but still. It’d seemed romantic, when he’d picked it out. The lady at the jewelry store had thought the same thing.
But now, looking at himself in the mirror, he thinks maybe he made a mistake. Not with the ring. But with the decision to propose at all. Because there’s no way Dennis is going to say yes. He’s going to say no and their relationship will never recover and they’ll break up and Robby’ll end up alone. Which, yeah, he probably is going to anyway. Because he always has. But he doesn’t want to take a saw to the branch he’s sitting on. Would rather like to stay in this particular tree as long as he can. Quite likes this tree, doesn’t want to not be in it anymore. This metaphor may have gotten out of hand. But the point still stands.
“What are you doing?”
Jumps about ten feet in the air at the sound of Dennis’ voice from behind him. Makes eye contact with him in the mirror. He has his head to the side, in that way that’s always reminded Robby of a puppy. He’s got that look in his eyes, too. The one that means I think you’re adorable. The one he gets when he thinks Robby’s doing something particularly amusing. And it’s only then that Robby realizes he’s still naked from his shower, only a towel around his waist. It isn’t until Dennis quirks a brow that he realizes he hasn’t answered him yet.
“Looking in the mirror.”
It’s the truth. Mostly. It is what he was doing. Even if the truth sounds more like coming to the realization that I’m an old man who is broken and you deserve better and you’re gonna realize it soon and you’ll leave and that’s gonna really suck cause I love you and I don’t want you to do that. No way is he going to say all that, settles for just the most basic fact. Hopes it’s enough, that he won’t question it. Isn’t that lucky, because of course he’s not.
“I can see that. Why?”
“Just, looking at something.”
“Yeah? You know, I get jealous when people check out my sexy boyfriend.”
He tries not to, but he can’t help the way he flinches, just a little, at the words. Because Dennis called him sexy, but he knows he, he can’t mean that. Knows he’s humoring him. Telling him what he thinks he wants to hear. Hates it, Dennis shouldn’t have to do that. Shouldn’t have to pretend. Should be with someone who just is sexy. He deserves that, deserves the world. Knows Dennis saw by the way his brow pinches down, the playful smile slipping off his face. Breaks eye contact, because he can’t do this. He can’t watch him realize how out of his league Robby is in real time.
Hears footsteps, knows he’s coming closer. Has to resist the urge to cover himself. Hates that he’s in nothing but a towel. That he has nowhere to hide. No layers to cover. No hoodie to bury in. Just him, on display for Dennis to see. To evaluate and find lacking, just like Robby has. Because how can he not? The gut, the love handles, the wrinkles, the crow’s feet. It all adds up to a man who never deserved Dennis' affection in the first place, but somehow managed to get it anyway. And now he’ll lose it. Should have seen this coming. Didn’t, impossibly didn’t, but should have.
“Robby?” Dennis asks, coming to stand in front of him.
“Mmmm,” he answers, eyes still on the floor.
“Robby, look at me,” and because Robby can never deny him anything ever, he does, “There’s my handsome man.”
Says it with such conviction, such certainty, like he really believes it, that Robby finds himself shaking his head before he can think through all the reasons why he shouldn’t. Because he’s wrong. He’s not handsome or, or sexy. He’s old, almost fifty-nine. He’s overweight, the belly and the love handles prove that. He’s not, he’s not sexy or handsome or anything of the sort. Those are words for people like Dennis, not him. Shakes his head because he’s wrong, he is, and the sooner he realizes it, the better. It’ll hurt, but sometimes it’s better to just rip the band-aid off right.
“Michael Robinavitch, don’t you shake your head at me.”
Huffs a laugh at being full named. Remembers Dennis telling him that’s how you knew you were really in trouble, if Ma full named you. Wonders if this is a case of like mother, like son. Judging by the look on his face, yes. Yes, it is. Dennis steps closer, lifts his arms to loop them around his neck. Looks up at him with so much naked affection in his eyes that Robby wants to scream or cry or throw up. Maybe all three at once. Because he must not see it yet, but he will. He will.
“Why were you looking in the mirror?”
“Just, noticed something. Wanted a closer look.”
“Hmm. Well, I think maybe that mirror was lying to you.”
“Dennis.”
“Wanna know what I see? When I look at you?”
