Hashtag Worth it
(aka Play that Funky Music White Boy pt. 2)
(@lousolversons the gif god)
Warnings: None rlly, mentions of blood/vomit/pee, thats it! Just a whole lotta fluff (also not beta read so sorry for any errors!)
Description: Library books must be returned, and cute mousey haired boys must be kissed. It's the law of the land.
Word Count: 3.5k
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Ever since Funky Music blasted through your place of work, you were unable to think of anything else. Every time those automatic doors whooshed open, your heartbeat would pick up as you prepared yourself for those puppy dog eyes and tousled brown hair. It had been weeks for Christ sake, but still you found yourself lingering by the Kid's Corner, long after you shelved the last children's book, just because it had a better view of the door.
You even started waking up earlier to do your hair before work. When you wore new earrings with a necklace to match, thats when your coworkers started to notice.
"Are you seeing someone?" Bess bluntly asks while in you were re-shelving by Philosophy and Psychology.
"Who would I be seeing Bess? I spend all my time here." You don't bother to stop shelving while answering with a beleaguered sigh.
Bess is not sold. "Then why are you getting all dressed up?" She pauses in thought. "Oh! Are you having a quarter life crisis?" She chirps in a sunny tone. Bess often got bored at work, the quiet of the library unnerving her more than anything. She also often, took out her boredom on you.
You try your hardest not to roll your eyes. "I had my quarter life crisis at 17 thank you very much," you reply, with the misplaced hope that she would drop the subject.
"Well, whats gotten into you lately? You're wearing jewelry, you keep checking your phone when I know your mom is the only person that texts you-"
"Thanks for that" you grumble.
"-so what is it? Do you have a new boyfriend? Girlfriend? Partner? C'mon throw me a bone" she begs. "Nothing interesting ever happens in my life so I need you to do it for me."
Your mind flashes back to Dennis.
Mr. Funky Music.
Honestly, you wish you had something interesting to tell Bess. But you didn't. The situation couldn't be clearer. You pulled out your best flirty moves, recommended him books, AND gave him your phone number, but he never called you or bothered to come back. What bruised your ego even more, was that at the time, you could swear he was picking up what you were putting down.
At this point it seemed like he wouldn't ever come back; not even to return his book, which was now overdue by 2 days.
"I promise you Bess, I am completely, absolutely, utterly, PAINFULLY single-"
You're interrupted by the sheepish grin that has been haunting you for the past 3 weeks and 2 days.
Not that anyone was counting.
"I don't know if you remember me? I'm back for the other books you recommended," is all he says innocently, like he hasn't been stuck in the wrinkles of your brain.
"Hi" you blink blankly at him for a moment before finally registering his words. "Yes, right the books. I saved them in the back... do you wanna..." you motioned in the direction of the storage room.
"Sure," he answers before his gaze moves to a very amused Bess. "Hi I'm Dennis" he offers a hand.
She shakes his it, grinning like a hyena. "Bess," is all she says before slinking away.
As you make your way to the storage room, he starts by apologizing. "I'm really sorry it's overdue I didn't have time to come by and return it."
"Oh, it's no problem, we get overdue books all the time" You wave him off nonchalantly, like you haven't been refreshing his account on the desk computer everyday.
"I don't really get much time to read." The timid tenor of his voice gives you an edge of confidence.
"Oh yea? What are you so busy doing?" You tease.
"I'm a med student. Fourth year. It's when we do our rounds in actual hospitals."
Holy shit. Dennis Funky Music was actually Doctor Dennis Funky Music.
"What speciality are you thinking?" You ask, partly out of curiosity but mostly because the idea of him being a pediatrician made your ovaries want to explode.
"I'm in the ED right now."
ok thank god not a pediatrician. You were in no financial means to even THINK about having a child. But ED?
"Eating disorder? Erectile disfunction?" you raise a quizzical eyebrow.
"No! No, the Emergency Department" he hastily corrects, face flushing slightly.
Well shit. This adorably bug eyed barn mouse was actually an emergency doctor??
Picturing him running around, with a stethoscope around his neck and blood splattered on his scrubs made your palms sweat.
"Ah, so thats why you never called. Too busy saving lives" You reply, hinting casually to the unresolved matter of your little sticky note.
