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Oppressive heat beat upon the two as they walked from the garage to the car, placing boxes somewhat haphazardly in the trunk. The air was muggy enough to frizz the woman’s hair, though she’d tied it back into a tight ponytail to the best of her ability. Her attempt to tame the humidity-created curls was unmatched by the mussed man at her side.

“It’s what he wanted.”

Douglas wiped sweat from his brow. His shoulders tensed for a moment, right before he sighed heavily and let them drop with his breath. “I know it is. It’s why I ain’t ‘bout to try ‘n fight it. But it ain’t right.”

“His family lives there, Doug.” Lauren squeezed his arm affectionately. Pity shone brightly in her eyes, something that made Doug feel like how he imagined his father did coming home from the war; seen as broken and unfixable. He hated it.

“But I live here, ‘Ren. He ain’t even on good terms with his folks,” Doug pushed a box further in, beaten and worn with the word “KITCHEN” crossed off and replaced with “BOOKS.” His lips formed a tight line. “Wasn’t on good terms with his folks.”

“I know that,” Lauren noted, her arms crossed. “But he loved them.”

Douglas slammed the trunk, planting his hands on the metal palms-down. “And you ain’t think he loved me? Why’re ya actin’ like y’knew him? He was my husband.”

“Doug,” she began, her voice stern. Her facade was betrayed by the quiver of pain to her voice that she so desperately tried to cover by increasing her volume. “He was my friend. He was my friend before you got married. He was my friend before you even began dating. I know I didn’t know him as intimately as you, but don’t be a stubborn asshole that thinks only you’re allowed to grieve for him, because newsflash! You aren’t! Everybody loved Craig! He was the talk of the town, he was the wittiest man I knew, and he was my best friend, and it’s so fucking hard to know that he’s gone, and...” Her voice cracked. Doug squeezed his eyes shut, then wrapped his arms around her much smaller frame as a soft sob racked her body. “And I’m tired of having to push this all down just so you can have your pity party.”

Doug frowned, hugging her closer. “I know. I’m an ass. Jus’ hard without ‘im.”

“I know.” She pulled away from Doug, fixed her ponytail, then smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “You... know that he never wanted to settle in Wheaton. He would’ve wanted to be buried at his home.”

“Yea. And... what’s it matter? Him bein’ buried here ain’t gonna bring him back,” he admitted, kicking his foot against the tire. He chuckled sorrowfully. “His family’s more functional than me. Maybe his ma will put flowers on his gave, or his pa will keep it clean insteada cheatin’ on his wife with the neighborhood woman who sells shitty tupperware, or his brothers will write shitty poetry and read it t’the headstone.”

“I think he’d enjoy that.”

“Doesn’t matter if he would,” Doug murmured as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “It ain’t him, Ren. It’s a rock.” Next out of his pocket was a silver lighter, which he immediately flicked on to light the cigarette. “Y’think his family will notice me keepin’ this?”

“Say it’s a keepsake. C’mon, let’s go drop this off.”

“Yeah. His brothers are comin’ to pick it up.” His reflection peered back at him in the lighter. “It’s jus’ funny cause I uh, never met ‘em.”

“Better late than never.”

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Edgar’s fingers drummed against the table in a steady rhythm.

“Y’know what I did when I was y’r age?” he began, blue eyes set onto the boy in front of him. The boy knew his father’s gaze lay upon him, even though his own remained firmly set upon the grains of the table with his head tilted downwards. He felt it bore into him like termites into a rotting log, seeking weak points and burrowing deep when they found them.

It was unpleasant, to say the least.

“Fought.” His focus remained the table: hand carved and beautifully polished. Gorgeous craftsmanship that he’d attempted for ages to emulate. The only thing that sickened him was that the table was made by his father’s hands; his father, he decided, did not deserve the luxury of such skill, such precision to create such a fine craft.

“Boy, you gone dumb? Look at me when I’m talkin’.” His voice rose. The relentless gaze was back. The boy looked up tentatively, brooding behind dark eyes. “Yea, I fought. Fought so y’all could be safe, so y’all ain’t workin’ in a fuckin’ rice paddy or speakin’ German. And what do ya go and do with that freedom?”

The boy didn’t respond, just let his gaze drift lazily back to the wood to study its intricate knots.

His father tired rather quickly of the silence. “You decide to get busy in the fuckin’ barn with the neighbor boy. What’s wrong with you? Ain’t able to get with a girl so you gotta go for any queer y’see?”

Doug stared blankly at the table. “It ain’t like that,” he murmured.

“Sure as hell seems like it.”

A quiet moment went by where Douglas looked to his mother for aid. She stayed silent, scrubbing a dish quietly before her husband spoke again.

“My son ain’t gonna be a queer. You ain’t spendin’ any time with him, y’understand? And t’make sure that happens, y’r stayin’ at the farm all summer, ‘less your Ma or I takes ya out. Understand?”

Silence.

A calloused hand pressed into his shoulder. “Understand?”

Doug looked up at him, and without a word, nodded.

—

Doug stared blankly at the table. Polish gleamed on its surface in the light, smooth beneath his calloused fingers as they drummed gently against it. He’d slaved for hours trying to make it, and in his mind, it’d paid off.

“Douglas?” came a man’s voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He glanced up, startled. “Hm? Yea?”

“Are we inviting your parents?” Craig scribbled at a list on paper, blue ink crossing names off seemingly randomly as the two debated on if they were invited or not.

Douglas snorted, his face similar to a child’s when offered broccoli. “They ain’t able t’make the drive.”

“They live here, love.” He rolled his eyes. “Try again.”

“Shit, maybe they’ve gone senile and can’t drive. Y’don’t know, Craig.”

A lithe hand took Doug’s calloused one. “They can ride their horses. Invite them and see what happens.” At Doug’s suspicious glance, he added, “...The caterer only does groups of ten and I don’t want a ton of extra food, so we need to invite more people.”

That made more sense. “Shit, here I thought y’wanted me t’reconcile with my Pa ‘n shit.”

“Oh, it’s not like my parents can come,” he fired back, adjusting his glasses. “Mother adores weddings, but certainly isn’t a fan of aircraft. Or America. Or of traveling with my father, because that’d mean being in the same room as him while she was sober.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And since my parents can’t come and I know a total of five people in this town, it seems necessary.”

Doug sighed. “No. I don’t want ‘em there even if they’re different now. He ain’t welcome.”

“Suit yourself,” Craig responded, crossing the names off. “I’m inviting Gerald, though.”

“Y’didn’t invite Gerald originally? With all the free shots he gives us? Damn, y’r cold as shit.”

Doug smiled gently.

Craig smiled back.

Both of their hands remained intertwined, like the knots of the table.

—

“Need a cigarette?” A raspy voice began, thick Southern accent smothering the words. Doug didn���t bother pointing out that they were right in front of hospital. Nothing mattered except the crushing feeling in his chest.

“Yea.” He took the man’s cigarette and fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. He avoided eye contact completely, staring down at the roll in his hands even after it was lit and he’d inhaled the smoke rather deeply. “Why’d ya come? Y’ain’t gonna talk to me f’r years and then y’r gonna show up now?” He should’ve felt anger, red hot as it poured through his veins like lava in a volcano and sent him screaming, shouting, anything. Yet he felt nothing, nothing except the startling feeling that the day couldn’t be real.

“Y’r Ma suggested it. Said since I lost friends in the war, I’d-“

“Craig isn’t a fuckin’ war vet,” Doug snapped, burying his head in his hands. “Wasn’t. And he wasn’t my friend.”

Ed lit another cigarette and held it to his lips, staring directly at a no smoking sign. “Whatever he was, she meant I’m able t’know loss better. Yer Ma ain’t lost like we have.”

“You ain’t lost like I have.” Doug put the cigarette out on the curb and crossed his arms. “You think that y’r buddies headin’ t’ war voluntarily compares t’my fuckin’ husband dyin’? Where in your small fuckin’ mind do you think that’s even close t’what I’m goin’ through?”

“Douglas-“

“No, Pa. You can’t fuck up my life then come back years later t’try and fix it like y’r the father of the fuckin’ year. It ain’t work that way. I know y’hated him and I know y’hated me.”

