Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mark called from the road. "Hey, you’re coming over on Monday," he told Oliver.

"I can’t, Byron."

"Why not." It was a challenge, not a question.

"I’ve got to teach the zombie kids at 8am on Tuesday. I mean seriously, who thought organic chem at 8am was a good idea?"

"They won’t notice the difference between a tired and cranky professor and your usual rested and cranky self," Mark observed.

"They wouldn't notice if I blew up the classroom," Oliver muttered. "Would you like to tell me what all the fuss is about?"

"Just, trust me," Mark said.

"Bossy today," Oliver responded. "Trust you?"

"Yes, trust me. I know that’s hard for you."

"It’s not…" Oliver now apologetic. "I trust you. But why Monday?"

"It’s a day," Mark answered.

Oliver lost his cool. "Fuck, Byron!"

"Ok, fine. It’s exactly two weeks into February. On Monday," Mark said cryptically.

"And…," Oliver’s brain did 7 times 2 before he could stop it. "Fucking hell, Byron. Are you doing something for Valentine's Day? Please tell me you’re not doing something for Valentine’s Day."

"I’m not doing something for Valentine’s Day," Mark parroted.

"You’re lying."

"You told me to say I’m not doing something for Valentine’s Day, so that’s what I said."

"What are you, like 5 years old?" Oliver now exasperated. "Okay, now tell me the truth, are you doing something for Valentine’s Day?"

"Trust me," Mark repeated.

Oliver went quiet as his brain furiously recalibrated. 

Mark’s kind of a romantic. He could be into Valentine’s Day. On the other hand, he's been totally clear that he’s not into holidays, any of them – way too many complicated associations. Fuck. It didn’t even cross my mind that I should think about this. Are there expectations? Now that we're a thing? Valentine's Day seems too sweet for two old trauma guys. Can two old trauma guys be obviously romantic without getting arrested or something? But what if two old trauma guys have been behaving like Empathy Kid and his Emo Soul Mate? Does that change the equation?

"Oliver?" Mark checked in after the pause lasted just a beat too long.

"Yeah."

"If you’re spinning out because you think you’ve done something wrong here, relax, okay?"

Oliver stayed quiet. He definitely did not yet believe he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

"Oliver?"

"Yeah."

"You with me?"

"Look, Byron, you’ve got to just tell me. Is this like a Thing for you? And it’s totally fine if it is, it just wasn't on my radar, and I’ll apologize now for being oblivious…"

"Stop," Mark interrupted. "It’s not a Thing, and I don’t want to make it a Thing. I just looked at the calendar and saw that Monday was February the 14th, and so I want to see you. It’s not a Thing. It’s just not not-a-Thing."

"Okay, I was with you until the 'not not-a-Thing' thing. What exactly does that mean?" Oliver pressed.

"Oh my god!" Mark let his frustration show. "It doesn't mean anything! No. That's not what I mean. It means I’m happy, okay? I’m happy about you. I’m happy with you. I’m happy in all the ways that make me want to see you all the time, so why not Monday? Nothing fancy, I promise. No flowers, no big embarrassing gestures."

"Okaaay," Oliver hesitated.

"You don’t sound okay."

"Honestly, now I'm really worried I’m going to screw something up," Oliver confessed. "Maybe without even realizing it."

Mark laughed. "It’s pretty fucking adorable that you’re so worried about this, Ol-."

"Well, I mean, yeah, Byron. I…" he trailed off.

Mark filled in the gap. "You hate everything Valentine’s Day stands for, but you don’t want to upset me."

"Yes, and it freaks me out when you do that."

"I’ll see you Monday, Oliver."

"Okay, do I need to do something? Bring something?"

"No, and I promise I am not saying that but secretly expecting that you’re really going to decide to make some kind of gesture," Mark said, pointing out yet another angle that hadn't even crossed Oliver's mind. "You can absolutely just show up here, salty as usual, and I will be thrilled to see you, as always." Oliver didn't respond. "We good?"

God, I fucking hope so, Oliver thought.

Chapter Text

Oliver showed up at Mark’s place on Monday to find nothing fancy, no conspicuous displays of Hallmark affection. He breathed an apparently obvious sigh of relief. 

