hehe @aures-nook - Tumblr Blog

Apr 16

The Break You Both Need - Dr. Robby x Female Reader

Request - it’s a long one but could you do one where the reader and Robby have been together a while and she now wants marriage but it’s stressful with his job and they fight hut make up? And like they’re engaged on a beach?

thank you for your request, hope I included all that you wanted 🫶

Masterlist

*********************************************************

The emergency department had finally exhaled, not into silence but into that strange, hollow quiet that only came after chaos had burned itself out, where the fluorescent lights hummed a little louder and the monitors seemed to beep with less urgency, as if even they were tired. The clock on the wall pushed well past what anyone would call a reasonable hour, and yet you and Dr. Javadi were still tucked into your corner of the workstation, finishing charting from a case that had stretched longer than expected, longer than either of you had planned for when the shift had technically ended. You leaned back slightly in your chair, rolling your neck as the stiffness settled in, fingers still moving across the keyboard out of habit more than necessity, while Javadi clicked through her own notes beside you, her brow furrowed in concentration that felt a little too intense for the hour.

“Do you ever leave this place,” you asked lightly, your voice cutting through the quiet without disrupting it, more companionable than intrusive, as you glanced sideways at her.

She huffed out a soft laugh, not looking up right away as she finished typing a sentence before finally turning toward you, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement. “That feels like a trick question coming from you,” she said, her tone dry but not unkind.

You smiled at that, letting your chair tilt back just a fraction more as you folded your arms loosely across your chest.

“Fair,” you admitted, your gaze drifting briefly across the nearly empty department before returning to her. “But I mean it. Outside of this place, what does your life look like? Do you have one, or are you just…existing between shifts and caffeine like the rest of us?”

She considered that for a moment, lips pressing together as if weighing how honest to be, before she shrugged, a small, almost dismissive movement.

“There’s not a lot of time for anything else,” she said finally. “Dating especially feels…impossible. I don’t even know where I’d start.”

You nodded slowly, understanding that more than you probably wanted to admit, your fingers absently tapping against your arm. “Yeah,” you murmured, your tone softer now. “It’s not exactly a lifestyle that makes it easy.”

She studied you then, something curious flickering behind her eyes, and you could practically see the thought forming before she said it.

“I mean, you got lucky,” she added, tilting her head slightly. “Finding someone here, someone who actually gets it.”

A quiet breath left you, somewhere between a laugh and something more complicated, and you let your gaze drop briefly to the desk in front of you before looking back at her.

“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use,” you said, your voice thoughtful rather than dismissive. “Dating someone in the same place you work is…complicated. Dating your boss is even more complicated, and it hasn’t always been easy.”

Her expression shifted at that, intrigue sharpening into something more pointed, and she leaned forward just a little, resting her elbows on the desk.

“Then why aren’t you married?” she asked, the question coming out more directly than you expected, though not unkindly, just…honestly curious.

You blinked at her, caught slightly off guard, and then let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back again. “That’s a good question,” you admitted, the words coming easier than the answer itself. “I’m not totally sure. He’s never asked.”

Javadi’s brows lifted, surprise flashing across her face before it gave way to something that looked suspiciously like disbelief.

“Then why don’t you ask him?” she pressed, as if the solution were obvious, as if it were that simple.

You laughed again, a little softer this time, your shoulders lifting in a small shrug as you glanced away for a moment.

“Maybe I’m a little more old school than I like to admit,” you said. “I always thought that was…his move.”

“That’s dumb,” she shot back immediately, the words out before she could stop them, and then her eyes widened slightly as the realization hit. “I mean—not dumb, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you cut in, still smiling, the sound of your own amusement easing whatever tension might have followed. “You’re not wrong. It probably is.”

The two of you fell into a brief, comfortable silence after that, the kind that came from shared exhaustion more than anything else, and you both turned back to your screens to finish the last of your charting. When you finally hit submit, you let out a small breath of relief and started gathering your things, the promise of going home, of seeing him, settling quietly in the back of your mind. You had just slung your bag over your shoulder when Javadi spoke again, her voice softer this time, more hesitant.

“Can I ask you something else?”

You paused, glancing back at her over your shoulder, already knowing you were too tired to dodge whatever was coming. “Sure.”

She watched you for a moment, as if trying to decide how to phrase it, before she said, “You said it wasn’t easy. That there were times you didn’t think you’d make it. So…why did you stay? Why keep going if it was that hard?”

The question settled between you, heavier than the ones before it, and for a moment you didn’t answer right away, not because you didn’t know, but because the answer felt too simple for something that had been anything but. You shifted your weight, leaning lightly against the desk as you looked at her, your expression softening in a way that only came when you were speaking about him.

“Because I fell in love with him when I was twenty-five,” you said quietly, the words steady, certain, like something you had carried with you for years without ever needing to say out loud. “And that hasn’t gone away. Not through the long shifts, or the fights, or the days where we barely spoke to each other except in clipped, professional sentences across a trauma bay. Not through the nights where I questioned everything, including him, including us.”

You let out a small breath, your gaze drifting for just a second as memories flickered, arguments in empty hallways, stolen moments in on-call rooms, the weight of keeping something both private and impossible to hide.

“It’s never been simple,” you continued, your voice still calm, still sure. “And there were days I didn’t think we’d survive it, days where I wondered if loving him was enough to make it work in a place like this, in a life like this.”

Javadi didn’t interrupt, didn’t move, just listened.

“But every time I thought about walking away,” you added, your eyes returning to hers, something warmer settling there now, something unshakable, “I realized that the one thing that had never changed, not once in all these years, was how I felt about him. Everything else got complicated, messy, difficult, but that part stayed the same.”

You gave her a small, almost absent smile, one that carried more history than it showed.

“So I stayed,” you finished simply. “Because loving him was the easiest part of all of it.”

The quiet that followed felt different this time, not empty but full, and after a moment, Javadi nodded slowly, as if she understood more than she had before. You pushed off the desk then, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you in a way you couldn’t ignore.

“Get out of here,” you told her gently. “Go have a life outside these walls, even if it’s just for a few hours.”

She huffed a small laugh at that, but there was something thoughtful in her expression as she turned back to shut down her computer. As you walked toward the exit, the automatic doors sliding open with a familiar hiss, your mind drifted, not to the question she had asked, but to him, somewhere in this building still, or maybe already home, waiting without realizing he was.

Seven years together, eleven years of knowing him, and still no ring, no question asked. And yet, as you stepped out into the cool night air, you realized that none of that had ever made you doubt the one thing that mattered.

You had fallen in love with him at twenty-five. And you had never once fallen out.

*****

The apartment was warm in a way the hospital never was, not just in temperature but in feeling, in the quiet hum of something lived in and familiar, and the second you stepped inside you could smell it, something rich and savory curling through the air, grounding you instantly after the sterile sharpness of antiseptic and adrenaline that still clung faintly to your skin. You barely had time to set your bag down before you spotted him in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, broad back turned slightly as he leaned toward the counter, pouring two glasses of wine with an ease that came from doing this exact thing a hundred times before, a small, domestic ritual that had somehow become yours without either of you ever formally deciding it would.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard you, and the moment his eyes landed on you, something in his posture softened, the tension of the day easing out of him in a way that only ever seemed to happen around you.

“Well,” he said, a hint of amusement threading through his voice as he straightened, holding one of the glasses loosely in his hand. “This is new. I get home before you.”

You smiled, the exhaustion in your bones loosening just a little as you walked toward him, slipping easily into his space like it was second nature, which it was after all these years. “Don’t get used to it,” you murmured, your voice quieter now as you reached him.

His arm came around you without hesitation, pulling you into his side, and he leaned down just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, lingering there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along your arm.

“What kept you?” he asked, handing you the second glass.

You took it, your fingers brushing his briefly as you accepted it, and leaned lightly into him. “Finishing up a case with Javadi,” you said. “She needed a little more time.”

He hummed at that, not surprised, taking a sip of his wine before glancing down at you. “What’d she want?”

You hesitated just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that he caught it immediately, because of course he did, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as he watched you.

“She asked about you,” you said finally, keeping your tone casual, though there was something under it now, something you couldn’t quite smooth out. “About us.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched you, waiting, which somehow made it worse.

“And?” he prompted after a beat, his voice quieter now.

You exhaled softly, taking a small sip of your wine before meeting his gaze again. “She asked why we aren’t married.”

The words sat between you, heavier than they should have been, and you saw the exact moment they landed, the way his expression shifted, something unreadable flickering there before he smoothed it over.

You shrugged, trying to make light of it even as you felt that familiar, subtle tightening in your chest. “I told her I wasn’t sure,” you added.

He gave you a look then, something searching, something a little sharper than before, and for a moment neither of you said anything.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, trying to read him the way you always could.

He shook his head once, like he was brushing the thought away, but it didn’t quite leave his eyes.

“Nothing,” he said, though it clearly wasn’t. Then, after a second, he added, quieter, “I didn’t know you wanted that.”

