Chapter Text
Dennis really just wants to go home.
“Come on, it'll be fun.” Trinity groaned, “I can't keep listening to you swoon over him anymore. You need to loosen up, you’re so tense even when we're home. It’s like you think he'll pop out from behind the curtains shouting ‘surprise Denny I'm here!’. Seriously, just a couple drinks on me.” Trinity practically begged while changing out of her black scrubs into her street clothes.
She wasn’t wrong, he had been a mess recently. He couldn’t get Robby off his mind. All the touching had been making him crazy, it was all he could think about. He just wanted to climb into his bed and write in his journal, a coping mechanism for long days when his mind was too crowded with thoughts to even remotely relax. He’d been journaling and writing since he was a child as a means to escape. The look on Trinity’s face made him feel the need to agree. She never begs, which meant she really wanted to go out and Dennis fears that if he says no she’s going to go out alone; which would make him feel worse than going out with her.
“Fine but only a few drinks. I really don't want to be out late. I have the night shift tomorrow” he said, pointing a finger at her while tying the laces of his converse. He got the feeling he was going to regret this.
As they finished getting themselves together, Trinity slugged an arm around him and rambled to him about some patient she had trouble with earlier. Something about an infected tattoo from a guy who got it done in his friend's basement. Dennis was only half paying attention because all he could really think about is how undeniably, irrevocably fucked he was. It was only 4 months ago that he was homeless and now he was living with his coworker, (who was now his best friend, as much as Trinity refused to admit it), and practically obsessing over his touchy senior attending. He thought getting out of Nebraska would remove him from his problems, but it only created a set of new problems he had no idea how to deal with.
“Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?” Trinity questioned as they exited the building, feeling Pittsburgh's winter chill on his skin.
“Yeah sorry… a lot happened today and I’m still just trying to absorb it all.” Dennis sighed. He’s sure Trinity knows what he meant by that, that he feels hopeless. That the eyes of the man he wants felt piercing to him, especially while he treated the seventeen year old homeless patient who resonated a little too much with him. The boy had looked so scared and Dennis had been there, in that same spot. The uncertainty of a meal, a bed, a night's rest that had once run rampant through his veins, echoed in his chest once more. It felt like he was empty for the rest of his shift and was utterly drained by the end of it.
“Well, you can start by choking down the vodka cranberries you’re going to be drinking. I’ll even let you hit my pen if you’d like?” Trinity said with a grin, holding her THC pen out to him.
He accepted gratefully. He wasn't an avid smoker, cigarette and weed wise, he tended to do it socially or after a long and hard shift. It kept him occupied and helped him destress a little.
They walked to the bar mostly in silence, on Dennis’ behalf at least. Trinity would periodically interrupt his train of thought with a story or a question. He didn't feel very social tonight but he was grateful for her company, and her gracious offer for the night out.
They reached the bar around 9:45pm, IDs in hand. Trinity was practically skipping into the bar, pulling Dennis behind her. He could already tell how this was going to go. Trinity was going to buy round after round, get them both too drunk and they’ll have to stumble home together arm in arm. Thankfully, the bar was only a ten minute walk from their apartment and they’ve done it hammered before. Dennis kept reminding himself that she was right: he did need to loosen up and relax, he'd been too tense, too worried. He resolved to give himself the night to have fun for once, to try not to worry about anything but what was in front of him.
He and Trinity made it up to the bar for what he was sure to be the first of many rounds. He downed the shot Trinity handed, scowling at the burn in his throat, and then reaching for a hit from Trinity's pen. If he was going to do this, he was going the full length.
The next three hours passed in a blur. After the third round of drinks, Dennis lost count of how much he'd had to drink and how much weed he'd smoked. He knew they had gone out for a cigarette at some point, but the night was starting to blur together in his mind. Dennis leaned against one of the tables in the back of the club, keeping an eye on Trinity as she danced with a group of girls she had befriended.
She turned, looking towards him. Her hand raised in a motion ushering him to join them. He’d never been much of a dancer, but he was too far gone to really care. He moved, slotting himself between Trinity and a brunette with curly hair. They had only danced for about five minutes before Trinity shouted to him, ordering him to retrieve them another round.
He squeezed his way back to the bar, making eye contact with the bartender for two vodka crans and handed him the cash. His eyes roamed, waiting for the two drinks. He acknowledged a man making his way towards him. Dennis couldn't really make out his features due to the dim lighting of the club, but the man had a scruffy beard, broad shoulders, and the makings of crows feet by his eyes. He was unsettled with just how much this man looked like Robby. The same Robby he had tried all night to drown out of his mind with a sweet mixture of vodka and cranberry juice.
“You here alone, pretty boy?” the man was uncomfortably close to his face, he could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“No, I'm here with a group of friends…” Dennis responded flatly, trying to make it obvious he wasn't interested. He grabbed the drinks from the bartender and turned to make his way back to Trinity.
Dennis then felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the muscle where his shoulder met his neck.
“Running away from me that fast are you?” the man chuckled.
The hand on his shoulder wasn't Robby's hands or Trinity's hands; it was another man, a man who looked like Robby but wasn’t him. He wasn’t Robby, it won’t ever be Robby.
How could he be so stupid? Why was he so desperate for a man that didn't want him? How could he be so pathetic? He’s at a club past midnight, with his best friend who took him into her home, and he can't help but think about the man that he can't have. Won't ever have. He had to leave, he felt the urge to run. He should be at home, in his bed, anywhere but here.
Dennis knew that he was drunk. He’d studied medicine, he was well aware of the effects of alcohol. He knew what it would make him less aware and consider doing sporadic things he wouldn’t do sober. Dennis was also high, too high. He could feel the weight of all his decisions crash down on him. And looking into the man’s eyes, it was like he could feel Robby looking into his soul. But it wasn’t Robby. And he knew that.
He dropped the drinks and ran. He could hear the man yelling for him from behind. But he didn't care, he kept running until he made it outside the bar and down the street. He was going to get home one way or another.
He was sprinting, faster than he ever has before. He needed to get away. He needed to be home. He needed this night to end. The cold winter air was burning his skin, his lungs were heavy but he kept running.
Dennis turned down the street, and turned to cross it. He was so drunk and high that he didn't notice the blinding lights aiming right for him, he didn’t hear the breaks squeal. When he did, it was too late. He was like a deer in headlights.