He breathed in and exhaled heavily. “Boy, I ain’t hate ya. Jus’ wanted ya t’have a normal life, but you ain’t able to do that with a man. Maybe this is a chance to start over-“

“Fuck you.” Douglas turned towards the hospital. “Fuck you! Fuck you for walking in and out of my life! Fuck you for thinking that this was y’r opportunity to pitch me into gettin’ me t’change!”

“Doug-“

“Go home. Or don’t. I ain’t care anymore.”

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The clinic door jingled in a flurry of bell chimes, followed by a loud slam that echoed through the house and a draft of cold wind.

Amadeus sighed, shaking his head. He anticipated an older patient complaining about how the cold made his bones ache unbearably, or a mother worried because her son coughed a total of one time meaning that he absolutely had to have polio.

“Apologies, but we’re closed,” he began, his accent thick as a result of exhaustion. “If you need help-“

A boy stood in the waiting room, eyes wide. He donned a high schooler’s jacket -maroon with yellow sleeves and a little ox embroidered on the chest- which, Amadeus noted, was splattered with blood. Amadeus looked for a source, though it was hard to locate one on the boy’s dark skin from so far away. Another second passed before something clicked in his head and he took a step forward, closing the gap between the two. “James?”

“Amadeus,” he nodded. “I... need help. But you can’t tell my dad.” He paused, stepping back as Amadeus took a step forward. “Promise you won’t tell.”

“I am required by law to tell.” And morality, of course. He couldn’t treat his boyfriend’s son and then not tell him. “But I do not have to give specific details if you don’t want me to.”

James’ face scrunched with conflict, before he reluctantly nodded. “Fine.”

“Come, there is better light in the exam room.” Followed by the teenager, Amadeus couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the visit. “What brings you to my clinic?”

“Is this something you’ll tell my dad?”

“No. I will tell him what I treated you with. I will not tell him personal detail.” Amadeus swung the exam room door open and flicked a light switch on with a click. Cool air drafted outwards as the doctor beckoned the teen in and sat him on the exam table.

“I got into a fight.” Dried blood flaked beneath his nose. James winced as the doctor picked up his hand, his knuckles still oozing. A cut ran along the length of the back of his ring finger, deeper than Amadeus cared to admit.

“Did you hit the other person in the mouth, by chance?” From beneath the sink, the doctor pulled cotton balls and disinfectant.

He sucked air through his teeth when the disinfectant met his skin. “A little.”

“Is that what caused the cut?”

“Yeah. Well, the knuckes were from punchin’.” He shook his head. “I think I chipped the other guy’s tooth.”

“Teeth are sharp,” Amadeus began, matter-of-factly. “And human mouths are dirty. He gave you a fight bite.”

“The fuck is a fight bite?” At the doctor’s scrutinizing glare, he sighed defeatedly. “The... heck is a fight bite?”

“An injury caused when your fists are clenched and you punch someone in the mouth. I will clean it up, but you must come back for a check-up.” He placed wads of cotton over the boy’s knuckles, then wrapped them tightly with gauze. “You will be sore no matter what. Aim higher next time.”

James chuckled sadly. “Okay.”

“Does Doug-“ he coughed, clearing his throat, “...your father not know about the fight?”

“No. Happened outta school so they didn’t notify him, but everybody at the school knows.” His lips formed a tight line. “I don’t want him to know.”

“Why so secretive?” He tied off the gauze, then moved onto the next hand. “Your father will understand. He is not a stranger to fights.”

“I fought because they said I’m a fag,” he said. “They said I’m a fag and I got it from my dad.”

“...Ah.” Amadeus avoided his gaze and somewhat guiltily wrapped the boy’s hand. “You are no fag, you know?”

“I don’t care what they call me. Just don’t want them giving my brothers shit.”

Amadeus patted him comfortingly. “You are braver than me. People like that freak me out.”

“Is that why you don’t tell anyone you’re dating my dad?” At the shocked look the doctor gave, James clarified, “I saw you two in my house last week.”

“..Yes,” he admitted. “I had issues with people like the one you fought in the past. It is no joke, James.”

“You’re telling me,” he mumbled, a hiss escaping his lips as Amadeus’ elbow pressed on a bruised spot. “Careful!”

“Sorry.” The doctor pulled back and grabbed a small rag, running it under water. “Clean your face. I can get you a different jacket. No blood.” When James threw him a skeptical glance and held tightly onto the jacket, he added, “I will return it. It doesn’t fit me.”

He snatched the rag from the doctor’s hand and peeled off his jacket, leaving him in just a white t-shirt and jeans. “Can I call my dad?”

“Phone is down the hall,” he chirped, heading upstairs. The two parted momentarily, Amadeus heading upstairs to grab a non-unique grey sweatshirt and James to the hall, his ear pressed to the wall phone as he dialed Doug up.

“Dad, can you come pick me up?”

—

The sounds of rubber against gravel alerted Amadeus of Doug’s presence- it was a familiar sound by now, one that always made his heart thump a bit faster. “Your father is here.”

Sure enough, James rose from the upstairs couch just as the bells on the door jingled audibly and the sound of rubber boots filled the clinic. “Y’all?”

“Hey, Dad,” murmured James, clad in a grey sweatshirt. He gripped his arm and stared down at the floor.

“What’re ya doin’ here, kid? It’s late as hell.” Irritation became concern as he noticed the gauze around his hands. “What’d ya do?”

At his silence, he glanced up at Amadeus. “What’d he do?”

“I cleaned up some wounds. Should not get infected.” He patted James on the shoulder affectionately. “Nothing serious. I dragged him into the clinic, but I did not mean to worry you.”

A tense moment passed where neither party knew what to think, which ended when Doug dipped his head. “...Thanks. C’mon kid, int’the truck.”

James nodded, throwing a glance towards the doctor as he headed towards the door and mouthed a ‘thank you’ behind Doug’s back.

Douglas, on the other hand, stayed put. “He ain’t doin’ stupid shit, is he?”

“James is a good boy,” he reassured, his hand trailing onto the other man’s hip. “You should be proud.”

“I am.” He leaned a bit closer, pressing a careful kiss to the doctor’s lips. “Thanks fer helpin’ out. I’ll pay ya back.”

“No need,” he hummed. His fingers threaded through Douglas’ hair appreciatively. “Just bring him back in soon.”

“Will do.” The two pulled apart and Amadeus smiled. “Woulda been back anyway.”

“Mmhm. I have laundry to do. Head home,” he murmured, with one final kiss to the corner of Doug’s mouth.

Doug nodded, and trudged out the door with a wave. All that was left for Amadeus was a pile of laundry, with a yellow and read jacket on top.

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Amadeus noticed the change.

He noticed leaves cascading from trees in flurries of reds and oranges. He noticed the chill in the air and the way folks began to hide wind-chapped lips and red-tipped noses behind thick, woolen scarves.

He noticed Doug’s slumped shoulders and quieter demeanor, the almost constantly defeated look on his face, the stillness of hands that usually drummed quietly on the wood of the counter out of excitement whenever Amadeus entered the shop. He seemed so ....sad, all the time.

The doctor reasoned that he may not have been a winter person. The cold weather wasn’t for everyone, and he supposed that Doug did complain quite often about the rains and snows that associated themselves with winter tended to warp the wood he so gently cared for. He’d expect frustration out of the man though, not acting like a kicked puppy.

Yet whenever Amadeus asked, he guarded himself.

“Are you alright?” The doctor murmured on a quiet night, his finger tracing the carpenter’s freckled hand, over the stump where his ring finger once was.

“‘M fine.” He reeled his hand away.

Despite this, Amadeus felt the need to help. It tugged at his heart that the two had promised to be more honest and yet Douglas refused to say what was weighing him down so heavily, but he conceded that he’d shared plenty regarding his past with alcohol and marriage. Since Douglas wouldn’t share any information, Amadeus figured he needed a way to comfort him that would help in any situation.

His solution, he decided, couldn’t have been better.

—

Douglas dug the heel of his palm into his temple, sighing heavily. His children were put to bed after one hell of a hassle (finding stuffed animals, telling the teens to turn off their phones, putting pajamas on so that they weren’t backwards, and explaining that toothpaste is not to be eaten) and he was left to the night’s solemn silence.

With silence came thoughts, though, and Douglas certainly had too many. He hated November with a burning passion. Even as a young man, November had come around and felt like a yoke placed upon his shoulders, weighing him down and forcing him into dragging its weight. He always had less energy, more moodswings, appetite issues. It was pure hell.

