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0.
"You need better skincare."
Tol murmurs, out of nowhere, as they break apart from the good-morning kiss. His palm is still lingering on Tin's cheek.
"...Huh?" The ER doctor, still with hair more ruffled than Zebra's, non-responses. He is clearly just half-awake ahead of his morning shift. On this Saturday, he only gets the afternoon off.
Tol's fingertips gently traced down the face of a grown, working, and overworked man. Having joined the working population himself for a few years now, Tol knows what prolonged stress feels and looks like. It's not like his own skin is as vampire-shiny as back in the school days either. But still. "...Have you been eating your five fruits and veggies a day, even." He sighs softly.
Tin blinks slowly, by now visibly more awake. "...Skincare? Why would I need that? I don't need to go and attract anyone. I already have a fiancé." With a soft gleam from the corner of his eyes, he gives the ring above Tol's knuckle a poignant rub.
Tol laughs. "C'mon, you need a better shave too, to be honest." With that, he ushers his fiancé into the bathroom.
1.
Tin used to like fruits more as a young child, but all that sugar from years of Redbull in med school has probably messed up his taste buds. He isn't in the habit of taking a lunch box of the likes of salads either, given the abundance of fast, tasty take-outs around the hospital that always come with precisely three slices of cucumber or a single leaf of lettuce. Tol's probably right -- forget about of five, that's more like 0.5 a day. At any rate, he won't say no if his boyfriend-fiancé-housemate serves it to him. Assuming that's what Tol is attempting.
The aroma of omelettes is in the air as Tin steps out of the bathroom. Having mastered the culinary art, this is what Tol offers on weekends where Tin still needs to go to work. The cats are already fed and happily lounging inside the rectangle of sunshine through the glass door to the patio. Wiping his half-wet hair with a towel, the corners of Tin's eyes crease as he watches his boyfriend meticulously cuts a red Fuji apple into two crisp halves on the chopping board.
Without turning around, Tol notes the attention. He continues his preparation with some pride. How hard could it be to cut an apple into those coreless, bite-size wedges, laid out seductively on an elegant celadon porcelain plate, just the way the helper lady at his parents' house always serves them... Ouch!
Tiny droplets of blood seep from the cut on the tip of Tol's finger, like the unnamed frustration from his heart. Tin rushes towards him. This is nowhere near what they've been through countless times, but the concern in the doctor's eyes is just the same. With a face bordering stern, Tin whips out the first-aid kit under the kitchen counter, gives the shallow wound a resolute wipe of ethanol, and wraps a bandaid over it. None of these requires the expertise of an ER doctor, but Tol doesn't mind. There should be a joke somewhere about making Tin start his shift even earlier, but Tin doesn't say it. The reprimand in his eyes is also left unsaid.
"I thought you were going to put that finger in your mouth, " Tol says, somewhat seductively.
Tin sighs, relenting. "This is real life, Nong, not some silly rom-com."
"What's wrong with rom-coms? I enjoy quite a handful of them." Tol pouts a little before biting into the wrecked half of the apple. This will be his way of serving it then. Tin doesn't seem to mind, as he picks up the other half from the chopping board.
"Seudan -- that's my breakfast, not yours."
As they sit down around the coffee table, Tin's brows are still somewhat furrowed: "Aren't there apple cutters we can get? Safer to use. I remember spotting these things on the second floor of Ikea last time."
"Ikea?" Tol retorts while chewing his omelette. "Keeping a piece of apparatus around just for apples, that's too farang." He's pretty sure the helper lady never needed such things over the decades. "It's not surgery," he added.
"...Or just get the ready-cut ones from 7-11." Tin shakes his head as he sips from his coffee cup with a slight hum. What a shame he has to leave the house in the next twenty minutes.
Refraining from more cutting with a wounded finger, Tol sticks a pack of precisely three bananas into Tin's bag instead of the juicy big pears he originally had in mind. "We might find some similar cutter at the weekend market just as well," Tin loops back to the idea as he puts on his shoes. "We can meet there for lunch. I'll text you."
Tol nods, glancing at the little blackboard hanging by the door. It's already filled with the likes of "replace garden lamp", or "pick up cat litter". There is more than enough to keep him occupied during Tin's shift. "See you there, P'Tin."
"Behave," says Tin, pressing a gentle smooch to his forehead.
Tol grimaces a little at the implication otherwise. He adds "get fruit cutter (ikea?)" onto the blackboard as Tin's car pulls out of the garage.
2.
Tol washes his hands over the bathroom sink after hauling the bags of cat litter into the house. It's now less than an hour from the end of Tin's shift, but he has been feeling unsettled for quite some while. Getting a cut and seeing blood first thing in the morning is never a good omen. An apple a day... keeps the doctor away? Darn it, forget about apples in this house then. Tol resorts to his phone as distraction from any unscientific thoughts.
That does not help. The first image of an accident at a suburban construction site pops up. Tol's heart sank. With more news flooding in and the familiar siren of ambulances in the distance, he let out a long heave.
"Emergencies. Sorry. x"
Tin's text, all too curt, arrives in the same minute. There goes their Saturday plans. No matter how hard Tin tries to convince him otherwise, days like this always make Tol feel utterly useless. It takes a strong heart to be the partner of an ER doctor, as Tol is continuing to find out in more ways than one. On days like this, he is jealous of Dr Sing, and Gap, and Fang and Pin -- any and everyone who is fighting by Tin's side.
Even as they all need less Redbull, more proper sleep, and better skincare.
