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Justin Oluransi, M.D., likes it when things go according to plan. There’s a reason he and Jack get along so well; they both have schedules they like to keep, whether it’s going for a morning run past that bakery Jack likes so much or figuring out how much to split the utilities on their rent — “I’m an NHL player, Rans, I’m good for it.” “You are seriously underestimating how much management is willing to pay to get me to stick around another season.” — or setting up the DVR for Degrassi reruns because they haven’t found it on any American streaming service, or the weekly shopping trips where they end up at the bakery’s market booth.
Justin Oluransi, M.D., has a plan for this. Jack always gets flustered at the bakery and the booth, and it’s not too hard to see why. The baker is exactly his type.
And if one Saturday, the baker has a giant blond friend helping him out? That’s exactly no one’s business. Not even slightly relevant to why he’d offered Eric of Bitty’s Bakery four tickets for him and his friends to come to the next Falconers home game.
Georgia gave them without question (see also: trying to get him to stay another year) and now, in the tunnel next to the home bench, Justin Oluransi, M.D., sees the exact moment the plan goes off the rails.
It happens in slow motion. The Bruins forward squares up for a slapshot. Snowy deflects it. The puck goes up, up, up.
Justin swears the whole arena is watching when the puck flies above the glass and over the safety netting and hits Eric’s giant blond friend in the face.
The friend recoils immediately, hands covering his jaw, and Justin’s running through the tunnel even before he hears Jack shout, “Rans!”
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He ushers Eric and his friends into the trainer’s room to get away from the crowd. The blond friend pockets the puck, seemingly amused, and Justin dearly wants to ask him why.
“Figures,” one of Eric’s other friend says. He flattens his mustache over his top lip.
“What does?” Eric asks, forehead scrunched the way it does when he has to tell Jack sorry, we’re out of the apple maple syrup .
“A brah plays hockey all his life, and then finally gets hit in the head at an NHL rink. If this finally knocks sense into you I’m gonna be pissy we didn’t try it earlier.”
The blond laughs and then winces in the span of a second. “Fuck off, Shitty. I could have brain damage.” He meets Justin’s eyes briefly and winks as if to tell him he isn’t actually worried about it.
Justin has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Shitty?”
“His real name is worse,” someone else says. She steps out from behind Eric’s back, dodging both Shitty’s elbow and his exclamation of hey . “I’m Larissa — Lardo — and the guy who just got beaned is Adam.”
“I’m Justin.”
“Justin,” Adam says, like he’s turning it over on his tongue. “Nice to meet you.”
There is absolutely no way he has butterflies in his stomach when he asks Adam to sit on the exam table, absolutely no way he reacts at all to how he can tell from the mirror that Adam checks him out as soon as he turns around, absolutely no way his heart pounds a bit more as Lardo and Shitty give Adam a look. He can’t tell what it means.
Justin’s a professional. He takes a deep breath, picks up his clipboard, and goes back to them, pulling on gloves as he goes.
“It shouldn’t be too deep of a bruise,” he tells them, gently tilting Adam’s head up to the light. Adam’s skin is very, very red and freckled at the corner of his jawbone. Adam’s eyes are very, very blue. Justin swallows. “It hit you flat, right? And the fact that it was deflected should have taken away most of the momentum behind the shot.”
“What’s the treatment plan?” Adam asks, and Justin feels the vibration in his fingertips. He drops his hands like he’s been burned.
He says, “No strenuous movement,” and Shitty whoops.
“No kissing then,” Shitty says, pulling an exaggerated expression of commiseration.
Justin would be blushing if his skin would let him. Adam’s whole face goes bright red, and Justin addresses a freckle buried underneath his eyebrows to avoid his gaze. “That, ah. Depends. On how intense you plan on kissing.”
“How intense do you recommend—”
“Oh my god, y’all,” Eric interrupts, checking his phone, “shut up.”
Justin privately decides to buy out Eric’s whole stock of honey peach pie the next time they’re in the shop. “Here’s some ice,” he says. Adam takes the bag and the Falconers towel without saying anything. There’s still a tinge of pink in his cheeks.
Adam’s friends leave after a few minutes when the crowd roars so loud they can hear it from here. When the door shuts, Justin’s overwhelmingly aware of how alone they are. The clock almost drowns out the sound of his pulse in his ears.
He needs to focus. He drags a chair over from the desk and plops down into it, starting his paperwork.
“What’s that?” Adam asks, and when he turns Adam is so much closer than he had been.
Justin blinks. Adam’s still at least an arm and a half away. Maybe not so much closer, then, just leaning slightly to see what Justin’s writing on his clipboard.
“It’s an accident report.” He’s relieved that his words come out steady. “Just in case something goes wrong longterm. We need it for the rink.”
“Do I get one too?”
Justin lifts the paper slightly to show the impression paper underneath it, and Adam nods, humming. “Okay,” Adam says, and if Justin knew him better he’d label this expression as nervous. “So. You’re the guy who gave us the tickets, right? Jack Zimmermann’s friend from the market?”
“That’s me,” he says. He writes Patient has full memory of the event. “And you’re Eric’s friend.”
“Sure am.” Adam sits up and swings his legs and Justin is suddenly sure he has a lot of restless energy for someone as big as he is. Adam leans in closer now, lowering his voice. “Between you and me, I think Eric has a crush on him.”
Justin smiles. “Between you and me,” he says, and now he leans closer too. “That’s partly why I invited you guys.”
“Knew it.” Adam’s grin is a beautiful thing to behold. “Shitty owes me ten bucks.”
There’s a moment where Justin thinks Adam didn’t all of what he said. He exhales slowly. He’s not sure he actually wanted Adam to ask what’s the other reason you invited us? And then Adam asks.
“What?”
Adam shrugs. “You said ‘partly,’ so I figured there’s another reason.” Justin has no idea how his mild panic is translating to his face, but it’s enough to make Adam backpedal, drawing back to give him room. “Or it’s just an expression! Sorry, I didn’t mean to — assume, or anything like that, I just—”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Justin says, rubbing the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with Adam only for the fact that he’d be disappointed in himself if he didn’t. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah.” Justin considers him frankly. Adam returns the look, and this time he takes in how earnest he is. Adam seems to wear all of his emotions on his face. Justin sees at least five of them flit across in the seconds he studies him. They’re all something in the range of hope.
His next sentence comes out so fast his words nearly bump into each other. “The other reason is because I thought you were pretty and I hoped he’d invite you to come along when he asked for four tickets.”
The hope on Adam’s face seems to bloom into something content and eager, flattered and excited. Justin bites down a grin at the sight of it.
“You think I’m pretty?” Adam says.
He says, “We both know you’re pretty. Have you seen yourself?”
Another roar from the crowd. Justin glances at the door. He and Adam stand up as if spurred by the same thought.
“We should go back to the game,” Justin says at the same time Adam’s saying, “I don’t wanna keep you from your job.”
He doesn’t think it escapes Adam that they both sound reluctant to leave.
“I wanted Bitty to put my number on your receipt when you came in, but he said it had to get turned into the Falcs for party reimbursement reasons,” Adam says, ducking his head. When he comes back up, he adds, “So. That accident report. Does it have your number on it?”
“It does,” Justin says. Something warm blooms in his chest like the best sort of plans. “Does that mean you’ll text me?”
Adam says, “It does,” and there’s a moment when they’re smiling at each other like they each just heard a funny joke they can’t wait to tell again.
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