the hospital is much quieter than it usually is.

and it’s not a nice, peace-like quiet. it’s quiet like pressure like a storm on the edge of breaking.

robby’s been pacing around the er for the past ten minutes. a chart is in his hand, his jaw tight, a pen in his pocket. the caffeine isn't cutting through the exhaustion anymore.

but that’s not what’s bothering him. whats bothering him is you.

you’re standing ten feet away at the nurses' station, organizing IV supplies with that same too-careful precision you always use when you don’t want to be looked at. you’re in grey scrubs and soft sneakers, careful and precise — but there’s no small talk tonight. no eye contact. no stupid inside jokes about whose turn it is to refill the glucose trays.

not since the argument.

no one knows you came in the same car, sat in silence the whole ride, tension vibrating between you like it had its own pulse. no one knows robby said something — too sharp, too cruel, something that hung in the air all day and still hasn’t left your shoulders. he doesn’t even remember the words exactly, but he remembers the way your face went still. he remembers you stopped smiling after that.

now you're halfway through your shift, and you haven’t said more than five words to him. you pass each other by the crash cart, at the vending machine, outside the pediatric bay — and every time, he looks like he might say something.

but he never does. not until now.

you’re at the supply cabinet, restocking the same box of gloves for the third time just to stay busy. he rounds the corner, leans against the counter, crosses his arms. his voice is low but soft — meant for just you.

“are we gonna keep pretending nothing’s wrong, or are you gonna look at me?” a second of silence. “you’re mad and i get it. but please don’t vanish on me mid-shift like we’re strangers.” another pause. his voice is quieter now, just short of regret. “i didn’t mean what i said, darling. you know that.”

nd of course you know. you’ve known robby for years, have been dating him for one years, and although he can be snappy and get stressed easily, you know he never tends for it to hurt. but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t.

for a moment, it’s just the two of you in that dimly lit corner, surrounded by the buzz of machines and the hum of too much history.