Chapter Text
“Nice spot.”
“I've been coming here since I moved to Pittsburgh. Good food, fast service.”
Dennis looked around with a soft smile of approval that made Brendon's rigid shoulders relax a bit. First test successfully passed.
Riccardo’s was a small, unpretentious restaurant on the opposite side of Pittsburgh that served both Italian-American food and more traditional Italian dishes with green plants hung all around the ceiling and a big screen with football matches twenty-four seven.
Luckily there weren't too many occupied tables and they were able to sit down at the one he preferred: in the corner next to the window showing the staff that was cooking on the other side. Brendon was still unsure about that whole thing, so being at least in a familiar place was a little reassuring. He was determined to have a nice evening, he couldn’t let his own uneasiness ruin it.
Dennis immediately opened the menu, while Brendon didn't, already knowing that he would order the same thing as always. So he seized the opportunity to properly study the man in front of him. While driving he hadn’t been able to do so -a car accident was definitely something he wanted to avoid-. He couldn't stop himself from smirking when he realized that Dennis had put some additional effort into his appearance.
His curls were more neat than usual -even though it was clear that a whole day had passed, a couple of strands frizzy- and instead of a wrinkled t-shirt taken out of his backpack without any care he was wearing a perfectly ironed deep green one that accentuated his shoulders and chest. He looked good -undeniably tired, but good- and Brendon couldn't not try to imagine Dennis's thought process behind it.
Maybe he had asked for help from his roommate, maybe he had stood in front of his mirror trying out different shirts, maybe he had fought with his own hair trying to keep them from getting all tangled up. Brendon was probably just projecting: he had been the one spending too much time analyzing all the content of his wardrobe, shaving with even more precision than usual and choosing carefully what accessory to put on.
In the end he had opted for a simple light blue t-shirt and he was also wearing the leather watch he usually left in the first drawer of his nightstand. And he had, of course, reapplied some gel on his hair before leaving the hospital.
Maybe he should have said that Dennis looked good. Nothing exaggerated, just a quick “your hair looks nice” to let him know that Brendon had noticed it. People liked when their efforts got acknowledged, right?
But before he had the opportunity to do so, Dennis lifted his gaze to meet his eyes.
“Do you recommend something in particular?”
Dennis's question made him realize he had been staring for maybe a couple of seconds longer than he should have, given that his menu was now opened on the last page already.
“How can I when I don't know what you like, wren?”
He responded with a soft snort, enjoying the way Dennis's cheekbones temporarily assumed a pinkish tint of embarrassment. Cute.
“Well, I basically eat anything to be honest. But I’m not a big fan of seafood or kiwis. I used to love corn, but now it’s like— “eh”, maybe because I ate it all the time when I was a child.”
“A real farmboy.”
Brendon commented, making Dennis chuckle. Gosh, he was so fucking adorable when he smiled, especially when he still had a little faint blush. Happiness looked good on him.
“Yeah, it was our main crop. During harvesting season sometimes I would even get nightmares about being swallowed by kernels, quicksand style.”
It was really lucky that Dennis was chatty when relaxed, otherwise Brendon was sure that their dinner would have been incredibly awkward given how atrocious his social skills were in comparison.
The sole idea of having to lead the conversation had made him just a teeny tiny bit anxious during the last couple of days: dozens of hypothetical questions and relative answers had been running in his mind every single second since they had decided to go out. However, he still didn't feel appropriately prepared for chatting for the whole time.
“Your safest option would be one of the pastas. But if you feel adventurous, try the veal.”
Dennis immediately skimmed through the pages, curious to understand why veal would be considered “adventurous”, and Brendon waited patiently for the reaction at the unusual pairing of—
“Veal and tuna sauce?”
“It sounds strange, but it works."
Dennis didn't seem much convicted, even though he was trying not to show it too openly, and Brendon immediately regretted his words. There it was, the first mistake of the evening.