You let out a small, almost surprised breath at that, your brows pulling together slightly. “I didn’t know if I did,” you admitted, the honesty coming easier than you expected.

He huffed softly, something almost like a laugh under his breath as he stepped away from you, moving toward the oven.

“You realize,” he said as he reached for the handle, “we’re basically a common law marriage at this point.”

You rolled your eyes lightly, though there was no real bite to it. “Wow,” you said dryly. “How romantic.”

He smirked faintly at that, pulling the oven open and carefully sliding out whatever he had been working on, the heat spilling into the room as he set the dish down on the stovetop.

“You should’ve said something if a ring was important to you,” he added, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

Something about the way he said it, so straightforward, so matter-of-fact, caught you off guard in a way you hadn’t expected, and for a moment you felt almost…shy, which was ridiculous after everything the two of you had been through.

“I don’t know,” you said, softer now, your fingers tracing lightly along the rim of your glass. “I guess I just…never brought it up.”

He turned back toward you fully then, that familiar, crooked smile tugging at his mouth, eyes glinting with something warmer now. “What, my tattoo isn’t enough for you?” he asked, teasing, though there was something real tucked underneath it.

You laughed immediately at that, shaking your head as you took a step closer to him. “That is not the same thing,” you shot back.

He scoffed lightly, though the corner of his mouth lifted. “Funny,” he murmured, “I seem to remember you being pretty into it when I showed you.”

You swatted at his shoulder, laughing despite yourself. “Oh my God, stop,” you said, though the memory flickered there all the same, vivid and impossible to ignore.

He caught your wrist easily, his hand sliding down to your waist as he pulled you closer, caging you gently between himself and the counter, his body warm and solid against yours in a way that grounded you instantly. Your arms slipped around his middle without thinking, your cheek brushing lightly against his chest as you smiled, the familiar rhythm of the two of you settling back into place.

“If you want a ring,” he murmured, his voice lower now, closer, “you should just say it.”

You tipped your head back slightly, your lips brushing his in a fleeting, almost teasing kiss, a breath of laughter escaping you as you pulled back just enough to look at him.

“There’s something about seeing you with a ring,” you admitted, your voice light but honest all the same.

He raised an eyebrow at that, something amused flickering across his face. “Is this about getting married,” he asked, “or about you wanting to claim me?”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed, the sound soft and warm between you. “Don’t you want the same thing?” you countered, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt.

He shook his head, that easy confidence settling over him as he reached down to plate the food, though his hand lingered at your side.

“I’m not worried about anyone not knowing you’re mine,” he said simply.

You leaned back slightly at that, one eyebrow lifting in challenge as you studied him. “That’s a bold statement,” you said.

He shrugged, entirely unbothered, his hand patting your side once before he moved to set the plates down. “Everyone knows,” he said.

You pushed yourself up onto the counter then, settling there comfortably as you watched him, your legs swinging lightly before stilling.

“Not everyone,” you pointed out. “All the new med students probably have no idea. What makes you so sure people just assume?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead stepping back toward you, his hands finding your hips as he moved between your knees, his grip firm but not rough, grounding you there.

“It’s not about that,” he said, his fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of your scrub pants in a way that made your breath hitch slightly, his gaze locked on yours.

“Then what’s it about?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the question hanging between you.

He stepped closer, closing the space completely until you were pressed against him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his hands slid up your sides, anchoring you there.

“It’s about the fact,” he said, his voice low, intimate in a way that made everything else fall away, “that tomorrow morning, when you walk into work, I’m going to know exactly where you were tonight.”

Your breath caught, your hands tightening slightly against him as you held his gaze.

“I’m going to know,” he continued, just as quietly, “that you came home to me, that you’re here with me, that you’re mine in all the ways that actually matter.”

The words settled deep, not possessive in a way that felt confining, but in a way that felt certain, steady, unshakable.

“And that’s enough for me,” he finished.

You didn’t respond right away, didn’t need to, because whatever you might have said was already there between you, in the way your fingers curled into the back of his shirt, in the way your forehead brushed his for just a second before you leaned in. And then he kissed you, slow at first, deliberate, like he was giving you the space to pull away if you wanted to, but you didn’t, not even a little, your hands sliding up into his hair as you pulled him closer, the rest of the world narrowing down to just him, just this, just the quiet certainty of something that had never once needed a ring to make it real.

******

Morning came softly, filtering in through the thin gap in the curtains in a way that painted everything in a muted, golden haze, and for a few quiet seconds you didn’t move at all, just let yourself exist there in the stillness, in the warmth of the bed and the steady, familiar weight of him beside you. You had woken before him, which wasn’t unusual, but what was rare was the way the world seemed to pause long enough for you to actually notice it, to take him in without the rush of a shift or the pull of responsibility already clawing at your attention.

Robby lay on his back, one arm stretched loosely across the mattress where you had been tucked against him earlier, his breathing deep and even, the kind that only came when he was truly resting, not just collapsing out of exhaustion. The lines that usually marked his face, the ones carved there from years of pressure and impossible decisions and the constant weight of being responsible for everyone else, were gone for the moment, smoothed out into something softer, something that made him look younger in a way that always caught you off guard. Your gaze lingered there longer than you meant it to, tracing the familiar shape of him, the beard along his jaw, the way his hair fell messily across his forehead, and then, inevitably, your eyes drifted lower, drawn to the curve of his chest where your name sat in small, cursive ink just over his heart.

You smiled to yourself, something warm and private settling in your chest as you shifted closer, the sheets rustling softly around you as you leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against the tattoo, your lips brushing over your own name in a way that still felt surreal even after all this time. For a moment you stayed there, your cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, your hand sliding lazily across his side, fingertips tracing absent patterns along his skin.

He stirred then, not fully awake but aware enough to respond, his arm coming around you instinctively, pulling you in closer like it was muscle memory, like even half asleep he knew exactly where you belonged. You smiled against him, your fingers splaying lightly across his back, feeling the warmth of him, the solid, grounding presence that had become your constant over the years.

And then, of course, his alarm went off. The sharp, insistent sound cut through the quiet, jarring in a way that made you both groan almost in unison, your face pressing more firmly into his chest as if that might somehow block it out.

“Don’t you dare,” you muttered, your voice muffled, as he shifted beneath you.

He huffed out something that might have been a laugh, though it was still thick with sleep, before rolling slightly, his arm tightening around you for just a second before he reluctantly pulled away, reaching over you to fumble for his phone on the nightstand. You let out a dramatic groan as his weight shifted over you, your hands sliding up his sides, half to keep him close and half because you simply could, because mornings like this had never been about modesty or distance, not after everything.

“Worst part of the job,” you mumbled, your fingers dragging lightly down his back as he finally managed to silence the alarm.

“Mm,” he agreed vaguely, his voice rough, as he settled back down beside you, though not quite as deeply as before, awareness creeping in now that he was awake.

For a moment neither of you moved, the quiet settling back in, softer this time, more familiar, as you both hovered in that space between sleep and the day ahead. You shifted slightly, your leg sliding over his, your hand continuing its slow, absent path along his back, and he responded in kind, his fingers tracing along your arm, up to your shoulder, then back down again, the touch lazy, unhurried, like there was no immediate need to be anywhere else.

“I’ve got a three o’clock with Gloria today,” he said after a moment, his voice still low, still not fully pulled into the day yet.

You hummed softly at that, your chin resting lightly against his chest as your fingers moved up along his spine, then back down again, the motion soothing more than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” you said, though there was a clear thread of humor woven through it, your lips twitching slightly against his skin.

He rolled his eyes, though you felt it more than saw it, his hand sliding to your hip, giving it a light squeeze.

“Yeah, you sound real torn up about it,” he muttered.

You smiled, lifting your head just enough to look at him, your hand still moving over his back in slow, absent strokes. “You’ll survive,” you said softly.

He studied you for a second, something quieter passing through his expression before it settled back into something more familiar, more like him.

“You taking my patients while I’m up there?” he asked, his tone shifting just slightly, not fully professional but not entirely separate from it either, the lines between the two of you always blurred in ways neither of you had ever quite untangled.

You let out a soft breath, your fingers pausing for just a second before resuming their path, your thumb tracing along the edge of his shoulder blade.

“Of course,” you said. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else with them anyway.”

He huffed lightly at that, something amused flickering across his face as his hand slid up your side, his fingers brushing along your ribs before settling at your waist again.

“That’s because you’re the only one who knows how I think,” he said, his voice quieter now, more certain.

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze softening as you looked at him, your hand coming to rest flat against his back.

“That’s because I’ve had a lot of practice,” you replied.

Something about that seemed to settle between you, not heavy, not complicated, just…true. He shifted then, just enough to pull you closer again, your bodies fitting together easily, like they always had, like there had never been a question of where either of you belonged. For a few more minutes, neither of you said anything, just stayed there, tangled up in each other, hands moving lazily, absent touches that spoke more than words ever could.

Eventually, the day would pull you both out of bed, back into the noise and the pressure and the constant demand of the hospital, but for now, in the quiet of the morning, there was just this, just him, just you, and the kind of ease that only came from years of choosing each other over and over again.

