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1.
“I’m tired of Chinese food.”
“How can you be tired of Chinese food?”
“Because we’ve had it three times this week…what about Italian?”
Josh makes an uninterested sound as he shuffles the paperwork on the desk and Oliver heaves a sigh.
“Thai?”
Josh shakes his head. “No, sushi?”
“No. Indian?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“I guess we could just not eat tonight,” Oliver says shortly as Josh hands the paperwork off to a passing nurse before turning to him.
“Why don’t you come over tonight,” he says, his hand skimming over Oliver’s hip. “I’ll cook.”
Oliver leans into the touch and tries to keep the smile off his face.
They have rules at work. Keep it professional. Keep it respectful. One chaste kiss goodbye at the hospital entrance, another hello if their schedules allow them to cross paths for lunch. Keep their hands to themselves, at least where other people can see.
Josh had been adamant they follow them so Oliver will allow that he bends them. After all, a casual touch is nothing compared to what they’ve gotten up to behind closed doors. Or against closed doors.
“Can you cook?” Oliver asks. So far their relationship has consisted of take out in Oliver’s office, “I’ll stop for pizza on my way over,” or “you can handle a few hours in Manhattan, Wolf, I’ve had these reservations for six weeks.”
“I can do a lot of things,” Josh says, voice low as his fingers find their way beneath Oliver’s shirt, skimming over the skin just above the waistband of his jeans. “Are you coming over or not?”
Oliver touches his fingertips to his own lips, trying both to hide the smile that blooms while also drawing attention to it, as if Josh could be looking anywhere else at the moment.
“I’ll be there,” he says and Josh taps his fingers three times against his skin before his pager goes off.
“Good,” Josh says as he checks the pager and takes a step back. “I’m late for a meeting. Seven?”
“Thirty.”
“So seven forty five,” Josh says flatly, taking another step back and turning away.
“I’ll be there,” Oliver calls after him.
“Good!” Josh calls back.
Oliver can hear the smile in his voice
“That’s nice.”
The soft timber of his voice. The hesitation in his stride. Oliver turns and sees dark hair and a white t-shirt peeking out from the collar of his scrubs.
Dr. Markus.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says, “what’s nice?”
“Oh, you know, usually around here I’m feeling spinal taps and migraines. It's nice to feel something different.” He shrugs. “Love.”
Oliver huffs, walls and defenses rising. “What?” He asks. He can feel his face heating. “That’s not—I don’t think—.”
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Markus stutters out, “maybe it’s someone else around here, one of the nurses, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—.”
Oliver raises his hand and waves him off. “It’s okay, Dr. Markus.” He looks back down the hall where Josh has stopped to talk to a nurse, his hands clasped low behind him, arms extended as he rolls his shoulders, stretching his back. Oliver follows the long line of him with his eyes then looks back to Dr. Markus. “There are worse things to feel.”
“Oh my god, that’s…fuck.”
Oliver smiles as he pushes the heel of his hand deeper into Josh’s lower left trapezius. Josh groans in response.
Oliver had pulled his bike into the driveway of Josh’s Morris Park home at seven-thirty-four on the dot, and knocked once on the front door before he opened it.
“You’re early,” Josh called from the kitchen. The air smelled homey, with notes of garlic and oregano.
“I decided Dr. Kinney and Dr. Nash could handle our last patient.” He hung his helmet on the banister and started up the stairs. “I’m going to take a shower.” Two more steps and then he stopped. “If you’d like to join…”
“I took one when I got home.”
Another step then— “And?”
There was a pause then the beep of the oven being turned off followed by the click of Josh’s expensive gas range and then footsteps.
Josh didn’t run, but he did walk with purpose, then took the steps between them two at a time before he could press his hand to the small of Oliver’s back to usher him the rest of the way to the master bathroom.
After, while standing barefoot on the cold tiles, Oliver had watched droplets race their way down Josh’s spine and disappear into the fabric of the towel he had wrapped around his hips before he bullied him out onto the bed, face down, and climbed on top.
Josh hadn’t put up much of a fight–just melted into the soft duvet and let Oliver press his knuckles into his warm, shower-pink skin.
That was nearly an hour ago. Whatever meal Josh was making has definitely gone cold, possibly started to spoil, but Oliver doesn’t care.
He could make a meal out of the sounds he’s been able to draw out of Josh.