Not to mention that he especially hated it because it was so close to when Craig died, nearly ten years prior.

His sour mood was lightened only slightly as Grease slipped beneath the slightly opened window. Her black form poured into the kitchen like an oil slick, and the Persian purred softly at Doug’s presence. Douglas shook his head and pressed his hand to her head. (Admittedly, he hated animals, but Grease gave him enough space to be on his good side.)

“Don’t leave,” he grumbled as the cat lept from the counter to the dining room table. To his surprise, Grease was not leaving- she was batting at a plastic bag on the table, printed with a red smiley face.

Doug tilted his head inquisitively, brows knitted in confusion. Maybe one of the kids left it, he reasoned. He opened the bag and peered inside to see a slice of German chocolate cake- his absolute favorite - and a note. In the worst penmanship he’d seen in his life (much like that of a doctor’s when writing a prescription), it read,

“FEEL BETTER. LOVE YOU. -AB”

A moment of silence passed...

And a small smile crept onto his face.

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“Hey, Dee.” Douglas glanced up from the truck, a lazy grin on his face. “Grab m’keys. They’re in my bedroom, nighstand drawer.”

Amadeus huffed his faux disapproval, but offered a nod. “Since you asked so politely!”

His words only widened Douglas’ grin, as he turned tail and headed back into the house. Purposeful and objective, with no muddled thoughts.

But now, Amadeus wasn’t sure what to think.

The two were supposed to take Doug’s truck for a drive, so Douglas could show newly-moved Amadeus around town. His innocent, key-seeking endeavor however, had become more than he could handle

His eyes were wide, his gaze ignoring screwdrivers and batteries in the drawer of Doug’s nightstand and settling upon a single object: a small, velvet box.

It was a deep blue, with its velvet slightly worn on the top as if kept in a jean pocket and rubbed off by friction. Ethically, his brain screamed not to touch it, not to violate the boundries Douglas so valiantly fought for.

Yet he defied them.

The box, held together by two shimmering hinges, opened with a soft pop. Inside sat an expected velvet lining, and a small foam cushion with a divot in its center. In the divot, Amadeus was met with a ring: gold, smooth and clean, as if it’d never been worn. An engagement ring.

The doctor’s stomach twisted into knots. A few scenarios played in his head.

He could’ve previously proposed. Doug had never mentioned being married, and his last lover was several years ago. Why keep the ring of an ex? Unless...

Oh, no. Is he going to propose to me?

—

The two entered the clinic, with not a second wasted before the spat began.

“You have an engagement ring.”

“You went through my things,” Doug snapped back, eyes narrow as he spun around. “When’d ya go snoopin’?”

“I didn’t ‘snoop’, I was grabbing your keys!” He raised an eyebrow, peeling off his coat and chucking it onto the couch. “Why do you have it?”

“Gee, don’t see how it’s yer business!” Defensive. Arms crossed, shoulders raised, facing away from Amadeus.

“I’m your boyfriend,” retorted the doctor, who threw his arms into the air in frustration. “Don’t I get to know if you’re proposing to me-“

“Don’t play with that inflated ego of y’rs. I wasn’t proposin’.”

Pretending like his words didn’t create a bit of a sting, Amadeus scrunched his face. “Why have it then?”

“Not your fuckin’ business. Now, I gotta head the fuck home.” Douglas began heading towards the door, a guarded look on his face.

“Why don’t you tell me anything? The old women I give physical exams to tell me more about you than you do! I’ve heard that you were an angry drunk, a cheater, a divorcée! I just want you to be honest!” Angry tears welled in his eyes.

Douglas didn’t bother turning around. “Maybe you should start bein’ honest! You ain’t down t’be seen with me! Is the idea of bein’ associated with me that sickenin’ to ya, ‘cause yer so perfect and loved by the town and yer parents’ fuckin’ perfect child? After all, I’m what, th’goddamn alcoholic you fuck under the table?”

He wiped his face on his arm. “Fuck you, Douglas. You’re not someone I ‘fuck under the table!’ I’m scared! I’m scared, all the fucking time because people talk and when they see a couple like us, they don’t say good things, Doug!”

A heavy sigh came from the door. A large arm felt at an equally large temple, before Doug turned around. “You’re scared?”

“I know they talk. You know they talk, and if the wrong person hears, it gets physical. I’ve gone through this before, and I don’t want it happening again, to me or to you.” He sniffled, though a dark look remained in his eyes.

Douglas, a man of great height and weight, never thought about how fear-inspiring being gay could be in their small town. Amadeus was a scrawny thing, an outsider- an easy target, and a fear that was amplified further by his past experiences with violence, whatever they must’ve been. “..They ain’t gonna hurt you. I know ‘em.”

“You can’t know everybody, Doug.”

“...Yeah.” He took a step forward. “That’s why y’ain’t wanna be seen with me?”

“I’d tell everybody I knew I was dating you if I knew it wouldn’t endanger us.”

And suddenly, Douglas felt like an ass.

He sat hesitantly next to the doctor. Gently, as he’d done with his own sons, he grunted and wiped Amadeus’ tears away with his thumb.

“The ring ain’t for ya. Not originally anyway.” Emotion rippled through him. “Y’said someone said I was divorced, but it ain’t right. I married a man named Craig. He died almost ten years ago, but folks still think I did somethin’.” He shook his head. “The ring was his. I kept it after... y’know.”

“The other stuff isn’t true, I’m guessing?” Lithe hands pressed against Douglas’ neck, warm palms flat against the exposed skin.

“I ain’t ever cheat. I was an alcoholic, though. Not when I got my boys. Craig and I loved our booze and uh, when he died, I guess I drank ‘nough for the both of us.”

“How long were you drinking like this?”

“Shit, two or three years? Y’ain’t addin’ that to my file are ya?”

“It’s uh, important information,” he offered, a soft laugh escaping him at Doug’s clear disdainful expression.

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“Y’ve shaved it,” Douglas observed.

Amadeus glanced up at Doug from the sofa, nodding curtly. “It’s easier for me. One less thing I have to worry about during flu season.” Combing, washing, drying, preventing split ends, not to mention eventually having to get it cut again (by the creepy barber who’s a little too hands-on!) ... Amadeus simply didn’t have time to deal with anything when folks came in left and right for help with coughs, rashes, and everything inbetween.

Doug let out a pleased hum. “Practical. And men with buzzcuts...” he huffed, nodding his approval.

Amadeus giggled in response, which made Doug’s heart leap in a way it hadn’t in a long time. “Glad you like it.” He threaded his fingers through Doug’s hair, tilting his head. “Your hair, it’s natural, no?”

“Hm. Yer the first to assume it is.” Douglas nodded once more and felt Amadeus’ hand wander to the streak of white stemming from the middle of his hairline to the one on his bearded jaw. “Yeah. Been like this since high school. My Pa looked like a goddamn villain.”

“Howso?” Amadeus watched Doug lay on his back, head in Amadeus’ lap. In turn, the doctor continued to fiddle with his hair, deciding to attempt a braid.

“White through the middle ‘a his head. Y’ever seen that Hundred Dalmation movie? Thought of ‘im. And Pa’s generally a shitty man. That helps. Used t’ laugh when Old Yeller died. I ain’t like animals but damn, that ain’t right.”

He’s more talkative, Amadeus noted.

Doug hated divulging information. It was a fact Amadeus learned to accept, so to see him so.. open to sharing was certainly odd. Not that Amadeus wasn’t going to take advantage ot it, of course, his fingers twisting Doug’s hair into braids.

“Do you not get along then?”

To Amadeus’ chagrin, the man shook his head and disrupted his impromptu weaving. “Jus’ been on different wavelengths.”

“Wanna explain?” Nimble fingers started to weave again.

For a moment, Amadeus thought he’d pushed too far, as silence fell over the two. Then, Doug, without opening his eyes, began. “He ain’t happy with me playin’ for my own team. Didn’t want a fag son. Guess no parent does.” Tension rose in his shoulders.

Amadeus shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t a big deal.” Douglas promptly sat up, tension rising in his shoulders.

Amadeus frowned, pressing a hand to Doug’s shoulder to lean him back against the sofa. “It’s okay,” he reassured, eyes wide.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Douglas sighed, then pulled Amadeus towards him, quite gently for a man of his stature, by the collar. Willingly, Amadeus kissed him close, feeling the carpenter relax slightly as fingers worked their way over his buzzed scalp.