******

The rhythm of the department had picked back up by the time you stepped out of the patient’s room, the brief lull from earlier in the morning long gone, replaced with the steady, controlled chaos that defined most of your days, where voices overlapped, monitors chimed, and the constant movement of staff wove through it all like something choreographed but never quite predictable. You pulled the curtain closed behind you, giving the patient one last reassuring nod before turning fully back into the corridor, your mind already shifting to the next thing, the next task, the next person who needed you.

It wasn’t until you glanced up that you saw him. Robby had just come through the double doors from upstairs, his stride purposeful but not rushed, his shoulders set in a way that immediately told you everything you needed to know before he even said a word. You checked your watch out of habit, your brows pulling together slightly when you realized how long he’d been gone.

Almost two hours. That wasn’t nothing.

He looked…tired, though that wasn’t unusual, not really, but there was something sharper under it this time, something wound a little tighter than it had been that morning, something you recognized because you had seen it too many times before.

You didn’t stop, didn’t call out to him right away, because the job didn’t pause just because he had walked back in, and neither did you. Instead, you moved toward the nearest computer, scanning your badge in one fluid motion as you pulled up your patient’s chart, your fingers already moving across the keyboard as you began entering the orders for their treatment, your focus narrowing in the way it always did when you needed it to. Dana appeared at your side not even thirty seconds later, her presence as familiar as the hum of the monitors, her tablet tucked under her arm as she leaned slightly toward you.

“Hey,” she said, already mid-thought. “I need your call on two in west nine and the chest pain in triage. What are we thinking?”

You didn’t even look up at first, your eyes scanning through the chart as you processed both your patient and her question at the same time, the answers slotting into place easily.

“West nine needs labs repeated in an hour, keep an eye on the potassium and page me if it trends up,” you said, your voice steady, automatic in the best way. “Chest pain gets a full workup, EKG, troponin, the whole thing. Don’t wait on it.”

“Got it,” Dana replied without missing a beat, tapping quickly into her own system before glancing at you with a small, amused smile. “You know you could run this place in your sleep, right?”

You didn’t answer that, not really, just let a faint smile tug at your lips as you kept typing, because it wasn’t something you needed to say out loud, not when the work itself spoke for you.

Santos passed by a moment later, quick on her feet as always, her voice cutting through just long enough to catch your attention. “Kid in north fourteen,” she said, already half-moving past you. “Weight came back lower than we thought.”

You looked up then, catching her just before she disappeared down the hall. “Adjust the dosage to point three per kilo,” you called after her, your tone firm but easy. “And double check the calculation before you push it.”

She gave you a quick nod, already turning to carry it out, and just like that she was gone again, pulled into the next thing. You turned back to your screen, finishing the last of your orders, your fingers slowing as you clicked through the final confirmations, and it was then, in that brief pause between tasks, that you felt him.

He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t need to, his presence settling beside you in a way that was as familiar as breathing, and you glanced up at him almost instinctively. Up close, it was clearer. The tension in his jaw, the slight tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders held just a little too rigidly beneath his scrubs.

“How was Gloria?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that it stayed between the two of you, your concern woven in but not overwhelming.

He didn’t answer the question. Instead, his gaze flicked briefly to the screen in front of you before he spoke, his tone shifting into something more clipped, more controlled.

“I’ll take the new guy in central five,” he said. “And I’ll take back my other three.”

You frowned slightly at that, the response not matching the question, not matching the moment, and you turned toward him just a little more, searching his face.

“Robby—”

“Not here,” he muttered under his breath, the words quiet but firm, cutting you off before you could finish.

The shift was subtle, but it was there, that line snapping back into place between personal and professional, between what you were to each other and what you were here. He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t linger, just turned and walked away, already moving toward the next patient, the next responsibility, like nothing had happened at all.

You watched him for a second longer than you meant to, your expression tightening just slightly before you forced yourself to look back at the screen in front of you, the department pulling you back in, demanding your attention whether you were ready or not. And just like that, the moment was gone, swallowed by the noise and movement and everything else that never seemed to stop.

******

The doors to the ambulance bay slid open with a familiar mechanical hiss, and the second you stepped outside, the air hit you differently, thick and humid in a way that clung to your skin almost immediately, carrying with it the faint smell of asphalt and exhaust and something distant that hinted at rain that never quite came.

It took you less than a second to find him. Robby sat off to the side near the wall, elbows resting on his knees, one hand dragging slowly over the back of his neck as he stared out toward nothing in particular, his posture tight in a way that made your chest pull slightly before you had even said a word.

You walked toward him without hesitation, your steps quieter now, more measured, as if the space itself demanded it, and when you got close enough, you didn’t stop right away, just let yourself take him in for a second, the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he exhaled like the weight of everything hadn’t quite settled yet.

“I can feel it from here,” you said gently, your voice cutting through the thick air but not the quiet between you.

He looked up at that, his eyes finding yours immediately, and for a second something flickered there, something softer beneath the irritation that hadn’t quite faded yet. You didn’t crowd him, didn’t push, just stepped a little closer, your presence steady, familiar.

“I’m here if you need me,” you added, your tone even, offering without demanding.

He huffed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly as he looked away again.

“I always need you,” he muttered, the words rough but honest in a way that made your chest tighten just a little.

You smiled at that, something warm and unspoken settling between you as you closed the remaining distance, stopping just in front of him, your hands resting loosely at your sides as you waited, giving him the space to decide how much he wanted to say. For a moment, he didn’t, just rolled his neck slowly, the movement deliberate as if he were trying to physically work the tension out, before letting out a long breath that felt like it had been building for hours.

“Gloria wants me to bring in two fellowship positions next cycle,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, less sharp but still edged with frustration. “And take on three more medical students.”

You frowned immediately, the numbers landing heavy as you processed them. “That’s…a lot of people,” you said, your tone careful but honest.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “More doctors doesn’t always mean better care,” he said, the frustration threading more clearly through his voice now. “It just means more bodies to manage, more opinions, more room for things to get missed.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant, your arms crossing loosely as you leaned one shoulder against the wall beside him.

“It already feels like too much some days,” you admitted. “Even with the wait time sitting at seven hours, which is insane on its own.”

He glanced at you then, something a little lighter breaking through as he huffed softly. “Yeah,” he said. “And I’ve got to keep an eye on a certain attending too.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, do you?” you replied, your tone teasing just enough to meet him where he was.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at you again, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. “She’s a problem.”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping out of you as you stepped a little closer, your posture softening again as you looked down at him. “Is there something I can help with?” you asked, the question simple, genuine.

He shook his head almost immediately. “No,” he said, though it wasn’t dismissive, just…resigned.

You didn’t argue with that, didn’t push, just let the silence settle for a second before you moved, stepping in front of him fully and leaning down just slightly, your hand coming up to gently tilt his chin upward until his eyes met yours again. There was no hesitation when you kissed him, nothing rushed about it either, just a soft, grounding press of your lips against his, something steady and familiar that didn’t try to fix anything but still managed to ease the edges. When you pulled back, he stayed there for a second, his gaze lingering on yours before he exhaled quietly.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice lower now, the tension in it softened just enough.

Your thumb brushed lightly across his temple, a small, absent gesture before your hand fell away again, settling back at your side.

He shifted then, sitting up a little straighter as he dragged a hand through his hair. “She also wants more coverage on nights,” he added, like he couldn’t quite leave it alone. “Says we’re stretched too thin.”

You tilted your head slightly, considering that for a moment. “Give Jack the new fellows and students,” you said after a beat, your tone thoughtful. “He’ll handle it, and he won’t let them get in the way.”

Robby let out a short laugh at that, shaking his head. “I wish admin would recognize we need nurses and techs,” he said. “Doctors are great, but they’re not the ones keeping this place running minute to minute.”

You nodded immediately, the agreement easy. “You’re not wrong,” you said. “We can have all the attendings in the world, but if there’s no one to actually move things along, it all bottlenecks anyway.”

The sound of an ambulance approaching cut through the conversation then, the low rumble growing louder as it backed into the bay, lights flashing against the walls in sharp bursts of red and white. Robby glanced toward it, the shift happening almost instantly, the frustration folding back into focus, into purpose, into the version of him that led this place whether he wanted to or not. He pushed himself to his feet, his hand brushing against your hip in a brief, grounding squeeze as he moved past you.

“Come on,” he said, already halfway back to the doors.

You followed without a second thought, falling into step beside him as the bay doors opened again, the noise and urgency rushing back in to meet you.

Back to work.

******

A week later, the pattern had settled in whether you liked it or not, and you didn’t, not even a little. Robby was staying later after almost every shift now, pulled upstairs, pulled into meetings, pulled into conversations that never seemed to end, each one adding something new to his plate instead of taking anything away, and you could see it in him more and more, in the way he carried himself, in the way his shoulders never quite dropped even when he was home, in the way his mind seemed to stay somewhere else even when he was standing right in front of you.

