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Chaka Khan’s music is nothing like the chaos was he just subjected to, nothing like the thick scent of fear in the air and shoutings from his attendings that all blurred into one big sound that ricocheted around his brain until all he could focus on was the medicine, and the upbeat tune of Like Sugar is no expectation. Dennis scrunches the side of his face to keep his outdated AirPod from falling out of his ear as he slides backwards out of the attached bathroom, letting his heel spin against the smooth tile, twisting his torso into a twirl that matches with the rhythm of the song. He brings his hands up to stick two fingers right behind his ears, lost for just a moment in the beat, and he faces the half open door of the room he’s sequestered himself in. And instead of the flickering lights of the hallway, he finds himself face to face with none other than Dr. Michael Robinavitch. — Or, instead of Santos, Dr. Robby is the one to find Dennis squatting in the abandoned wing after their shift.

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