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Okay but imagine reader and Dennis who had a one night stand and then like a month later she ends up in the er and he gets assigned as her doctor. she needs to take a pregnancy test for some medical reason and turns out she is preggo

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ♡

Uh, such a cute (and juicy!!) idea! Thank you for the request, hun <3

Dennis Whitaker x f!reader || Masterlist || Spotify

summary: After fainting in a grocery store, you end up in the ER. Turns out your stay comes with a couple surprises. Not only who your doctor turns out to be, but what you thought was just stress also turns out to be something more.

word count: 9.9k

note/tags: Afab!reader. No use of y/n. One night stand. Unplanned pregnancy. Fluff/tiny bit of angst? May contain medical inaccuracies. Dennis is a sweetheart.

You sit yourself down on the side of the hospital bed with a mix of self-pity and embarrassment, hunched slightly forward with your elbows on your knees. The fluorescent lights overhead make everything feel harsher than it should be, and the faint smell of disinfectant only makes the nausea rolling in your stomach worse.

You swallow hard, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. This is ridiculous. People go to the ER for actual emergencies. Broken bones, car accidents, things that bleed or stop working. Not because they passed out in the middle of a grocery store. The nurse who brought you in gives you a sympathetic smile as she logs something into the computer in the corner of the room.

You like her, she seems nice, and you have the feeling that she’s rooting for you, like she is on your team. It’s not often you feel that when you’re in places like this.

Usually, it’s the opposite. Usually, it feels like you’re being evaluated, quietly measured against some invisible standard you’ve already failed to meet. But she doesn’t look at you like that. There’s no impatience in the way she moves, no thinly veiled skepticism when she glances in your direction. Just calm, steady attention.

You drop your hand back into your lap, fingers curling together. The nausea ebbs slightly, replaced by a dull, lingering shakiness that makes your limbs feel like they don’t quite belong to you.

“Your doctor will be with you in just a minute,” she says kindly. “In the meantime, I’m gonna start taking your vitals, alright?”

You nod, shifting slightly on the bed as another small wave of nausea rolls through you. “Yeah, okay,” you mumble.

She gives you a small, reassuring nod before reaching for a blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around your arm. Quietly explaining while she does so.

“Just relax,” she says softly.

You try. The cuff tightens, squeezing your arm, and you focus on the steady hum of the machine instead of the lingering unease in your stomach and now your arm, before it slowly loosens again.

She glances at the numbers on the monitor. “Well, your blood pressure is on the lower side,” she says. “That could definitely explain the dizziness.”

You just nod, not really trusting yourself to say anything without your voice giving you away.

“Did you eat today?”

“Yeah, some toast,” you admit. “That’s about it.”

She nods again before reaching for your arm to remove the cuff, her touch light and careful as she slides it off. “Alright,” she says softly, setting it aside. “And have you been eating normally lately?” she asks.

“No… not really,” you admit. “I’ve been feeling kinda sick the past few days.”

“Nauseous?”

You nod again.

“Okay. Have you experienced any stomach pain?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Any vomiting?”

“No…” you hesitate, glancing down at your hands. “But there have been a few times I’ve felt like I might,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

Then, in that same neutral, routine tone, she asks, “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

The question lands heavier than it should. You’re just about to blurt out no, out of pure instinct, something automatic, easy and safe. But the word catches in your throat. Your love life hasn’t exactly been active the last year or two. And that’s why your brain wants to say no without thinking.

But there was that one night about a month ago.

It was the kind of night out that wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. Just a way to get out of your own head for a few hours, to feel normal again. You hadn’t expected anything from it. You had just met up with some of your friends, some of your friends’ friends. And a few people who turned out to be friends of friends of friends –people you didn’t know, names you didn’t catch, faces that blurred together after a while.

You hadn’t planned on staying long. Just a drink or two, a laugh and a light conversation, then leave. But then you noticed him. He looked even more out of place than you felt. Leaning against the wall, drink in hand, like he wasn’t sure where he belonged. His eyes roamed the room but didn’t settle on anyone, not until they landed on you.

You smiled first, almost without thinking. He looked surprised, a little caught off guard, and then he smiled back, awkwardly, nervously, but genuine. And somehow, that was enough. It was awkward, sure, but real in a way that made you want to stay a little longer than you first intended.

You started talking. He was one of those friends of friends of friends. The kind of person you could’ve missed entirely if things had gone just a little differently that night. At first, just small talk to fill the time, but then it wasn’t just small talk anymore. It was laughter and shared glances, a kind of ease that felt like it had slipped through the cracks of the night. He was charming in a quiet, unassuming way. Sweet, earnest, a little clumsy, completely unlike anyone you’d met in a long time.

And it was so nice. Someone kind, nervous, and a little awkward. Someone who had made you feel lighter than usual. One drink became two, two turned into standing a little closer than before, conversations dipping softer, quieter. There had been a moment, just a small one, where neither of you were really talking anymore, just looking at each other like you were both trying to decide something at the same time. And then you had.,.

You swallow. Your fingers curl tighter in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin

“There might be a little chance.”

The nurse doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look at you differently. She just nods, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Alright. We’ll have you take a pregnancy test just to rule it out.”

Your stomach twists again, though this time it’s not entirely because of the nausea. Because technically, there is a chance.

The thought settles heavy, sinking somewhere deep in your chest. The nurse gives you a small, reassuring smile, like nothing about this is unusual, like this is just another step in a routine process.

“I’ll see if your doctor is ready now,” she says gently.

“Okay,” you manage, your voice quieter than you intend. “Thank you.”

