robby didn’t like losing things. it was just a coincidence that he’d lost a lot.
maybe that was why when dennis said he was going to finish out his residency at a rural hospital, robby went to home depot instead of a bar.
it was just that…dennis was his. whether the boy knew it or not, robby needed him. ever since that first day in peds, when dennis had stumbled upon him in his sorry state, robby had grown attached in a dire way. and dennis needed the direction. he needed the squeezes and the chastising and the direction. dennis needed robby too.
if dennis thought he wanted to leave robby, he’d have to do it kicking, scratching, and screaming. (although, that would be such a big tantrum for his perfect baby.)
it was stupidly easy. robby couldn’t believe how trusting and naive his little boy was. it assured robby that he was making the right choice. dennis would’ve been hurt sooner or later by a much less benevolent creep.
dennis didn’t question why robby invited him over for one last dinner, and then only gave him chicken tenders and fries. he just asked if robby had ranch. hidden valley specifically, ‘because the other ones are gross.’ robby just fondly shook his head, drinking in the pout dennis could barely conceal. the amount of ketchup he used for three chicken tenders was a little obscene, but robby wasn’t going to deny his baby that.
he gave dennis a glass of apple juice, not watered down (yet). it had to cover the taste of what he’d snuck in.
dennis was half way through his bowl of ice cream when he said, “dr. robby, i feel funny.”
robby walked away from the counter he was wiping down. “really, denny? what’s wrong?”
“i um-my brain’s going slow.” robby pretended to be concerned. “i’m really tired.” dennis was searching for words and diagnoses he was sure he had somewhere in his mind. syncopal episode, possible TIA, ocular migraine, they all alluded him.
robby nodded, not being able to resist cupping dennis’s cheek and rubbing his thumb against the bottom of dennis’s eye bags. “you should lie down.” dennis tried to stand, but his legs were jelly. “whoa there, buddy. let daddy help.”
dennis couldn’t even formulate an opinion on robby calling himself daddy, and when they got upstairs, dennis paid no attention to the state of the room he was deposited in.
privacy films on the windows, alarms and locks fixed to the sills, no internal doorknob…a plasticky racecar bed.
robby shushed dennis as he gently undressed him, putting on the appropriate clothes for a little boy.
robby couldn’t wait for dennis to wake up so they could play.
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