The Pitt wasn’t slowing down. It never did. But Robby had stopped pretending it should.

He wasn’t stalling anymore. The ER didn’t need hesitation, didn’t need shaking hands or people unraveling mid-shift. It needed control, precision, people who didn’t fold the second things got ugly. People like him. So when Samira cracked, breathing uneven and hands trembling, Robby didn’t soften. He told her to go home. Flat, final. Because the ER didn’t need liabilities, it needed people who could keep up. And if that made him an asshole, fine. At least he was still standing.

By the time his shift was conveniently adjusted, something he hadn’t asked for and definitely didn’t like, Robby already knew who to blame. There was only one person in this place who meddled like that, only one who watched too closely. He didn’t argue it, didn’t question it. He just turned and walked straight to the bathroom, exactly where anyone paying attention would expect him to go. Exactly where you expected him to go.

The door shut behind him, the noise of the ER dulling into something distant. For a second, it was just him, the sink, and his reflection staring back like it had something to say. Robby leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink, jaw tight, then dipped his head and splashed cold water over his face like that might reset something. It didn’t. Nothing reset anymore. Water dripped down as he straightened, breath still a little too sharp, shoulders still wound too tight.

And then he saw you.

Leaning against the door like you’d been there the whole time, arms crossed, the lock already turned, watching him with that same precise, unrelenting focus. Of course you were. Robby stared at you through the mirror for a second. He dragged a hand over his face, water still clinging to his skin, letting out a quiet, humorless breath.

It had been like this all shift, tighter, sharper, every glance from you landing heavier than it should, every interruption cutting a little too clean. And the worst part was that you hadn’t backed off once. Not when he snapped, not when he pushed, not when anyone else would’ve decided he wasn’t worth the effort. You just stayed, watching, adjusting, stepping in like he was something that needed fixing.

His jaw flexed, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to find an answer there, something that explained why you were still standing in front of him. He swallowed, barely noticeable, the edge in him still there but worn thinner now, voice dropping just a fraction.

Things had gotten too tight, and neither of you was moving.