Josh groans again, low and ragged, and Oliver pulls his hands back even though it stirs something hot deep in his gut.
“Too much?”
Josh shakes his head. “Harder,” he says as he shifts his hips back, his ass pressing against Oliver’s crotch.
Oliver grins and leans down to press a feather-light kiss to the nape of Josh’s neck before he lets his teeth drag.
“Where’d you learn to do this?”
Oliver takes a deep breath. “There was a guy—.”
“Ah, of course.”
Oliver pinches his side. “We weren’t together—I know that now—we were just…” He trails off and shrugs even though Josh can’t see it. “He wanted to pursue sports medicine. He was good with his hands.”
“Better than me?”
Oliver smiles and leans forward so his lips are touching the shell of Josh’s ear.
“Fishing for compliments, Dr. Nichols?”
Josh huffs a laugh that turns into a hiss as Oliver presses his knuckles across the tops of his shoulders.
Truthfully, Michael hadn’t been better than Josh at anything, but Oliver was twenty three and struggling—spending more time drunk or high or both—than sober and figured he should take what he could get. Carol had hated him, and Oliver couldn’t say that he even liked him, but Michael was a warm body that taught him the proper amount of pressure to use on sore muscles.
There was no light there. Oliver didn’t look forward to seeing him. His stomach didn’t flip and his heart didn’t pound and his mind didn’t quiet when he thought of him.
Michael never would have offered to cook him dinner or teased him about chopsticks, or put up with the humidity that the ferns demand.
Oliver never would have accepted an IPhone from him.
Dr. Markus never would have been able to feel love if he’d been around them.
“You know, it worries me when you’re quiet for this long.”
“I’m just thinking,” Oliver tells him.
“Equally worrying. What are you thinking about?”
“Just that I—.” He stops. Love you is right there. At the tip of his tongue.
It’s not like he’s never said it before. He’s said it to his dad and his mom (at some point, he’s sure). To Carol and his first college boyfriend (which might not count because he was nineteen and what really counts at nineteen).
“I was just—,” he starts again as Josh unfolds his arms from where they’ve been tucked beneath his head and pushes himself up.
Oliver leans back to give him space to roll over and get comfortable before he settles back across his thighs.
“Just what?” Josh prompts as he rubs his hands up and over Oliver’s knees.
It’s not any easier to say it like this—with his hands resting on Josh’s chest, looking down at the parts of his face that he can’t make whole.
He couldn’t run from him—from the words. It’s his bed and his house but Oliver would have to get up, get dressed, get back on his bike out in the cold, breaking the warm bubble they’ve built here.
He can’t think of anything worse.
“I was just thinking,” Oliver says, “that I might have to settle for Chinese tonight after all, and that we should probably order before the place on Tremont closes.”
Josh nods once. “We could,” he agrees as his hands slide further up, fingers warm against Oliver's hips. “Or, you could let me return the favor…”
Oliver smiles, because he can’t think of anything better, and tugs at the towel around Josh’s waist.
2.
Oliver sighs and taps his foot against the ground as his mother turns back the page to reread his notes.
“Patience is a virtue, Oliver,” she says without looking up.
“I would like to get home sometime tonight, that’s all.”
“I recall a time where you would have gladly spent the entire night at the hospital—not that I think that’s healthy. What’s changed?”
Josh is waiting at home for him. Probably barefoot in soft, faded sweats with a good bottle of wine.
But his mother will never know that.
“It’s been a long day, that’s all.”
His mother hums as she slowly turns the page. “Why don’t you have some tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“If you’re sure,” she says as she frowns and turns the page back.
Oliver tilts his head back and rolls his eyes at the ceiling.
After months of trial and error he’s decided it’s better to save all the paperwork for the end of the week—one big visit instead of several small ones. Usually it means she’s too busy reviewing and signing to start any small talk.
But it also means she has time to plan a retaliatory attack. She can turn a fifteen minute task into a fifty minute one. Hold him hostage in her office with her tea and her uncomfortable chairs and protocol manuals.
He wants to run, and he knows she knows that.
“You know you’re over watering your Ming Aralia,” he says as he nods toward the plant by the window.
“No, I’m not,” his mother says as she slides the stack of papers across her desk. Oliver snatches them back, like she’s going to change her mind. “How is your migraine patient?”