You hated it. Tonight was no different. You crawled into bed alone, the sheets cool where he should have been, your body instinctively shifting toward his side before you caught yourself, exhaling quietly as you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling.

You told yourself to give it a few minutes, that he’d be home soon, that it wasn’t a big deal, but the longer you lay there, the more the frustration crept in, winding itself tight in your chest until you couldn’t ignore it anymore. With a sharp exhale, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark room as you scrolled to Jack’s name and hit call before you could second guess it.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

“Yeah?” Jack’s voice came through, rough and distracted but alert enough, like he was still in motion.

“Where is he?” you asked immediately, not bothering with a greeting.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Jack huffed out something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “He left ten minutes ago,” he said.

You sat up a little, the tension in your shoulders not easing. “If you keep him any longer—”

“He wasn’t with me,” Jack cut in, his tone sharper now, though not unkind. “He was upstairs. Relax, woman.”

You blew out a breath at that, some of the edge leaving you, though not all of it. “I am relaxed,” you muttered, even as you knew it wasn’t entirely true.

“Mm,” Jack hummed, unconvinced. “What’s going on with that?”

You hesitated for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around your phone before you answered.

“Admin,” you said simply. “They’re piling more on him. Fellows, students, coverage, all of it.”

Jack groaned immediately, the sound heavy with understanding. “Yeah,” he said. “That tracks.”

You waited, half expecting him to offer something else, some kind of advice or reassurance, but he didn’t, and honestly, you didn’t blame him.

“I’m just…” you started, trailing off for a moment before forcing yourself to finish the thought. “I’m worried.”

There was a brief pause, and when Jack spoke again, his voice was quieter, more grounded. “Yeah,” he said. “You should be.”

You swallowed, your gaze drifting toward the bedroom door as if that might somehow make it open faster.

“All of this on top of everything else we deal with every day isn’t good for him,” you added.

“I know,” Jack replied. Then, after a second, he shifted. “You okay?”

You let out a soft, almost incredulous breath at that. “I’m fine,” you said automatically.

“You’re calling me at eleven at night worried about him,” Jack pointed out, not unkindly. “You sure about that?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to brush it off, to say something that sounded more convincing, but before you could, you heard it. The front door. You stilled, your head turning toward the sound as relief hit you first, quick and sharp, followed immediately by something softer, something heavier.

“He’s here,” you said, the tension in your voice easing just slightly.

“Yeah,” Jack said, like he’d expected that. “Go deal with your man.”

You huffed a quiet laugh at that despite everything. “Goodnight, Jack. Thanks.”

“Night,” he replied before the line went dead.

You tossed your phone back onto the bed and pushed yourself up, moving quickly toward the bedroom doorway just as Robby stepped into the hall, his movements slower than usual, his shoulders slumped in a way that made your chest tighten immediately.

He looked exhausted. More than that, he looked worn down, like the day hadn’t just been long, but heavy in a way that stuck to him.

“I know I’m late,” he started, his voice already edged with apology as he stepped toward you. “I’m sorry, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. Your arms came up around his neck, pulling him down into you without hesitation, cutting off whatever explanation he was about to give as you held him there, close and solid and finally here. He let out a long breath against you, the tension in him loosening just slightly as he leaned into it, into you, his hands settling at your waist like he needed the contact just as much as you did.

“Come to bed,” you murmured softly, your voice close to his ear.

He shook his head lightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes tired but still him. “I need a shower,” he said.

“Okay,” you said easily, already leaning in again, your lips finding his in a slow, grounding kiss that lingered just long enough to make him exhale softly into it.

Your hands moved without thinking, familiar with the rhythm of him, the lines of him, as you started tugging at his scrub top, helping him out of it as you stole another kiss, then another, your fingers brushing along his skin as it was exposed. He let you, of course he did, his hands sliding up your sides, pulling you closer as you walked backward, guiding him with you toward the bathroom, the two of you moving together like you had done this a hundred times before.

Your lips shifted to his jaw, then down to his neck, slow and unhurried as he reached around you to turn the shower on, the pipes groaning softly before the water started, steam already beginning to fill the space. His hands settled firmly at your waist, grounding you as your fingers worked at the strings of his scrub pants, loosening them with practiced ease as you pressed closer, your breath warm against his skin.

He pushed the shower door open with one hand, the other already moving to the hem of your sleep shirt, lifting it up and over your head in one smooth motion, his eyes flicking over you for just a second before pulling you in. You stepped inside first, the warmth of the water hitting your skin almost immediately, a soft gasp leaving you at the contrast, and a second later he followed, shedding the last of his clothes as he stepped in behind you.

The space was small, the air thick with steam now, and he didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you back against him as the water cascaded over both of you, washing away the day in slow, steady streams. You leaned into him, your hands coming up to his shoulders, your fingers pressing into the tight muscles there, kneading gently, working through the tension you could feel coiled beneath his skin. He let out a low breath, his head dipping forward slightly as he let you, his hands resting at your hips, holding you there, like he needed the anchor.

“Easy,” you murmured softly, your thumbs pressing into the base of his neck, working their way outward, your touch firm but careful.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the only sound the water and your breathing, the quiet intimacy of it settling around you. Eventually, he shifted, his hands sliding from your hips to your sides as he turned you gently to face him, his movements slower now, more deliberate. When he looked down at you, really looked, you saw it again, the exhaustion, the weight of everything he was carrying, and your chest tightened just slightly. Your hand came up without thinking, your palm cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly along his skin, grounding him the only way you knew how.

“I’ve got you,” you said quietly, your voice steady, certain.

And for a moment, under the steady stream of warm water, he let himself believe it.

******

You woke slowly, not to your alarm, but to something softer, something familiar enough that your body recognized it before your mind fully caught up, the gentle press of lips against your cheek drawing you out of sleep in a way that felt warm instead of jarring. Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy, your senses catching up in pieces, the faint light in the room, the quiet hum of early morning, and then him.

Robby was already dressed, standing at the edge of the bed, one hand braced lightly on the mattress as he leaned over you, his expression softer than it had been in days, though the tension still lingered faintly beneath it.

You blinked up at him, disoriented for just a second before your gaze shifted toward the clock, your brow pulling together when you realized your alarm hadn’t gone off yet.

“You’re up early,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

He huffed a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek.

“Meeting at seven,” he said. “And I need to print notes before it starts, so I’m heading in.”

You pushed yourself up slightly at that, your hand reaching for him instinctively. “You should’ve woken me up,” you said, already trying to sit up fully.

He didn’t let you. His hand pressed gently but firmly against your shoulder, guiding you back down into the bed before you could get very far, his expression shifting just enough to soften the protest you were about to make.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head once. “You need the sleep.”

You opened your mouth to argue anyway, because of course you did, but he leaned in before you could get the words out, his lips finding yours in a kiss that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t distracted, but deep and grounding in a way that made your fingers curl into the front of his shirt without thinking. You held him there for a second longer than necessary, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him there just a little longer.

He chuckled softly against your mouth, the sound low and familiar, before pulling back just enough to look at you.

“I have to go,” he murmured, though his hand lingered at your jaw.

You frowned at him, your grip tightening just slightly. “Stay,” you said quietly, even though you already knew the answer.

He shook his head again, leaning in to press one more lingering kiss to your lips, softer this time. “I’ll see you when you get to work,” he said.

And then he was gone. You lay there for a moment after he left, staring at the ceiling, the faint echo of him still lingering in the space, the warmth of his touch fading slowly as the reality of the day settled in.

By the time you made it into the hospital later, the rhythm of the department had already pulled you in, the hours slipping by in a blur of patients and decisions and movement that left little room to think about anything else. Until he called you into one of his cases.

“Forty-year-old female,” he said as you stepped into the room, his tone already focused, already locked in. “History of cardiac issues, unstable vitals.”

You nodded once, stepping into place beside him without hesitation, your attention narrowing as you took in the patient, the monitors, the numbers that mattered. Whitaker was already there, moving efficiently, handing you what you needed before you even asked, the three of you falling into a rhythm that had been built over time, over repetition, over trust.

“Let’s stabilize her first,” you said, your voice steady as your hands moved, adjusting, assessing, acting.

Robby nodded, already working in tandem with you, his movements precise, controlled despite the edge that still lingered in him, and for a while, everything else faded away. There was only the patient. Only the work. Only the three of you moving together like you had done this a hundred times before.

It took time, longer than you would have liked, but eventually the numbers steadied, the immediate danger passed, and the room shifted, the tension easing just enough that you could finally breathe again. Whitaker let out a long exhale, stepping back slightly as he glanced between the two of you, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“You know,” he said, shaking his head lightly, “I gotta say, I really enjoy working with the ED’s mom and dad.”

You huffed a quiet laugh at that, the sound slipping out before you could stop it, your shoulders relaxing just slightly as he turned and headed toward the door, clearly pleased with himself. You glanced at Robby, a small smile still lingering on your lips, expecting to catch his reaction, expecting something, anything.

But he was already turned away, already back at the computer, his attention locked on the screen as his fingers moved quickly over the keys, charting, documenting, moving on. The shift was immediate, and you felt it.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping closer, your voice softer now.