"I didn't know you wanted me to call" he says simply, his eyes wide.
Ugh you wanted to kiss that clueless little pout off his face
"I don't know about you, but I don't typically give out my number to people who I WOULDN'T want calling me."
"That's... true" he shrugs as if he's realizing that possibility for the first time.
You open the door to the storage and room and motion for him to follow. "This is where the magic happens."
It smelled of dust and old paper, probably because that's all that sat in there; old damaged books that needed to be thrown out, new books that still needed barcodes, or books in the return bin that needed to be sorted and re-shelved. On the floor next to the return bin was a small stack of books with a sticky note placed on top that read:
Dennis Whitaker (Funky Music)
He crouches down reaching for the books in the stack, opening them to read the inside cover. You settle next to him, sitting cross legged, back leaning against a nearby desk.
"I'll have you know, my recommendations have changed slightly, now that I know you're a doctor."
He pauses reading and peers at your curiously from the corner of his eye. "Oh? Why is that?"
"Some of the books in here are like, 700 pages. I doubt you have time for a book like that if you're running around saving people 12 hours a day."
"You're probably right," he concedes with a light chuckle, "But some of these look really good" he says eyes glued to the back covers.
You can't help the warm feeling that blooms in your chest.
This was what brought you to the library. And what kept you here. There was something so intimate about sharing a piece of literature. Especially if it was a book. It was like saying, 'here. I was immersed in a completely different world and I still thought of you.'
You don't realize that you're staring until he starts talking.
"So..." he starts fiddling with one of the books, picking at the barcode sticker. "You said something back there about being... painfully single?" He quotes you from earlier and you wrinkle your nose at the reminder.
Welp, he already heard it, why lie.
"Yep. Just me and a ficus." You admit.
"Well, I am... also single... as well" he trails off, his gaze nervously flickering to yours every few seconds.
Oh.
Your lips can't help but turn up into a cheesy smile.
"Dr. Whitaker. Are you asking me out?" You teasingly bump his shoulder with your own.
"Yea, if you're okay with it, obviously. And technically I'm not a doctor yet." he returns your gaze with a soft smile and it pinches your heart in an unfamiliar way.
"Well then, I'm off at three. Can you wait till three?" You check your phone.
You watch his light up at your response. "Yes. Yep, I can wait till three"
"Great!" You move to stand, sticking your hand out to help him up. His hands are slightly rough, probably from the vigorous washing and hand sanitizer, but his grip is gentle and sturdy. It made you wonder how many people he'd saved with these very hands. It also made you wonder if your hands ever fit together this well with anyone else.
When you usher him out and shut the storage room door behind you, your eyes catch Bess' from World Languages. She mouths 'nice' while holding her pointer and thumb in an 'ok' sign.
You roll your eyes and make your way to the circulation desk.
"I just need your library card," he slides it over on the counter before you finish your sentence, something resembling pride in his eye.
"I really liked the book." He says and you must've looked a bit confused because he immediately clarifies, "The one you first recommended me. The one with your number in it. I liked it for more than just your number, though the number was also nice"
FUCK he was cute when he talked. Did any man look good when he talked?
If any man had, you were positive you'd never seen it.
"It was one of my favourite short stories," you add. "It was a little different than Call of the Wild so I worried a bit, but looks like I worried for nothing." You smile as you check in the new book.
The Lamp at Noon.
It had been one of your favourites since you were forced to read it in high school, and something about him made you think he might like it too.
Before you knew it, you were quickly whisked back to work, as more children came in with books they wanted to renew, check out, and return. There was also a bin full of returned books that needed to be reorganized. While you worked, you were still able to sneak glimpses of Dennis, settled in a chair in the corner, nose deep in the new book you gave him.
"So, did you and Linguine do it in the storage room?" Bess' wolfish voice materializes from behind you.
"Ew. And what? Linguine?" You turn your head to convey your disgust and confusion directly.
"You know... from Ratatouille. The chef guy not the rat" her gazes fixes back on Dennis.
"Why would you-" You stop mid sentence.
Huh. Now that she mentioned it, you guess he did kind of look like that guy from Ratatouille.
His big round, down turned eyes that reminded you of a lost puppy, the slight skittishness, and his tousled brown hair, and even the soft tone of his voice.