“Mr. Barlow,” he starts, emphasizing his name because he’s a person, not just a patient, “is resting comfortably. Dr. Nichols was able to remove the tumor. We’re waiting for the results from the biopsy now.”
His mother hums. “You should bring him over for dinner sometime.”
Oliver pauses. “Mr. Barlow? Why would you ever—.”
“I meant Dr. Nichols.”
“Why would you want to have dinner with Dr. Nichols?”
“I want to have dinner with both of you.”
“Okay. Why would you want to do that?”
His mother sighs and clicks her pen closed. “Because it’s something people—mother’s—do, they have dinner with the people their children are dating.”
Oliver pulls a face. “I don’t like the way you say dating. It makes us sound like we’re in high school.”
“Do you have another word for what you’re doing with Dr. Nichols?”
“Not that I would want to share with you.”
“Hooking up?”
“Ugh, my god.” He takes a step back. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“Well, is it serious?”
“Yes. I don’t know.”
“You work together. Should you be involved if it’s not serious?”
“Should we be involved if it is?”
“Should you?”
Oliver narrows his eyes. “I don’t like this line of questioning.”
“You’re the one that pushed the issue.”
“Well, now I’m done pushing it. It’s…we’re….I’m–.” He stops and rolls his eyes because it shouldn’t be this hard with her. “We’re together,” he says with finality. “And I’m going home. Thank you for the signatures.”
“Oliver,” she says as she gets to her feet. Oliver pauses in the doorway. “Please consider it. I’d love to get to know him better.”
“And then she said she wanted to get to know you better. As if she doesn’t already know you. She hired you.”
“I think maybe she meant on a personal level,” Josh calls back from the study.
Oliver makes a disgusted sound and throws his feet up on the coffee table.
He had come home to a fully lit house—the key Josh used to get in tucked back under the mat and Sinfonia in D Major already playing. There is a full glass of some ridiculously expensive red wine in his hand and Josh is in the other room watering the ferns while they wait for the food to arrive. It would be a perfect evening if he could just shut the hell up about his mother.
“I don’t think she brought it up to further her diabolical plan to ruin your life,” Josh tells him. “I think she was just…making conversation.”
“I don’t want to conversate. Not about that.”
“Not about me?”
Oliver rolls his eyes and Josh steps into the living room, brows raised, as if he could hear it, a watering can in one hand and a plant mister in the other.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Oliver tells him.
“So if you were dating someone else you wouldn’t want her to meet him either?”
“She’s already met you.”
“You know what I mean. God,” he says as he sets the can and the mister down so he can pull his hoodie over his head. “Can we crack a window or something?”
“It’s twenty degrees out,” Oliver says, sinking further into the couch and taking a sip of wine as he enjoys the view. Really, a near-perfect evening. “The ferns wouldn’t like it.”
“I’m roasting.”
“Then take more off.”
Josh gives him a look, then picks up the can and the mister.
“I like how you look with those,” Oliver tells him, giving him a shameless once over. “This is like foreplay to me.”
“Why do you think I’m doing it? Where is the Button Fern?”
“I moved it into the bathroom upstairs. There’s more indirect light this time of year.”
“Then where did you put the Holly Fern that was up there?”
“The bathroom down here. I thought it could use a change of scenery.”
“Sure, makes sense,” Josh says, voice laced with sarcasm that Oliver finds more attractive than irritating now.
Oliver drinks his wine and watches Josh putter around the room, checking the soil in each pot before he waters or mists, just like Oliver taught him.
He thought Josh was just being nice. Or maybe he was going to make fun of him. He hadn’t thought that Josh was actually listening.
“Did I ever tell you that my mother sent the first boy she ever caught me kissing back to England?”
Josh stops and looks over at him.
“His name was Tom. He was in an exchange program from Oxford. He was smart and beautiful and he really liked me. I woke up the morning after and he was gone. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”
“Your mother can’t send me back to England.”
“I know that.”
“Or anywhere else for that matter. There's nothing your mother could do or say that would make me leave.”
Oliver raises a brow.
“Again,” Josh amends. “There’s nothing that you could say that would make me leave, either.”
I love you, Oliver thinks.
“This house doesn’t have air conditioning,” Oliver says.
“I kinda figured.”
“I don’t even have a window unit,” Oliver continues as Josh steps closer. “You think it’s bad now….wait until it’s ninety degrees.”