The curtain shifts as she steps out, leaving you alone with the low hum of the machines and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. You exhale slowly, leaning forward again, elbows resting on your knees, trying to ground yourself.

It’s probably nothing. It has to be nothing. Low blood pressure. Not eating enough. Stress. Your fingers tighten together, then loosen again as you force yourself to breathe.

After a while the curtain rustles. You glance up, and everything in you stills. You are met by a friendly smile from your nurse, kind brown eyes, soft and familiar. But it is not her who makes your breath catch. It’s the person stepping in behind her.

He is looking down at the ipad in his hands, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, like he’s trying to finish reading something before stepping fully into the room. It gives you a second, just one, to see him without being seen.

The familiar slope of his shoulders. The way he holds himself, a little unsure, like he’s still getting used to being here. Light brown hair falling over his forehead, and curling up at the nap of his neck.

Then he looks up, and his eyes meet yours. Those wide, blue eyes, you remember all too well.

“This is Dr. Whitaker,” the nurse says softly, her tone carrying the gentle authority of routine, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. She tells Dennis your name, not knowing that he already knows it. “We already took her blood pressure, and you ordered a pregnancy test.”

His gaze flickers briefly toward the nurse, then back to you. “Thank you, Perlah,” he says, voice small.

There’s a pause, the kind that makes the air between you feel thicker. She gives him a quick look, a brow slightly raised, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Then she gazes back to you, smiling softly, as if nothing unusual has happened.

“If you need anything, you can call on the button and I’ll be back. But in the meantime, you’re in good hands with Dr. Whitaker.”

You give a small nod, your throat tight, words catching somewhere between nervousness and surprise. She steps out, the curtain swishing closed behind her, and the door closes, and suddenly the room feels impossibly quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing a little louder, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears.

“Hi,” he says, an awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just enough to make it feel human, approachable.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice smaller than you would like, uneven, caught somewhere between nerves and surprise.

“So, uh, you fainted…” he continues, voice careful, like he’s stepping lightly around fragile ground. His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the ipad, a subtle rhythm that seems to mirror your racing heartbeat.

You glance down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “Yeah… I guess,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Uhm.. If you would prefer another doctor, I can call them in,” he says, voice gentle, careful not to push. His gaze flickers to your face, giving you space, but holding just enough attention to make it clear he’s listening.

You shake your head quickly, almost automatically. “No… no, it’s fine,” you murmur. “You’re… you’re fine.” Your voice catches, tight and shaky.

He nods, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he says softly.

There’s a pause as he studies you, and even in the sterile, buzzing hospital room, there’s a strange sense of understanding between you. The way he leans slightly, careful not to crowd your space, makes it clear he’s not in a rush.

“I could understand from Perlah that you have been feeling nauseous… Can you tell me when it started? And if it’s been constant, or comes and goes?”

You hesitate, twisting your fingers tighter in your lap, and then let out a quiet breath. “A few days… maybe longer,” you mumble. “It… comes and goes. Mostly in the mornings, but sometimes I feel it all day.”

He nods slowly, laying the ipad gently on the counter beside the computer, before sitting down on the stool near the bed. The movement is careful, deliberate, as if he’s trying to make the space feel less clinical and more… manageable.

Neither of you say anything for a moment. “This was not something I had expected today” he then says softly, his tone low and careful, like he’s aware of how fragile the moment feels.

You glance up, caught somewhere between nerves and disbelief. “Yeah… me neither,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gives a small, awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ease the tension.

“I, uhm… I regretted not asking for your number that night,” he admits softly, voice low, careful, like he’s letting you in without forcing anything. There’s a vulnerability there, subtle but impossible to miss.

You feel your chest tighten, words catching in your throat. “Me too…” you hear your own voice, small and fragile, but it somehow feels like the only honest thing you can say. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, it’s heavy, yes, but also intimate, like the room has shrunk around just the two of you.

He nods slowly, as if letting your words sink in, the awkward smile lingering just a moment longer before he shifts slightly on the stool, just enough to lean a little closer without closing the space between you.

“I… I kept thinking about it,” he admits quietly, voice almost swallowed by the hum of the fluorescent lights. “I mean not in a weird way! Just… I don’t know, wondering if I’d get another chance to actually talk to you.”

Your heart tightens, and your fingers curl in your lap again. “We did a little more than just talking that night…”

He blinks, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Right.” His eyes flicker away for a moment, like he’s gathering courage, before returning to yours.

The quiet stretches, heavy but intimate, as if the room itself has shrunk to hold just the two of you in this suspended, fragile moment.

“A lot of things can make someone feel nauseous, or make them faint” he continues softly, like he’s searching for the right words, careful not to overstep, not to make you feel any more exposed than you already do. His voice, low and careful, like he’s trying to build a bridge across the nervous tension in the room. “Low blood pressure, stress, anxiety, not eating enough… but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You nod, your throat tight, the simple act of acknowledging him feeling heavier than it should. Your fingers fidget in your lap.

He pauses, letting the words settle. “The first thing we’ll do is a urine pregnancy test. It’s quick and easy, just to rule it out before we look at other causes. Pregnancy can lead to low blood pressure and nausea, so it’s a standard step,” he explains gently, keeping his tone calm and steady, though there’s a subtle hesitancy in his voice, like he’s aware of how loaded the moment feels. He meets your eyes, letting the weight of the words hang without pressing you, giving you space to react.

“And what if it is positive?” you say, though it’s closer to a whisper, your voice catching, trailing off as your fingers twist in your lap. The words feel heavier than you expect, like stepping over an invisible line.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes steady, patient, giving you space to let the words settle without rushing in. His lips press into a thin line before he finally speaks, slow and careful.