No, yes, maybe, he has no idea anymore. Because there’s a part of him that wants to see himself the way Dennis does. Knows Dennis is a smart man, knows if he sees something in him, it must be because there’s something worth seeing. Would love to see it too. But, he’s afraid. Is afraid if he asks Dennis to look, to really look, he’ll start to see him the way Robby does. And he can’t have that. Likes the tree, doesn’t want to be out of it.
“You know the first thing I noticed about you? Your eyes. You say so much without saying anything at all.”
He knew that. Has always been like that. Never could lie to his Bubbe as a kid. His eyes always gave him away. She’d take one look at him and just know. Remembers your eyes are too loud, Bubbeleh. Feels something warm spread in his chest, that Dennis sees the same thing that his Bubbe did.
“You have these lines here,” Dennis brings a hand to tap next to his eye, “when you smile. They’re how I know what I said was really funny, when those lines come out. I love them.”
Robby wants to argue, because that’s not what those mean. They mean he’s old. They mean he’s old and, and wrinkly. But Dennis is looking at him with a smile, all affection. Imagines the lines in his mind, tries to see them the way he does. Not as proof of age, but as proof of life. As evidence that he’s laughed and smiled. Remembers his earlier thought, about how they’ve gotten worse. Realizes they’ve gotten worse because of how much Dennis makes him smile, makes him happy. Finds he doesn’t hate them as much as he thought. Thinks maybe they’re actually not so bad after all.
“My second day in the ED, you reached up to get something from a high shelf for Dana. I caught a glimpse of this,” Dennis slides both his hands over his belly, “and ran into a wall. Santos still makes fun of me for it.”
Robby, finds that hard to believe. The crow’s feet he can understand. Gets it, even, now that he’s really thought about it. But his not a beer belly? His little tummy? No, no way. He’s doing it again. Telling him what he thinks he wants to hear. Because there’s no way he finds it attractive. Not now and certainly not then. Has to be lying, just has to be. Wishes he wouldn’t have. Because he’d almost started to believe him. That maybe, just maybe, Dennis finds him as hot, as sexy, as he finds Dennis. But how can he believe it now?
“I’ve been attracted to you since day one.”
“I’m different now.”
“You’re still you, just older.”
“Being older is the problem.”
Dennis brings a hand up, keeps the other on his belly. Pushes the hair, the greying hair, from his forehead. Runs his fingers over the lines in his forehead. Down, down, down to the ones by his eyes. Caresses them, like they’re something precious. Something worth treating gently. His other hand, the one on his stomach, does the same. Strokes the skin like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing. Like it’s something sacred, something to be worshiped. Almost like he thinks, like he thinks Robby’s something precious. Worth treating gently, something sacred.
“I like you older. Older means here, and I like you here.”
And Robby wants to believe him, he does. Wants to take what he’s saying as is. But he, he can’t. Because Dennis is Dennis and he’s him. Knows he isn’t worthy of any of the things he’s gotten in the last four years. Certainly knows he isn’t worthy of the rest of his life. Wants it, more than he thinks he’s ever wanted anything. Wants this, this moment right here, for the rest of forever. Wants to live in a world where Dennis never stops looking at him like he is right now. Like he loves him, like he’s worth something. Worth this. But he can’t. Can’t because he isn’t. He’s turning fifty-nine tomorrow, and Dennis deserves better than to be tied down to an old man.
Dennis’ eyes dart around his face, from his eyes to his lips to his everything. Wishes he wouldn’t. Because he’s gonna see. Robby is still only in a towel, he can’t hide. Can’t hide his flaws, can’t cover up the things that make him who he is. They’re all just out there, for Dennis to see. To pick apart, to evaluate and find lacking. His eyes meet his again, hold the contact. And Robby can’t help but feel like he’s looking for something. What he has no idea, but something. Isn’t sure if he’s more scared he’ll find it, or more scared he won’t.
Dennis nods, once. Definitive. Like he’s found whatever it is he was looking for. Confirmed whatever it was he needed to. Feels his hands slip from his skin. Pushes down the panic that claws its way up his throat. You knew this was gonna happen, it’s for the best, so let him go. Watches as Dennis steps back from him, turns on his heel. Feels his heart shatter into a million pieces he knows no surgeon will ever be able to put back together. Makes no move to stop him, because it’s for the best. Has had more happiness in the last four years than he thought he’d ever get. It’s enough. It has to be, because it’s ending, and he isn’t going to try to stop it. Not when it’s what’s best for Dennis.