Talking, Amadeus supposed, was over with for the day.

— (they arent fucking)

James got into the house quite silently.

It was a talent. He’d learned which boards squeaked, which windows gave him away by making loud noises. And, he’d taught it all to Buck.

It wasn’t that he did anything that needed to be hidden. It was just that he disliked the idea of telling his Southern, raised-by-a-homophobe father about his Southern, also-raised-by-a-homophobe boyfriend. And because Buck’s dad finding out about the two was something that kept James up at night, the pair preferred the relative safety of James’ house during the day, as Douglas went to the shop and his brothers went to school.

Hence why he led Buck by the hand to the kitchen window, quickly opening it halfway and throwing himself over. The blonde followed somewhat reluctantly, glancing around. “Your pa’s at the shop?”

“Should be. Stay quiet though, Lauren might be here.” He motioned for Buck to hold position before he scurried to the door to the living room, opening it slowly.

To his surprise, there was not one, but two people in his home. Also to his surprise was the fact that one of these was his ‘running the shop’ father. Most surprising of all was the fact that his ‘running the shop’ father had his lips on the town doctor’s, a soft laugh escaping the doctor’s throat.

What the fuck.

Immediately, he turned to Buck with the most horrified expression known to man. “What the fuck!” came his hoarse whisper.

“What’s wrong? Is Lauren here?”

“My dad’s kissing a man,” he hissed, a string of swears filling the silence.

“Could be a woman and you’re mistaken,” he offered, before peering through the crack of open door. Inside, he saw literally the man who’d drawn his blood the day previous. “Nevermind.”

“What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” His heart thudded in his chest.

Buck shrugged slightly. “I did suggest we go to the theater.”

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Lauren laughed.

“Don’t laugh!” Douglas pursed his lips, crossing his arms. He hoisted Tony onto the counter, much to the child’s appreciation, a chorus of laughter filling the air. “I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious, that’s why I’m laughing.” She smiled and offered Tony a juice box, which he snatched before Douglas set him back on the ground. The pitter patter of footsteps indicated his exit, as did the cheers of his two other youngest children as their playmate returned. “I remember meeting Martin’s parents. I was just as nervous.”

“So why’re ya makin’ fun of me?” Still pouting, he sipped at a cup of coffee and scrunched his face a bit at its overt sweetness.

“I’ve never seen you so concerned, that’s all. I thought this was just a fling.” Lauren eyed him curiously, familiar brown eyes settling on the man.

Choosing to avoid her gaze, Douglas stared into the dark brew and shook his head. “We’re datin’. Tryin’ t’ date. I ain’t tryin’ t’ mess it up, y’know?” After mulling over it for a second, he offered another comment. “It ain’t- wasn’t- like this with Craig.”

“You can’t compare him to Craig,” she reminded.

He shrugged. “I meant the datin’. Craig was all f’r bar hoppin’ and flauntin’ eachother. Barlow ain’t down with anybody knowin’.”

“Craig was a different man.” She winced at the ‘was’, so subtle that Doug almost didn’t notice.

She missed him.

They both did. “I guess.”

“It’s good to see you dating again, though. Thought you’d gone celibate.” A slightly sorrowful smile and a playful punch to Doug’s shoulder.

He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. This town jus’ ain’t got my kinda guy.”

“Oh, what, European men?” She crossed her legs and sipped her own coffee nonchalantly.

“Barlow’s Canadian,” he snapped back, eyes rolling.

“Oh, accented men!” At Douglas’ glare, she burst into cackles, covering her mouth. “Knew you had a voice thing.”

“Gee, Ren, I’m real happy yer takin’ care of my boys tonight! I got real fine taste!” Sarcasm laced his tone.

“You love me,” she reassured him. “And I’m a mother. I know what I’m doing. You can enjoy meeting your boyfriend’s parents.”

A heavy gulp made its way through his throat.

Boyfriend.

—

Lauren was kind enough to help him prepare for dinner with Amadeus’ parents. She’d tied his hair back into a ponytail, helped him choose a nice, casual outfit (a grey coat, blue jeans, and a soft t-shirt. Simple.) He looked neat, free of sawdust and paint stains.

So he stood, outside of Amadeus’ clinic, waiting.

Waiting, that is, until he smelled smoke.

Douglas followed the smoke around the building’s corner, peering at the side. In front of a trapdoor into the ground, the doctor exhaled deeply, smoke emptying itself from his lungs.

“Hey, Doc.”

The man peered up at Douglas, quickly extinguished his cigarette, and stared with wide eyes. “Doug! Hi!”

“Y’r nervous?” Douglas closed the gap between them, standing only a few inches away.

Amadeus let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. They’ll be here in ten minutes.” He paused, and Douglas felt a pair of wandering eyes upon him. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks.” Douglas tugged at the other man’s hand, tilting his head towards the door.

Amadeus followed as if in a daze. “Who’s watching your boys?”

“Lauren. She helped me get ready.” He shrugged. “James and Arthur could watch ‘em too, jus’ easier with her.”

“Oh.”

The door jingled as Douglas pushed it open, the pair immediately flooded with warmth from a roaring fire. The scent of cooked meat wafted from upstairs. Douglas navigated the clinic with ease, nights and mornings spent there having trained him to move easily through it. “You cooked.”

“Yeah! It’s pot roast, which I know they love. Um, speaking of my parents- they’ll probably talk to you in French sometimes. I can translate,” he offered.

“Thanks.” He nodded, dipping his head as he took Amadeus’ hand in his, pulling him onto the couch and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Gonna make this great,” he said, though he felt it was more for his benefit than Amadeus’.

—

Jingling bells signaled a cheerful arrival. Through the door stepped a pair of older folks- a pale woman with jet black hair and freckles across her face and what was visible of shoulders beneath a thick red shawl. Her husband was taller than she was, tan-skinned and brown haired with a few grey strands thrown in.

Immediately, the woman wrapped her arms around Amadeus, with Douglas watching from off to the side.

“Mon fils!” she cried, hugging him tight. She murmured something that Douglas couldn’t understand and Amadeus shook his head, nudging himself out of her grasp.

“Il parle seulment l’anglais, maman.”

“Ah, oui!” The woman had to crane her head up at Doug to meet his eyes. “You are Douglas, yes?”

“Yes. Good t’meetcha.” He offered her his hand, but she wrapped him in a hug. Amadeus covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a giggle at Doug’s wide-eyed expression. When she pulled away, Douglas cleared his throat, turning to Amadeus’ father.

“Hello,” was all he said, before heading upstairs. It was going to be a long day.

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The wind rustled autumn’s orange trees, sending a few leaves tumbling onto the piles of them carpeting the forest floor. Frogs croaked and crickets sang. Stars lingered in the sky despite the sun’s nearing rise threatening to wash them out and predictably, all of the citizens of Wheaton dozed soundly in those early morning hours in their homes.

Well, all except two.

Douglas and Amadeus sat on the back porch of Doug’s home, blue and brown pairs of eyes gazing out at the forest. With Amadeus finally getting his clinic up and running and Douglas needing to tend to the needs of both his shop and his children, the two found themselves with little time to see one another- particularly since Amadeus was antsy about anyone knowing about their relationship, meaning that they were forced away from the prying eyes of the little town.

Still, the two found early morning hours- when Doug’s kids slept soundly and the shop nor clinic had any patients - to catch up, fingers intertwined.

As such, Douglas and Amadeus were keeping with their tradition in that moment, though it edged towards its end. When the sun rose, the threat of Doug’s kids seeing the pair made Amadeus too nervous to stay. The two had decided not to tell his children just yet, not until they were certain that the eldest three understood the importance of keeping it quiet.

“Y’wanna head back?” Douglas leaned his head on the other man’s shoulder (thankful to have found a man of similar height to him!) and felt an arm snake around his waist.

“Yeah, just... let me do something first.” Amadeus rooted through the pocket of his trench coat and produced a small white box with a camel printed on the front, and a metal lighter to pair with it.

“You smoke,” Doug moreso matter-of-factly asserted than inquired.

“Just... when I’m nervous.” Amadeus smiled sheepishly, lighting a cigarette and placing it against his lips.