“Then, uhm… Then we’ll figure it out,” he answers softly, like the word takes a second to find its way out. His voice is gentle, a little unsteady, but sincere in a way that makes it land.

His words make something in your chest tighten, then loosen all at once. It’s something warm, unfamiliar in a moment that should feel cold and clinical. You swallow, your fingers stilling in your lap for the first time since he walked in. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t answer the question hanging between you. But it softens it, just enough to breathe around.

Your eyes stay on him, searching, like you’re trying to understand how he can feel so steadying, while looking so nervous at the same time.

He clears his throat softly, like he’s grounding himself back into the role he’s supposed to be playing here. Professional, steady, your doctor. But there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite let him be just that.

His hand shifts against his knee, fingers curling slightly, like he’s grounding himself the same way you’ve been trying to. His gaze flickers briefly away, then back to you, and there’s still that same openness there, uncertain, but real.

For a second, it feels like he might say something else. But instead, he exhales quietly and gives a small nod, almost to himself.

“Okay,” he says, softly, like he’s settling into something steadier. “I’ll go get you something to drink, so uh…” he trails off, glancing briefly toward the door before looking back at you. “So you can take the test,” he finishes, voice quiet, the words coming out a little uneven.

The words hang there, simple and clinical on the surface, but they don’t land that way between you.

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer than it needs, like he’s checking something unspoken. Making sure you’re okay. Or maybe trying to make himself believe that you are.

You nod, even though your throat feels tight again. “Okay.”

He gives a small nod back, almost mirroring you, like that’s enough to anchor him.

“Okay,” he echoes. But he doesn’t move right away.

There’s a hesitation, subtle, but there. His fingers press lightly against his knee, then release, like he’s debating something he doesn’t quite let himself say.

“Hey,” he adds softly, drawing your attention back up to him. Your eyes meet his again. “If you start to feel lightheaded again… just lay down, and use the call button, alright?” he says, slipping gently back into that steady, professional tone, but it’s warmer now. More personal.

You nod, even though your throat feels tight again. “Okay,” you whisper.

He watches you for a moment longer, like he’s making sure you really mean it. Like he’s trying to memorize something. Your expression, maybe, or just the fact that you’re still sitting there, still steady.

“Alright,” he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod again, a little more firmly this time, like you’re trying to hold onto that steadiness he’s offering you.

“Okay,” you repeat, barely above a whisper.

He gives you one last look, longer than necessary, softer than it should be, and then finally turns, pulling the curtain aside. The hallway noise spills in again, distant and impersonal. Voices, footsteps, the faint clatter of something metal against tile. It all feels far away.

And then he’s gone. The curtain falls back into place with a quiet swish, and the room settles into stillness again. You sit there for a moment, unmoving. Your hands rest in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined now instead of clenched. Your breathing is a little uneven, but not as tight as before.

· · · · ·

Dennis leans back against the cool wall just outside the exam room, exhaling slowly through his nose like he’s been holding his breath for the past ten minutes without realizing it. His heart is still beating a little too fast, faster than it should for a routine case. For any case, really.

So for a moment, he just stands there, staring down at the floor, trying to put himself back together into something useful, something professional.

Because the second he walked into that room and saw you he was brought back to that night he met you, and that night wasn’t supposed to follow him here. It had been… simple, surprisingly so. Unexpected, but simple. A rare kind of ease he didn’t often get.

You had felt easy, talking to you had felt easy. Being around you had all felt easy, and nice, but also kind of terrifying in a way he hadn’t really let himself sit with until now. Dennis lets out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down over his face. Yeah. That’s the word. Terrifying. Not because of what happened, but because of how easily it had happened.

Trinity had dragged him along to the bar, and he hadn’t even wanted to go. Pittsburg hadn’t felt like home yet, not really. It still isn’t really, but that night had felt like something close to it. Or at least like a break from everything that didn’t.

Everything still feels slightly unfamiliar, like he is walking half a step out of sync with the rest of the world, but with you, he hadn’t felt so out of sync. It was as if something real had slipped in where it wasn’t supposed to. No expectations, no pressure, no weight. Just someone sweet, someone pretty and kind, who laughed at his awkward jokes like they were actually funny. Smiled at him like you meant it.

He shifts, the back of his head resting briefly against the wall as he now stares up at the fluorescent lights. They buzz faintly, steady and indifferent, like none of this matters outside of that room.

But it does. Because you’re in there. And there’s a chance that… He cuts the thought off before it can fully form, jaw tightening. This must be scary enough for you, he can’t let himself spiral. Because right now, your health, the test, the possibility… it’s about you. Not him

He technically doesn’t even know if he is the father if it turns out that you are pregnant. You could have had other sexual partners within the period of a possible pregnancy. And you would be totally justified in that.

The thought lands quietly this time, without resistance. And he lets it, because it’s true. You would be justified. It’s your life, your choices, your body. One night, no matter how real it felt to him, doesn’t give him any kind of claim or expectation.

Dana is standing by the nursestarion, watching him with that same calm, observant expression she always has, but there’s something a little more knowing in it now. Subtle, but enough to make him straighten instinctively when he notices that she’s looking at him.

“You okay, kid?” she asks, tone light, but not casual enough to ignore.

He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Dana doesn’t push. She just tilts her head slightly, letting the silence hang long enough for him to notice he’s holding himself too rigidly. Then she turns, returning her focus to the computer in front of her, fingers moving over the keyboard with practiced ease.

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut for a second before opening them again, blinking a few times, to get himself back together. You need fluids. Ideally something with sugar. That’s an easy task, something manageable he can do right now. Fluids and a pregnancy test, he can get you that.

