Summary: For once, June and Dennis are good. Healthy, steady, almost suspiciously happy. But when June’s ex unexpectedly walks into the ED during an ortho consult, old wounds resurface fast and Dennis proves, in the softest and loudest way possible, that June never has to shrink herself to be loved
Warnings: past toxic relationship, cheating ex, emotional manipulation, workplace confrontation, police/custody mention, ankle fracture/dislocation, medical setting, brief panic/trauma response, protective sibling behavior, soft hurt/comfort, love confession.
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For a few weeks, nothing bad happens. Since you started dating Dennis it feels like something has happened. That alone is a suspicious feeling, bubbling in your gut.
But somehow, life is good. Actually good,
Good in a way that still starters you some mornings, like you wake up and expect the universe to correct itself. Like there is no way you, June Langdon, can be this happy without someone somewhere filing an official complaint.
But Dennis Whitaker keeps proving you wrong. The Nebraska farm boy turned Pittsburgh MD, is proving that relationships can be healthy.
You two are actually doing well. Not fake-well. Not “we are both pretending we are normal because we are afraid to scare the other person off” well. Not “one of us is one bad day away from locking ourselves in an on-call room” well.
More often than not he stays over your apartment now.
Not in the accidental way from the first time, when you were too tired and too raw and too embarrassed to admit you did not want him to leave. Now he stays because you ask him to.
Sometimes directly.
Sometimes by stealing his shirt and climbing into bed without saying anything while he stands in your doorway, smiling like he knows exactly what you are doing.
“You want me to stay?” he asked one night, toothbrush in hand, hair tousled and wet from the shower. You peak out from under your comforter, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. “I don’t know,” you say with a yawn. “I’m pretty busy.”
Dennis looks around your bedroom. “In bed?” “It’s a very demanding schedule,” you say while plugging in your phone. “Of sleeping?” “mmh, very important.”
He gives you one of those stupid smirks that make your heart pound, while leaning against the doorframe. “Want company?” You glance up at him. “You’re already here.” “That isn’t an answer darling.”
You roll your eyes, but if you were standing it would make your knees weak with the soft and endearing way he calls you “darling.” “Yes, Denny. Stay.”
He tries to not look too pleased but Dennis is not subtle when it comes to you.
Other nights, you stay at his and Trinity’s apartment, which means you have somehow become part of Trinity Santos’s natural habitat. The girl who used to make upsetting comments about your brother. But now you coexist.
That is dangerous. Mostly because Trinity has decided your relationship with Dennis is the best live entertainment she has had in years.
The first time she walks into the kitchen at six in the morning and finds you in Dennis’s old T-shirt, barefoot, making coffee while Dennis stands behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder, she stops dead in the doorway.
“Oh,” she says. “Absolutely not.” Dennis lifts his head. “Good morning to you too.”
“No.” Trinity points at both of you with a protein bar. “This is my kitchen. I pay rent here. I should not have to see Huckleberry in his boxers fondling the Ortho barbie before sunrise.”
You raise your mug. “Morning, Trin.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re too comfortable here.”
“I do know where the mugs are now.” “Disgusting.” Dennis kisses your shoulder, soft and sleepy. Trinity makes a strangled noise and backs out of the kitchen. “I am filing a hostile roommate complaint.”
“You do that,” Dennis says. You laugh into your coffee. She turns about points at you.
“Put on some pants.” Yes, mother.” You say while standing on your tiptoes to kiss Dennis’ nose and walking off to his room to get dressed.
That has become your life lately.
Dennis’s apartment. Your apartment. Coffee cups traded like love letters. Sleepovers that are not always sleeping and mornings where you both pretend you are not late because leaving bed has become increasingly impossible.
He stays at your place after long shifts, his body warm behind yours, his arm heavy over your waist. You stay at his, curled under his sheets while Trinity bangs on the bathroom door and yells that if you two used all the hot water, she is putting both of you in a case report.
Dennis gets used to your life in a way that should scare you more than it does.
He joins family dinners at Frank’s and sits at the table like he has always belonged there, helping Abby carry plates, letting Tanner explain dinosaur extinction with great confidence and very little scientific accuracy, and allowing Penny to decorate his forearm with princess stickers.
“You know you can tell them no,” you say one night as Penny attempts to braid the hair at the nape of his neck despite there not being nearly enough of it.
Dennis is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, Tanner climbing over his back with a plastic firefighter helmet on. “I can?” he asks. “No,” Penny says immediately. Dennis looks at you, helpless. “You heard her.”
Frank watches from the couch with the haunted expression of a man witnessing his sister’s boyfriend become beloved by his children in real time.
“I don’t like how easily he integrated,” Frank says. Abby pats his knee. “That’s because he’s nice.” “I’m nice.” You snort. Frank points at you. “Watch it.”
“You once told me Santa wasn’t real because I ate your Pop-Tart.” “You needed resilience.” “I was seven.” “And look at you now. Resilient.”
Dennis laughs, and Frank’s eyes cut to him. “You think that’s funny, Nebraska?” Dennis schools his face with incredible effort. “No, sir.”
You gasp. “Do not sir him. He’ll get powerful.” Frank looks mildly pleased. Abby rolls her eyes so hard you worry she might injure herself.
It is good.
Work is still work, obviously. Park is still Park. Bones are still rude. The OR still smells like cautery, betadine, and mild existential dread. Yolanda returns from PTO looking suspiciously rested and immediately declares that self-care is a scam unless it involves expensive candles and ignoring men.
“You left me with him,” you say, pointing at Park during morning sign-out. Park does not look up from the x-ray. “I was also left with you.” Yolanda gasps. “Were you two mean to each other without me?”
“Constantly,” you say. “I’m hurt.” “You were doing self-care.” “I was drinking margaritas in a robe.”