Douglas’ face scrunched up a bit. He’d never noticed the smell of smoke anywhere in the clinic- Amadeus must’ve been smart enough to do it outside. “What’s makin’ ya nervous?”

“Ah..” For a moment, Amadeus fell silent, and his grip on Doug’s hand tightened. “My parents are coming to visit.”

“Oh. I see.” Douglas really couldn’t relate to the visiting part, since he and his parents had lived in the same city since he was born (although his folks lived on their farm in the outskirts so he avoided them quite often), though he supposed he could emphasize with ‘I don’t want to see my parents.’

“It’s just... I love them, but they expect a lot of me.” He laughed dryly, as if recalling a bittersweet memory. “I want this visit to be perfect.”

A completely different sentiment than Doug had expected. As such, he was lost for words. “Oh.”

“..They want to meet you, Doug.” The doctor’s thumb swiped carefully over Doug’s knuckles, Amadeus becoming acutely aware of the shiver that ran down his lover’s spine- unsure of if it was out of the magnitude of his statement or his own action. “You don’t have to, but-“

“They know about... this?” He gestured vaguely to the two of them. A nod from the doctor confirmed his question.

“Yeah. My parents know about me any everything, and they’re really supportive of it. They’d love you, I’m sure.” Amadeus tried to speak soothingly, his eyes locked onto Doug’s face to study its expressions. He put his cigarette out so he could focus upon the situation.

“Deus, it ain’t like I ain’t wanna meet ‘em, jus’..” He scratched the back of his neck, something Lauren told him he did often when embarrassed. “I ain’t ever met a man’s folks. I ain’t actually ever done what we’re doin’ with the datin’. Don’t wanna screw up a good thing.”

“You wouldn’t screw it up.” When he edged closer, Doug moved back a bit.

“I ain’t the man they’re expectin’ though. Zachary was a cop, a goddamn hero. How do I compete?”

“Because you aren’t Zachary,” Amadeus asserted, “And you make me happy.”

Douglas fell quiet, mulling it over. “..Alright. I’ll do it.”

“It’s just lunch, Doug. And if you get overwhelmed, I’m there.” He pressed a kiss to Douglas’ cheek, laughter echoing at Doug’s rapidly reddening face.

“Lord, the things I do for pretty men.” He rubbed his temple and shook his head, before glancing past his hand, at the discarded cigarette butt.

“They know you smoke?” He raised an eyebrow scrutinizingly.

“..No. I’d rather they didn’t.”

“Bad habit. Ain’t it ironic for a doc t’smoke?”

Amadeus chuckled bitterly. “A little. We all have our vices.”

Late nights with whiskey and a man wearing a wedding band flashed in Doug’s mind. “Yea, we do.”

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The bell at the top of the café door jingled cheerfully.

Lauren peered up from the cash register, a smile crossing her face. “Hellooooo,” she drawled with a wave.

A tall, bearded man gave a singular wave in response. His usually wild nest of hair was tied back tightly, dare she say neatly, and his clothing was free of sawdust and debris. “Hey, ‘Ren.”

“Jamie,” she chirped, glancing at the ginger girl at the pastry rack. “Take the cash register for me, please!”

The girl nodded somewhat vigorously and trotted to her post with a, “Okay!”

Pleased, Lauren opened the waist-high divider on the counter up and beckoned Doug into the backroom. “I like her! She just got here.”

Douglas grunted, a slight grimace on his face like he’d eaten something bitter. “We’ve met.”

“Do you not like her?” Lauren inquired, leaning against the desk.

“..Naw, she’s fine. Jus’ fixin’ the house for ‘er and ‘er uh, friend. Kid doesn’t know how to lock doors.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I should prob’ly not’ve come in ‘ere, cause I gotta buy some soup.”

“Huh. I never thought I’d see you here to buy things. Something special going on?” Lauren stared curiously at the man. He’d come in to talk to Lauren or to take pastries that hadn’t sold, but never to actually buy something.

“A man can’t buy soup?” Douglas’ shoulders raised as he crossed his arms.

“It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you don’t.” A quick tug to his jacket sent Douglas reeling away from her defensively.

“Alright, alright. I’m takin’ it t’Barlow. He’s sick.”

Lauren, to Douglas’ horror, laughed. “That’s so cute!”

“It’s not!” He nudged her shoulder with his hand (though she was thrown back farther than he anticipated, still grinning) and shook his head. “Ain’t that what good civilians do?”

“You’re dating him,” she corrected, kicking him in the leg. “You’re bringing soup to your sick boyfriend like a goddamn sap.”

“Don’t put it like that,” he frowned. “I ain’t done this whole datin’ before. Do I not do this?”

Lauren shook her head. “You’re hopeless. You’re also doing fine at the dating thing, y’know? I’m sure he’ll love the gesture.” The corners of her lips upturned into a pitiful smile. “I’m just... glad to see you getting out there.”

For a second, something flashed in Doug’s face - grief, sorrow - and his eyes fell low, but he cleared his throat quickly. “I should go talk t’Ginger ‘bout that soup.”

“Mmhm.” Lauren nudged him out of the office, a pile of paperwork awaiting her. “Our chicken noodle is good.”

As Douglas turned away, Lauren’s voice stopped him in the doorway. “Tell him I said hi!”

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tumblr cucked me

“Ah.” He swirled the broth in his bowl, a bemused look crossing his face. “Oh, Doug. I’m uh.. pescatarian.”

“Pesky what?” Douglas raised an eyebrow, head tilted inquisitively.

“I don’t eat meat, but I eat fish.” At Doug’s sheepish stare at the cubes of chicken in the bowl, he laughed gently. “Sorry, you couldn’t of known.”

“Shit. I’ll go pick somethin’ else up.” As he tried to sit up, a tired hand pressed into his chest, sitting him back down.

“Don’t go. I’m comfortable.” He curled up further, head against the other man’s chest. Damn, it’d been a while since Doug had any form of physical contact. That coupled with the heavily-lidded, puppy-dog eyes Amadeus made ended up winning him over.

“..Alright,” he murmured, though there was no real reason to it. Amadeus was far gone, snoring softly.

—

How long had it been?

Douglas couldn’t remember the last time he’d curled up with someone like this, simply so... domestic.

He’s like Craig, murmured his brain.

He’s not Craig, Douglas snapped back. He doesn’t have to be.

He can’t make you happy, his brain continued.

Douglas sighed, burying his face in Amadeus’ shoulder. He smelled of hospital cleaners and something that he couldn’t quite place (later, Amadeus would reveal it to be latex.) The man stirred in response, though still deep in sleep.

At least he’s pretty.

Keep reading

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i havent written the boyz getting together i know but here’s a bit abt deus getting sick. they have been dating a couple weeks or so

Amadeus felt... feeble. His head screamed in protest at even the slightest of movement. His throat ached, threatening to reject any fluid he swallowed that was neither hot or cold. Perhaps worst of all was trying to speak, particularly when it involved calling clients and cancelling their appointments for fear of spreading his illness (hence why, he noted, he needed to find a partner to help run the clinic. ASAP.)

Among the people he called was Douglas, who was supposed to come in that day for his sons’ checkups. Based upon the children cheering in the background of the phone call upon hearing the news, Amadeus assumed that nobody involved was too disappointed. Hence why a look of confusion fell upon Amadeus’ face as a knock on the door resounded through the clinic, heavily lidded eyes flickering open. The doctor pried himself off the sofa and stepped down the creaky flight of stairs. It was likely a patient, he reasoned, unaware that the clinic was closed or refusing to acknowledge the ‘closed’ sign. Just as he was about to open the door and give his usual spiel (“My clinic is closed. Should you require emergency services, calling 911...”), a familiar pair of eyes peered through the window at the top of the door.

“Ah. Douglas,” he mumbled hoarsely after opening it up. “I’m not seeing anyone today.”

Douglas seemed unfazed. “Yeah. I brought soup.”

“..Soup?” Amadeus leered at the container in Douglas’ hand, a blue, insulated lunchpail holding what he assumed was poorly-made soup (Doug was not a great chef- he’d burnt many grilled cheeses and quesadillas. Amadeus could only imagine how an attempt at soup would’ve gone.)

Douglas caught the reluctance in Amadeus’ expression, leaning in the doorway. “Don’t give me that look. It’s from the café.”