· · · · ·

You sit in the quiet for a moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space between your thoughts. Your fingers fidget in your lap, twisting together, letting the tension work itself out in small, unconscious movements.

The shock of seeing him, of him being the one stepping into the room, of being told that he was the doctor that should help you, curls around your chest, tightening in a way that makes your breath catch even though you’re trying to calm yourself.

Your gaze drifts toward the door, half-expecting it to open again, for the curtain to rustle, for him to step back in like this is all some strange, suspended moment that hasn’t quite decided what it is yet.

Out of all of the ER’s in Pittsburgh and all the doctors, it had to be him. The thought doesn’t even feel real when it settles in your mind. It just… sits there, heavy and impossible, like something that belongs to a different version of your life.

A month ago, he was just a stranger. Someone you weren’t supposed to see again, at least not under these circumstances. But somehow, here he is. And here you are. It’s not like you wouldn’t have wanted to see him again but not like this.

The thought settles heavy in your chest, quieter than the others, but somehow almost sharper. Because you had thought about it. Seeing him again. Not in any serious way. Not something you let yourself linger on too long, but it had crossed your mind in those quiet moments afterward. A passing what if. A soft, almost embarrassing curiosity about whether you’d ever run into him again.

Maybe at another bar, or at a house party Trin would drag him along to. Somewhere casual, somewhere easy. Somewhere you could’ve just smiled when you saw him, maybe teased him a little about that awkward first conversation, and about what followed, asked for his number this time without overthinking it. Something simple.

Your chest tightens faintly. Because that version of it doesn’t exist anymore, and it never will, no matter what that test says.

Your stomach shifts again, a low, uneasy roll that makes you press your lips together. You swallow it down, one hand coming to rest lightly against your abdomen, as if that might steady something deeper than just the nausea.

A pregnancy test. The words echo faintly in your head, softer now, but the words aren’t feeling any less heavy. You exhale shakily, dropping your hand back into your lap.

It’s probably nothing. You cling to it again, even as doubt presses in at the edges. Low blood pressure, not eating enough, stress. All things that make sense. All things that don’t change your life in an instant.

Unlike the alternative.

Your foot taps lightly against the side of the bed, a quiet, restless rhythm. And then, without meaning to, your thoughts drift back to that night. The way everything had felt so easy. Like you hadn’t been trying so hard to be okay for once. Like you hadn’t been overthinking every word, every movement.

He was different. Not in any obvious, overwhelming way. Not in the kind of way that demands attention the second someone walks into a room. No, he was much quieter than that. Softer. He hadn’t tried too hard. Hadn’t filled every silence or pushed every conversation forward like he needed it to go somewhere. There had been pauses, small ones, where neither of you spoke, and somehow they hadn’t felt awkward.

Or actually, they had, a little at least, but not in a bad way. Not the kind of awkward that makes your skin itch or your mind scramble for something to fill the space. It was just a little unsure. Like both of you were still figuring each other out in real time, neither quite knowing what to say next, but not wanting to walk away either.

You remember noticing that. The way he looked at you like he was actually listening. Like he wasn’t just waiting for his turn to talk. Your chest tightens faintly. And the way he smiled. A little unsure, a little crooked, like he wasn’t entirely used to it landing somewhere it was truly wanted. It had made something in you soften.

You shift a little on the bed, the paper cover beneath you crinkling softly. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, making you pause for a second before exhaling slowly. Time feels strange in here, stretched thin. You have no idea if it’s been a minute or five since he left the room–maybe even ten.

Your gaze drifts back to the curtain again, like it might give you some kind of answer. It doesn’t. It just hangs there, still and closed, separating you from everything outside this room.

You exhale slowly, shoulders rising and falling in a measured attempt to stay grounded. But without anything to distract you, your thoughts keep circling back to the same place. The test, him, that night.

Because if it’s negative… Your chest lifts slightly with the thought, something almost like relief brushing against the edges of your ribs. Then this can just stay what it was. A strange coincidence, an almost, something soft and unfinished that you can tuck away and maybe, maybe, come back to later, under different circumstances.

Your throat tightens faintly. Maybe you would actually get that second chance. Maybe you could both laugh about this someday. The absurdity of it, running into each other here, of all places.

But if it turns out to be positive… Your lips press together. The thought doesn’t finish forming before your stomach twists again, sharper this time. Your hand instinctively comes back to rest against your abdomen, fingers pressing lightly like you’re trying to steady the unease from the outside.

If it is positive, everything changes. Not just tonight, not just this moment. Everything.

Your breath comes out a little uneven, and you force yourself to inhale slowly through your nose, exhale through your mouth, like you’ve done a hundred times before when things start to feel like too much.

It wouldn’t just be yours to figure out. Your eyes flicker toward the door again, something uncertain settling in your chest. It would be his, too. Not in the same way, of course. Not in the way it would live in your body, change your body, ask things of you every single day. But it would still be his as well as yours. Shared.

And that thought, that’s the one that lingers the longest. Not fear, exactly. Surprisingly, not even panic. Just a heavy, unsure weight. Because you don’t really know him. Not beyond a single night and a handful of soft, unfinished moments. And yet, you know enough to remember the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he held you as you both caught your breath afterward. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push, didn’t make anything feel like it had to be more than it was.

Your chest tightens again, quieter this time. Would that change? Would this, whatever this is, turn him into someone else? Or would he still be that same person, just in a situation neither of you had asked for?

The thought lingers, unanswered as a soft knock breaks through the quiet before the door opens again, the curtain shifts, not waiting long enough for you to respond to your own questions.