“That is not self-care,” Park says. Yolanda points at him. “That is exactly why you look like you sleep standing up.” Park turns to you. “Control your friend.”
You look behind you. “What friend?” Yolanda places a hand over her heart. “Betrayal.” Park mutters, “My strongest headaches are reunited.” You grin. “He missed us.” “I did not.”
Park pinches the bridge of his nose.
You and Yolanda exchange a look. Then both of you say, “Parkie.” “No,” he says immediately.
“Parkie the Sharkie,” Yolanda sings. “I will transfer both of you to podiatry.” “You say that like feet scare me,” you say. Yolanda points at you. “Feet should scare you.” “They do,” you admit. “But I’m brave.” Park stares at the OR board like it might save him. It does not.
For once, nothing is falling apart.
You still work too much. Dennis still worries too quietly. Frank still acts like your relationship is personally aging him. Trinity still threatens to spray you with saline when you kiss Dennis in her apartment. Yolanda still narrates every development like she is the host of a deeply invasive dating show.
But nothing is bad. No breakdowns. No locked doors. No old wounds split open.
Until today…
The day starts with a text from your brother. Dennis had stayed over at your place the night before, and Frank, unaware of this deeply relevant information, texted you at 05:58.
Frankie🧸 : I’m outside. Hurry up.
You: why are you outside
Frankie🧸: Because your car is getting serviced and I am a kind loving brother
You: that sounds fake but okay
You open the door wearing scrubs and one of Dennis’s hoodies. Frank’s eyes narrow immediately.
“Why are you wearing a Nebraska hoodie, are you cheating on Pittsburgh?” Dennis appears behind you with wet hair, brushing his teeth. Frank goes very still.
You say, “Good morning.” Frank points at Dennis with the hand holding his travel mug. “Why is he here?” Dennis freezes with the toothbrush in his mouth. You lean against the doorframe. “Because he spent the night.” Frank closes his eyes. “I hate everyone.”
“You’re the one who showed up unannounced," Frank signs, walking away, “You have five minutes or I’m leaving.” As you get into the car Frank announces, “I want to go back to when you were twelve and hated boys.”
“I didn’t hate boys. I hated your friends.” “My friends were boys.” “Exactly.” Dennis makes the mistake of laughing. Frank’s eyes snap to him. “Do not enjoy this.” “I’m sorry.” “No, you’re not.”
The rest of the car ride is good, almost peaceful. You lay your head against the window with your eyes closed, while you hold Dennis' hand that he stretched back from the passenger's seat.
Before you know it, you’ve pulled into the parking garage and the day needs to begin. Dennis holds your hand as you walk through the ambulance bay, arguing with you brother over one time when he locked you in the basement because you at his pop-tart.
Once you make it through the doors, you kiss Dennis’ cheek goodbye. You rush to the elevators offering Dana and Robby a “Good Morning!” on your way.
The day starts the same as every other day. Reviewing films, early morning floor consults for the overnight admits, and rounds before the day of using power tools on the human body begins. Scrubbing in and trying to prove to Park that you are actually worth keeping around.
You’re taking a break around 1300, in between surgeries when a consult comes over your pager.
ED consult: ankle injury. Adult male in police custody. Fall from the fence. Deformity.
.You glance at the message, then the time. “Suspect tried to run from police,” you read aloud. “Climbed over a fence, fell from the top, ankle deformity. Neurovascularly intact per ED note.”
Park does not look up from the x-ray on the monitor. “Gravity remains undefeated.” “Poetic.” “Go reduce it if it needs reducing.” “You’re not coming?”
“For an ankle?” “You’re going to miss me.” “I’ll survive.” “You say that now, but who will bring charm to your day?”
“Garcia is back.” “Rude.” Yolanda, sitting at the workstation nearby, lifts her head. “Did somebody say my name?”
Park points at the door. “Both of you. Out. And try not to flirt with Whitaker for forty minutes.” “No promises!” You call out, before heading down stairs.
Ankle fracture-dislocation, probably. Maybe bimalleolar. Maybe trimalleolar. Fence fall could mean axial load, rotational injury, maybe talar dome injury if he landed badly. In custody means you will have police in the room, which always makes everything more annoying.
You check the board as you hit the ED.
Curtain Four. Adult male. Thirty-two. Tried to flee police, climbed a chain-link fence, and fell from top. Obvious ankle deformity. Pulses present. X-ray pending.
Dennis is across the department with Mel, both bent over a chart. He looks up like he always does when you enter a room now, that quiet awareness that still makes your stupid heart do stupid things.
You lift two fingers in a tiny wave. He smiles. You are still smiling when you pull back the curtain. Then the world stops. Not because of the patient.
The patient is lying on the stretcher in handcuffs, one wrist cuffed to the rail, face sweaty and jaw clenched, right ankle visibly deformed with swelling already pushing against his sock. The foot is externally rotated in a way that makes you wince internally.
That is not what stops you. It is the cop standing by the foot of the bed. Dark hair. Same jaw. Same arrogant tilt to his mouth that used to make you feel chosen until it started making you feel small.
Jake.
For one wild second, you think your brain has invented him. Because Jake is not supposed to be here. Jake is supposed to be back in the old life. The one you buried under medical school and residency and Frank’s overprotective hovering and Park’s grumbling mentorship and Dennis’s soft hands on your waist in the morning.
You knew he was a cop. You knew that.
You had heard through the grapevine, through some girl from college who still follows everyone on Instagram, that he went into law enforcement. You knew he had moved around. You knew he had married and divorced or almost married and cheated again depending on which version of the gossip was true.
But you did not know he transferred to Pittsburgh. You did not know he would walk into your hospital. You did not know you would be standing in front of him in scrubs with your badge clipped to your pocket and your heart suddenly trying to crawl out through your throat.
Jake turns when the curtain moves. His eyes land on you. Recognition hits him slowly. Then he smiles. Not warmly. Like he has found something that used to belong to him.