“Trust me now, Oliver?" Mark poked. "I did say 'nothing fancy'."

"You did," Oliver agreed.

"You didn’t believe me," Mark pointed out.

"I mean, one man’s ‘nothing fancy’ is another man’s…"

"Shut up, I’m teasing you," Mark interrupted.

Mark didn't immediately explain what he had in mind, so Oliver tested the waters. "So, we’re just hanging out?"

"Yes, although I do have an idea, but… you know, if you're not into it…," Mark hedged.

"Okaaay?" Oliver tried to gently nudge some actual information out of Mark.

"I thought we could watch a movie, and I know, I know, that’s not exactly surprising for me," Mark said. "But, you’ve already seen my top picks. And let’s be honest, I do have a soft spot for the rom-coms, so you’ve seen all the obvious Valentine’s Day candidates."

"Yes, yes I have." (... and I should get extra points for those, Oliver thought but did not dare say out loud because Mark was struggling a bit here, and even Oliver knew that Valentine’s Day was not the day to play that card anyway. Plus, to be fair, his constant commentary probably negated any points, and now that he thought about it, he might actually be in the hole…)

"So, I thought to myself," Mark tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but failed, "what kind of Valentine’s Day movie would Oliver enjoy?

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And? Did you come up with any?"

"Maybe. I steered toward the icons of the disaffected and cynical Generation X."

"Icons. Like…," Oliver had nothing in his mental Venn Diagram that overlapped 'romantic icons' with movies of his younger years. Mark let Oliver hang there, stumped. 

"One in particular who’s known for playing an assassin…," Mark hinted.

Oliver’s mind searched for assassin movies. What’s that one in French? With the hit man and the girl? 

"And a record store owner…," Mark delivered another hint.

Assassin overlapped with record store… "Wait, you don’t mean?" Oliver had an idea where this might be going.

"And a guy with a boom box…," Mark said.

"Seriously, Mark. You’re finally agreeing to watch a John Cusack movie. An actual masterpiece."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?!" Oliver spat with hope and outrage.

"You have your choice, actually," Mark explained. "We can watch John Cusack being actually romantic in "Say Anything," or being subversively romantic or anti-romantic or something I can’t really explain in "High Fidelity," or we can decide Valentine’s Day is a commercial plot and go, I don’t know, dump a bunch of chocolate into the Boston Harbor or something."

Oliver was a little gobsmacked. "You thought about this," he noticed, maybe even diagnosed.

"Well, yeah," Mark answered a little shyly. "I mean, a little."

Oliver’s brain recalibrated again. Mark went to pains to make this happen and to keep it in “not a Thing” territory, but also to make sure it landed in something close to Oliver’s comfort zone. This day meant something to Mark, whether or not he would admit it, or maybe even whether or not he realized it. Oliver reached for his phone.

"What the fuck, Oliver!?" Mark exasperated.

"Just hang tight one second," Oliver held him off. Yep, he had the email and yep, they were still open.

"Grab your coat, Byron."

"Huh?"

"It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m taking you out," Oliver announced.

"You are?"

"I am."

"Where?"

"Your turn to trust me. But we should go, so we can get there before they close," Oliver answered.

"What about John Cusack?" Mark asked.

"He hasn’t gone anywhere for what? 20 or 30 years? He can wait."

The evening matched a lot of bleak February days in Boston. The sun had gone down, the cold was damp, and heavy clouds hung. They got off the T and walked. “Are we there yet?” Mark pretended to whine. “Or is this where you’re taking me to dump the body?” he muttered just as they came around the corner and Oliver saw it, the sign barely visible, easy to walk right past, but exactly as Dotty had described it. 

"We’re here," he announced.

Here was Manny’s, the most unlikely cannoli shop in Boston, shoved into a space barely the size of a broom closet. Just as Dotty had foreshadowed, it was lorded over by a caveman, but selling possibly the best cannoli in the city. 

"Whoa! Where the fuck did this place come from?" Mark asked in surprise.

"Right? Best fucking cannoli in Boston, at least according to Dotty."

"Who the hell is Dotty?"

"The departmental secretary," Oliver answered. "She’s been trying to get me out, well I think she’s secretly trying to set me up with her divorced niece, but she keeps telling me to come out and try this place."