Appeased, Amadeus nodded curtly, which he immediately regretted as his head reminded him what it’d feel like to slam it into a brick wall. “Oh. Thank you.”

An awkward lull in the conversation led to Douglas scratching the back of his neck (which, Lauren had previously noted, he did quite often when embarassed) before clearing his throat. “Do I... leave this with ya? I’m new to the whole ‘datin’ while sober’ thing.”

Ah. Amadeus wasn’t aware of too much of Doug’s past, but he understood that him and his previous husband often bonded over a pint. Or two. Or seven. “You may get sick if you come in,” Amadeus pointed out. “But I don’t mind your company.”

Douglas shrugged. “I was with ya yesterday. Prolly already sick.” He nudged the other man into the clinic, effectively corraling him up the stairs. “Really, y’shouldn’t be up.”

“You’re right, it’s not like anybody knocked at my door or anything.” The couch creaked beneath his weight when Amadeus flopped back onto it, wrapping himself in blankets he’d dug out of the few unopened moving boxes left.

“I wouldn’ta had ya come downstairs but the door was locked. Usually I just knock ‘n open.” His gaze was focused directly on Amadeus’ stove, the latter of which flickered to life in a ring of blue flames at Doug’s hesitant touch. He pulled a pot from where he knew Barlow kept them and unzipped the lunchpail, pulling a styrofoam cup from it that was hastily emptied into the pot.

“I’m sure your kids love that,” he croaked, ignoring the way his throat protested his soft laughter.

“Nah. They hate it.” Another shrug, his focus plastered to the slow movement of the soup as he mixed it with a spoon. “I think they’re real lucky. I mean, my Pa ain’t ever knock.”

“That... kinda sounds awful, Douglas. He’d just barge in whenever?” Amadeus quirked an eyebrow, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Naw, it ain’t so bad. Haven’t lived ‘til y’r old man catches ya with another guy in y’r bed.” He glanced over at Amadeus, the grimace on the doctor’s face enough to elicit a hearty chuckle. “What’d y’r parents do then, huh?”

“They knocked and waited. Like... most people do.” Admittedly, Amadeus spent very little time with his door closed, but he felt that irrelevant to his point. “..Did your father actually walk in on you and another guy?”

“Oh, yeah. We weren’t doin’ nothin’ bad. Just uh, kissin’.” Amadeus watched as he stirred the pot a bit faster, as if it’d distract him from the memory.

Sensing that he’d get very little information on that particular topic, Amadeus flicked to something nonchalant. “Douglas, what soup did you buy?”

“Chicken noodle. Talked t’the gal behind the counter. Said it was the only thing y’wouldn’t complain about eating,” he admitted, pouring the broth into a ceramic bowl and pressing a spoon into it.

Startled, he sat up and asked, “Do I have a reputation around town for complaining?”

“No.” Doug placed the bowl into Amadeus’ lap, sitting next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist. “She said the rest had too much sodium, whatever that is, and that she ain’t ever had a doctor not complain ‘bout it.” At the surprised look he was tossed, Douglas added, “She’s a good friend. I ain’t jus’ tellin’ foodworkers who the food I’m buyin’ is for. Wheaton’s a small town, but it ain’t that small.”

Amadeus sighed contently, leaning on the other man. “..Thanks, then.”

“Y’said that already.” The hand on Amadeus’ hip pulled him a bit closer, not that the doctor could complain about the warmth (at the moment anyway- the appeal faded when he awoke feeling like a furnace later on.)

“Ah.”

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“Take a seat, Mr. Wells.”

The caseworker’s office felt the exact same as it had when Doug had visited any previous time- the same wooden paneling, warped by age and water damage, the same worn frame clasping a license to operate between dust-covered panels of glass. In the middle of the room sat a small desk where the caseworker tossed file after file, slightly more cluttered (Doug hated that- such a beautiful cut of wood shouldn’t have been covered by trinkets and papers) than the last time he’d sat in the chair in front of it. 

In fact, the only real change the other man made within the office was a painting of the ocean next to his license. Regal blues molded with sea foam white in familiar, gentle waves that Doug found himself lost in as the world around him ebbed away.

Storm clouds loomed overhead, an ever-encroaching threat of rain at any given moment. Cool winds sent the seas and few oceanside trees reeling. A vast majority of the town of Wheaton had enough sense to avoid the unpredictable, often dangerous coastal storms; few prowled the beach, yet Douglas found himself among them. 

Reasonably speaking, Douglas should have been calm. The sea beat rhythmically against the shore. With no storm yet, silence blanketed the area. Perhaps most calming of all, Craig’s fingers intertwined with his own, his comfortingly warm presence pressing against Doug’s shoulder with a sigh.  

“You never do choose anywhere romantic to go, do you?” Craig jests. “A bar! Your shop! A cold, rainy, miserable beach!” 

“I thought Brits were good at this shit.” Douglas shrugged. “If y’re cold, ya shoulda brought a jacket.”  “And such a way with words.” He glanced around the beach for any onlookers before pressing a chaste kiss to Doug’s lips. Doug felt him smile against his lips. “So, what’s the big thing you brought me here for?”

Doug’s mouth felt dry, yet his palms were the complete opposite. “..Well.” 

“Is your plan to murder me or something?” He tilted his head inquisitively. “Maybe do something indecent? Neither’s legal, but I’d be more pleased with one than the other.” 

“No! No.” His voice cracked with emotion, heat rising to his ears as his face flushed a deep red. A lack of eloquence coupled with a certain.. brashness that characterized the man led to words pouring from him like the sheets of rain from the sky. “I ain’t sure what happened but damn, I love you. And I’d like it a lot if we were, uh. Married.” 

Craig paused, avoiding eye contact. Finally, steely gray eyes peered over the rims of his glasses. “Yes. I’d like that.” 

“Erm, Mr. Wells?” 

Ah. Fucking hell. 

“Yessir. Yes.” His mouth pulled into a straight line as he nodded affirmatively, unsure of what he was agreeing to. 

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hangover—-> the aftermath of rum & coke

DW: Lauren

DW: Barlow tried to kiss me

DW: i think

DW: fucking answer won’t you

Doug slammed the door to his truck, wheels throwing gravel aside as he pulled back from the clinic and into the woods. His phone buzzed repeatedly to indicate a call.

“He what?” Lauren’s voice came through loud and clear. The sounds of a bustling restaurant filled the background.

“Took the cat in. He ended up drinkin’ a bit-“

“Was he drunk when he kissed you?”

“He didn’t kiss me! He had a glass ‘a rum ‘nd I accused him of being drunk ‘nd pussied out.”

“What’re you going to do?”

Doug mulled it over. “‘Ren, he told me he jus’ got outta a relationship. He prob’ly jus’ wants a rebound or was real drunk or both, right?”

“Ask him.”

“..I guess.”

—

Amadeus felt like the biggest fucking tool on the planet.

Douglas, a man he’d been talking to for nearly a year, rejected his one, one advance. His single attempt to be vulnerable. And he did it with a shitty excuse, not even saying his true reasoning.

Amadeus buried his face in the couch, holding the now nearly-empty bottle of rum in his hand. He polished it off, staring at the ceiling.

This is why Zachary left you.

Amadeus covered his eyes and sighed.

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rum & coke

Amadeus poured a drink for himself, rum he’d seized from the general store before the clerk was officially sold out. The amber liquid filled the glass, afternoon sunlight filtering through it. “Want a drink, Douglas?”

Doug peered up at him from the sofa (the only place to sit aside from the floor, mind you, since Amadeus lacked furniture.) “I don’t drink.” His cat lept onto the sofa as well, clearly overjoyed to sit in Doug’s lap.

“I’ve got tons of other stuff,” Amadeus retorted. He pulled back from the bottle on the counter and opened the fridge. “Water, soda.... no, actually, that’s it. Rum, water, and soda. Hm.”

“Pop’s good, then.” The couch cushion sunk beneath Amadeus’ weight as he sat, a cold can of ‘pop’ being placed into Doug’s hand. “Thanks.”

“Mmm,” Amadeus nodded his acknowledgment as he took a gulp of booze. “Do you not drink for religious reasons? I had a friend who did that.” By ‘friend’ he meant partner, but he avoided the word.

“Nah. Used t’drink too much, jus’ cleaned up and avoided it since.” The soda can let out a soft hiss as Doug opened it, sufficiently catching the attention of the previously sleeping feline who proceeded to bat at it curiously.