“Well,” he says. “June Langdon.” Your fingers tighten around the tablet.
The patient groans. “Can somebody fix my ankle, or are we doing reunions?” The other officer beside Jake, older and broader, gives the patient a warning look. “Quiet.”
You force your face into something professional. It feels like trying to suture with numb hands.
“I’m Dr. Langdon with Ortho,” you say, looking at the patient and not Jake. “I’m going to examine your ankle.” Jake lets out a low laugh. “Dr. Langdon. Look at that.”
Your jaw tightens. You ignore him.
The patient is sweaty, irritated, and in pain. His ankle is swollen, deformed, skin tenting slightly over the medial side but not open. You crouch beside the bed, careful not to touch until you have warned him.
“What’s your name?” The patient glares. “Mason.” “Okay, Mason. I’m going to check blood flow and nerve function in your foot before we do anything else.” “It hurts like hell.” “I know. I’ll be quick
You check dorsalis pedis and posterior tibial pulses. Present, thankfully. Cap refill brisk. Foot warm. Sensation intact in the superficial peroneal, deep peroneal, tibial, sural, and saphenous distributions as best as he can tolerate. He can wiggle toes, though he curses the whole time.
“Neurovascularly intact,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. Jake shifts at the foot of the bed. “Still talking to yourself when you work.” Your stomach turns. You keep writing.
“How’d this happen?” The older officer answers. “He ran from a traffic stop. Climbed the fence behind an auto shop, got one leg over, slipped, landed wrong.” Mason snaps, “Allegedly.”
You look at him. “Your ankle is very allegedly broken.” Despite himself, Mason huffs. Jake laughs like you made the joke for him.
You did not.
You look at Jesse. “Can we get pain control on board if not already? IV fentanyl or morphine per ED, and I need post-reduction films after we reduce. Has x-ray been done?” “Just came back,” Jesse says.
You pull up the images on the workstation outside the curtain. Your breath catches for a reason that has nothing to do with Jake this time.
Bimalleolar fracture-dislocation, maybe posterior malleolus involvement too. Talus shifted. Needs reduction now. Not a sit-and-wait ankle.
Frank appears beside you before you call him. Of course he does. He must have seen the consult pop up on the board.
“What do you have?” he asks. His voice is normal. Then he sees Jake through the gap in the curtain.
Frank goes completely still. It is subtle. Anyone else might miss it. You do not. Your older brother’s shoulders square. His jaw flexes once. His eyes go colder than you have seen them in months.
Jake sees him too. His smile widens. “Frank,” Jake says. “Long time.” Frank stares at him.
For one terrifying second, you think your brother might actually forget he is at work and launch himself across Curtain Four. Then Frank inhales slowly. “Officer,” he says.
Not Jake. Officer.
The single most professional insult he can manage. You step closer to Frank, lowering your voice. “Don’t.” “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re doing the face.” “What face?” “The felony face.” Frank’s eyes do not leave Jake. “I have many faces.
“Frank.” Finally, he looks at you. His expression changes immediately.
Protective. Worried. Big brother.
“Are you okay?”
You hate that question. You hate that the answer is no. You hate that Jake is here, standing in your ED like a ghost from your past with a badge, smiling like he has any right to say your name.
“I’m working,” you say. Frank’s mouth tightens. That is not an answer, and both of you know it.
He lowers his voice. “Park can take the consult.” “No.” “June.” “No,” you say again. “I can do my job.”
Frank studies you for a second longer.
Then he nods, even though every cell in him clearly hates it.
“I’ll stay nearby.” “That’s worse.” “Too bad.” You roll your eyes, but it steadies you.
A little.
You return to the room. Jake is still watching you. You focus on the patient.
“Mason, your ankle is fractured and dislocated,” you explain. “That means the joint is not lined up correctly. Right now you have blood flow and nerve function to the foot, which is good, but we need to reduce it, meaning put it back in better alignment, to protect the skin, blood flow, and nerves. This will also help with pain.”
Mason swallows. “Surgery?”
“Very likely, but not this second unless something changes. First we reduce, splint, get repeat x-rays, and admit you for operative fixation when appropriate.”
He looks at the cuffs. “Can these come off?” The older officer says, “One wrist stays secured.”
You glance at him. “For reduction, I need access and positioning. He is in custody, but he is also my patient. We can work with one arm secured if needed, but I need enough mobility to safely sedate and reduce him.”
Jake says, “He ran once.” You look at him for the first time directly. It is a mistake. His eyes are exactly the same.
Your body remembers before your brain can stop it. Dorm rooms. Fights in parking lots. The smell of his cologne on someone else’s sweatshirt. Him telling you that you were never around anyway. Him making his cheating sound like a scheduling issue.
Your voice stays level. “He has a fractured-dislocated ankle. He is not running anywhere.” Jake smirks. “You’d be surprised what desperate people do.”
The words land wrong. Too familiar. You turn away before he can see it hit.
Robby handles sedation because, mercifully, the ED is busy but not too busy for this. Dennis appears at the edge of the room with supplies, and the moment his eyes land on you, his expression shifts.
Not obvious. Not dramatic. Just alert. He notices Frank hovering. He notices Jake.
He notices that your shoulders are too tight and your voice is too clipped and you have not once looked toward him even though normally, by now, you would have made some joke just to see him smile.
Dennis says nothing. He just comes to the bedside. “You ready?” he asks you quietly. You nod. “Yeah.” “June.” You glance at him despite yourself. His eyes are gentle and grounding.
You inhale. “Yeah,” you say again, softer. “I’m ready.”
The reduction takes focus, and you are grateful for it.
Sedation on board. Patient monitored. Airway equipment ready. Time-out done. Pre-reduction neurovascular exam documented. You and Frank work together without needing much conversation because that is what years of being siblings and doctors around each other gives you.