Your head lifts instinctively. Dennis steps back in, the back of one hand pushing the curtain aside, in his arms he’s holding five different small sealed cups, a bottle of water, a can of La Crox. And in his right hand he’s holding another type of cup wrapped in sterile plastic and a packet of test strips.

His eyes find yours immediately. And for a second he hesitates. Like he’s checking the temperature of the room.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside as the curtain falls closed behind him again. His voice is gentler this time, steadier, like he’s had a moment to pull himself back together. But there’s still something there under the surface. “I, uhm, I didn’t know what you like, so I brought a few options,” he finishes a little awkwardly, lifting his arms slightly like it might explain itself, as if he’s only just now realizing how much he’s carrying

Your lips part slightly, a quiet breath slipping out before you can stop it. “Thank you,” you say softly.

The cups shift a little in his hold, and he lets out a small, self-conscious breath before stepping closer to the table beside your bed. “I might’ve… overestimated how many choices you’d need,” he adds quietly.

There’s something almost endearing in the way he says it. Like he’s aware of it, but not enough to undo it. You can’t help it, the faintest hint of a smile tugs at your lips, soft and brief, but real.

“It’s okay,” you murmur.

He gives a small nod, like your approval matters more than it maybe should, like it settles something in him. He put the cups down on the little table next to the bed beside you, a little more carefully than necessary, like even that small action requires focus.

“The apple juice is, uh… probably better,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, gesturing lightly toward it. “You need some sugar.”

“Okay.” You nod, meeting his eyes with a sudden feeling of shyness. “I like apple juice.”

“Yeah?” he says, a little too quickly, like he didn’t expect an actual answer. Then he lets out a small, almost sheepish breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sweet, shy smile, like he is happy to learn even the smallest thing about you.

You nod again, a little more certain this time, though the warmth creeping up your neck gives you away.

“Yeah,” you murmur, almost like you’re confirming it for both of you.

His smile lingers for a moment longer than necessary. He removes the lid before handing you the juice cup. You take a sip, the sweetness hitting your tongue a little sharper than you expect, but not unpleasant. It settles something small in your stomach, even if the unease doesn’t fully go away.

You lower the cup slightly, your fingers still wrapped around it. “Good?” he asks, a little tentative, like he’s not entirely sure why it matters so much, but it does.

You nod. “Yeah… it helps.”

Something in his shoulders eases at that, just a fraction. “That’s good,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

There’s a quiet pause, the kind that feels softer now, less strained. Like the edges of the moment have smoothed just a little.

“I know this is… a lot,” he says finally, voice lower now, less clinical, more honest. “The fainting, and feeling sick, and then… this on top of it.” He gestures vaguely, like the words possible pregnancy is too heavy to just drop into the space between you again.

You let out a small breath, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands. “Yeah… it is,” you admit quietly.

He nods, like he understands that in a way that goes beyond just the medical side of things. His fingers shift against the edge of the table, restless for a second before stilling again. There’s something else sitting with him now. You can see it. He glances at you, then away, then back again, like he’s circling something he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.

“I, uh…” he starts, then stops, a faint crease forming between his brows. He lets out a small breath through his nose, almost a quiet laugh at himself, like he’s aware of how awkward this is about to sound. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask this without making it weird…” he admits softly.

Your grip on the cup tightens just slightly.

“I don’t want to assume anything,” he starts, the words slow, deliberate. “And you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, I just…” he exhales softly, like he’s trying to steady himself. “Timing-wise…” He trails off, glancing at you briefly, then back down, then back up again. Then, more carefully. “That night was, what… about a month ago?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He nods too, like he expected that, but hearing it still makes something in him settle—and tighten at the same time.

“Okay,” he murmurs. Then another pause. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” he says. “Really. I mean that.” His hand comes up briefly, rubbing the back of his neck again before dropping back down. “It’s just… medically, it helps to know, and…” he hesitates, then corrects himself, more honest now, “and not just medically,” he admits, quieter now.

That lands a little heavier. The way he says it, so careful, so indirect, makes your chest ache a little. He’s not pushing. Not claiming anything. Just asking for a place in something that maybe don’t een exist, but already feels bigger than either of you can name.

“There hasn’t been anyone else,” you say softly.

His eyes widen just the slightest fraction, a flicker of relief passing through them before he smooths it down into calm attentiveness. He doesn’t smile or anything, but you can see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little.

“Okay,” he says softly. His voice low, steady and careful. “That… helps, a lot. Thank you for telling me.” He lets the words hang for a moment, letting them settle between you both.

“Dennis?”

He blinks at your voice, a faint pause filling the space as if the single word pulled him up from a careful orbit around himself. His eyes flick to yours, wide, attentive, the weight of that moment settling on him too. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, still careful, like he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next but ready to meet it.

“Can I get your number?”

You don’t even know why you are asking him right now, the timing is weird, but it suddenly feels very important.

His eyebrows lift just the slightest fraction, like the question took a second to land. “Yeah,” says finally, voice low, almost shy. “Of course.”

You pull out your phone, swiping your thumb across the screen and unlocking it with quiet, deliberate motion, trying not to let your hands shake. You open up your contacts, fingers hovering over the ‘+’ button for a new entry. Your thumb hesitates just above the name field for a moment, and then, with a quiet breath, you type in Dennis. You tap the number field and carefully hand the phone toward him, your fingers brushing briefly against his as he takes it.

His hand is warm, steady, and there’s a soft, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he glances down at the screen. He types in his number slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing the motion as much as the digits. Then he hands the phone back to you.

“Thank you,” you say softly as you press the button to save the contact. You tuck the phone back into your pocket.

