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Lawrence was trying to catch a few winks during his office hours, feeling safe to do so as he was not expecting to have any students taking advantage of them this young in the semester other than the first few days. He was still conscious enough to catch the rapping at the door, sniffing as he straightened himself back up at his desk and put his glasses back on. “Yes, come in.”
The door opened only halfway but he recognized it as being Oppenheimer, those piercing blue eyes and wild locks of hair unforgettable when he stopped by to greet Lawrence in the lab earlier that week. Oppenheimer’s smile still seemed as bright and enthusiastic as it did then, although Lawrence would expect that to change towards the end once he gets to the grading process. “Oppenheimer. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing. I just stopped by to give you this.” Oppenheimer pushed the rest of the door open to reveal he was holding a single white rose in his hand. The quirk of Lawrence’s eyebrow must have gotten his attention because he went straight into his explanation before the question could be asked. “Ah, yes, you must think this peculiar but I have an interest in languages, you see, and that includes floriography, the language of flowers. Communication with flowers has been around for thousands of years but it has become more well known as of last century, and people would use floral dictionaries to send coded messages in the form of bouquets to express how they felt and– oh, dear. I must be boring you, doctor.”
It wasn’t boredom that must have made Lawrence look like his eyes were glazed over, but Lawrence shook his head anyways trying to right himself. “No. No, I was just in awe of your vast capacity for knowledge. So what does this one mean?”
“Oh, white? White is usually associated with innocence and purity but, in the case here, it is also for new beginnings. That is why it is also appropriate for weddings and funerals, as they are the start of a new part of the life cycle. And I thought it would be an appropriate gift to the faculty members here as I begin a new phase of my life with all of you.”
“That or you just wanted an excuse to show off that big brain of yours.” Lawrence smiled as he watched Oppenheimer look down slightly embarrassed that Lawrence might have sniffed out his motive. “Well thank you, I’ll accept it.”
Oppenheimer placed it on his desk, back to the same beaming smile he had when he walked in before awkwardly excusing himself from the office to go get ready for his one pupil. The best Lawrence could do was fill a mug with water to place the rose in on his desk before he went to his own class, the encounter with Oppenheimer beforehand still hanging in the back of his mind throughout his instructions. Before heading home for the day, he decided to stop by the UC Berkeley library and look up books on floriography, just to see if what Oppenheimer spoke about was correct. He was indeed, but seemed to omit the part that the number of the flowers did some of the talking, and Lawrence wasn’t sure if Oppenheimer didn’t mention it because it was unimportant or if he really was trying to say ‘love at first sight’ as written by the ‘1 rose’ in the book.
—
Oppenheimer asking to be put in the room next to the lab made it much easier for Lawrence to sit in on his lectures while taking a break or Oppenheimer to watch them work in the lab on Lawrence’s cyclotron. Each of them being inquisitive of the other’s work meant lengthy discussions that couldn’t be contained to just the classrooms, finding them spilling over to lunch together or casually meeting off campus. Lawrence couldn’t recall anyone he had become faster friends with and admired so much that he couldn’t help but light up everytime Oppenheimer chose to grace him with his presence, even if both of them had other things to do. He always had time for-
“Oppie!”
The name just left Lawrence’s lips one day with no pre-meditation, drunk in celebration of the cyclotron finally being completed as he lifted a champagne bottle towards the door where Oppenheimer was sticking his head inside, clearly being alerted to the cheering coming from the next room over. “It’s finished! Come, celebrate with us!”
The theorist only stayed long enough for a drink, excusing himself from the dinner invitation as this was the experimentalists’ victory and he was merely only a spectator on their progress. Lawrence did his best to hide his disappointment but didn’t press any further; there would be plenty of time for them to bond over the cyclotron in the future when he was a little less hungover, as he was starting to regret not canceling class the next morning as he made his way towards his office. But that feeling went away (except for the headache) when he saw Oppenheimer standing eagerly outside his office door, clearly waiting for him to arrive.
“How long have you been there?”
“Since when you are first listed to be available for office hours.”
“Yes, I know I’m late,” Lawrence said with a light hearted laugh. “Miracle I’m here at all.”
“Well you deserve it. Here.”
Lawrence had to squint his eyes to make out the bright bouquet of yellow and pink roses Oppenheimer was presenting him with. “Ah, so is there meaning behind this one as well?”
“Ah, yes. Yellow roses for friendship and light pink for admiration, as you have already become a dear friend and I greatly admire what you have accomplished.”