“That’s fine,” Josh says tightly, stepping over Oliver’s stretched out legs so he can drop onto his lap.
“You can come swimming with me.”
“Sure.”
Oliver brightens, his hands finding the curve of Josh’s waist. “Really?”
“Yeah. My gym has a great pool.”
“That’s not what I was talking about.”
Josh hums and leans in. “Oh, I’m aware.”
3.
A motorcyclist cut me off on the way home. Made me think of you.
Oliver laughs and types, I always follow the law, slowly and carefully, before hitting the blue arrow that sends it off to Josh.
“You are worse than Maya.”
Oliver drops the phone to his chest and looks over at Carol from where he’s lounging on her office couch.
“What’s wrong with Maya?”
“Nothing, because she’s a sixteen year old girl and I expect to see her glued to her phone and mooning over a boy.”
“I am not glued to this phone,” Oliver tells her, offended. “And you don’t know who I’m texting. It could be anyone.”
“With that love drunk look on your face? I hope not.”
“I know it’s...” Oliver trails off as he sits up, “unlike me, but I didn’t get to have this when I was sixteen.”
“A phone?”
“Someone to talk to,” Oliver says, raising his hand when Carol’s face softens. He’s not saying this for pity, it’s just a fact. “I’ve always had a hard time with people—I lucked out with you—and I’ve never felt like I ever had anyone that wanted to talk to me about something other than medicine. It’s nice.”
“It is nice,” Carol agrees.
“But I’m glad I didn’t have this—,” he holds up the phone, “at sixteen. I don’t even think sixteen year olds now should have it. It’s such an impressionable time for teenagers and they’re being inundated with consumerism and capitalism and influencers. The pressure to keep up with trends—it has to be overwhelming.”
“How do you know the word influencer?” Carol asks. “Please god tell me you are not on Tik-Tok..”
“I don’t know what that is, really. Dr. Dang wanted to make me an account but I said no.”
“Good.”
“I do see the appeal of cell phones, I guess. The idea that anyone is reachable at any time is a lot, but if there was an emergency I like the idea that you could contact me. And the interns….if they find themselves in some kind of life or death scenario they could call me.”
“And Josh….” Carol prompts and Oliver hides his smile behind the phone.
“There’s still a lot I don’t understand. What are all these pictures?” He asks as he shows her the screen.
“Those are emojis. They’re fun. A way to display emotions shorthand.”
“Why are so many of them yellow?”
“You can change that, just press on the emoji and—you know what? Why don’t you ask Josh, or the interns.”
Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t understand why there’s so many of them. How often are you talking about mermaids or flamingos or eggplants?”
“Now that last one you should definitely run by Josh. I’m sure he’ll have a very insightful answer for you.”
Oliver taps his fingers against the side of the phone before he types out a simple message.
🍆?
The response is immediate.
Yeah
Come over
Now.
“I have to go. Apparently.”
“I bet,” Carols says as he gets to his feet. “You have fun, now. I’m happy for you.”
Thanks to light traffic and a slightly heavier than normal foot on the gas, he makes it to Josh’s place in record time.
He barely gets through the front door before Josh is there, pressing him back against it.
“Oh,” Oliver mumbles against Josh’s mouth as Josh fumbles for the button on Oliver’s jeans. “Okay. Yes.”
Josh huffs as he undoes the buttons and pulls at the zipper before he drops to his knees.
Oliver takes a deep breath and tips his head back as Josh kisses a line from hip to hip, hot and open mouthed.
He’s never had anyone want him like this—that could make him feel like this. Like he's in love.
He reaches down, cups Josh’s jaw in his hand, and tips his head up.
“Are you okay?” Josh asks and Oliver nods, overwhelmed, and touches his thumb to Josh’s bottom lip. When Josh closes his mouth around it and flicks his thumb against the pad, Oliver shudders.
“I’m fine, I’m good, I’m just wondering if this works for all vegetables or if it’s just eggplants.”
Josh’s face scrunches in confusion as he pulls his head back, Oliver’s thumb resting against his chin.
“What?”
Oliver shakes his head and slides his hand up into Josh’s hair. “Don’t worry about it.”
+1
In the break room, Oliver scrolls through photos of the Stylish & Secluded Hideaway posted on AirBnB.