He didn’t look up right away. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for a second, studying him, the way he was already somewhere else again. “

Are you okay?” you asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, the words automatic, almost reflexive, like he hadn’t fully heard the question.

Your hand came up without thinking, resting lightly against his back, your touch grounding, familiar.

“Robby,” you said a little more firmly. “Are you actually okay?”

He paused then, just for a second, before finishing whatever he was typing and finally pulling his glasses off, turning to look at you.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, though this time there was a little more weight behind it, a little more awareness.

You held his gaze, not entirely convinced, your hand still resting against him.

“Do you think you’ll be able to leave at the end of shift tonight?” you asked.

His expression shifted almost immediately, something tightening there again as he exhaled slowly. “Probably not,” he said.

You stared at him for a second, the frustration you had been holding in all week finally pushing its way to the surface.

“Robby,” you said, your voice low but firm, “this isn’t okay.”

His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze sharpening as he looked at you. “I don’t really have a choice right now,” he replied.

“You do,” you shot back, your hand dropping from his back as you crossed your arms, the tension between you building quickly. “You can say no, you can push back, you can—”

“On what?” he cut in, his voice a little sharper now. “On them trying to fix the department? On them asking for more coverage? More help?”

“This isn’t help,” you said, stepping a little closer, your frustration clear now. “This is them piling more on you without actually giving you what you need.”

He let out a short breath, something between a scoff and a sigh. “That’s how this works,” he said.

“No,” you replied immediately, shaking your head. “That’s how it’s been working, and it’s burning you out.”

He opened his mouth to respond, something defensive already there, but before he could say anything, the door opened again.

“Hey,” Jesse said as he stepped back into the room, holding up the medication Robby had ordered. “Got what you needed.”

Robby’s expression shifted instantly, the argument cutting off mid-breath as he turned toward him, slipping back into that controlled, professional version of himself like flipping a switch.

“Thanks,” he said, already reaching for it.

And then, just like that, he walked out. Leaving you standing there, the words you hadn’t finished still sitting heavy in your chest, the conversation left hanging in a way that felt far too familiar.

******

The argument didn’t happen right away. That was the worst part of it. It lingered, stretched thin across the rest of the shift like something waiting to snap, woven into the spaces where the two of you passed each other without stopping, where words were exchanged only when necessary, clipped and professional in a way that felt wrong after everything that had been said and everything that hadn’t. By the time you both got home, it was late, the kind of late that should have meant quiet, should have meant exhaustion pulling you straight into bed without the energy for anything else.

But the tension followed you inside anyway. Robby barely got the door closed behind him before he was moving again, tossing his keys onto the counter with more force than necessary, his shoulders tight, his jaw set in a way that told you he hadn’t let it go either. You stood near the edge of the living room, watching him for a second, your arms crossed loosely over your chest, the silence between you heavy, waiting.

“You just walked out,” you said finally, your voice controlled but not soft.

He didn’t turn around right away, his hands braced against the counter as he stared down at it, his breath slow but uneven.

“I had a patient,” he said.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you replied, the edge in your voice sharpening just slightly.

He turned then, finally, his expression already defensive, already braced.

“I know what you’re talking about,” he said. “And I didn’t have time to stand there and argue with you in the middle of the ED.”

“You never have time,” you shot back, stepping a little closer, the frustration that had been building all week finally pushing forward. “That’s the point, Robby. There’s always something else, always another patient, another meeting, another reason why everything else comes before—”

“Before what?” he cut in, his voice rising just enough to fill the space between you. “Before this?”

You held his gaze, not backing down. “Before us,” you said firmly.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair as he paced a step away, then back again, like he didn’t know where to put the energy sitting under his skin.

“You think I want this?” he asked, his voice rougher now. “You think I want to be there all the time, dealing with admin, dealing with staffing, dealing with a department that is barely holding together some days?”

“Then stop,” you said immediately.

He stared at you like you had just said something ridiculous, something impossible. “That’s not how this works.”

“Why not?” you pressed, your voice rising to meet his. “Why is it always you? Why do you have to be the one carrying all of it?”

“Because no one else is going to,” he snapped, the words coming out sharper than anything he had said yet. “Because if I don’t, it falls apart.”

You shook your head immediately, anger flaring. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insisted, stepping closer now, his voice low but intense. “You see it every day. You know how it gets. You know what happens when there’s no one keeping it together.”

“And you think you’re the only one who can do that?” you challenged, your brows pulling together. “You think without you the entire place just collapses?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

The certainty in it hit harder than anything else. You stared at him for a second, something in your chest tightening, not just frustration now, but something deeper, something more personal.

“That’s not just about the hospital,” you said quietly, your voice shifting. “That’s how you see everything, isn’t it?”

He frowned slightly, thrown off for just a second. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you continued, your tone steady but cutting now, “that you think you’re the only one who can hold things together, that everything depends on you, that if you step back for even a second, it all falls apart.”

“Because it does,” he said again, more forcefully this time.

“No,” you shot back, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. “It doesn’t. And if you keep going like this, pushing yourself past the point of exhaustion, taking on everything without letting anyone else help, then they will find out what it’s like without you.”

His expression shifted at that, something flashing there, anger or hurt or both.

“Don’t,” he said sharply.

“No, you don’t get to shut that down,” you continued, your voice rising despite yourself. “You’re not invincible, Robby. You don’t get to just keep doing this like it won’t catch up to you.”

“And what do you want me to do?” he demanded, his voice louder now, frustration spilling over. “Walk away? Leave it to people who don’t care as much? Who don’t see what’s actually happening?”

“I want you to stop acting like you’re the only one who cares,” you said, the words landing harder than you meant them to.

He went still at that, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” you replied, not backing down. “You shut everyone out, you take everything on yourself, and then you act like no one else is stepping up when you won’t even let them.”

He let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “You think I’m the problem?”

“I think you’re part of it,” you said, the honesty sharp and immediate.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with everything neither of you had said out loud before.

“And what about you?” he shot back after a moment, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You think you’ve been so easy to deal with lately? You think I don’t feel you pulling back every time this comes up?”

Your breath caught slightly at that, your eyes narrowing.

“I’m pulling back because you’re not here,” you said. “Even when you are, you’re not.”

“I’m doing my job,” he said.

“And I’m asking you to still be my partner while you do it,” you replied, your voice cracking just slightly at the edges now.

He looked at you then, really looked, something conflicted flickering across his face before it hardened again. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped. “What is?”

“Maybe this,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “doesn’t work the way we thought it did.”

The words hit like a physical thing, sharp and immediate, and for a second you just stared at him, unable to process them.

“You don’t mean that,” you said, your voice softer now, but unsteady.

“Don’t I?” he countered, though there was something uncertain buried under it.

“You’re just tired,” you said quickly, like if you could explain it away it wouldn’t be real. “You’re stressed and you’re taking it out on—”

“I’m not taking it out on you,” he interrupted, his tone defensive again. “I’m telling you how it feels.”

“And how it feels is that this doesn’t work?” you asked, your voice rising again, hurt threading through it now. “After everything? After eleven years of knowing each other, seven years of being together, that’s where you land?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, the words rough, frustrated. “I don’t know anything right now except that I’m being pulled in ten different directions and I can’t keep up with all of it.”

“And I’m one of those directions?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. And that was answer enough. You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you took a step back, putting space between you for the first time since the argument started.

“That’s…really something,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, like he was trying to find the words to fix what he had just broken, but nothing came out. The silence stretched, heavy and unresolved, the air between you thick with everything that had been said and everything that couldn’t be taken back. And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like something you could just move past.

******

The air had finally shifted sometime after sunset, the heavy heat of the day giving way to something cooler, something that felt like it could be breathed in without effort, and you had taken refuge in it without really thinking, stepping out onto the balcony and staying there long after the light had faded completely. You hadn’t eaten, though you knew you should have, your body running on nothing but the remnants of the day and the adrenaline that had long since burned out, but the thought of food sat heavy in your stomach in a way that made it impossible to even consider.

You hadn’t spoken to Robby either. Not since the argument. Not since the words that had hung between you, sharp and unresolved, cutting deeper the longer they sat there without anything to soften them. You didn’t even know what he had been doing inside, whether he had tried to distract himself with work, whether he had just sat with it the way you had, whether he had replayed the conversation over and over the same way it kept circling in your mind until you had finally gone too tired to even keep doing that.

Your tears had come and gone hours ago, leaving behind nothing but a dull ache and a heaviness that settled deep in your chest, and now you just…sat, your arms loosely wrapped around yourself as you stared out into the quiet, your thoughts slowed to the point where they barely felt like thoughts at all. You heard the door before you saw him. The soft roll of it opening behind you, the shift in the air that told you he was there even before you turned your head.

When you did, your eyes met his immediately. For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. He leaned slightly against the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his posture looser than it had been earlier but not relaxed, not really, and in the dim light you could see it, the redness in his eyes, the way the edges of him looked…worn.

