When a young, wide-eyed resident arrives at The Pitt, he's eager to prove himself - steady hands, hopeful heart, and just enough optimism to believe he can handle trauma surgery. Dr. Frank Langdon knows better. The Pitt doesn't stay kind for long. It stains scrubs. It steals sleep. It hardens people. As long shifts turn into late nights and admiration turns into something far more complicated, the new resident begins to lose his innocence - and Frank begins to lose something far more dangerous: his control.

In the Pitt nothing stays buried. Whitaker has never hidden who he is. Dr. Robby has spent his life doing exactly that. Long shifts, blurred lines, and too many almost-moments make ignoring it impossible. Whitaker won't pretend. Robby isn't sure he's allowed not to. Some things are harder to outrun than the past.

Idk what I'm doing this my first fanfic, No au just dumb fic about the Pitt. Hucklerobby!

The door swung open again, letting in a gust of damp night air and a man shaking water from his dark hair. The older man slid onto the stool beside Dennis, close enough that their elbows almost brushed. He ordered a beer, his voice a low rumble that cut through the background noise. Dennis caught his profile in the mirror behind the bar - sharp jawline, salted hair, tired eyes, an easy confidence in the way he leaned against the worn wood. *** Michael pulled back just enough to growl, "Stay open," before diving back in with renewed fervor. His tongue plunged deeper, a slick invasion that made Dennis cry out, hips lifting helplessly off the mattress. Then came the pressure -thick, blunt, and insistent- as Michael's spit-slicked finger circled Dennis's stretched rim. No warning, just the relentless push past resisting muscle, knuckle-deep in one brutal slide. Dennis gasped, the sudden fullness a sharp counterpoint to the wet heat still working him open from the outside. The stretch burned, a delicious ache that radiated through his lower stomach.