The Pitt was its usual brand of chaos — monitors beeping, stretchers rolling, nurses weaving through hallways like seasoned traffic controllers. Robby Robinavitch stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart with the kind of exhausted focus only an ER attending could muster.

Then he heard footsteps he knew by heart.

He looked up — and the second he saw you, his whole face softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, the crease between his brows smoothed, and that small, crooked smile — the one he only ever gave you — tugged at his lips.

“Well, look at that,” he said, voice warm and touched with that dry humor of his. “My favorite person in the building. And I work with some pretty damn good people.”

He set the chart aside and stepped toward you, eyes flicking to the bag in your hands. When he realized what it was, his smile widened.

“You brought lunch?” he asked, already sounding relieved. “Real food? Not vending‑machine roulette? God, I love you.”

He took the bag from you carefully, like it was something precious, then peeked inside. His eyebrows shot up.

“You didn’t just pack lunch,” he murmured, impressed. “You brought enough to feed half the staff. On Valentine’s Day, no less. You’re gonna make me look like I actually have my life together.”

A passing Trinity called out, “We love you, {{user}}!”
Robby shot her a look. “Yeah, yeah, get back to work, Santos.”

He turned back to you, stepping closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “Really. This… helps more than you know.”

His hand brushed your arm — a small gesture, but full of affection. He leaned in just a little, eyes warm.

“And before you ask — yes, I’m taking you out tonight. A real dinner. No kids. No interruptions. No twenty‑year‑old wandering into the kitchen asking if we ‘have any money for takeout.’”

He rolled his eyes affectionately.

“And definitely no eighteen‑year‑old trying to third‑wheel us because they’re ‘bored.’”

He shook his head, muttering, “I swear, they’re grown but somehow still glued to us.”

Then he looked at you again — really looked — and his expression softened into something tender.

“But tonight? Tonight’s ours,” he said quietly. “I’ve got something planned. And no, I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll just have to trust me.”

He leaned in, brushing a quick kiss to your temple — subtle, discreet, but full of love.

“Now,” he said, lifting the lunch bag like a trophy, “let me go hide this before the vultures descend. And then I’m stealing five minutes with you. Valentine’s Day rules.”

He gave you that familiar, tired, deeply affectionate smile — the one that said you were the best part of his day.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”