dennis is pretty drunk when trinity pulls him aside at the club to ask if he could make himself scarce at their apartment that night so that he could take the girl who'd been steadily funding her drinks for the past two hours home. he says yes. of course he says yes, he's heard more of trinity's sex life than he wanted to over the past year, so at this point he was just happy to have been given the warning.
the uber ride is awkward and silent, but thankfully short. dennis is happy to rest his head against the cold window and close his eyes to avoid feeling dizzy instead of having to keep up with dry small talk. he steps out onto the sidewalk, thanking the driver before closing the door and walking up the footpath to the door of the townhouse.
the key scrapes at the keyhole as he fumbles with shaky hands to insert it aided only by the low glow of a streetlamp nearby. it clicks open and he shuffles in, toeing his shoes off to leave in the entryway. it's warm. dark, cozy, and familiar.
his throat is dry from too much alcohol and not enough water (and maybe a drunk cigarette or two). dennis stumbles his way through the unlit house to the kitchen. the moonlight shines through the window, but he doesn't need the illumination of it to know which cabinet to open or what shelf to reach towards to get a cup. when he fills the cup with ice from the freezer ice dispenser the whirring of the machine grates his ears that are very much still ringing from the too loud club music. he closes his eyes and leans back against the counter as he sips at the cold water. everything hurts. his skin feels disgusting, covered in dried down sweat and spilled drinks, but at least it's peaceful here.
"who the fuck—whitaker?"
dennis's eyes shoot open quickly, his brain lags a few seconds behind. robby is standing in front of him. dr. robby. standing in dr. robby's kitchen. because dr. robby has definitely been home from his sabbatical for weeks and it makes way more sense for him to be in his kitchen at three a.m. than for dennis to be there. because dennis isn't house sitting any more, so he definitely shouldn't still be using robby's place to hide from lesbian sex noises. it is probably actually really weird that he was there.
"is it weird that i'm here?"
"is... whitaker, are you drunk?"
dennis laughs. this is all very funny. he's suddenly aware that maybe he hasn't sobered up as much as he thought. "little bit... lottle bit..." he corrects himself between giggles.
robby sighs, rubbing at his eyes. he looks tired. probably because he just got woken up to someone in his kitchen at three in the morning. he still looks good. dennis thinks he always looks good, a little blurry right now, though.
"why are you drunk in my kitchen right now, dennis?" robby asks with a raised brow.
"muscle memory i guess. would come here when... trinity is having sex right now, so i don't wanna be home—"
robby exhales sharply, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back. "nevermind! forget i asked—"
dennis scrunches up his face, continuing on like robby didn't say anything, "because if i'm home then i'd have to hear sex noises, and i don't want to hear sex noises... unless you want to make sex noises, dr. robby. i wouldn't mind that."
robby hums awkwardly, trying to get him to shut up. "okay! i mean not— okay okay. i think you should make sleep noises right now. in the guest room. and then tomorrow you can make hangover noises, yeah?"
dennis thinks that maybe if it wasn't so dark in here, he'd be able to see that robby's face was red. "sleep," he affirms, nodding dutifully. he sets his now drained glass on the counter before padding down the hallway after robby on socked feet.
robby still doesn't ask for his house key back when he gets dennis situated in an uber (that he pays for) the next day.
All these tourists having a great time at the World Cup isn't surprising b/c the first rule of America is that this place rules if you have money to blow and it's a nightmare if you don't. The prohibitively high cost of attending the World Cup filtered out all the ppl who don't have money so all the people who actually made it to the U.S. are basically guaranteed to have fun
do you ever think about how john's med school rotations and residency happened during covid when racism against asian people, specifically chinese people, intensified and just fucking cry? do you think about how the people he wanted to save started treating him differently, hatefully, and how he decided to push through anyway? do you think about how, maybe, that's why he ended up choosing the nightshift? (my mom used to work nightshifts during covid and told me that it was because patients were less particular with their doctors at that time; how, compounded by pain and just the natural exhaustion, there were less push backs on who was treating who, and because of that she felt a whole lot safer.)
Will following what looks to be a green-eyed brunette named Mackenzie while probably drunk off his ass at like two am after the famed cape cod 4th of July…. it really writes itself at this point lmao
Mack, on his fourth dose increase of Prozac since February, alternating shifts with Minty to make sure Bedsy doesn’t jump off the roof of Paradox Vancouver: sure…fun…
and they were roomies (really) @bludgeonedpast - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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