Located two hours upstate on seven wooded acres, the rustic cabin has one bedroom, one bath, and a fireplace along with high-speed WiFi and forty inch television.
A little something for both of them.
It’s still available for this weekend if you want to go, Josh had texted earlier along with the link. Have to book it ASAP if yes.
Oliver scrolls back to the king size bed and lingers. He can’t remember the last vacation he took. It could be nice. He’d have time to read that medical journal he’s been meaning to finish, bring along a couple of his favorite records, and get Josh in the hot tub on the back deck…
“Oh, that looks nice,” Dr. Dang says from over his shoulder. “Time for a romantic getaway with Dr. Nichols?”
Oliver tucks the phone against his chest as Dana drops down onto the couch beside him.
“That’s a big step in a relationship.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Because you don’t want to,” Dr. Nash asks as he eats his lunch, “or because you don’t know how to exit out of the link so you can text him back?”
Oliver frowns but hands the phone over to Dana who takes it with a snort.
“This is beautiful,” she says as she quickly flicks through the photos. “There’s a hot tub? Damn, Dr. Wolf, lock this down.”
“If you don’t want to go with Dr. Nichols I will,” Dr. Nash says and Oliver snatches the phone out of Dana’s hand.
“That won’t be necessary,” Oliver says as he texts Josh back.
I would love to.
“So you’re going?” Dr. Kinney asks. “I think that’s great. Not that I’m trying to get rid of you,” she adds quickly when they all look at her. “I’m just saying that everyone deserves a break and you work so hard.”
“Thank you,” Oliver tells her. “It might be fun.”
“It will be fun,” Dr. Nash says. “I can’t wait to make enough money to afford long weekends away to places with hot tubs. Not that I’m in this for the money, but…”
Oliver tunes out their teasing and goes back to his phone to look back at the cabin but he gets stuck on the text he sent instead.
I love you.
He takes a sharp breath as he reads it again. I love you.
He shakes his head and backs out of the text message chain before he opens it again—like that’s somehow going to fix the mistake.
I love you, the text says, no matter what he does.
“Dana,” he says as he sits up straight. “How do you delete a text message?”
“Delete it?”
“Make it so the other person can’t see it. Take it back.”
“Has it already been delivered?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Was it over two minutes ago?”
He checks the timestamp on the text then the actual time at the top left corner of the phone.
“Um. Yes.”
“Then you can’t really do anything.”
“That’s not right—you can take back an email, right?”
“Yeah, sometimes, but a text isn’t an email.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dana—.”
“Don’t get mad at me, I know how to use phones but I don’t know how they work. What did you say?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
“It kinda sounds like it is,” Dana says as Oliver hurls himself to his feet. “Dr. Wolf—.”
Josh was in surgery this morning but that was five hours ago—he should be out now, or close to now. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, Oliver can catch him before he checks his phone and delete the message—however it is you do that.
He turns the corner just in time to see Josh step out of the double doors that lead to the OR, still in his surgical cap with his phone in his hand.
“Don’t look at that,” Oliver says quickly, “or stop looking at that. Or pretend you didn’t see it.”
“Oh,” Josh says as he looks up.
“I didn’t mean to send that to you.”
“Okay.”
“But I also didn’t mean to not send it to you.”
“Listen, Wolf, you really don’t need to explain—.”
“No I really do,” Oliver interrupts, “just—.”
A herd of surgical interns push through the doors and Oliver grabs Josh by the front of his scrub top and yanks him into an empty exam room.
“I didn’t mean to send that to you because I didn’t mean to say that to you now, because I meant to say it two weeks ago and a week before that and about a hundred different times between then and now. I was too nervous to do it because I was afraid of how you would react and how it would change things but something in my subconscious made me type out I love you instead of I would love to—I would call it a Freudian slip but that man has been widely discredited—you can talk to Carol about it if you want—.”
“So do you want to go upstate or not?”
Oliver frowns. “Yes.”
Josh nods and taps around on his phone. A moment later, Oliver’s pings.
I love you, too.
“That’s not funny,” Oliver tells him.
Josh shrugs. “It is a little.”
“I’ve changed my mind, actually, I don’t want to go to the cabin.”
Josh hums as he reaches out and cradles Oliver’s head in his hands.
“Dr. Nash expressed interest in going if you wanted—.”
Josh pulls him in, kisses the rest of the thought right off his lips.