Work Text:
Tom doubled his typing speed when his office door opened, but he stopped once again when he realized it was just Greg, one hand over his mouth.
“I gotta use your bathroom,” He said, voice muffled.
“It’s a private bathroom, Greg,” Tom answered. “You using it kind of kills the point.”
Greg lowered his hand, showing that his nose was dripping blood, his mouth and chin streaked with it.
“Oh dear lord, go!” Tom gestured at the bathroom door, and Greg hurried past him, trying not to leak on the carpet. “What happened? Were you punched?” He followed Greg and lingered in the doorway while Greg spat blood into the marble sink. “Who hit you? I need to- I need to send them a congratulatory fruit basket.”
“It’s just the dry air.” Greg said, trying to wash his face and splattering bloody water across the countertops. “The air conditioning? It happens sometimes.”
“Tilt your head back,” Tom instructed. He could vaguely remember from youth hockey that that’s what you did for nosebleeds.
“That doesn’t actually stop it, it just, like, like the blood runs down your throat instead. You just have to wait it out.” Once his face was clean enough, he shoved a wad of tissue paper up each nostril.
“Well, feel free to keep spewing your own gore around the bathroom.” Tom said. “Or should I fetch you some tampons? From the Ladies room?” Greg shrugged, examining the bloodstains on the front of his shirt. Washing his face had made the blood already splattered there blossom into a huge pink stain.
“This is my best shirt,” He mumbled. “I’d better see if the blood will come out.”
“We can have it dry cleaned.” Tom offered spontaneously. Greg’s hand stopped on his top button. “Really, I can have it sent down right now. Good as new.”
“What about-”
“I have a spare one of mine you can borrow.”
“Oh, thanks.” Greg smiled, making the bloody kleenex shoved up his nose wiggle. “When do you think it’ll be clean though, ‘cause I was gonna wear it to a thing tonight?”
“I’ll ask. Take it off.” Greg conspicuously turned his eyes away from Tom before he started undoing buttons. Not like the show was even very good, he was stripping to a blood soaked undershirt with visible sweat stains. Tom collected the wet shirt and sent a message to one of the assistants to come collect it and bring him a change. Greg was hunched over the sink, pulling one of his nose plugs out. With it came a long thin blood clot that slapped wet against the bowl of the sink.
“Jesus Christ,” Tom said. Greg hurriedly turned on the tap, sending it swirling down the drain. Tom leaned against the part of the countertop that wasn’t wet.
“So what’s your big event tonight, Greg?”
“Just dinner.” He was trying to clean up around the sink, but mostly just acquiring a large pile of blood-streaked wet paper towels. “Dinner date thing, I guess.”
“Dinner date? With whom?”
“Just someone I met at this-” Greg’s hair had fallen out of place, and now he had to work to keep it out of his eyes, brushing it back a little compulsively. “This party Roman had. It’s not a big deal. We’ve just been hanging out.”
“Of course it’s a big deal! Little Greggy out on the town, spreading his seed willy-nilly.” Greg blushed. “Who is she?”
“Actually, um-” His eyes darted between Tom and the bathroom door for a moment, then he took a deep breath and composed himself. “His name’s Jeffrey. He’s a tech guy.”
Tom raised his eyebrows, grinned at Greg while he tried to think of something to say. Jeffrey?
“Gregory!” He finally got out, far too exuberant. “I didn’t know you had an affinity for the rougher sex?”
“What?” Greg asked, leaning back a little.
“Men!” Tom swung at his arm but Greg stepped out of the way.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a big deal. Like it’s the twenty-first century, people are gay. Or bisexual, or whatever.”
“Oh, for sure.”
“Like, I’m standing here at the- the buffet of life, and I’m only gonna eat the vanilla ice cream? No way.”
“Of course.” Greg glanced down, and Tom was surprised to see that his own hand was a clenched white-knuckled fist. He laughed.
“So where’s Jeffrey taking you then?”
“We’re going- I’m taking him, actually. Technically. To this Italian place?”
“Italian? Is this the 1950s? C’mon Greg.”
“What?”
“No one gets Italian on a date anymore, unless you want your love-making to be interrupted by your clam linguini trying to escape out the back end. I speak from experience.”
Greg opened his mouth to respond, but just then one of the assistants opened the office door.
“This is the one going to the dry cleaners?”
“Yes, be sure to see if they can rush it.”
“Yes Mr. Wambsgans.”
“Thank-You,”
Tom turned back to Greg, still slightly damp, with one nostril still full of bloody Kleenex.
“Tell you what, Greg, I can get you reservations at this amazing sushi place.” He put a hand up, catching Greg’s expression. “Nothing weird, just top-of-the-line sushi. It’ll blow Jeffrey’s socks off. And I can join you for drinks.”
“You wanna come on my date?”
“Well, if there’s a possibility Jeffrey might join the family, I have to vet him, right? Make sure he has good intentions for my little Greg? Make sure he’s not Jeffrey Dahmer? I wouldn’t want anyone eating you.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Greg laughed, then looked at his shoes.
“There’s a new shirt for you.” Tom reminded him.
“Right, Thank-You.” He left the bathroom and Tom followed, watching him fumble with the too-small buttons.
“But seriously, you know the company’s in a bit of a fragile state right now, and people know you’re high up. There’s lots of folks ready to take advantage. If I was seeing someone, I’d want your opinion before I got too cozy.”
“Well, I guess.” Greg said. “I’m pretty sure he just likes me.”
“I’m sure too.” Tom said. “But didn’t you say you met through Roman? He wouldn’t be above sending a minion to seduce you.” Tom laughed at the image.
“No, yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Just drinks. Dinner’s just between you. And you’ll love the reservation.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay, sure, I guess you can come. Just for a bit.”
“We’ll have fun!” Greg had the shirt buttoned now, and Tom stepped forward to smooth the upturned collar. “How’s the shirt?”
“Good, I mean, it’s very nice but it doesn’t really fit me.” He gestured at the sleeves, which ended two inches before his wrists.
“Well, it’s tailored to me, Greg. Not a gibbon.” Greg smiled.
“I’d better get back to work.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Cool.”
“Very cool.”
Greg left, glancing back one last time at Tom before the door closed. Tom sat back down at his desk, and looked at the ceiling for a brief moment before sitting up and typing ‘best sushi restaurants nyc’ into Google. There was a small spot of blood dried onto the back of his hand, from Greg splashing water around the bathroom. Without thinking, he pressed his lips to the spot and licked it up, the taste of metal lingering behind his teeth.