“It’s late,” he said finally, his voice quieter than it had been hours ago, the sharpness gone, replaced with something softer, something tired. “Come try and get some sleep.”

You held his gaze for a second before looking away again, your fingers tightening slightly around your arms.

“I’m off tomorrow,” you said. “You can go ahead.”

He didn’t move.

“I couldn’t sleep right now even if I tried,” you added, your voice flat, not cold but not warm either, just…honest.

The silence settled again after that, stretching between you, longer this time, heavier. You expected him to leave. He didn’t. After another minute, you turned your head again, looking back at him, and this time you really saw it, the way his eyes were red, not just tired but…something else, something that made your chest tighten despite everything. For a second, instinct kicked in, that pull to get up, to go to him, to fix it the way you always did. But his words from earlier sat there too, just as heavy, just as present, and they kept you where you were.

He glanced at you again, like he could feel the shift, like he knew exactly what was holding you back.

“Come to bed,” he said again, softer this time, almost like he was asking instead of telling.

You held his gaze, something steady settling into you despite the exhaustion.

“Did you mean it?” you asked quietly.

He stilled.

“What you said earlier,” you clarified, your voice still even, still controlled in a way that cost you more than it showed.

He shook his head almost immediately, his hand dragging down over his face as he exhaled. “I’m not even sure I know my own name right now,” he muttered, the words rough, disjointed.

You didn’t respond to that, didn’t let him deflect, just watched him, waiting. He saw it. You saw the moment it landed, the moment he realized that wasn’t enough, that you weren’t going to let it go with something half-formed and uncertain. He let out a heavier sigh then, his shoulders dropping just slightly as he looked back at you.

“No,” he said finally, more clearly this time. “Of course I didn’t mean it.”

The tension in your chest eased just a fraction, but it didn’t disappear, not completely.

“Then why did you say it?” you asked, the question quiet but firm.

He hesitated, his gaze drifting away for a second before coming back to you, like he was forcing himself to stay there, to not look away.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “Maybe because I feel like I’m backed into a corner right now, and the only way out is to…push everything away before it gets any heavier.”

Your brow pulled together slightly at that, your arms loosening just a little as you shifted in your seat.

“You’re not—” he started quickly, stepping forward just a fraction. “You’re not weight. That’s not what I meant.”

“But knowing I’m worried is,” you said quietly, finishing the thought for him.

He didn’t deny it. He just looked at you, something conflicted and tired and painfully honest sitting in his expression.

“I’ve fought Gloria,” he said after a second, his voice still low but steadier now. “I’ve fought Dana, I’ve fought Jack… I feel like I’m fighting everyone lately.” He let out a breath that sounded like it had been sitting in his chest all day. “So why not you too?”

The words landed softer than the ones before, but they still landed. You stared at him for a moment, something in you shifting, not anger this time, not even frustration, just…something tired and real. You pushed yourself up slowly, your legs stiff from sitting there so long, and walked toward him, closing the distance that had felt so wide just minutes ago.

“I can’t fight you,” you said quietly, stopping just in front of him.

His eyes lifted to yours, something breaking open there just slightly.

“I don’t have it in my heart to do that,” you added, your voice softer now, but no less certain.

He swallowed, his expression shifting into something that looked dangerously close to falling apart, the weight of everything pressing down in a way that neither of you could ignore anymore. The soft chime of the clock inside echoed faintly through the apartment, marking midnight in a way that felt almost too loud for the moment. He exhaled slowly, his gaze still locked on yours.

“Please,” he said, the word quiet, almost fragile. “Come to bed.”

You hesitated, the exhaustion settling heavier into your bones now, the emotional weight of the night leaving you with very little left to give.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer then, not touching you yet, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the familiarity of him.

“Will you at least lie down with me?” he asked, his tone softer than you had heard it all night.

You looked at him for a long second, the fight gone from both of you now, replaced with something quieter, something that didn’t demand or push, just…asked. And you didn’t have it in you to argue anymore. So you nodded, just once.

“Okay,” you said.

And together, without another word, you went inside.

******

The shift had felt normal in the way that nothing in the emergency department was ever truly normal, but predictable enough that you had slipped into the rhythm of it without thinking, moving from patient to patient, room to room, letting muscle memory and experience carry you through the noise and urgency. Samira was beside you in the room, running through vitals again while you reviewed the chart, the patient on the bed agitated in a way that hadn’t quite tipped into concern yet, but sat just on the edge of it, enough that you kept one eye on him even as you spoke.

“Sir, I just need you to stay still for me,” you said calmly, your voice even, practiced, as you stepped a little closer to adjust the line at his arm.

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, his tone sharp, his body tense under your hands.

“I hear you,” you replied, not rising to it, your movements steady. “But we need to make sure—”

It happened fast. Faster than your brain could fully process in the moment. One second you were standing there, focused, controlled, and the next his hand was shoving hard against your shoulder, the force unexpected enough that it knocked you back before you could brace for it. Your back hit the wall behind you with a dull impact, not enough to do real damage, but enough to knock the breath out of you for a split second, your hand instinctively coming up to steady yourself.

“Hey—!” Samira started, stepping forward, but the patient turned on her just as quickly, his arm swinging out and catching her off balance.

She went down hard, the sound of it sharp against the tile as she hit the ground, the chaos in the room escalating instantly.

“Security!” someone shouted from the doorway, though you didn’t even register who.

You were already moving, pushing off the wall despite the lingering sting in your shoulder, your focus snapping back into place as you stepped forward again.

“Sir, you need to—”

Robby was there before you finished the sentence. You didn’t even see where he came from, only that suddenly he was between you and the patient, his presence immediate and commanding in a way that shifted the entire energy of the room.

“Back up,” he said, his voice low but firm, his hands up, ready.

The patient didn’t listen. He swung. The hit landed against Robby’s cheek, the sound of it sharp and sickening, your stomach dropping even as Robby barely staggered, his body absorbing it in a way that spoke of instinct and experience.

And then he swung back. Not wild, not uncontrolled, but precise, a single punch that sent the patient stumbling backward onto the bed, disoriented just long enough for the rest of the team to move in. Security flooded the room seconds later, voices overlapping, hands grabbing, restraining, bringing the situation back under control piece by piece until the chaos finally settled into something contained. Your heart was still racing when it was over, your breathing uneven as you looked between Samira, who was already pushing herself back up with help, and Robby, who stood there still, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast.

“I’m fine,” he muttered when your eyes landed on him, though you hadn’t even asked yet.

You didn’t believe him.

******

A little while later, the department had moved on the way it always did, the incident already becoming just another thing in a long line of things, but you hadn’t. You stood in front of him now, the ice pack pressed gently against his cheek where the bruise was already beginning to form, your movements careful, controlled in a way that barely masked the anger still simmering underneath. He sat on the edge of a small suture table, one hand resting against it while you worked, his other hand held out toward you as you cleaned the shallow cuts across his knuckles.

“You’re going to have a hell of a bruise,” you murmured, your tone quieter now but still edged.

“I’ve had worse,” he replied, though there was a faint wince as you dabbed antiseptic over the split skin.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you shot back, your focus not leaving your hands as you applied ointment carefully, making sure nothing deeper had been missed.

He didn’t argue with that. For a moment, it was quiet, the first real pause either of you had had all day, the first moment where he wasn’t being pulled in ten different directions, where you weren’t either. And then the door opened.

Gloria stepped in like she owned the space, composed as ever, her gaze moving quickly over the scene before settling on Robby, then on you.

“I heard there was an incident,” she said, her tone calm, measured.

Something in you snapped. You straightened immediately, the ice pack still in your hand as you turned to face her fully, the frustration and anger you had been holding onto for days finally breaking through.

“An incident?” you repeated, your voice sharp, incredulous. “He just got hit by a patient, Gloria.”

Her expression didn’t change, not much, but you didn’t stop.

“This is what happens,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice rising despite yourself. “You keep piling more and more on him, stretching him thinner and thinner, and then you expect him to walk back into situations like that without missing a beat.”

“Doctor—” she started.

“No,” you cut her off, your tone firm, leaving no room for interruption. “You don’t get to brush this off like it’s nothing. He hasn’t had a real break in weeks. He’s exhausted, he’s running on fumes, and you’re still asking for more.”

Robby shifted slightly behind you, like he might say something, but you didn’t let him.

“If you don’t back off,” you added, your voice lower now but no less intense, “I will walk. And I’m not bluffing.”

The room went still. Gloria regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, her composure unshaken in a way that only seemed to fuel your anger more.

“You’re not in charge here,” she said calmly.

You didn’t flinch.

“But,” she added, her gaze flicking briefly to Robby before returning to you, something more thoughtful settling there, “maybe he should take the rest of the day off.”

There was a pause, just long enough for the words to settle.

“Maybe both of you should,” she continued, her tone still even. “That’s not a suggestion.”

An order. And just like that, she turned and stepped back out, the door closing quietly behind her. The silence that followed felt heavier than the chaos from earlier. You stood there for a second longer, your chest still tight, your grip on the ice pack loosening slightly before you turned back toward him.