He hesitates for a second, like he is weighing something, then finally lifts his phone. “Uh… can I get your number too?” His voice is quiet, careful, almost shy, as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile rhythm between you.

You feel a small warmth rise in your chest at the request. “Of course.”

It’s his turn to pull out his phone, fingers fumbling just slightly as he unlocks it. You watch him for a moment, the soft concentration on his face, the way his eyebrows draw together just a little, and it makes your chest tighten in a good, nervous way.

You hold out your hand, and he hands over the phone, your fingers typing again, warm and familiar before handing it back to him again. His eyes meet yours with that shy little smile before pressing save.

He glances down at the small collection of cups on the table beside your bed, then back up at you, eyes soft and careful. “Do you need some more to drink?”

You shake your head just slightly, still feeling the warmth from the phone exchange linger in your chest. “Maybe just a little,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend, like the words are tentative, testing the space between you. You have to be able to pee to take the test, but you don’t feel ready, even though you know you should.

The thought of standing up, moving, letting go of control for even a moment, of taking a test that could change everything, twists your stomach in a way that has nothing to do with nausea.

“What would you like?” he asks, eyes soft, giving you room to choose without pressure.

“Just some water.”

He nods right away, like the answer really matters “Yeah, okay,” he says softly, reaching for the bottle. He screws the bottle open before handing it to you, the sound of the plastic breaking softly in the quiet as the seal of the bottle cap breaks.

You take a small sip, then another, your throat easing as the water settles. He stays where he is, close but not too close, his weight shifting slightly from one foot to the other. His hands hover like he’s not entirely sure what to do with them, before one comes up to rub the back of his neck again.

“So, uhm, Perlah will come back in a few minutes,” he says, voice a little uneven at first before he steadies it. “She’ll, uh… take you to the bathroom. And she will explain what to do, she is definitely a lot better at that than me.” He clears his throat softly, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. He shifts his weight again, glancing briefly at the door before looking back at you, softer this time. “And then it only takes a few minutes,” he adds. “For the result, I mean.”

A few minutes. It sounds so short, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You swallow, taking another sip of water, letting the coolness settle. “Right.”

There’s a soft knock at the door before either of you can say anything else. The curtain shifts a second later, and Perlah steps in, her presence gentle but efficient, like she’s done this a hundred times before.

“Hi,” she says with a small, reassuring smile, glancing between you and Dennis before focusing on you. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitate. “A little better,” you manage.

“Alright.” She nods, like that’s enough for now. “When you’re ready, we’ll have you give us a urine sample so we can run the test, okay?”

“I, uhm, I think I’m ready,” you say, your voice small, almost swallowed by the quiet room. You take a last sip from the water bottle before setting it down on the table

“Okay.” Perlah nods, her smile steady and patient. You’re glad you know her name now, you had been too nauseous and out of it to catch it when she first introduced herself and you were too embarrassed to ask again. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Dennis hands her the specimen cup, sealed in clear wrapping, along with the small box of testing strips. His movements are careful, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile rhythm of the room. Perlah accepts them with a nod, her hands steady and practiced.

“Follow me, hun,” Perlah says gently, her voice warm but professional. She steps toward the door, holding it open for you with a soft, encouraging smile. Dennis shifts slightly, giving you a reassuring glance before staying where he is, letting you move forward.

When you reach the bathroom, she gestures toward it. “Alright, just like I said. You can use the cup here. When you’re done you can just leave the cup on the counter and I will take it to testing.”

“Okay, thank you,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening just slightly around the cup.

Perlah gives you one last reassuring nod. “I’ll be right outside, but you can take all the time you need,” she says softly, before stepping back and letting the door close behind you.

The small click of it feels louder than it should. For a moment, you just stand there. The bathroom is simple, clean, thank god. The cup in your hand feels light, but your chest doesn’t. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders rising and falling as you try to steady yourself.

When you’re done, you set the cup carefully on the counter before washing your hands. You catch your own gaze in the mirror, and for a second, you don’t quite recognize yourself.

You let out a sigh before looking away. You dry your hands slowly, buying yourself an extra second before reaching for the door. When you open it, Perlah is right where she said she’d be. She looks up immediately, her expression soft and steady.

“All set?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Perfect.” She steps inside, her movements easy and practiced as she picks up the cup from the counter. “I’ll take this to testing now. It won’t take long.”

You nod again, even though your chest tightens at that.

She pauses for just a second before stepping back out, her voice gentler now. “You can head back. I’ll come find you as soon as we have something.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

The walk back feels quieter than before, like the air has thickened somehow. When you step through the curtain, Dennis looks up immediately, like he’s been listening for your steps. His shoulders ease the second he sees you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

There’s a small pause as you move back toward the bed, sitting down carefully. Your hands come together in your lap, fingers beginning fidgeting before you even notice that you’re doing it. It’s starting to become a bad habit.

Your eyes drift to his hand for a second, then back up to his face. He notices, just barely, and something in his expression softens even more.

For a second, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, carefully, he steps closer. You scoot just slightly, making space for him without thinking about it. He notices. Of course he does. He sits down beside you, careful with the distance, close, but not crowding. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness he carries with him.

Your hands are still fidgeting in your lap, fingers twisting together, and after a moment, his gaze drops to them. But it’s not in a way that makes you self-conscious.

Then his hand shifts. Slowly, deliberately, he rests it on the bed beside yours. It’s tentative, like a question, an option.

You hesitate, your breath catching just slightly. Your fingers still for a moment, like they’re deciding something before you are. Then, almost without thinking, they drift, just enough to brush against his.

The contact is light. Barely there. But it’s enough. His shoulders drop a fraction, like something in him settles.