"Ok ew don't do that," Bess makes a fake gagging noise. "Your lovesick look is disgusting."
"I am NOT lovesick. I barely know the guy." You punctuate the words, like you are trying to convince more than just Bess.
"Denial is a river in Egypt" she hums back at you. "Also," she adds casually, "you can head home early if you want. I'll re-shelve the rest in the bin today."
"Wait really?" it comes out a bit more eager than you expected.
"Yes, now go collect your boy before he melts into a puddle on the floor"
You don't even bother to correct her. You are already shrugging off your work vest and grabbing your bag by the storage room.
Bess' lip curls into a smile, muttering something that sounds like "fuckin' knew it" to herself.
You walk over to where he was, eyes still intently focused on the pages. He doesn't register you until you gently nudge his shoe with your own.
"Are you-" he checks the time on his phone. "Are you done already?"
"Bess let me get off early" you can't help but smile warmly. "Ready to go?"
"Yes" He shoots up to his feet.
Once standing your faces are much closer than either of you anticipated, but you don't move away. You see him his eyes widen in realization, immediately moving his gaze to the ceiling tiles.
He smells like soap and something else vaguely familiar. Kind of like when you walk into someone else's house at their 'home' smell reminds you of somewhere you've already been.
"You smell nice." Is all you say before starting towards the door. But just before you turn away, you can see his cheeks start to redden.
-
You opt to stop by the coffee shop a couple blocks from the library. You learned to love it after long shifts because of the reasonably priced coffee, bagels, and comfy cushioned booths (why all these swanky new coffee places decided to have rigid plastic chairs from hell, you had no idea).
As you both approached the menu, you could see his shoulders tense a little. After you give your order to the cashier you see him shake his head.
"You don't want anything?"
"I ate before I came here." Is all he says.
You don't reply and simply turn back to the counter to order two of each: the bagels and coffee.
"You really didn't ha-"
"I want to." you cut him off, and something in your tone kept him from arguing further. He shoots you a grateful smile. And that was the end of it.
After you are able to grab your food and settle down, you are quickly knee deep in work stories, as you both did little else and your jobs technically forced you to serve the public.
"I once had a kid throw up on me, and the kid's mom yelled at me like I was the one who made him eat three hotdogs and run around in circles."
"I might have you beat." An eyebrow quirks up at his words and you lean on your elbows, tilting towards him. "The first day of my ED rotation, I had to change my scrubs like 5 times. Twice because of blood, and another time because of an unsecured bottle of Mylanta, but the kicker was, I got urinated on while trying to subdue a patient."
"Okay you win" hands up in mock surrender. Hot dog kid was rough but at least you've never been pissed on. "That must've sucked"
He shrugs it off too casually in a manner even for a man who's job required him to be covered in bodily fluids. "It didn't end up being that bad. He was really nice about it. Just ended up being a guy struggling being off his meds without health insurance. That's actually how I learned about the street team." he pauses, smiling to himself softly before his smile transitions to a more mischievous one. "Plus, the same day, another intern dropped a scalpel INTO another doctor's foot so..."
All you could do was giggle at the joke and inspect the soft look in his eye.
He continued with a few of his stories from his time on the street team. The people he encountered, the glimpses of their lives he saw, and how it changed the way he worked back at the ED. The whole time you couldn't tear yourself away from his eyes. The gentle understanding and compassion was palpable; radiating off of him.
From working in a public library you also had your experiences with houseless people in the community. Many would come to use the washrooms, use wifi, print things, or even take a nap on the couches. Although you did your best to make sure the library was a comfortable place for them, you knew not everyone felt the same way.
You learned quickly from work that something that seemed as obvious as respecting someone's basic humanity wasn't guaranteed.
"So why the library?" He asks.
"I like books." you shrug and he looks at you intently like he knows theres more underneath. So you continue. Crack yourself open a touch. "I've always liked them. When written right, I feel the characters like they're real people, like they're my friends or something."
You knew how that sounded to other people; like you were a friendless recluse, obsessing over people that didn't exist; figments of your imagination. While that was true to some degree, you weren't a hermit. You had real life friends and a semi-operational social life, and you found these relationships incredibly fulfilling. But it didn't mean that the humanity of reading a book and experiencing someone's innermost thoughts and feelings was any less sacred.