Robby hadn’t moved. He was still sitting there, the ice pack now resting loosely in his own hand against his cheek, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead of him, his expression unreadable in a way that made your chest ache.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t moving. And you weren’t sure if that made it better…or worse.

******

The apartment felt quieter than usual, not in an empty way, but in a way that felt intentional, like both of you were still recovering from the day, from the week, from everything that had been building and finally broken open. The muted sound of the game played softly in the background, the Pittsburgh Pirates moving across the screen in a rhythm that felt almost soothing in its predictability, a stark contrast to the chaos you had both come from just hours earlier.

Robby sat on the couch, his posture relaxed in appearance only, one arm draped loosely along his leg while the other held the ice pack against his knuckles, his gaze fixed on the television without really being there, like his mind was still somewhere else entirely. You watched him from the kitchen, your hands moving through the motions of starting dinner without much thought behind them, the chicken sitting in the bowl in front of you as you worked the marinade through it slowly, your eyes drifting back to him more often than not.

He hadn’t moved much since you got home. At first, it had worried you. Now, you weren’t sure. Maybe stillness was what he needed. Maybe not being pulled in ten different directions, not being forced to react, to decide, to carry everything, maybe that was the break his body and mind had been begging for.

You exhaled softly and slid the bowl into the fridge, closing the door with a quiet click before wiping your hands on a towel and making your way over to him. He looked up when you got close, his eyes finding yours easily, something more present there now than there had been earlier.

“How are you?” you asked, your voice gentle, your arms crossing loosely as you stood in front of him.

“I’m fine,” he said, the answer automatic but not dismissive this time, just…simple.

You glanced down at his hand, then back at him. “Did you take something?” you asked.

He nodded toward the table beside him, where the bottle of Tylenol sat open, the cap resting loosely next to it. “Yeah.”

You nodded once, the quiet settling again between you as you shifted your weight slightly, your gaze flicking toward the television for a second.

“Who’s winning?” you asked, the question light, almost absent.

That’s when he smiled. It was small, barely there, but you saw it, felt it, the shift in him as he looked back at you.

“What?” you asked, your brows pulling together slightly.

“You can just ask me what you actually want to ask,” he said, his tone softer now, something knowing in it. “You don’t have to do the small talk thing.”

You let out a quiet breath at that, your arms tightening just slightly across your chest before you gave in, your gaze steadying on him.

“Have you thought about it?” you asked. “About earlier. About…us?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the remote and turned the volume all the way down until the game became nothing more than silent movement in the background, the room settling into something more serious, more intentional. He set the ice pack down on the table, flexing his fingers once before resting his hands on his knees, his gaze dropping for a moment as if he was gathering the right words.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said finally, his voice low, steady. “I don’t want to fight anyone.”

You nodded slightly, but didn’t interrupt.

“But you also can’t stand there and tell me that if I just stop,” he continued, lifting his eyes back to you, “if I just walk away from trying to organize that place, from trying to keep it running the way it needs to, that everything will be fine.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.

“I’m too ingrained in it,” he said, more firmly now. “Whether it’s fair or not, that’s the reality. I’m in it. And I can’t just…pull out and pretend it won’t matter.”

The words settled between you, heavier this time, but not sharp like before, not meant to wound, just…honest.

“I can try to step back,” he added after a second. “I can lean on Jack more. On Shen. I can push for different support instead of just more fellows and students. I can ask for what we actually need.”

You felt something in your chest ease just slightly at that, not fully, but enough. He stood then, pushing himself up from the couch, his presence shifting as he moved closer to you, his eyes holding yours in a way that told you he wasn’t done yet.

“But I need you to step up more too,” he said.

You blinked, thrown slightly. “I am stepping up,” you replied, your brows pulling together.

He shook his head, not harshly, but firmly. “Not in the way I need,” he said.

You frowned, confusion settling in. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he continued, his voice steady, “I need you to start looking at patients as numbers.”

You stared at him, the words not landing right, not at all. “I’m an attending,” you said. “I do look at—”

“You’re incredible with patients,” he cut in, not dismissive, but certain. “You always have been. But you lean into that side of it. The teaching, the care, the connection.”

“I’ve taken on more teaching,” you argued, your tone tightening slightly. “That is stepping up.”

“Everyone teaches,” he replied, not unkindly, but directly. “It’s a teaching hospital. That’s not the gap I need you to fill.”

You felt the frustration flicker again, but this time it was mixed with something else, something slower, something dawning.

“I need you on chart approvals,” he continued. “On patient satisfaction metrics. I need you helping with resident scheduling. I need you working with Dana on nurse coordination.”

Your frown deepened, but the pieces were starting to shift, starting to fall into place in a way you hadn’t considered before. Robby had been carrying more. Because you hadn’t been. Not in those areas. He watched you as it clicked, his expression softening just slightly.

“I should’ve pushed you more on it,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”

You looked up at him, something quieter settling into your chest. “Why?”

That was when he smiled again, this time a little more openly, a little more like him.

“Come on, baby,” he said softly. “You know why.”

And you did. Because he knew what you loved. Because he had let you stay in it. Because he had taken the rest on himself instead. Your shoulders dropped slowly, the tension easing out of you as you turned and walked back toward the couch, lowering yourself onto it with a quiet exhale.

He followed a second later, sitting down beside you, his arm stretching across the back of the couch behind you, not quite pulling you in, but there, available, steady.

You glanced at him, then down at your hands. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

He shook his head immediately. “No,” he said. “You became a doctor because you wanted to help people. You’ve risen through all of this because you’re good at it. I’ve loved watching you do that.”

You looked up at him again, something in your chest tightening for a different reason now.

“But now,” he continued, his voice softer, more real, “you’re too good. You’re too valuable. And people like Gloria…they’re going to use that.”

The words settled heavy, but not wrong. You leaned into him then, your shoulder brushing his side, your body fitting into his in a way that felt natural again, like something that hadn’t been broken, just strained. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then you tilted your head up slightly, looking at him. “So…more paperwork?” you asked, your tone lighter, but only just.

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound real this time, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

You frowned a little at that, but nodded anyway, accepting it even if you didn’t love it. A few seconds later, you felt his lips press gently to your temple, lingering there just long enough to say everything he wasn’t putting into words. And for the first time in days, it felt like you were on the same side again.

******

The department had thinned out just enough to feel the difference, not quiet, never truly quiet, but less frantic, less immediate, the kind of late shift lull where the work didn’t stop, it just…slowed its pace enough for everything else to catch up. You were still at the computer, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed on the screen as you worked your way through the mountain of charts from the day, your fingers moving slower now than they had earlier, fatigue creeping in with every line you entered.

It had been hours. And somehow, you were still not done. You barely registered the sound of footsteps behind you until you felt him there, his presence settling in close before his voice followed.

“You ready to go?” Robby asked, his tone softer than it had been most of the day.

You didn’t turn right away, your eyes still scanning the chart in front of you as you shook your head slightly.

“Almost,” you said, though even you weren’t entirely sure that was true.

He didn’t push it. Instead, he stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there in a way that made you exhale without meaning to, the tension easing just slightly under his touch.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” he murmured, his voice lower now, closer.

“Mm,” you hummed in agreement, your head tilting just a fraction as you leaned into his hands.

You felt him lean down then, his lips brushing softly against the side of your neck, the touch gentle, grounding, familiar in a way that made everything else fade for just a second. You closed your eyes briefly, letting yourself have that moment.

And then he stilled. His hands paused, his breath shifting slightly, and you felt it immediately, the change in him before he even said anything.

“You’re gonna hate me,” he said quietly.

You frowned, your eyes opening as you turned your head to look back at him. “What?”

He hesitated for just a second before gesturing toward the screen. “You’re doing it wrong.”

You blinked at him, the words not quite landing at first. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward slightly, pointing to a section of the chart.

“That information,” he said, “it goes here, not there.”

You stared at the screen, then back at him, your stomach dropping just a little. “Robby,” you said slowly, “I’ve done like…twenty charts like this.”

“Yeah,” he replied, not unkindly, but definitely not backing down. “And they’re all wrong.”

You closed your eyes for a second, your head dropping forward slightly as you let out a long breath. “I’m going to start crying,” you muttered.

He immediately dropped his bag to the floor beside him, stepping closer again. “Hey,” he said, softer now. “I’ll help you fix them.”

You shook your head before he even finished the sentence, straightening slightly in your chair. “No.”

He frowned. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you repeated, turning back to the screen, your fingers already moving again. “It’s my job. I need to do it.”

“You don’t have to sit here for another hour fixing this by yourself,” he argued, his tone shifting into something more insistent.

“Yes, I do,” you shot back, though there was no real heat in it, just determination. “It’s the only way I’m going to learn it the right way.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Or you could learn it faster if I just—”

“No,” you said again, more firmly this time, finally turning in your chair to face him fully. “Plus,” you added, your expression softening just slightly, “how long has it been since you got home before me?”

He paused at that, something amused flickering across his face despite himself. “A while,” he admitted.

