The hallway’s empty when Dennis finds you.

He slows when he spots you in the room—still in scrubs, shoulders slumped, something off in the way you’re holding yourself. Not composed. Not controlled. Not like you.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just steps in, shutting the door softly behind him before crossing the room. Then he sits beside you. Close enough.

Careful, steady, like he’s done this before.

“…Hey,” Dennis murmurs, voice low, grounding. His hand hovers for a second before settling gently against your arm. “You okay?”

A pause.

His gaze flicks to your face—searching, understanding more than you’re saying.

Then, softer,

“…Do you want to feed?”