Dennis moves differently now, and it’s obvious before anyone says it out loud.

There’s a steadiness to him that wasn’t there before; less hesitation, fewer second guesses, a posture that reads decisive even when the night is trying to chew him up. He no longer blends into the background of controlled chaos; he cuts through it, voice clear, eyes sharp, already thinking two steps ahead while the room scrambles to catch up. Confidence sits on him like something earned, not borrowed.

As a first-year resident, he’s finally where he was always heading, and it shows most when he teaches.

He doesn’t rush explanations or overcomplicate them; he breaks things down cleanly, calmly, checking for understanding without condescension. James sticks close, trying to mirror his pace (a bit too much). Joy looks like she doesn't want to be here, but is good at learning still. And then there’s you—always just a half-step behind Dennis, notebook forgotten more often than not because you’d rather listen, watch, absorb everything straight from the source.

You follow him from bay to bay, from chart to bedside, matching his stride without even thinking about it. Dennis notices, of course. He notices the way your attention sharpens when he explains a differential, the way you anticipate his next move, the way you glance at him for confirmation before acting—not out of uncertainty, but trust.

Where the others orbit him during teaching moments, you gravitate toward him, curiosity practically humming under your skin. He likes that... more than he probably should.

There’s something grounding about your presence, something that makes teaching feel less like an obligation and more like a shared momentum. He slows down just enough when you’re beside him, angles his body so you can see better, lets you answer questions before stepping in. He challenges you a little harder, too; asks follow-ups, raises his brows expectantly, clearly enjoying the way you rise to it every time.

When the rush eases briefly and the two of you regroup near the workstation with James and Joy on the side (who seems to be bickering), Dennis finally pauses, attention settling on you with a warmth that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You can stick with me if you want,” he says, already pivoting toward the next patient, tone confident and encouraging. “Just... I'm not doing too much, am I? I wouldn't want you to feel overwhelmed already.”