“Sorry,” he murmurs softly, though he doesn’t pull away. “I just…”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, your voice quieter than you expect. You glance down at your hands for a second, then back up at him. “It’s… nice.”

That earns the smallest, most relieved smile from him. “Okay,” he says, almost to himself.

The silence that follows feels different again. Still quiet, still heavy with waiting—but softer around the edges now. Less alone.

Your thumb shifts slightly against his without you realizing it, a small, grounding motion. His hand responds instinctively, just barely tightening, like he’s anchoring himself there too.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks after a moment, voice gentle. “Or… not talk about it,” he adds quickly, a hint of nervousness slipping back in. “Either’s okay.”

You let out a small breath, your gaze drifting somewhere past him for a second. “I don’t even know what there is to say yet,” you admit.

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s fair.”

“I think I’m just scared of knowing,” you add, quieter now.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

The honesty of it sits between you, simple and unguarded. And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe. But it doesn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat as the sound of soft, but firm knock lands against the door. It cuts clean through the quiet and both of you still.

Your hand tightens just a fraction before you even realize it, and he responds immediately, steady, present.

“Hey,” Perlah’s voice comes gently from the other side before she steps in, her expression changing for a split second when she sees the two of you sitting on the bed. Not judgment, just a slight surprise. Like she’s clocking the moment and choosing, very deliberately, to handle it gently.

Your heart jumps into your throat. She steps fully inside, glancing between the two of you, briefly, not intrusive, before her attention settles on you.

“The results are ready to be confirmed, so I need Dr. Whitaker for a moment,” Perlah finishes gently. The words land softly, but they shift something in the room immediately.

Dennis stills beside you. There’s a small pause, like he’s switching something inside himself, stepping back into a role he can stand on. His hand slips from yours this time, slower, more deliberate. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “Of course.” He says to Perlah before he glances at you, and for a second the doctor is still there, but there’s something else underneath it. Softer. More personal. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, even though your chest feels tight. “Okay,” you echo, your voice barely above a breath.

He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, like he wants to say something more. Then he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a small, reassuring nod before standing.

Perlah steps back slightly to give him space as he moves toward her. There’s a quiet efficiency in the way they fall into step with each other, like this is familiar ground for her and something he’s trying very hard to navigate correctly.

The curtain shifts closed behind them. And just like that, you’re alone. The room feels different without him in it. Quieter. And now bigger, somehow.

You stare down at your hands, still curled slightly like they’re remembering the shape of his. Outside, their voices are low. Too low to make out clearly, it’s just the soft murmur of conversation, the faint rustle of something, the clinical rhythm of confirmation.

Minutes stretch. Or maybe it’s seconds. Yeah, it probably is just second, but you have a hard time telling. Every second in here feels like a minute. Your knee starts bouncing before you notice it, a restless energy you can’t quite contain. You press your hands against them to make them still, but the movement doesn’t fully stop.

But then the curtain moves. Dennis steps back in, and you know. You don’t know how, but you just know. It’s in his face, not panicked, nor cold, but very careful. Grounded in a way that feels intentional, like he’s choosing how to hold this moment before he gives it to you, but there is still a small hint of both nervousness and shock that he can’t really hide.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your throat feels tight. “Hey.”

He doesn’t come all the way in right away. There’s a brief pause, like he’s giving you a second to breathe, to brace, like he understands that once he says it, there’s no taking it back. Then he steps closer.

“Can I sit?” he asks gently.

You nod. He sits beside you again, leaving just a little space this time, professional and careful, but still close enough that you don’t feel alone.

A breath passes. Then another. And then, quietly. “So… as your doctor I needed to confirm the result.” He glances at you, just briefly, like he’s making sure you’re with him. “And, uh… It did come back positive.”

The words settle into the room slowly, like they don’t quite know where to land. Positive. For a second, everything feels very still. Your ears ring faintly, like the world has stepped just half a pace away from you. Your gaze drops somewhere between your hands and the floor, unfocused.

Positive. It echoes again, quieter this time, heavier. Your breath comes in, but it’s shallow. Not enough. You swallow, your throat tight, like there’s something lodged there that won’t move.

“Hey.” His voice is soft. Careful.

You don’t look up right away.

“I know this is… a lot,” Dennis adds gently, and there’s something in the way he says it, like he’s holding the weight of it with you instead of just handing it over.

You let out a small breath, but it shakes on the way out. “Yeah…” you manage, though it barely sounds like you.

Silence stretches again, but it’s different now, thicker, more real.

Your hand drifts, almost without thinking, back to your abdomen. It rests there lightly, like before, but now the gesture feels different. Your chest tightens.

“I…” you start, then stop. Your voice doesn’t want to cooperate. You shake your head slightly, a small, almost helpless motion. “I don’t know what to say. I thought it was just stress.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. Too quickly, almost, like he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to say anything. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”

You nod faintly, even though your thoughts are anything but still. Everything is moving too fast and not at all at the same time.

“Would you hate me if I kept it?” You can’t stop the words before they leave your mouth, you don’t even know why the thought feels so important to you, but in this moment it’s a question every fiber in your body needs an answer to. You don’t look at him, you can’t. It’s like something in you is bracing for impact.

Dennis stills. “Hate you?” he repeats softly, like he needs to hear it again to believe it.

You don’t look at him. Your gaze stays fixed somewhere low. “I don’t know…” you murmur, your voice small, fragile in a way you can’t quite hide. “I don’t even know what I want.” Your voice barely holds together by the end of it.

“No,” he says. His voice cuts in softly, but not sharply. Just catching you before you spiral too far ahead of yourself.