You nodded once. “Exactly. So go home.”

He looked like he wanted to argue again, the words already forming, but you held his gaze, steady, unyielding in a way he knew better than to push too far.

“I’ll be there later,” you said quietly.

He sighed, the fight leaving him as he bent down to pick up his bag again, slinging it over his shoulder.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly at that, tilting your head up as he leaned down, meeting him halfway as your lips brushed together in a soft, lingering kiss.

“I learned from the best,” you murmured against his mouth.

He huffed a quiet laugh, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before pulling back. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

You nodded, already turning back to your screen as he walked away.

It took another hour. An entire hour of reworking, correcting, double-checking, your eyes burning slightly by the time you finally finished the last chart, your shoulders aching as you leaned back in your chair and let out a slow breath. But you did it. Every single one.

You gathered your things slowly, shutting down the computer before making your way out, the department quieter now, the late hour settling in fully. You were halfway down the hall when you ran into Ellis, who looked at you like you had just proven some long-standing point.

“You’re still here?” she laughed lightly, crossing her arms.

You groaned softly, shaking your head. “Not anymore. I’m leaving.”

She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Going home to your lover?” she asked, her tone teasing.

You let out a quiet laugh despite your exhaustion, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Is that what you call your boss?” you shot back.

She smirked wider at that, clearly entertained, but didn’t argue.

“Get out of here,” she said, waving you off.

You gave her a small wave in return, your steps a little lighter now as you headed for the exit. Finally done. And finally on your way back to him.

******

By the time you got home, the exhaustion had settled deep into your bones, the kind that came from a full day, from pushing yourself into something new and stubbornly refusing to let it beat you, but underneath it there was something lighter too, something steady that carried you up the stairs and through the door.

The second you stepped inside, you smelled it. Not cooking, not something simmering on the stove the way it usually was, but takeout, something warm and easy and already done, and it made your shoulders drop just a fraction as you shut the door behind you.

Robby was already there, moving around the kitchen in that familiar way, more relaxed than you had seen him in days, his sleeves pushed up, his posture looser as he turned toward you.

You dropped your bag without much ceremony, your shoes kicked off halfway to the kitchen as you let out a breath and said, without overthinking it, “I love you.”

He laughed at that immediately, the sound real and unguarded as he reached for a beer and handed it to you.

“That took you all of ten seconds,” he said, his eyes soft as he watched you.

You took it from him, your fingers brushing his briefly before you leaned in and kissed him, slow and easy, the kind of kiss that didn’t need anything else behind it except the fact that you were both here, together, at the end of the day.

“Finish the charts?” he murmured against your lips.

“Fuck charts,” you replied, though there was a smile tugging at your mouth as you pulled back and made your way over to the counter where the food was laid out.

You started plating your meal without much thought, your body moving on autopilot as you opened containers, portioned things out, letting the normalcy of it settle you in a way that felt grounding after everything.

You reached for a napkin. And stopped. There, sitting neatly on top of the stack, was an envelope.

Your name was written across the front in Robby’s handwriting, unmistakable even in the simplest form, and something in your chest shifted immediately as your fingers hovered over it for just a second before you picked it up. You glanced over at him instinctively. He was already watching you. Not tense, not nervous exactly, but waiting, his expression softer, more open than you had seen it in days.

You set your plate down without realizing you were doing it, your attention fully pulled into the envelope now as you slid your finger under the flap and opened it carefully.

Inside were tickets. Your brow furrowed slightly as you pulled them out, your eyes scanning the details, the destination hitting you first.

The British Virgin Islands.

You blinked, your brain catching up a second later as you looked closer, the dates clicking into place. Four, five days. Leaving in three. Right after your four-day shift stretch. You looked up at him, the question already there before you could even form it.

He just shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, like he hadn’t just handed you something that made your entire chest feel lighter all at once.

“You told me I needed to step back some,” he said, his tone casual, but there was something more behind it, something intentional. “Figured if I’m doing that, I’m bringing you with me.”

A laugh broke out of you before you could stop it, a little disbelieving, a little overwhelmed as you shook your head.

“I meant like…a walk in the park,” you said, your voice warm despite yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“I can cancel it,” he said, like he meant it, like it wouldn’t cost him anything to pull it back if you didn’t want it.

“No,” you said immediately.

You crossed the space between you before he could even finish the thought, the tickets still in your hand as your other arm came up around his neck, pulling yourself into him without hesitation.

“Don’t you dare,” you added more softly, your forehead brushing his for a second as you held him there.

He let out a quiet breath, his hands settling at your waist, grounding you both as he looked down at you.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You smiled, something soft and certain settling into place. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m sure.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, just stood there in the kitchen, the weight of the last few days still there, but lighter now, like something had shifted just enough to let you both breathe again. Your fingers tightened slightly around the envelope as you pulled back just enough to look at him again, your expression softening.

“We leave in three days?” you asked.

He nodded once. You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head again as you leaned back into him, your arms still wrapped around him.

“Okay,” you said, more to yourself than anything.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something pressing down on you. It felt like something you were walking into together.

*******

You woke slowly, not all at once, but in pieces, your body surfacing before your mind fully caught up, the kind of disjointed awareness that came from being somewhere unfamiliar in the best possible way. The first thing you noticed wasn’t the bed beneath you or the light filtering in through the curtains.

It was the sound. Soft, steady, rhythmic. Waves. It took your brain a second to register it, to place it, because it didn’t belong to your normal, didn’t belong to the city noise and distant sirens and the constant hum of Pittsburgh that you had grown so used to that you barely noticed it anymore.

This was different. This was…open. You shifted slightly, your eyes still closed as you breathed in, and that’s when the second thing hit you.

Salt. Warm air. Ocean.

Your eyes opened then, blinking against the brightness as you took in the room around you, the unfamiliar walls, the soft, airy space that felt so far removed from your apartment that it almost didn’t feel real at first. And then you turned your head slightly, your gaze drifting toward the open balcony doors, where the curtains moved lazily in the breeze, and beyond them…Aquamarine water. Endless and bright and impossibly clear, stretching out until it met the sky in a way that made your chest feel lighter just looking at it.

The waves rolled in gently in the distance, their sound steady, grounding, and for a moment you just stared, your brain finally catching up with what your senses had already figured out.

This wasn’t Pittsburgh.

A quiet breath left you, something between a laugh and disbelief as you pushed yourself up slowly, the sheets falling away as you sat there, letting it settle fully into you. You were here. You were actually here. And then you smelled it.

Coffee. Fresh, warm, familiar in a way that cut through the surrealness of everything else, anchoring you just enough to pull you fully out of bed. You swung your legs over the side, your movements still slow, still waking, your hand reaching automatically for the nearest thing you could throw on, and your fingers brushed against his shirt. You smiled faintly to yourself as you pulled it on, the fabric soft and familiar as it draped over your body, the scent of him still faintly there even in a place like this.

You rubbed your face but stopped. You pulled your hand back down and looked at the ring on your finger. It was a simple diamond cut framed by a gold band. It was perfect.

The floor was cool beneath your feet as you stepped out of the bedroom, following the smell without thinking, your body already knowing where to go. You found him in the small kitchen area just off the main room, standing at the counter with two mugs in front of him, his back partially turned as he poured the coffee, his movements easy, unhurried in a way that felt foreign compared to how you were used to seeing him.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard you, and the second his eyes landed on you, he smiled. Not the small, tired ones you had seen lately. A real one.

He was already dressed for the day, if you could even call it that, swim trunks sitting low on his hips, a loose shirt thrown on like an afterthought, his hair still slightly damp like he had already been outside, already taken in the morning before you had even woken up.

“Morning,” he said, his voice warm, relaxed in a way that made something in your chest ease instantly.

You leaned lightly against the doorway for a second, just watching him, taking in the version of him that didn’t look pulled in ten different directions, that didn’t look like the weight of an entire department was sitting on his shoulders.

“Morning,” you echoed softly.

He picked up one of the mugs and held it out to you as you stepped closer, your fingers brushing his as you took it, the heat of it grounding in your hands. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, close, the quiet between you filled with something different now, something lighter, something that didn’t feel like it was about to break under pressure. You took a small sip, your eyes drifting back toward the open balcony, toward the water that seemed to stretch on forever.

“This is…insane,” you said quietly, the words almost unnecessary but still needing to be said.

He huffed a soft laugh beside you, following your gaze. “Yeah,” he agreed.

You looked back at him then, really looked, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way they had softened, the way the tension that had been so constant lately seemed…gone, or at least quieter.

“This is exactly what we needed,” you added, your voice softer now, more certain.

He met your gaze, something steady settling there as he nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said again, more firmly this time.

You stepped a little closer then, your free hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath your fingers as you leaned into him without thinking. The ring on your finger catching the sunlight.

He didn’t hesitate, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you in, his chin dipping slightly as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

Outside, the waves kept rolling in, steady and endless, the breeze carrying through the room as the world moved on without you for once. And for the first time in a long time, neither of you felt like you had to chase it.

You could just…be here. Together.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

hehe