“Thank you, Oppie. I-I mean Oppenheimer, sorry I-”
“No, Oppie is fine. I don’t mind as I know the full name is a mouthful to say.” Even in Lawrence’s state, it didn’t go unnoticed that Oppie’s cheeks flushed a bit. “Anyways, I must go prepare for today's lesson.”
The last thing Lawrence wanted to think about was having to instruct in a couple hours, wondering if he could just sleep some beforehand. But after Oppie helped him get settled in his office, his attention turned towards the bouquet left behind. He counted four yellow and three pink for seven total, and his curiosity of what this bouquet might be telling him outdid his need for a nap. It wasn’t long before he sucked it up and went to the library, this time just checking the book out to read at the comfort of his office desk.
“Alright, Oppie. What secret message are you telling me this time?”
He flipped open to the numbers chart, slipping a finger down to the line that said ‘7 roses’, reading it several times over to make sure the number and reading of ‘I’m infatuated by you’ lined up together. But there was no mistake, that’s what was listed there. Still, it could all just be a random coincidence. It was weird enough to have an uneven number of yellow and pink–wait, no. One of the yellow had red tips. Thin, but unmistakable once Lawrence got a good view. So the yellows and pinks were even, it was just this one anomaly hidden amongst the rest.
Lawrence thought maybe Oppie just didn’t notice it when he picked the flowers out, because when he went back to check the color listing and saw ‘I’m starting to fall in love with you’ by the red-tipped yellow roses line, he thought surely that must be a mistake. Surely. But even in the short time he’s known Oppie, when has he ever known him to make a simple one like this? They have been spending more time together than they do with other colleagues, and if Oppie was like him, his main social circle while still being relatively new in the area would mainly just be other faculty and students. Lawrence tried to think of how Oppie specifically acted around him, or how he himself acted around Oppie, as he might have been subconsciously giving signals he didn’t realize he was giving. And while he knew this wasn’t something either of them should be pursuing, he couldn’t help but feel titillated at the taboo thought of being courted by a man, especially one like Oppie.
And once again, Oppenheimer and his damn roses weighed on his mind during teaching and were far more distracting than the continued congratulations he got from his class as he showed them the completed cyclotron. Oppie would still be lecturing by the time Lawrence finished, and while he usually would go to sit in on the class, he had decided to see if he could play at what he thought was Oppie’s game. He didn’t have time to go buy his own flowers and decided to regift part of the bouquet, browsing through the numbers chart up until ‘7’ to see what was the best thing he could say. Two roses meant mutual love and affection, and yes, based on the color choice he would say the friendship and admiration were indeed mutual if he picked one of each. But there was that tricky red-tipped yellow one, the one that Oppie chose to omit an explanation of. Was it a test to see if Lawrence would look it up and find out what it meant on his own? Or did Oppie really not notice and Lawrence was just overthinking it. Maybe he was overthinking everything. But then again, Oppie also didn’t explain the number of roses meaning anything, and any person who studied floriography to the extent Oppie did would know that was a component of it.
“If you only knew the grief you were causing me at this very moment, Oppie,” Lawrence mumbles as he takes a pink and regular yellow rose and heads towards the classroom, the now decent sized class of Oppenheimer’s just leaving as he waited outside with his two roses in hand for them to finish clearing out before going in. Oppie was busy erasing the blackboard, and for some reason he felt the words he wanted to say to get Oppie’s attention get trapped in his throat until Oppie turned around and noticed him, face lighting up at the sight of him.
“Lawrence! You didn’t stop by during class today. I figured you might have just left straight for home after you were done to recover.”
“I probably should have, but I couldn’t stop thinking about something all day.”
“Oh? What about?”
The way Oppie could just easily present another man with a bouquet of roses clearly wasn’t something that Lawrence was confident in reciprocating, nervously just spitting his explanation out as he held up the two flowers. “I was curious. Curious enough to check out a book on floriography. And I thought, if I’m correct, I would try to send my own message. So here, for you.”
The way Oppie studied the roses with a blank face had Lawrence starting to worry until Oppie cracked a small smile. “You used the ones I gave you? I can tell, this pink one has the same small hole on a petal.”
Well if he could notice that, he sure as hell would notice one of the yellows being red-tipped. “I did not have time to get my own before you left for the day.”
“So these feelings are mutual?”
“Of friendship and admiration? Of course.” And now Lawrence was worried not giving that red-tipped one back would make Oppie feel dejected as if he was implying they were friends and only friends, nothing more to come. “I mean, I’m not opposed to more.”
Oppie cocked his head in question. “More what, Lawrence?”