You flex the knee to relax the gastrocnemius, apply longitudinal traction through the foot, correct the deformity, guide the talus back beneath the tibia. There is a palpable shift as the joint reduces.
Mason groans under sedation.
You hold alignment while Frank and the tech place the splint. Short leg with stirrup support. Molded carefully. Not too tight. Leave toes visible. Repeat neurovascular check.
Pulses still intact. Cap refill good. Toes are warm to the touch. You order post reduction films.
Work helps. Work is clean. Work has steps. Work has a sequence. Assess, reduce, splint, image, admit, operate.
Jake does not get to exist inside that sequence. Not until the reduction is done. Not until Mason is settled and the nurse is updating vitals and Frank steps out to check the films.
Not until Jake follows you into the hallway.
“June.” You keep walking. “June Bug.” You stop so fast your sneakers squeak against the floor.
Your whole body goes cold. That name does not belong in his mouth.
It belongs to Frank when he is worried.
It belongs to Abby and Yolanada when they’re teasing you.
It belongs to your parents, sometimes, in old voicemails you do not delete.
It belongs to Dennis when he applies soft sleepy kisses against your neck in the morning.
It does not belong to Jake.
You turn slowly. “Do not call me that.” Jake lifts both hands like you are being dramatic. “Relax. It’s just a name.” “No,” you say. “It isn’t.”
He looks you up and down, and you hate him for it. Hate that he does it like he still has the right to take inventory. “You look good,” he says.
You fold your arms. “You need to go back to your suspect.” “My partner’s with him.” “Then go help your partner.”
Jake takes a step closer. You do not step back. You refuse.
“So this is where you ended up,” he says. “Pittsburgh. Ortho. Still chasing a big respectable career.” Your throat tightens. “Knock it off,” you say quietly.
His brows lift. “What?” “You heard me. Knock it off and let me do my job.” He laughs under his breath. “It was always work with you.”
There it is. That old blade. Rusty now, maybe. But still sharp enough to find the scar. Your hands curl into fists at your sides.
Jake tilts his head. “I bet you haven’t found someone to stay with you after all these years. Not if you haven’t changed.”
For a second, you cannot breathe.The hallway noise blurs. Your body knows how to take a hit from him even years later. That is the humiliating part. That some old, pathetic part of you still flinches when he reaches for the exact place he used to press until you apologized for bleeding.
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Then warmth appears behind you.
Not sudden. Not forceful. Just there.
Dennis.
One arm slides around your waist, careful but certain. His palm settles against your stomach, anchoring you against him. His chest meets your back. His other hand brushes your hip before resting there.
Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek.
Soft. Public. Deliberate.
Your heart stutters
Dennis Whitaker, a man who blushes when you touch his hand near the nurses’ station, who treats workplace PDA like it is a sterile field violation, has just wrapped himself around you in the middle of the ED hallway.
His voice is calm when he speaks.
Warm, even.
“How’s the ankle consult going, baby?”
You can feel Jake go still. You can also feel Dennis’s heart beating steadily against your back. For one dangerous, glorious second, you nearly laugh. Because Dennis knows exactly what he is doing. And he hates that he is doing it.
You can tell from the way his thumb moves once against your scrub top. A tiny apology. A tiny question. Is this okay?
You place your hand over his. Yes. Then you look at Jake. His face has changed.
Only a little. But enough.
Good.
You lean back into Dennis just slightly, not because you need to prove anything, but because you can. “Post-reduction films pending,” you say, voice steadier now. “Likely bimalleolar fracture-dislocation, possible posterior malleolus involvement. He’ll need admission and operative fixation.”
Dennis hums like this is normal. Like he regularly wanders up behind you to ask about fracture patterns while kissing your cheek. “Neurovascularly intact?” “Before and after reduction.”
“Good.” His lips brush near your temple, and this time his voice dips just for you. “You okay?” That almost breaks you. Not because you are fragile. Because he asks like the answer matters more than the performance.
You squeeze his hand once. “Getting there.”
Jake’s jaw tightens. “Oh,” he says. “So you did find someone.”
Dennis smiles politely. It is not a friendly smile. It is midwestern nice sharpened into something that could be cut.
Dennis does not offer his hand because one of them is still resting at your waist. Iconic, honestly.
Frank appears at the end of the hall, and the second he sees Dennis wrapped around you, his eyebrows shoot up.
Then he sees Jake’s face. Frank’s expression shifts into something deeply satisfied. “Oh,” Frank says. “Good.” You point at him. “No.”
He lifts both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” “You said good.”
“I support healthy relationships.” “You threatened to drive into a river three weeks ago because Dennis slept over.” Dennis mutters, “Still recovering from that, actually.”
Frank ignores him and looks at Jake. “Officer, your suspect is asking for you.” Jake does not move. Frank’s voice hardens. “Now.”
It is still professional. Barely.
Jake looks between the three of you, and you can see him trying to find a weak spot. Something to smirk at. Something to use.
He finds nothing. Not because you are untouchable. You are not.
Your hands are still cold. Your throat still hurts. Your skin still remembers. But you are not alone in the hallway with him anymore.
Maybe that is the thing Jake never understood. You were never hard to love. He was just bad at it.
Jake gives you one last look. “Good seeing you, June.” You hold his stare. “Can’t say the same.”
Frank makes a tiny choking sound that might be pride. Dennis’s hand tightens at your waist.
Jake walks away.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
Then Frank looks at Dennis. “Baby?” Dennis closes his eyes. You immediately start laughing. Not because it is funny. Because the adrenaline needs somewhere to go, and apparently it chooses hysterics.
Dennis’s face turns pink. “I panicked.” “You panicked and called me baby in front of my ex?” “I was aiming for casual.” “That was your casual?” “I don’t do this often.”
Frank crosses his arms. “No, no. I loved it. Horrifying. But effective.” Dennis looks pained. “Please don’t.” Frank grins. “How’s the ankle consult going, baby?” “Frank,” you gasp.