"Wait, what?" Mark stumbled. "You didn’t tell her about me, Oliver?"

"She doesn’t know shit about anything, Byron."

Mark couldn’t erase the facial expression that said “hurt” loud and clear.

"Hey, hey, hey," Oliver reassured. "Plenty of people at work know about you, okay. I’m not hiding anything. I just can’t get a word in edgewise with Dotty. She’s a fucking talker."

"Wow. Okay. Now that’s impressive. She can out talk you?"

"You can tone down the shock, Byron."

The meatpacker of a man behind the counter glared. It was five minutes to closing. Almost everything had been sold out in the Valentine’s Day rush. They took two of the last remaining flavor and found a bench outside. A few stray snowflakes started to fall.

“Cheese into dessert. The Italians don’t really get enough credit for this.” Mark said, opening the box, and a mischievous look coming over his face, lifting a cannoli for Oliver to take a bite. “Here.”

The snow fell harder, chasing everyone else indoors. Mark and Oliver unabashedly fed each other cannoli on the park bench amid the flurries, Mark finishing off by taking Oliver’s finger in his mouth to lick off the last of the ricotta. Mark tasted like cream and citrus when Oliver kissed him. 

“You going to tell Dotty about me now?” Mark asked mischievously.

“I am. And she’s going to have a fucking heart attack when she finds out that I finally tried this place. Or maybe she’ll have the heart attack when she finds out I have a…” Oliver stopped. “What do I call you?”

Mark didn't miss a beat. “Bryon, mostly. Mark, once in a while. Sometimes asshole, but to be fair, I usually deserve it,” Mark moved closer. “If you recall, you called me ‘honey’ the other night.”

“Yeah, well you were doing that thing with your…”  Oliver drew in a breath remembering just how strung out with desire he’d been when that came out and then shook it off.

“I mean, what do I fucking call you?" Oliver insisted. "Boyfriend? That seems awfully…"

"Young?" Mark filled in.

"Yeah."

"Partner? Significant other?" Mark suggested.

"God. Could that be more boring?" Oliver groaned. "Makes me think of paperwork and lawyers."

"Yeah, I’m with you there," Mark agreed.

"What do you call me?" Oliver asked.

With a glint in his eye, Mark started to rattle them off. "Cranky old man. World’s most monologuing alchemist. Oliver 'my reputation precedes me' Ritz."

"Ha. Ha," Oliver deadpanned.

Mark tried to recall. "I call you… Oliver? I guess I don’t talk to that many people who don’t already know you. Wait, I did call you my ‘boyfriend’ when I was talking to a couple about maybe shooting their wedding. I think they thought I was grooming an undergraduate or something when I said I had to leave so I could pick you up from the university."

"Oh god. That’s disgusting," Oliver said. "Well, what do you want to call me?"

Husband, some day. The voice in his head answered immediately; total surprising and totally unsurprising at the same time.

Some day. But not today.

“I want to call you fucking amazing, Oliver.” Mark allowed himself a tiny peek into the corner of his heart that he didn’t really want to acknowledge, the tiny hope that wanted to repair a little of the myriad Valentine’s Days lost to captivity, to drink, to cynicism, to loneliness. “This whole… spontaneous cannolis in the park … during a fucking perfect snowfall? … I mean, I don’t remember John Cusack ever pulling something like this off.” 

“Yeah, he was never all that smooth, let’s be honest,” Oliver snarked.

“My guy’s smoother than John Cusack… They’re going to revoke my Millennial license, Oliver.”

"Say that again," Oliver said.

"What? 'My guy’s fucking smoother than John Cusack?'" Mark asked.

“Yeah. 'My guy…'” Oliver repeated back. “I like it, I think that works.”

"You’re going to tell Dotty, 'I took my guy out to that cannoli place for Valentine's Day?'"

"Yep, I am," Oliver answered and they got up to start walking back to the T. "But I am not going to tell her what happened next."

"Why? What happens next?" Mark's unsure whether to brace himself.

"Let’s go home and find out."

"Hm, you going to call me ‘honey’ again, Oliver?"

"If I’m fucking lucky."