“More… more mutual feelings?” Christ, he wished he was doing this when he had at least a full day beforehand to think clearly.
“Go home, Lawrence,” Oppie said–to Lawrence’s relief–with a smile as he ushered his friend to the door. “You deserve the rest for your great achievement.”
Lawrence returned the smile, feeling better about the situation. “I still would love to celebrate with you personally, even if you were mainly a spectator of the project. How about dinner on Saturday? Just us so we can discuss these theories you wish to try out on it.”
“I would like that very much.”
—
By the time Saturday morning rolled around, Lawrence had enough time to reflect on every significant interaction he had shared with Oppie and how he personally felt about the man beyond the walls of the institution. Eventually he just had to ask himself that if Oppie left–say, stayed full time down in Pasadena–would his life be emptier, and there was no doubt to him that it would. But to take their relationship beyond friendship would not be without risks and secrecy, and the real question was would that be worth it? The only way to find out would be if they tried, and now it was Lawrence’s turn to try to construct his own boutique without Oppie’s own flowers as part of it.
He started with picking a number, the ‘be mine!’ of a dozen would probably be overkill, especially if the red-tipped one he received was a mistake. Half a dozen still conveyed ‘I want to be yours’ in a more subtle manner. Then he came to the colors; he needed to at least have more than one red-tipped yellow so Oppie knew he didn’t recycle his again and that there was no mistake that he did understand the meaning. He could just split it in half–three and three–but for all the distress of Oppie just placing a different one on its own, Lawrence thought maybe just one other color in the bouquet would let Oppie know he was being deliberate in his choices. The finished product was the five red-tipped yellows surrounding a single coral one, a color that apparently meant interest, passion, and desire that conveyed ‘you have my attention’. Well, J. Robert Oppenheimer certainly did have Lawrence’s attention, and he was just praying that this gamble didn’t blow up in his face.
Lawrence caught himself taking more time to get ready as if he needed to make a good first impression all over again, making sure every hair was in place and clothes were pressed. He didn’t realize how nervous this would make him feel, but he took it as a sign that it was because he truly cared about the outcome being positive and what it could mean for them as opposed to just trying to decode Oppie’s intentions. But those nerves were starting to get to him physically by the time he got over to where Oppie was staying, and he was half-tempted to turn around and head home when he didn’t get an immediate answer at the door in case he really was going to be sick.
“Lawrence! … Lawrence?”
“I… I… do you have a bathroom?”
It didn’t help matters that Oppie looked more handsome than Lawrence recalled, dressed equally as nice as Lawrence as if he also took this to be just as special an occasion as he did. Lawrence awkwardly thanked him and handed him the bouquet, briskly walking off to deal with his situation. This issue wasn’t brand new–he had experienced similar pain a couple times recently–so as much as he wished to put the blame solely on his nerves, he was starting to wonder if maybe he should bite the bullet and go to his doctor. But right now he was just hoping he didn’t completely embarrass himself by taking way too long in another man’s bathroom.
“I am sorry about that,” Lawrence said humbly once he finally felt calm enough to emerge. “That was not how I wanted this to go.”
“Are you well enough to go out? May I get you anything?”
“Water, if you don’t mind.”
Oppie went to fulfill Lawrence’s request as Lawrence’s eyes wandered to discovering Oppie had enough time to place the bouquet in a vase. He doubted Oppie would be interested in him that much if he knew the trouble he just went through, and Lawrence wondered if his suffering was because he unknowingly had to sell his soul to some being in exchange for the success of his invention.
“Yes, by the way.”
Lawrence turned his attention back towards Oppie and took the glass of water from him, thanking him and guzzling it down like he’d been thirsting for days before handing it back to him. “Yes what?”
“Yes, to your question.” Oppie smiled, nodding his head towards the roses as he set the glass down. “Yes, I will be.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Oppie reached up to pull Lawrence’s face down for a kiss; somehow those lips were softer than Lawrence had imagined, even with them always pressing a cigarette or pipe between them. He wished it lasted longer, but as long as his health didn’t falter the rest of the night, he was sure there would be another by the end of the night.
“I knew you would be intelligent and inquisitive enough to figure out the number code.”
“And it never occurred to you it might just be easier to ask if I was interested the normal way?”
“Since when did modern society consider two men courting to be normal? For all I know, your Midwestern upbringing would have beaten the immorality of that into you.”
Somehow Oppie was not too far off, but luckily Lawrence had no lasting scars to bear. “It is not something to be public about, but I do not mind trying to make the best we can out of it. Besides, I always knew you as a theorist would need an experimentalist for a partner, in more ways than one.”