“Define ‘too much’.” Amadeus wasn’t one to pry, but Doug never was unwilling to answer his questions. He was transparent, something the man appreciated greatly after being surrounded by folks with plaster smiles.

“Ah,” Doug stared intensely into the can, his first hesitation Amadeus had ever seen. “More in a mornin’ than I could count, and I can count real high. Went into AA f’r two years and got better.”

Guilt washed over Amadeus’ brown eyes. “I uh, shouldn’t be drinking in front of you.”

“It ain’t big. I’m a big boy who can handle ‘imself.” When Amadeus looked just as perturbed, he tacked on, “And I ain’t drank in years. Stop worryin’.”

Amadeus nodded, taking a hesitant sip. He wanted to talk about literally anything else and therefore took it as a gift when Doug spoke again. “Why move here?”

“Opportunity, I guess. A research team studying creatures out here needed a vet so I looked into it. I could work with them until I got on my feet with the clinic, and there’s no other vets for miles so I’d have a monopoly.” He ran his hand over Pepper (or Grease, depending who you ask)’s fur, who let out a snort of disapproval but nothing more.

“Huh. I thoughtcha got divorced.” Douglas shrugged.

Amadeus felt heat rise to his face. “Pardon?”

“Move into a small place, the ring tanline on your hand, ain’t ever mention your past. Jumped the gun I guess.” Douglas shrugged.

“My uh, oh, uh...” He was lost for words, looking like a deer in the headlights. “The ring thing is from a promise ring, not a wedding ring.”

“Huh. Cool.”

“..Cool?” No questions? Just a declaration of his thoughts and nothing else? Who the fuck was this man?

“Yeah. Prolly best y’ain’t a divorcee. Exes are a pain in the ass.” Douglas laughed heartily. When Amadeus didn’t join him, he paused. “Sorry. Guess y’might still be sore ‘bout a breakup, divorce or not.”

“..Yeah. Thanks.” Suddenly, talking about Doug’s alcoholism didn’t seem too bad. “If you don’t mind me asking, were you uh, divorced?”

“No.” Douglas’ eyes darkened. Suddenly defensive, his gaze drifted into space. “Never.”

“..Oh. Alright.” Amadeus shuffled his foot, sighing. “I’ve never been divorced either. I dated this guy though, for three years. Religious type, completely celibate and devoted as hell. Promised ourselves to eachother- that’s what was with the rings. I moved because the town wasn’t accepting of us. He, uh, couldn’t leave his church and family behind.”

Doug nodded knowingly. “It ain’t fun t’lose someone. I’m sorry.” He placed his hand firmly on the other man’s shoulder.

The two fell quiet, something between them feeling... different. Closer. Or maybe it was because Amadeus was edging ever so close.

Maybe it was because of the alcohol and the general vulnerability the moment presented, but Amadeus felt bold, leaned in until he was only centimeters away.

It only lasted a moment- Douglas nudged the other man away, shaking his head. “Y’r drunk.”

Amadeus felt a slight sting. “I’m fine, Douglas.”

“Y’ain’t, Barlow. Look- thanks f’r lookin’ at Grease. We’ll see this ‘nother time.”

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As darkness shrouded the small town of Wheaton, Douglas’ eyes weighed heavily as he pounded a nail into the wooden plank. The monotony proved to have a lulling effect but he’d learned not to fall asleep from previous injuries that’d cost him the tip of his ring finger. He’d also learned to ignore any distractions- rain, hail, yelling kids, even fire alarms.

Unfortunately, a cat leaping on one’s workbench was a bit out of his ability to ignore.

“Grease. Off.” The cat purred softly as she wove between the legs of Doug’s project, right up to the carpenter to rub against him in a bid for attention. “I really ain’t up for this, cat.”

Grease paid no attention to how distraught Douglas looked and instead opted for stretching her white paws towards him. In the process, he noticed a bloody mat on her side.

“Y’do somethin’ stupid again?” Grease did many stupid activities- laying on his sawtable, throwing his tools off, going anywhere near his kids, hell, she even approached Doug day after day despite his attempts to chase her off until he finally gave in and let her stay. She was good at finding mice, anyway.

Grease meowed.

“I’ll take ya to the doc. He owes me.” Doug shrugged, abandoning his hammer and nails to stroke at the mat in an effort to assess the damage. When she batted softly at his hand in protest, he abandoned that effort too, shepherding her into the small cardboard box in the corner. The words ‘WOOD POLISH’ had been crossed out and replaced with ‘GREASE.’ Doug’s kids had stuffed the bed with blankets and cat toys in an effort to lure her over- they never actually saw Grease, ever! (She only appeared at night, when they slept.) Now it served the cat well, her black and white form curled heavily in its center and snoring.

“See ya in the mornin’, cat,” Doug murmured, flicking the light and slipping out of the shed.

—

Doug ignored his children’s coos and requests to pet Grease as he hopped into the truck. On the passenger’s side sat the same cardboard box with a cat in it, now adorned with air holes large. “Listen t’James ‘n Arthur! I’ll be back!” he shouted, backing out of the driveway and heading off to the clinic.

The ride was quiet, though Doug expected nothing more. Grease was a sweet cat, and too old to do anymore than sleep and keep his shed mouse free. How she managed to mangle her side, he wasn’t sure.

Luckily, the clinic was just as quiet as well. Amadeus had no overnight patients yet and actually hadn’t opened the clinic yet either, so the yaps of annoying dogs and cries of disgruntled cats wasn’t too much of an issue. Doug tucked the box under his arm, knocked on the door, and then opened it with a huff. “Barlow!”

“Doug! Hi. Have you heard of knocking?” The vet appeared from the upstairs livingspace. Doug observed him to be a wild mess, tangled hair tied back loosely and a sweatshirt and shorts serving as a replacement for his usual scrubs.

“I knocked. Jus’ came in right after.” Douglas plopped the box on the counter. “Found a cat.”

“I can check for a microchip and call its owners,” Amadeus suggested.

“No. I’m not lookin’ f’r her owners. She lives with me. Sometimes.” His gaze shifted from Amadeus’ tired eyes to the box. “She’s hurt.”

Amadeus sighed. “Alright, c’mon. Put her in the exam room.”

They followed the narrow hallway. “Guess I’m here early. She leaves in th’mornin’ and I ain’t tryina let her die out there or nothin’.”

“Thought you hated animals.”

“Yea, I ain’t wanna be near ‘em, but it don’t mean I lack compassion. Grease is a sweetheart.” Douglas wriggled the box a bit, but Amadeus steadied his hand.

“Grease. You named your cat Grease?” Amadeus quirked an eyebrow, opening the door to the exam room and ushering Douglas in. Doug placed the box down.

“Yes.” Douglas failed to elaborate.

Amadeus opened the box as he shook his head, and was met with an awful hiss as a clawed paw went directly for his finger. His reflexes kicked in and he scooted back in time, eyes wide. “...Oh. You.”

“You?” Doug tilted his head.

“I know this cat.” Amadeus peered into the box. Blue eyes glared back. “I treated her. I call her Pepper. She bit me.”

Doug shook his head. “Grease is a sweetheart,” he reiterated, placing his hand into the box.

Before Amadeus could warn Douglas to run, to not do anything so stupid as provoke this obvious devil, he watched as the cat nudged its head against the... nub where a finger should’ve been (he needed to ask about that) and bite gently, not trying to do any more than play. He gawked in disbelief. “..Oh!”

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joyeux noëlle

Blake. A foster child in Doug’s home.

Blake awoke to a heavy weight flopping upon his chest. His hand flew to his nightstand to grab his pocketknife, eyes snapping open and pupils dilated to fight his attacker.

“Blake, Dad says no presents until you get up!” The smallest child, Tony, sat on his chest in red, car-patterned flannel pajamas. “Please?”

“Off me, kid.” Blake returned his knife to the drawer with a soft clunk, sighing softly. “I’ll be over.”

Tony grinned at him before fleeing the room. The giggles from the living room meant that Blake had to pull on a shirt and pants, lest he scar the children. He was an asshole, but not that much of an asshole.

“Hey, kiddo.” Doug hoisted Tony into his lap, looking no less jolly than Saint Nick himself. “I see y’r awake too, B. Grab whatever’s got y’r name on it. Jess and Lauren are comin’ too.”