"Human emotions are able to transcend time; I'm able to feel something someone wrote about 200 years ago. I feel like it's the closest thing we have to time travel."
He quirks his head in thought. "I guess... I guess I've never thought about it like that."
And you're left without anything to say because of that look on his face.
His eyes.
Even when he wasn't looking at you, you could almost see the gears turning in his brain, holding on to your every word. Now that he was looking at you, it felt like he was taking the time to absorb each and every word. Trying to absorb you.
It's an unfamiliar feeling; someone paying so much attention to you. Not to analyze you, or grade you, or lodge a complaint to the library board, but just to know you.
The realization made your heart pinch again. The same way it did back the first time, when his ringtone scared the shit out of him, and before, when he asked you out in the storage room. There's a split second where you don't know what to do with the feeling; you don't know where to put it. His sincerity sort of...
scared you.
Not in a bad way obviously, but in a way that was so clearly unfamiliar to you. People (least of all men) were rarely this attentive, or in tune with themselves or with you. His motives, his thoughts, his desires were all so clear. He was so transparent in a way that made you wanna do the same. It was something you didn't quite know you were signing up for when you ambushed with him while he was reading or when you put your number in his book.
But maybe you were ready for it.
"I really like you" is all you say, getting it out before you talk yourself out of it.
He looks a little surprised, but his face quickly softens into a smile.
"I like you too" he looks down at his drink for a moment. "... alot."
You take a quick scan of the cafe. Most of the patrons had left for the evening, leaving you two and an older couple as the sole patrons across the floor, all the way by the doors.
Without the pressure of extra eyes, you scooch into his side of the booth and slide a hand on top of his.
You feel his fingers tense up under your palm and there’s a flash of doubt in your mind before he curls your intertwined fingers into his palm.
That gives you the bravery to take one last look around the coffee shop before sneaking a quick peck to his right cheek. You can't help the giddy smile that curls on your lips as his cheeks turn red under the skin your lips just touched. His puppy dog eyes are wide and his lips are parted slightly in a way that is painfully kissable. You watch as his flush travels up his ears, and you're openly oogling him when he surprises you by asking:
"Can I kiss you?" His voice is a little hoarse, but his eyes are sincere and searching.
Completely unexpected (but not unwelcome) you're only able to nod, and his other hand, the one not curled under your own, reaches over to cup your cheek, fingertips just grazing your scalp.
You expected a peck; everything about him lead you to believe it would be.
But the firmness of his grip and the heat behind his lips catches you off guard for half a second. Your body catches up to him before your mind does, as you return the gentle pressure of his lips with your own. You can't help your tongue as it moves to lightly graze his lower lip. You feel his breath hitch before he returns the favour.
An abrupt cough rips the two of you apart.
"We're closing in 5 minutes" A very unimpressed teenager in the cafe uniform stares down at the two of you, mop in hand.
"Yep! Uh- right. Sorry, we'll be right out!" Dennis scrambles for your stuff, ushering you out of the booth while you are still a little dazed, pressing your lips together in effort to hold in a laugh.
Your laughter finally breaks when the door of the cafe shuts behind you both. He gazes down at you amused, chuckling alongside you.
"I can't believe you got me kicked out of my favourite coffee shop" you muse.
"Don't blame me, you started it" he raises his hands in mock surrender. You take a second to drink in his expression; eyes still slightly crinkled with remains of his laughter and his cheeks still slightly pink.
"Hashtag worth it."
"You did not just hashtag something in real life" he deadpans.
You quickly bring your lips to his in a quick peck, pulling away quickly.
Could someone be addicted to kissing?
"I did, big time" your tone is casual but a sly smile gives you away, as you walk toward the bus stop. There's a beat of silence before you hear his rapid footsteps catching up to you.
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AFJGYODISIHUDYSGUEB thank you for reading, I really did love writing this, Whitaker deserves all the love in the world and I really love writing fluff. I already have ideas for a 3rd part, involving an introduction to the rest of the Pitt gang so if yall would be into that lemme know!!!! (also some smut next maybe...)
Here are some Whitaker x You meeting Santos headcanons!