Is surprised when he doesn’t leave like he expects him to. Is confused when he, instead, goes over to his dresser. Opens a drawer, rifles around in it. Like he’s looking for something. Ah, right. Packing a bag. Smart boy. Can’t just leave, needs to be prepared. Wonders where he’ll go. Knows Santos’ spare room is occupied by Javadi these days. Wonders if he’d let him pay for a hotel, until he can find a place. Probably not. He’s not yours to take care of anymore, old man, let him sort it out on his own. Is even more confused when Dennis doesn’t pull out clothes, doesn’t start shoving things in a suitcase like he expects.
Takes whatever it was he pulled out and holds it behind his back. Comes back over to where Robby is, still in nothing but a towel, still in front of the mirror. Knows his confusion must be written on his face clear as day. Doesn’t understand what’s happening. Because Dennis should be leaving right now. Should be packing a bag and going to sleep on Santos’ couch. Should have realized he’s wasting the best years of his life on an old, wrinkly, overweight man. But he isn’t. He’s walking back over to Robby, smile on his face. Robby doesn’t understand what’s happening. Understands even less when Dennis drops to one knee in front of him.
“I’ve been trying to come up with the perfect time to do this, ya know. But I realize now that there is no perfect time, because all the time we spend together is perfect. So, how about we make the rest of our lives perfect? Marry me?”
Pulls the thing he hid behind his back out. It’s a jewelry box, already open. Nestled inside is a ring. Simple, gold. A single Sapphire embedded in the band. Low enough not to snag on anything. A Sapphire because it’s Dennis’ birthstone. Like he’d be carrying part of him around with him. Feels laughter that he can’t stop bubble up, only realizes how it comes across when he sees Dennis’ face drop, devastated. Shakes his head, wants to explain. Thinks maybe showing him will be easier. Goes to his own dresser, digs until he finds the ring he hid there months ago.
Turns to face Dennis with the box open. Simple, silver. A single Alexandrite embedded in the band. Low enough not to snag on anything. An Alexandrite because it’s Robby’s birthstone. Because he thought it was romantic. Realizes with a laugh that Dennis clearly had the same thought. Watches Dennis look between the two rings, expression going from devastation to confusion to elation so fast it makes Robby’s head spin. Blinks and then his arms are full of Dennis and his lips are on his and they’re laughing more than they’re kissing and it’s the most perfect thing in the world.
“Yes,” Robby says, because he realizes he never answered.
“How long?” eyes going to the ring, and he knows what he’s asking.
“Three months.”
“Six.”
Six months. He’s had the ring for Robby for six months. Had it before Robby even had the one for him. It breaks something in him, blows it to pieces. He’s wanted to marry him for six months. Had the ring before Robby even thought about getting the one for him. Wonders when he got it, if he took anyone with him. Six months. He’s had it for six months. Dennis takes his ring out of the box, tosses the box somewhere over his shoulder. Takes Robby’s hand in his. Slips it on his finger, kisses it, once it’s on. Robby does the same to him. Slides the ring on his finger more carefully than he thinks he’s ever done anything before. Kisses it after, then his palm, his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder, his neck, his lips. Licks the laugh out of Dennis’ mouth because they’re engaged now, and he can.
Is pretty sure he’s never been this happy ever in his whole life.
“I think,” Dennis says, coy and reaching for Robby’s towel, “this calls for a celebration.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mhmm.”
Hums back, pulls him into another kiss. Feels his towel hit the floor, feels hands on his skin. Feels them drag over his stomach, over his sides, around to his back. One comes up to his chest, puts pressure, and he follows it. Backs up towards the bed, does what Dennis tells him because it’s Dennis telling him to do it. Collapses onto the bed when the backs of his knees hit it. Dennis follows, perches himself on top of him. Runs a hand through his chest hair, and Robby can’t take his eyes off the way the light catches the ring on his finger. Engaged, they’re engaged. Can’t hold a giggle when something occurs to him.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m so telling people you proposed to me when my pants were off.”
“Oh shut up and kiss me, old man.”
And suddenly, with Dennis on top of him and a ring on his left hand, being old doesn’t sound so bad.