Each boy dove into boxes lined haphazardly below the tree. Lauren had wrapped them and Doug had stacked them, and each part was reflected in how neatly they were wrapped versus how awfully they were stacked. James smiled at a new camera bag, Noah hugged a stuffed mallard close. Arthur gasped a soft “yesssss” at new guitar strings and a couple of picks and Tony babbled on about his toy cheetah. Amongst the chaos, nobody noticed Blake sitting stagnantly at the kitchen table, watching the children play. Nobody except Jess, who, along with her mother and a tiny mutt of a dog, had entered the house through the kitchen door.

“Hey, new guy. Why aren’t you down there?” Jess put down a tupperware full of cookies from the café. The dog skittered around on the kitchen tiles, sniffing the house.

“I’m not his kid. Why would I be included?” Blake leaned against his palm, fingertips to his cheek.

“Uh, because it’s Doug. Head down. I’m sure you got something.” Jess followed the pup and her mother down the stairs, leaving Blake to hear the ‘HEY!’ Doug let out as the dog barreled towards the older man, as if it knew damn well he was allergic.

As Doug lectured ‘Ren’ about his allergies and how little he appreciated the dog (‘Skittles, Dad!’ corrected Jess), Blake stalked down. Unnoticed, he picked up a small blue box beneath the tree.

Do me a favor and don’t take some dumb broad to the show.

He pulled the note off and opened the box, revealing two concert tickets. Majory Blues, a band he adored. His lips threatened to curl into a small smile, but he sighed instead.

Merry Christmas, he thought.

—

Doug. A single parent and the town carpenter.

Doug watched his boys tear into gifts with a gentle sigh. Lauren sat beside him, her lengthy black hair tied back in a neat bun and secured with a chopstick. He leaned on her without another thought as his mind blanked.

Christmas was never his favorite holiday. It’d been his husband, Craig’s, but that didn’t really matter now that he’d gone missing. Still, he felt a sligh tinge in his heart. Or, perhaps in his sinuses, since that stupid dog hopped into his lap once more.

“Ren, did y’,” Doug sneezed loud enough to wake the entire town. “Have to bring that thing?”

“Skittles is a part of the family. Plus, he ate a Christmas wreath, so we can’t leave him in the house alone anymore.” She laughed softly at Doug’s pout. “Sorry. I’ll get you allergy meds as a gift next year.”

“Thanks, ‘Ren! Maybe in the meantime I’ll have an allergy attack and die.”

She snorted in response. “Don’t be dramatic. I brought cinnamon raisin cookies if it makes you feel better.”

“...Yeah, that softens the blow. I’ll give ya this one.”

Doug smiled. His holidays consisted of his family, of the way Lauren wrapped her arms around him like the sister he never had, of sneezes from that stupid mutt Skittles, and yet... he wouldn’t trade it for a thing.

—

Amadeus

Amadeus lit a candle at the dining table. He felt around in his freezer for a frozen dinner, chucking it into the microwave haphazardly.

Being far from family meant that he couldn’t physically celebrate with them. Being new to the town meant he had no friends to celebrate with. So, lucky him, he spent the holiday with a preservative-filled “turkey” dinner and a tablet that he desperately tried to get connection on.

Illuminated by only the candle and the tablet, the doctor took the first bite of his meal. The intro to his favorite show began- a stupid doctor drama that he found imself intrigued by.

im tired tldr his dad’s sick and hes a lil upset

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just jiggle it a little!

Amadeus’ eyes felt heavier than the cardboard box full of kitchenware he clung to. Night settled nicely upon the small town, blanketing it in silence broken only by the chirps of overlyactive crickets. The moving truck had arrived that night and, not wanting to pay another day’s worth of fees, Amadeus attempted to unload it all then after a full day’s work. Boxes upon boxes stood stacked in front of his clinic and the kitchenware finally made its way on top of them.

The doctor warily tugged at his door handle.

Nothing.

His eyes snapped open as he wriggled the handle futher. The door must’ve slammed and locked while he grabbed boxes. Amadeus lurked around the edge, pressing his face against the glass of the window overlooking the receptionist’s desk. A lanyard with a bundle of keys and a doe keychain remained on top of it, the doe smiling widely from its place below the clinic key.

“God damnit.” Amadeus pulled back, fumbling with his phone. The blue light illuminated his face as he typed ‘locksmith’ into GorgleMaps.

Maverick’s Locks. Open 7am-6pm. 45 minute drive.

8pm, read his watch. “God damnit!”

He went over his options. With the locksmith being closed, he was forced to go in the morning. It wasn’t set to rain or snow, and he doubted anybody would steal boxes of scrubs in this town, so he at least didn’t have to worry about that. All he needed was a place to go, but unfortunately, he only knew a couple folks in town.

—

“Noah, brush your teeth.” Douglas picked the boy up beneath his arms, hoisting him onto a stool in front of the sink. Another tiny figure scurried through the hall. “Tony, get back in bed! You have school tomorrow!”

With all the chaos, Doug didn’t notice the polite knocking at the door, so it was no real surprise to anyone except Amadeus that Arthur answered rather than his father.

Amadeus perked up. “Arthur? Où est ton père?”

“Ne parlez pas francais! Il ne parle que anglais. Voulez-vous être bizarre?” Arthur pressed the heel of his palm into his temple. “Ugh. Sorry, some people get freaked out by foreign languages here. I didn’t even hear what you said.”

“I asked where your Dad is.” Amadeus smiled meekly, though it faded as Arthur did a full 360 and cupped his hands to his lips.

“DAD, THE DOCTOR GUY IS HERE!”

“WHICH ONE?” came the voice from the bathroom, a chorus of giggles escaping a child as he was placed back into his bed.

“THE TALL ONE WHO ALWAYS LOOKS LIKE A DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS. Y’KNOW? EYES TOO BIG KINDA GUY?”

“BARLOW?” The voice drew nearer.

“YA, THINK SO.”

“Yeah, y’r Barlow alright.” The bearded man emerged from the hallway donning nothing but grey sweats and the bun his hair was tied back into.

Amadeus felt his face go warm. “It’s uh, Amadeus actually,” he murmured.

“Yah, well, I ain’t one t’use first names lightly. E’ryone gets a nickname or their lastname, I ain’t picky. Betch’y’aren’t here to talk ‘bout nicknames though, yeah?” Douglas nudged Arthur out of the doorway and the boy retreated to the kitchen, where he was both within earshot and within snacking range.

“Uh. I got locked out of the clinic. The locksmith’s in town, but he’s closed until morning. I was... wondering if you knew a place to stay? There are no hotels, and-“

“Yah. Take the couch, I ain’t picky. If my boys bug ya I can send ya to my neighbor since it’s jus’ her ‘n my goddaughter, but y’ain’t seem like a man who’s real good with women.” Before Amadeus could ask him to elaborate on that last bit, Douglas turned around and trotted through the kitchen. “C’mon then, ain’t any need t’gawk.”

Amadeus followed blankly. “Nice place...?”

“Thanks. Built a lotta it.” Wooden furniture dotted the kitchen. The trend continued as they entered the living room, a quaint area with a large and push couch. Crayon scribbles made their way over the walls. “Kids added the drawin’s. Obviously.”

“Ah. You... certainly have a lot.” The doctor sat down on the sofa and sleep loomed over him threateningly.

“I guess. How’d ya lock y’rself outta the place, by the way?” Doug opened a cabinet in the living room and Amadeus simply admired him, dazed and drowsy and vaguely concerned about how seeing the other man in such a state made him feel. A thick blanket was tossed onto him.

“Unpaking boxes. Wind probably shut the door behind me.”

Douglas chuckled. “Remind me t’make ya a doorstop, yeah? Maverick can getcha sorted. She’s a good one.”

Amadeus was far gone though. He curled up, listening to Doug talk to the boys about helping ‘the doc’ move in the next day.

—-

“Doc’s a dumbass,” decided Arthur.

“You’re a dumbass. He literally kept you from killing me,” Blake retorted, kicking him in the ankle.

“He locked himself out. He doesn’t even know about the jiggle method!”

James piped up from the bottom bunk. “You maybe should tell him that then!”

“Oh, yeah. Lemme tell the doc who’s already got dirt on me that I can get into his house at any time. Are you stupid?”