teach me how to not stare at you.
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His walk stuttered. Stumbling over himself. There was only one thought that shot through his head, nearly making his ears ring.
Robby?
There was zero chance in hell the man sitting in front of him was Robby. Robby, who only went out with the crew when the stars aligned just right. Robby, who was nearly a recluse, save for work and the occasional beer in the park outside of the hospital. No. He wouldn’t be surrounding himself with this kind of noise, this amount of people after the shift he had today. Wouldn’t be rolling up to a goddamn gay bar to blow off steam.
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Whitaker goes out on the town to clear his head, and runs into the one person he'd been trying to get off his mind.
Series
- Part 1 of teach me how to not stare at you.
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This was coming to a head, Robby simply strung along after his own barrage of emotions.
It was pitiful, to be thinking like this while being kissed stupid, hands skimming over warm skin. His heart was in his throat, stopping his breath. He needed to say something, say how tangible this emotion felt, a real, hulking thing that sat next to him in bed alone, that followed him around the ED, that sat heavy in his chest every time he was in Dennis’s orbit. How terrified he was. How mortifying this was, to be seen right through, exposed and vulnerable, his soft underbelly on full display. Robby’s head was spinning, mind clouded with vitriol, years and years of running, of waiting for the other shoe to drop. His mouth started to form the words, to push him away, to drop to his knees in prayer, the words that fell from his lips instead, was—
“I think I’m in love with you.”
His stupid, treacherous mouth.
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Robby longs for something he's never been able to grasp.
Series
- Part 2 of teach me how to not stare at you.