Dennis drops his forehead briefly to your shoulder. “I deserve this.” You reach up and pat his cheek. “You kind of do.”
He lifts his head, eyes softening when he sees your smile. “Was it okay?” he asks quietly. “Touching you like that?”
Your laughter fades into something warmer.
The hallway is still busy around you. Nurses passing. Monitors beeping. A transport bed rattling by. Somewhere, someone is calling for respiratory.
But Dennis is looking at you like the whole world can wait. “Yeah,” you say. “It was okay.” Frank pretends to study the tablet in his hands, but you know he is listening. Dennis nods.
Then, because he is Dennis, he starts to pull his hands away now that the moment has passed. You catch his wrist. He pauses.
You do not look at Frank. You do not look down the hall where Jake disappeared. You do not look anywhere except at Dennis.
“Stay for a second.” His face changes. “Okay,” he says. So he does.
Frank clears his throat roughly. “I’m going to check the films,” he says. “And not commit assault on a police officer.” “Personal growth,” you say.
He points at you without turning around. “Do not make me regret it.”
Dennis tugs you into the nearest stairwell, away from all the eyes pretending not to stare.
He lets the door fall shut, then stands two steps below you so you are almost eye level. “June,” he says softly. You laugh once, but there is no humor in it.
“Well. That was humiliating.” His face tightens. “No.” “I love a workplace confrontation with my cheating ex-boyfriend in front of my brother, my boyfriend, my boyfriend’s best friend, multiple residents, nurses, and possibly a psych patient who thinks his socks were stolen.”
Dennis’s mouth twitches despite himself. “They were stolen,” he says. You stare at him. He shrugs. “He kept throwing them at people, so we took them.”
A sound escapes you. Almost a laugh. Almost a sob.
Dennis hears both. His expression softens.
“Can I come closer?” he asks. That nearly breaks you more than anything Jake said. You nod.
Dennis steps up carefully and wraps his arms around you. You fold immediately. Face in his chest. Hands gripping his scrub top. The hallway is cold against your back and Dennis is warm everywhere else.
His arms tighten. “I know that too.” You close your eyes. “I hate that you heard that.” Dennis is quiet for a second. Then he says, “I hate that he hurt you.”
Something inside you cracks. Not in a bad way. In a tired way. In a final way.
“He said it was because I was never there,” you say, voice muffled. “Because I was always working. Always studying. Always trying to get somewhere. He made it sound like I abandoned him by not giving up parts of myself.”
Dennis’s hand moves slowly over your back. “You didn’t.” “I know that.” “Do you?” You breathe in. Then out. “I’m trying to.”
Dennis pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are steady. Sad, but steady.
“I love how hard you work,” he says. Your throat tightens. “I love that you care too much and stay too late and fight with Park because you think the plan could be better. I love that you bring stickers for kids and coffee for people who don’t ask. I love that you are ambitious. I love that you are impossible to move when you know you’re right.”
You blink fast. “Dennis.” “I’m not done.”
You press your lips together.
He cups your face gently. “You don’t have to shrink with me,” he says. “Not your career. Not your anger. Not your weird orthopedic shark thing with Park. Not any of it.”
A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb. “And for the record,” he says, voice softer, “I am very happy to stay.”
You hate him. You love him. You are absolutely going to marry him someday if he keeps saying things like that, which is horrifying and not something you are prepared to examine in a hospital stairwell.
So you say, “You kissed me in front of my ex.” Dennis winces. “Yeah.” “And my brother.” “Also yeah.” “And Dana.”
“I am aware.” “And Trinity. Dennis sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You look up at him. “Don’t be.” His eyes open.
“I’m not property,” you say. “No.” “And I didn’t need you to save me.” “I know.”
“But…” You swallow. “It helped. Having you there.” His face softens. “You looked like you couldn’t breathe,” he says. “And he looked like he liked that.”
The words land hard because they are true. Dennis’s jaw flexes.
“I didn’t do it because I thought you belonged to me,” he says. “I did it because he needed to know you are loved now. Loudly. Even if it was wildly unprofessional.” You let out a watery laugh. “Wildly.”
“Robby’s going to say something.” “Dana will say something first.” “Frank might kill me.”
“No.” You lean your forehead against his chest again. “Frank is probably deciding whether to adopt you or murder you.” “Comforting.”
The stairwell door opens again. Frank sticks his head in. “Neither,” he says.
You lift your head. “Were you listening?” Frank steps in fully. “No.” Dennis gives him a look. Frank sighs. “A little.” “Frank.” “What? You’re my sister. Also, these stairwells echo like hell.”
You wipe your face. “I’m fine.” Frank’s expression says he does not believe you but is choosing not to fight in front of Dennis. Progress.
He looks at Dennis. Dennis looks back. For one long second, neither says anything. Then Frank says, “That was stupid.” Dennis nods. “Yeah.”
“And unprofessional.” “I know.” “And unfortunately kind of perfect.”
Your mouth falls open. Frank points at him. “Do not make me regret saying that.” “I won’t.” “I mean it. I still know where you sleep.” “Frank,” you snap.
He looks at you. “What? He sleeps at your apartment half the time. Unfortunately, I have keys.” Dennis chokes. You cover your face. “I’m going to transfer hospitals.”
“No, you’re not,” Frank says. Then his face changes, softening in that older-brother way that makes you feel small and safe and furious all at once. “Bug.”
You look at him through your fingers. “I’m proud of you,” he says. Your eyes sting again. “Don’t.” “You stood up to him.” “I really didn’t.” “You did,” Frank said, “You showed him you are doing fine without him.”
You laugh. Frank steps closer and pulls you out of Dennis’s arms and into his own. Dennis lets you go immediately. Your brother hugs you hard.