You still. You don’t look at him.

There’s a small pause. You can feel him shift beside you. not away, just adjusting, like he’s trying to meet you where you are without crowding you.

“No, I wouldn’t hate you for that,” he repeats, quieter now, but no less steady. “ Not for anything.”

Your throat tightens. You swallow hard. “I just,” you shake your head slightly, your voice barely holding together. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel about it. It’s like…” your breath stutters, “like if I even think about wanting it, I’m already messing everything up.”

That lands deeper than you expect it to. There’s a shift beside you again, closer this time, but still careful. Always careful. “You’re not messing anything up,” he says gently.

You let out a quiet, shaky breath, but it doesn’t quite steady you.

“I don’t even know what you’d want,” you admit, finally glancing at him, your eyes searching his like you’re bracing for something you’re not sure you can handle.

That’s what this is really about. Not just the question. Him. You don’t even know what you want, but not knowing what he wants somehow feels worse. Not knowing what you want is overwhelming, but not knowing where he stands? That feels like standing on something that might give out beneath you at any second.

“I want you to be okay,” he says first. It’s not a deflection. It’s just the most honest place he can start. Then, after a small breath. “And yeah,” he adds, quieter, more personal now, “I care about what happens. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

Your chest tightens again, and you gather all your courage to look up and meet his eyes again. There’s something so rawly vulnerable in his expression now.

“But that doesn’t turn into pressure on you,” he continues quickly, gently. “It doesn’t get to.” His hand shifts slightly on the bed, closer again, still not assuming, still leaving the choice with you. “This is your decision,” he says softly. “Not mine to make for you, or mine to judge.”

You swallow, your throat still tight, but something in your chest has shifted, just enough that you can breathe a little deeper than before. “I know,” you say quietly, and you mean it. You can feel how careful he’s being, how hard he’s trying not to tip the balance one way or the other.

A small pause. Then, more carefully. “If you kept it, I wouldn’t hate you.” His voice softens even more. “And I’d… want to be there. If you wanted me to be.” That last part is quieter, almost tentative. “Honestly, I would want to be there even if you wouldn’t want me to.”

He stops himself. Like he hears it as he’s saying it and realizes how it might sound too much, too fast, crossing a line he’s been so careful not to cross.

A small breath leaves him, and he shakes his head slightly, softer now, correcting, not taking it back, just placing it better.

“I mean,” he says quietly, “I wouldn’t force that. I wouldn’t show up where I’m not wanted.” His eyes meet yours again, steady, open. “But I wouldn’t just stop caring either.”

That lands differently. No pressure, just truth.

“But we don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he continues, voice steady but soft. “This is just… information right now. Okay? Just one step.”

“Just one step,” you repeat, like you’re testing the shape of it.

His thumb shifts lightly against your hand, careful, reassuring. “Yeah.” The words sit between you, quieter now. You both let the silence settle. Your breathing evens out a little more, your shoulders lowering inch by inch, like your body is finally catching up to what your mind is trying to process.

His hand is still there, steady against yours. Not holding tight, not claiming, just present. Close enough that you can feel it if you need to. And you do.

“You need to stay for monitoring,” he says gently, voice slipping a little more into something professional, but still soft, still him. “Just for a couple of hours. Given the fainting earlier, we need to make sure everything stays stable. And we have to check a few other things, just to be sure,” he finishes gently, smoothing the sentence as it comes together.

He glances at you, like he’s checking how it lands before continuing. You nod, a small, quiet motion, your eyes still on him. “Okay,” you say softly.

“It’s just routine things,” he adds, softer again. “Blood pressure, heart rate, maybe some blood work. Nothing invasive unless we have a reason,” he adds quickly. “And we’ll talk you through everything before we do it.”

You nod again, a little more firmly this time.

“Okay…” A small breath leaves you. “That sounds… manageable,” you admit.

There’s the faintest hint of relief in his expression, not because the situation is easier, but because he seems to care a lot about your reaction.. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s the goal.”

“Thank you for being so nice to me,” you say quietly. The words come out softer than you expect, but they feel important to say.

He stills for just a second, not surprised exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says gently.

You shake your head a little, your fingers shifting faintly against his. “I know,” you murmur. “But still.” Your eyes meet his again, steadier now. “Thanbk you for not making this feel worse,” you finish softly.

The words hang there for a second, fragile but honest. He doesn’t answer right away.

You can see the moment it lands, really lands, in the way his expression shifts. Something quieter, more affected than he’s been letting himself show.

“I’m really glad to hear it didn’t,” he says finally, voice low, but a sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small and a little self-conscious, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with being seen like that. His gaze dips for a second before coming back to you, even softer now.

Your fingers move slightly against his again, a small, unconscious motion, but you don’t pull back at all. There’s a pause. Then, more quietly.

“If everything looks good, you should get discharged around the time my shift ends, so if you… I don’t know, uhm… maybe we could go grab something to eat after,” he says quietly, almost as if testing the idea out, letting it hover between you. “If you want to.”

You blink, caught off guard, but the thought warms your chest in a way nothing else has in hours. “Yeah,” you manage, voice small but steady, “I’d like that.”

A small, genuine smile spreads across his face, softening the tension you didn’t realize had been holding you so tight. “Okay,” he says, letting the word linger, careful not to rush it.

Your fingers brush against his again, just slightly, and he doesn’t pull away, instead of that ,his thumb brushes lightly over yours in a small, steadying motion. The room feels a little softer, the air a little warmer, and for the first time in hours, the tight coil in your chest loosens just enough for a small, real breath to escape. And for now, in this little moment of time, that’s enough. He’s on your team.

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