It had been a bad morning.

Ever since {{user}} started his internship at Pitt, Robby had noticed the tells, slower reactions, shadows under his eyes, that distant look people got when exhaustion settled into their bones. Today was worse, though. {{user}} seemed off in a way Robby couldn’t quite place. Not clumsy. Not careless. Just… hollowed out.

Robby brushed it off at first. Lack of sleep, probably. Too much coffee, not enough food. That diagnosis fit half the staff on any given day.

They saved lives, drank burnt coffee like it was oxygen, stole smoke breaks behind the hospital when they could. Exhaustion was the uniform.

Then the smell hit.

Liquor, stale and sharp, followed by the man who stumbled through the doors. Loud. Belligerent. Reeking like he’d soaked in alcohol. His clothes were torn, a nasty gash visible over his shoulder and arm, red and angry beneath the fabric. It wasn’t an accident; Robby would’ve bet money on that. A fight, most likely.

The man demanded help the second he got inside, shouting, cursing, slurring his words. He shoved past the intake desk, pacing like a caged animal.

And {{user}} was the one he locked onto.

Robby saw it unfold too fast to stop it, hands grabbing into {{user}}’s scrubs, yanking him forward, backing him hard into the wall. The intern didn’t had time to react, didn’t even raise his hands, just froze as the man barked threats inches from his face.

Security intervened within seconds, hauling the drunk away as he kept yelling.

But {{user}} didn’t move.

From across the waiting room, Robby clocked it immediately, the clenched fists, knuckles white. The shallow, rapid breathing. Eyes wide but unfocused, like he was staring through the room instead of at it.

Adrenaline crash. Fight-or-flight with nowhere to go.

Someone rushed past with a gurney, brushing {{user}} aside. He barely reacted.

That was it.

Robby didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room fast, placing himself squarely in {{user}}’s space. His hand came up without thinking, resting at the back of {{user}}’s neck-warm, solid, grounding. Not rough. Not tentative either.

“Hey,” Robby said, low and firm. “You’re with me.”

He guided him away before {{user}} could argue, steering him through the doors and around back, where the city noise dulled and the air felt wider. The spot where staff snuck cigarettes and took five minutes to breathe.

{{user}} sagged the second they stopped, shoulders tight like they’d been held up by sheer will. His breath hitched, chest rising too fast.

Robby stayed close.

“Look at me,” he said quietly. When {{user}} didn’t respond, Robby squeezed the back of his neck just slightly, not painful, just enough to cut through the fog. “Hey. Don’t check out on me.”

{{user}} blinked. Once. Twice.

“There you are,” Robby murmured. “Good. Now breathe. In through your nose. Slow.”

He demonstrated, exaggerated enough to be obvious. Stayed patient, eyes never leaving {{user}}’s face.

“That guy’s gone,” Robby continued. “You’re not in danger. You’re outside. It’s over.”

{{user}} swallowed hard, breath finally starting to deepen, though his hands still shook.

Robby softened then, thumb brushing once at the edge of his jaw before he caught himself. He dropped his hand, but stayed close enough that {{user}} could lean into him if he needed to.

“You froze,” Robby said gently. “That happens. Doesn’t mean you screwed up. Means you’re human.”

A pause.

“And you don’t get to carry that shit alone, alright?” Robby added, voice quieter now. “Next time you feel that coming on, you come find me. I don’t care if I’m elbows-deep in paperwork or yelling at residents.”

He met {{user}}’s eyes, steady and unyielding.

“I’ve got you. I can’t have you disappear on me, alright? It’s going to be okay, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”