“I hated him,” Frank says into your hair. “I hated him then. I hate him now. But I’m really glad you know it wasn’t your fault.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yeah,” you whisper.
Frank kisses the top of your head in a way he has done since you were little. Then he lets go and clears his throat like he did not just experience an emotion.
“Okay,” he says. “Great. Horrible. We are done. Back to work before Park senses weakness.” The door opens again. Park appears. All three of you stare.
Park looks unimpressed and his eyes move to you. “Orca,” he says. You groan. “Not now.” He ignores that. “You good?”
“I’m fine.” His eyes narrow. “I’m not fine,” you amend. “But I’m functional.”
“Better.” Park looks at Dennis. Then Frank. Then back to you. “Callahan?”
You freeze. Of course he knows. Frank probably texted him. Or Yolanda did. Or Park simply absorbed the information from the walls like he was hunting for it like a shark looking for its next meal.
“My ex,” you say. “The stupid one?” Dennis makes a strangled sound. Frank says, “Yes.” You look at Park. “You knew about Jake?” Park shrugs. “Garcia talks.” “I’m going to kill her.” “She included diagrams.” “Oh my God.” Park folds his arms. “Do I need to make sure he falls down some stairs?”
For a second, nobody speaks. Then you laugh. You laugh so hard you have to lean into Dennis again. Park looks pleased with himself in the smallest possible way.
Frank points at him. “That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said.” “It wasn’t nice.” “It was an attempted homicide as emotional support. For you, that’s nice.”
Park considers this. “Fine.” Dennis’s hand finds yours. You let him take it. Park looks at your joined hands, then at the stairwell ceiling like he is asking for patience. “Disgusting,” he says. “Get back to work.”
“Yes, Parkie.” His eyes sharpen. “Do not.” You smile for real this time.
When you return to the ED, Jake is at the far end of the hall with his partner, no longer leaning like he owns the place. The suspect’s post-reduction films are up. The ankle alignment looks better. Still operative, likely unstable bimalleolar or trimalleolar pattern depending on final reads, but no longer threatening the skin.
You review the images with Frank and document the plan.
Admission if custody allows and OR timing permits. Elevation. Ice. Strict neurovascular checks. Non-weight bearing. Pain control. NPO after midnight if going to the OR the next day. If discharged to custody before surgery, clear return precautions for increasing pain, numbness, discoloration, swelling, or splint issues, but honestly you hate the idea and say so.
Jake does not interrupt you again.
Not once. When you finish, you turn to the two officers.
“His ankle is reduced and splinted. He will need operative fixation. ED will coordinate disposition with custody and ortho. He needs elevation and monitoring. If he has increased pain, numbness, tingling, cool toes, blue discoloration, or the splint feels too tight, he needs immediate reassessment.”
Jake’s partner nods. “Got it.” Jake looks like he wants to say something. You raise an eyebrow.
He does not. Good boy.
Yolanda appears beside you as you walk away. “I give Dennis eight out of ten for execution,” she says. You sigh. “Please don’t.” “Points deducted because Robby saw and now there may be a professionalism conversation.” “Yolanda.”
“Points added back because Jake looked like someone unplugged his ego.” You bite the inside of your cheek. She links her arm through yours. “And for what it’s worth,” she says more quietly, “you looked hot not giving into him to fuel his tiny man complex.”
You snort. “That’s your emotional support?” “Yes. And later we can slash his tires.” “No.” “Fine. Spiritually slash his tires.” “Acceptable.”
At the end of your shift, Dennis waits for you by the ambulance bay.
He has your bag over one shoulder. You stop in front of him. “I can carry my own bag.” “I know.” “You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I know.” “You’re very annoying when you’re being sweet.” “I know.”
For a second, you just stand there.
The ED moves around you. Staff leaving. Staff arriving. Ambulance doors opening. Someone was laughing too loudly near the bay. The automatic doors sliding apart and closing again.
Life continues. Even after Jake. Even after the thing you once thought would crack you open.
You are still here. You are still whole.
Dennis reaches out, then hesitates. You step into him first. His arm comes around your shoulders immediately, warm and steady, and you press your cheek against his chest because you can.
Because you want to. Because for once, you do not feel like you have to earn the right to be held. “You okay to come over?” he asks quietly.
You tilt your head back. “Are you asking because you want to watch me emotionally process or because you want to make out with me?”
Dennis’s ears turn pink. You smile. “There she is,” he murmurs. You poke his stomach. “Answer the question.”
“I want to make you dinner,” he says. “And maybe sit on the couch. And if you want to talk, we’ll talk. If you don’t, we won’t.” “And the making out?” His blush deepens. “I mean, I’m not opposed.” You grin. “How brave.”
You look up at him. The softness hits you again. Less scary this time. Or maybe you are just getting used to it.
“You really want me over?” you ask, quieter.
Dennis’s expression changes. Like he hears the question underneath. Like he understands you are not asking about tonight. Not really.
He bends and kisses your forehead, public enough that Trinity wolf-whistles from somewhere near the desk.
“Yes,” he says. “I really want you over.” Your throat tightens. “Even though it always work with me?” you ask, trying for lightness and almost making it.
Dennis does not smile. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “Especially because it’s work with you,” he says. “That’s part of you. I’m not trying to love around it.”
The word hits you in the chest. Love.
Not said like a question. Not said like a trap. Just there. Steady and certain and terrifyingly kind.
You stare at him for a second too long. Dennis’s face softens with concern. “June?”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Because you have thought about it before. Of course you have.
You have thought it in his apartment when he makes you toast after bad shifts. You have thought it when Penny falls asleep against his chest and Tanner insists Dennis is now part of the family because he knows how to do dinosaur voices. You have thought it when he drives your car with one hand on the wheel and one hand resting open on the console in case you want to hold it.
