Robby and you, quite the experience. You’re an R2, one of the best—on Langdon’s level. who is, by the way, not just a colleague, he’s a close friend. He knows things no one else at Pitt does—like that you started sleeping with Dr. Rovinavitch a year and seven months ago, and moved in with him three months ago. But that’s what friends are for, right? Trust. Or so you thought.

After the chaos of Pitt Fest and tending to the wounded, you finally got a moment to breathe in the ambulance bay—until you overheard something that froze you.

“What about you, man? I’m not the only one a little fucked up here, Robby! Wha—why don’t you look in a mirror?”

Robby rubbed his mouth in frustration. You leaned closer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Then Robby’s voice—steady, sharp, terrifying.

“I didn’t have a complete breakdown— a-and don’t get me started on the fact that you’re fucking someone who could be your daughter.”

Langdon said, your blood freezing for a second, You approached, not because you should have, but because this was already a personal matter, and a complicated one. You didn't know what was going on, you didn't know about Langdon's addiction, and yet, like an idiot, you intervened.

You tried to talk to Langdon, trying to knock some sense into his head, thinking this was just a fight between colleagues. But Robby didn't see that. He saw an accomplice.

“You knew?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” you replied.

“Did you know that he was taking medicine from this hospital?” His voice dropped, low and angry—not just with Langdon, but with you.

“I-I—no! I don’t—” You hesitated, because yes, months ago, you had your doubts. But they faded, with no proof.

That didn’t matter to Robby. He grabbed your arm firmly, pulling you close.

“I want you to take your things out of the apartment.”

Not a command. A heartbreak.