Tol smiles bitterly at his own frivolous thoughts. The cats, as if sensing his distress, gather around. Seudan stays close to his feet, while Zebra jumps into his lap. Tol indulges his fingers in the luxurious long fur as Zebra purrs, kneading. Tol doesn't like to admit it, but the Persian cat's fur often reminds him of Tin's hair, despite the zero resemblance in texture. Just as he is starting to feel more at peace, Zebra jumps away at the vibration of his phone.
"Rit's in town. Korean barbecue for lunch? -- Ark"
The day might still be salvageable. Tol let out a sigh of relief.
3.
Rit's agricultural start-up over in the north certainly has seen its ups and downs, as much as a "regular job" isn't exactly daily euphoria either, according to Ark. And Tol agrees. The meal passes all too quickly amongst merry conversations with a sprinkle of nostalgia.
"What a pity to miss Dr Sing and Gap today. Say hi to P'Tin -- I'll surely be back for your wedding," promises Rit.
With one last pat on the shoulder, Tol sees Rit off alongside of Ark, each holding a gift-packaged bottle of the organic tangerine juice from Rit's farm.
That would count towards the five-a-day as well.
The weekend market is almost finished by this hour. But as a sign of non-defeat, Tol decides to take a stroll all the same. It's much less crowded than the earlier hours, and there are still enough open stalls to browse at. All things considered, one may have better luck finding 20 varieties of mangoes here than a farang fruit cutter. Something else catches Tol's eyes. He walks towards the photogenic stall covered by bright and colorful hand-woven ornaments.
"Take a look, Nong. Pick something for your..." The old weaver smiles, noting the ring on his finger, "beloved."
Tol smiles back. He already has his eyes set on something studded with barbie-pink fluffy little balls.
4.
"Tol, I'm back --"
Tin cuts himself off mid-sentence. The cats are here to greet him at the door as usual. But those matching new collars -- ah, those matching new collars of unmistakable pink. A ghost of a smile creeps up the doctor's exhausted dark eyes. When Zebra takes the lead in darting off at the sound of Tol opening a can at the kitchen counter, Tin is still snapping pictures on his phone.
Tol turns around towards him. His doctor has taken a shower before leaving the hospital. Sure sign of a particularly gory day. Tol swallows.
A real smile emerges on Tin's lips. "Fang needs to see that," he sinks into the sofa, briefly closing his eyes.
Tol comes to his side, standing still. "How was...everything?" He gingerly asks.
"Three cases transferred to ICU." Tin answers him, with the sort of calm after a storm. "No fatalities... so far."
Tol sighs in relief. He nudges closer, reaching for Tin's hand. But half of Tin's body is already leaning into the human warmth, in silence. So Tol holds onto him, his fingers rubbing through Tin's hair in the manner following the doctor himself.
The cats, now having the can open but not being served, start meowing in impatience. Little brats. Tin gets up to do the job, as an exhausted parent would.
"Thank you for the bananas, Tol." says Tin as he scoops the fishy treat out of the can. "They are the most convenient energy snack."
"Well, you are the doctor." Tol takes the cat bowls from his hands, beaming widely. "You know they are better for you than Redbull or iced Americano."
"I don't know about that," Tin grumbles.
"Here," Tol takes out the wholesome treat for themselves from the fridge. "The Internet says that citrus fruits are supposed to be uplifting, and I believe it."
Tin observes the elegant celadon porcelain plate for a moment, before taking up a slice of fragrant pomelo. More slices are laid out there seductively, plump and translucent, the pale flesh impeccably peeled and seeded.
"Mmm, delicious...Did you pick them up from 7-11?"
"I did," Tol admits with the same nonchalance. But the plating is his own work.
"All the better,"Tin chuckles, "I might try to get some at my next lunch break. But for tomorrow, I get the whole day off." His voice softens:
"Promise."
Tol gazes at him with soft eyes. "We can go back to the weekend market, if you're up for it. After you catch up on sleep, that is."
The moment is interrupted by Tin's phone vibrating. Fang's exhilaration comes through with her elaborate gifs. "Quick!! I need more!!" Screams Pin through text.
"You spoil them," Tin isn't really complaining even as he has to chase the cats, who are chasing each other, to pose his phone at the most awkward angles.
Tol presses a hand on his shoulder. His voice sinks low and gentle:
"Can I spoil you too, P'Tin?"
Tin freezes.
"Whatever you're thinking, P'Tin, that's not it." Tol laughs a little as he turns back to the fridge. "I've found another kind of fruit cutter."
Even more astonished than before, Tin stares at the bowl of paper-thin cucumber slices.
"How do you feel about a facial, P'Tin? Skin food counts just as well."
5.
According to Tin's somewhat jumbled memory, this is not the first time of having a beauty mask over his face. Even though he probably didn't write about that in the notes. No wonder it feels like forever ago. A lifetime ago, really. Back when he was trying to attract someone.
Now that someone has just made him use his own fancy face wash that smells as nice as Tol himself, followed by a hot towel press to open up the pores. Lying on the sofa face-up, Tin yields to the indulgence. The first touch of icy cucumber slice makes him shiver just a little.
"Hold still," instructs Tol as he meticulously layers on more slices.
"Mmm..." Tin sighs deeply, "Tol."
"Ahhh stop moving your jaw, P'Tin!!" Tol voices his exasperation as he tries to hold the crumbling slices in place.
But Tin is not feeling obedient. "I feel very well," he pauses, his palm reaching for Tol's hand:
"I feel...happy."
Tol also pauses for a second. The scent of fresh cucumber immerses him as he leans down towards an ER doctor's chapped, under-exfoliated lips.
END