You have thought it in on-call rooms and stairwells and quiet mornings. You have thought it every time he lets you be sharp without flinching. Every time he stays. Every time he looks at you like your ambition is not something he has to survive, but something he gets to admire.
And maybe Jake walking into your hospital should have made you feel like the same girl he left behind. But it doesn’t. Because you are not her anymore.
You are loved now.
The realization lands all at once, not as a thought but as a feeling. It rushes through you so fast it steals the air from your lungs. Your pulse pounds in your ears. Your chest aches with it.
Loved when you are exhausted. Loved when you are difficult. Loved when you are scared enough to hide it behind sarcasm and schedules and twelve-hour shifts. Loved by a man standing in front of you with your bag on his shoulder and absolute certainty in his eyes.
Loudly. Carefully. By someone who does not ask you to be easier. Your fingers tighten around Dennis’s.
“I love you,” you say.
The words leave you in a breath, trembling and irreversible. Dennis goes completely still. Not in a bad way. In a way that makes the whole world seem to hold its breath with him.
The ED keeps moving behind you, but for one second, all you see is Dennis.
His eyes are searching yours. His mouth parted slightly. His hand still wrapped around yours like he forgot how to let go.
You can actually see the moment it reaches him.
Shock. Hope. Something so raw it makes your own heart twist.
You laugh nervously, suddenly horrified by your own timing. “That was probably a lot for the ambulance bay.” Dennis blinks. Then his face breaks open. Soft. Stunned. Beautiful.
“June,” he says, and your name sounds different in his mouth now. Like something he has been keeping safe.
“You don’t have to say it back right now,” you add quickly, because panic apparently has excellent reflexes. “I mean, obviously, say it eventually if you feel it. Or don’t. No, actually, please do eventually if you—”
“I love you too.” You stop. Everything inside you seems to seize.
Dennis steps closer, your bag sliding down his shoulder.
His eyes shine.
“I love you,” he says again, clearer this time, like he needs you to hear every word. “I’ve loved you. I just didn’t want to scare you.” For a second, you can only stare at him.
The noise of the ambulance bay fades into a distant blur.
Your skin feels too tight. Your heart feels too big. “Oh.” It is all you can manage.
Dennis smiles, and there is relief in it, affection, months of restraint finally giving way. His eyes are suspiciously bright. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Oh.”
Your vision blurs.
A laugh escapes you, shaky and breathless and dangerously close to a sob. Because he loves you. He loves you. The truth of it crashes through every old hurt, every doubt Jake left behind, every fear that you would always be too much or not enough.
Dennis loves you. You grab the front of his jacket with both hands and tug him down. Then you kiss him. Properly.
The second his mouth meets yours, something inside you settles.
His free hand comes up to your jaw. You can feel him smiling against your lips before the kiss deepens, warm and real and impossibly familiar.
Right there in the ambulance bay.
You smile into the kiss. For once, you do not care who sees.
Because Jake can transfer to Pittsburgh. He can walk into your ED. He can say your name like it still belongs to him.
But it doesn’t.
It belongs to you.
Author's note:I am so, so sorry that it has been three weeks since the last update. I really hope you can forgive me. As an apology, I somehow ended up writing an almost 7.5k word chapter because I felt awful for disappearing for a bit. Life has just been a lot lately, and I really needed a small break, but I promise I haven’t forgotten about June, Dennis, or any of you. If you’re still here, thank you. Truly. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and June finally realizing just how easy she is to love. She deserves that so much, and Dennis being the one to help her see it makes me so emotional. Thank you again for being patient with me and for understanding that I needed a little time. I love you all, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait. 🐞
Summary: You can’t keep bottling up your thoughts, or you might explode. That’s what Trinity told you. Turns out, she wasn’t wrong.
Word Count: 1.2k!
Content Warnings: fighting, tension, angst, thoughts left unanswered, miscommunication, not proofread that well so sorry, also please take into account english is not my first language 🫶
Notes: I’m back! Finally! After an unannounced (and unexpected) hiatus from my part, I wrote this for you guys. Finally, I hope you, person reading this rn, enjoy this fic! Please like and reblog, it's helps me sm‹3, also, comment if u wanna be tagged when I post these!!
He stood there, his jaw clenched. He stared at you intensely, enough to make you see your reflection in his eyes. You’ve never seen him so mad, at lest at you.
You mimicked his anger, except it had been stirring up inside you for longer. Tears actually fell from your eyes, but you didn’t look weak. You were as tense as he was, if not more.
And still, fuck, he looked so beautiful. You could only blame yourself for loving him this much. This only managed to make you more furious.
The silence was loud, you bit your lip figuring out what to say without actually managing to say a word. There was so much going on you didn’t know how to even reply.
“Dennis.”You closed your eyes for a moment, pacing around the room. Your hands tangled in your hair, having to stop yourself from pulling it all out.
“What?! What do you have to tell me?!” He hissed, impatient. Unlike his usual self.
And you had so much to tell him. But time only made matters worse. Your thoughts all mixing with each other, at this point not being sure if you were mad at him or yourself.
It all started with Amy, because of course it did. The frequent visits, forgetting plans you had together, her just being the perfect match for him. You shouldn’t even be mad, you wouldn’t really blame him if he chose her over you. But it made your blood boil at the thought of it.
Now you picked at the skin on surrounding your nails. You couldn’t look at him.
Maybe it was your fault. Maybe you should have listened to Mateo about “not dating in the workplace.” But, it was never dating. He never cared enough to give you clarity on what you both had.
And still, how could you ask him for clarity? You didn’t have the right to. You were convinced this relationship meant nothing to him, it wasn’t your place to demand him anything.
You finally broke out, “I’m not even sure I’m mad at you.” Your nails bleeding. You look down, a light sting from the pain, but it was nothing.
He looks confused. Then, gazing down at your hands. He reaches out to hold them, you reject his touch. “What do you mean?”
His tone got softer. His eyes too.