But then the waiter -Lucia, the daughter of the owner- came to their table and Brendon tried to shut up the little panicking voice in his brain telling him that she would immediately realize they were on a date. No, they were two men so she would think they were just friends, it was logical. He had nothing to worry about, they were safe.
Everything was fine.
“Hi Brendon. I see today you have company… are you also a doctor?”
Dennis looked up at the woman, nodding, and Brendon quietly sighed with relief. Yes, they were coworkers, nothing more than that.
“Was it the eyebags or the disinfectant smell that gave it away?”
He asked with a casualness enviable that confirmed for Brendon how Dennis was indeed perfect for being a doctor constantly dealing with the patients and their families, differently from him who thrived inside the closed doors of the OR. He felt just a little sting of envy.
“Can I say both?”
Lucia chuckled. She was a good woman, always working her ass off but without ever losing her smile. Brendon liked her, she was a pleasant ray of sun after the most chaotic shifts at work. Not too chatty, but still present.
“So, what can I get you?”
“The veal, with sparkling water.”
She walked away towards the kitchen, leaving Dennis a little confused with his eyebrows knitted. Brendon didn't understand why Dennis seemed so shocked, but luckily the younger man explained his doubts.
“She didn't take your order…”
He whispered worried, eyes still staring through the window of the kitchen, but then he turned towards Brendon when the older man let a singular chuckle escape his throat.
“I take the pesto pasta every time. You chose the veal.”
He stated with a small smirk. Apparently Dennis trusted him, even when he wasn't sure about it. It made something untangle in his guts and he felt his whole body getting less rigid, even if just a little bit. That boost of confidence was exactly what he needed.
“I'm always open to trying new things.”
Dennis blushed again, probably noticing the possible sexual meaning of his own wording. Brendon decided to ignore it for the moment, preferring to solely focus on trying to maintain a conversation as smooth as possible. He could do that.
“How did your day go?”
He asked in the end: nothing too forward, vague enough to give Dennis the opportunity to talk freely about what he preferred. And Brendon quietly listened to him talking about how the ER was in chaos as usual, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward to take a better look at those blue eyes that, despite the exhaustion, still shined with enthusiasm.
Dennis profoundly reminded him of his medical school days, back when he was still in love with life and couldn't wait to build a solid career as a doctor. However Dennis had a different kind of sparkle, something more deeply rooted into his soul. It was the kind of person that would be defined as “destined to something”, in his case healthcare.
Brendon wasn't blind, he had noticed since the first time their paths crossed in the ER. Despite the awkwardness typical of a student, Dennis had a certainty in his eyes that was as clear as possible: he was exactly in the right place, even if he still had to fully understand how to fit together every gear to become an efficient machine running smoothly between wheelchairs, beds and equipment.
He had a great career in front of him, Brendon had been immediately sure of that, and for just a moment he hoped that Dennis would decide to stay there at the PTMC instead of following his dreams somewhere else. It was a selfish thought, especially considering that they were just getting to know each other. He had no right to hope for that, not when they weren't even friends.
So why did he feel a sting in his heart at the idea of Dennis going away?
“Wait.”
Yolanda interrupts Brendon with a raised open hand before lifting her arm all the way up to call a waiter.
“Can you bring us a plate of fries and another round of drinks? And make mine alcoholic, thanks.”
He frowns hearing Yolanda deciding to drink when he can't do the same since he's driving, even though he's undeniably the one who would mostly need it given the whole situation.
“Dude, I don’t even know if I should feel jealous or not. You never give a shit about my work.”
She says after a deep breath, obviously sarcastic as always -after all she also never asks Brendon about his shift, both preferring to take a break from everything hospital related-. But it highlights something that Brendon had personally already noticed: with Dennis involved, Brendon was ignoring every one of his habits.
“It was the safest topic. Don't think too much about it.”
A short, amused snort makes Yolanda smile.
“Oh believe me sharky-boy, I won't: there's so much more I'm thinking about right now.”