“Did it ever mean anything to you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Right. What were you talking about?
You were so foolish if you thought that he would know. That he would understand. If there was never anything between you two to begin with, how could it ever mean something to him?
“I mean.” You paused. Thinking about what made you finally break like this.
It was nothing just one thing, it was all the moments you felt like a place holder. All the moments where you felt like he didn’t really need you as much as you needed him. All the times you realized maybe you misunderstood his intentions with you. Maybe that’s why you were so mad at yourself, for being so dumb.
“Please”
The sound of his voice bursted your bubble. Looking up, you could feel all the emotions in his heart through his eyes.
“Talk to me. I don’t know what else to do.”
You scuffed. He had sat on the couch while you walked around. You stood there for a second, taking in all that was happening. You sat in the couch, keeping a distance.
You couldn’t look at him, you kept staring at the floor. “Look, Dennis.” You paused. “Do you even like me?” That was harder to say out lout than you would’ve like to admit. Now, you were looking at him, words cutting deeper than a knife and you could tell. You could see how he noticed how much he hurt you.
You felt his hand, familiar, tucking your hair behind your ear, like he would always do. You flinched. Now you couldn’t stop staring at him, your brain a mush of feelings you couldn’t quite place, but especially, anger.
Your ears turned red, as well as your cheeks. But this time you weren’t flustered. “Well, fuck it Dennis. Aren’t you gonna say anything?” You screamed again, even louder. Your whole spine tensing up.
“I can’t believe-“
In the blink of an eye, he had gotten close to you. So much closer. You didn’t even realize the moment he got close enough for both of your lips to meet. You didn’t know what to do, meanwhile his hand rested on your cheek, caressing it gently. Mimicking his soft touch, the kiss started slow, gentle. You could feel his hands trembling.
When he pulled away, all you could stare at was his bright blue eyes, his face full of guilt, you could tell he was wondering if this was a mistake.
Before you could think about it too much, you found yourself staring at his lips. Grabbing his neck, pushing him forward. He melted right into your kiss, which was now rougher. You knew you would probably regret this but you weren’t thinking about that right now. You had spent way too much holding this in.
The anger you had boiling within you was present every moment. Your heart was pounding so fast and so was his. You were so close you could feel it. Everytime you pulled apart, your breathing heavy, you pushed the collar of his shirt and kissed him even harder.
You could feel his hand in your tight, shaking intensely. You couldn’t stop, your teeth clashing, your tongues fighting for dominance. Your hand now tangled up in his pretty blonde curls.
“Are you okay with this..?” He said, his voice interrupted by his shaky breath.
“Shut up.” You snarled.
You could feel your body heating up everytime he got even closer. Your back pressed against the corner of the couch, while his knee almost pressed something else. He was breathing heavy above you, his hair getting messy. His eyes looking watery as always. His fair skin now red, complimenting his freckles.
You could feel him smiling between the chaos, you did too. You didn’t want to stop, he looked so pretty now. Tangled against each other once again, you heard the rattling of keys.
“Fuck.” That’s was enough to burst you out of your bubble.
“Did I do something wrong?” He called out, as you rapidly got up.
“No. Dennis—.” You glanced behind you, slightly turning around. “Maybe I should go on a walk.”
What a fool you were for letting yourself get swayed like this. “I— we’ll just— I’ll talk to you later.” All of the sudden you couldn’t talk? Pathetic.
Trinity appeared, takeout in hand. “I decided to be a good person today.” She said, not quite realizing the ambience, too busy closing the door.
“What’s up with you dude?” She scoffed, laughing to herself as she saw Dennis in the couch. You? Nowhere to be found.
She looked around, noticing your absence, as well as Dennis’s rapid breathing, redness, and glossy lips. “Why are your lips-“
You stormed out of your room, barely making eye contact. “Uh. I’m going in a walk.”
“A walk? Girl it’s midnight—“ She fought, also noticing your panting and redness, which looked oddly similar to Dennis’s, which now sat in the couch looking like a lost puppy.
“Did you—? Oh my. I can’t leave you guys alone!” She joked. “About time.” She said, walking toward her room. “Grab some food, Fuckleberry. I’m sure you need the energy.”
HELLOOO!! Empecé mi primer fanfic con Young Miko en Wattpad, inspirado en la canción REM de HUMBE, acabo de publicar alguito con el, pronto subiré los verdaderos caps, abajito dejo el link a quien le interese ;)
roommate!dennis who definitely eats all of your avocados, then replaces them, only to eat those too.....But to be fair, he also makes the best guacamole you’ve ever had.
roommate!dennis who always knocks and waits for you to invite him in, even though you’ve told him a hundred times he doesn’t have to.
roommate!dennis who, sometimes, when you’re out, he’ll dance around the apartment for no reason, so you end up catching him mid-spin when you come back home.
roommate!dennis who’s careful about not wasting food, always finding a way to use leftovers or save things for later.
roommate!dennis who never complains about your loud music or the dishes you occasionally leave in the sink when you’re too busy to deal with them.
roommate!dennis who constantly misplaces his things —keys, shoes, his backpack, his jackets— and somehow it always turns into a full apartment search.
He always says “I’ll remember where I put it this time” …he never does.
roommate!dennis who falls asleep in the most random places—couch, floor, halfway sitting up—and insists he was “just resting his eyes.”
roommate!dennis who’s the type to bring you food without asking when you forget to eat. Sometimes he brings little snacks, fruits or crackers, but he makes sure that you eat enough.
roommate!dennis who randomly shows up in your doorway just to talk, even if he doesn’t really have anything important to say. Sometimes when he's bored he just stands there, watching you not knowing what else to do.
the fact that FEMALE FRIENDSHIP is what loosened Mel up...Mel's braid came undone at the hands of a friend, she let loose thanks to the invitation of a friend, she was able to be free in the company of a friend--
