Chapter Text
Oscar hefts the last of his boxes up to his new apartment. Not that he has a lot of his things to begin with. It's mostly boxes full of papers and study materials. After all, he had moved here to be nearer to the hospital where he'll be doing his clinical placement. The place is decently priced for a student, a single-room which feels like a luxury for him, and he can save time on transport. Precious time that he won't be having much of, seeing as he'll be juggling his coursework along with his placement, a necessary sacrifice for someone on the fast track to graduation.
Oscar’s already gone through the whole induction process, a whole programme that had spanned the whole week. He had been lucky to meet Alex, a guy he would readily describe as nice, and George, Alex's best friend who is as British as they come and is probably a model in another life. They've both been through their placements there, before being two of the only ones who were offered to convert into full-time. They had taken it upon themselves to mentor Oscar, although he thinks coddle is a more suitable word to describe how they actively seemed to want to baby him. He's only a few years younger than them. He doesn't know why they're treating him like a newborn foal, but if it means making working life slightly less lonely and infinitely more entertaining, Oscar will gladly accept their company.
Alex had been the one to suggest this place when Oscar had brought up wanting to move somewhere closer to the hospital.
“I have a friend—Lando—his place is quite… peculiar,” Alex had said.
“Out of your budget, for sure,” George had quipped, to which Alex had shushed him for being ‘mean to the new kid’.
Alex had forged his way through, “No, but. The blocks opposite. I heard they're pretty cheap. Lando says the one directly in front of his balcony has been unoccupied for months now.”
The name had been unfamiliar, fizzling out of Oscar’s memories instantly.
“I reckon there's probably a reason for that,” Oscar had pointed out quizzically.
“Yeah, it's too cheap,” Alex had insisted.
And because too cheap also translated to perfectly within his budget, that was how Oscar had met up with the landlord, signed his lease, collected his keys, and moved in—all within the span of three days. Now it's the end of the week, Oscar has a day off tomorrow so he really should be utilising his free evening, so he finally has the time to sort out his living situation. He takes stock of what he has in the little one-room apartment, the belongings he'd brought along only filling up three cardboard boxes, with next to no progress being made to his unpacking as he'd aborted that after he'd barely amassed the energy to pull out just enough clean changes of clothes to last him the week.
His fridge is completely bereft, and the only furniture he has in here is the sofa that has probably irreversibly transformed his spine into that of a tortured old man despite it not even being five nights sleeping on it, and a little wooden desk at the corner of the room, paired with an office chair that looks to be fostering a home for mould. Oscar is going to have to throw that out when he gets the chance. After he stocks up on food. Because his stomach is currently protesting the lack of it right now.
He grabs his phone, wallet and keys in that order, before taking the stairs down the four flights, and walking the two blocks over to the convenience store. The air-conditioning whirs noisily, the cashier only sparing Oscar a brief glance before resuming whatever she'd been doing on her phone, and there's one lone shopper currently perusing the refrigerator stocked full with canned drinks, hoodie pulled down low over his head. Oscar squeezes past him, murmuring a soft, “excuse me,” and grabs a sad sandwich, complete with wilting lettuce and soggy tomato slices seeing as his options are limited with the shelf mostly unstocked, from the refrigerator next to the drinks.
When he turns back to squeeze the other way around, Hoodie Guy is shooting a curious look up at him as he flattens himself against the refrigerator doors to make space for Oscar, but coincidentally timed enough that they make eye contact. Oscar finds himself stupidly stunned by the man's eyes, clear under the harsh white lights emitted from the refrigerator. His eyes are a devastating swirl of greens and blues and maybe something hazel. There's a stray curl peeking out from under the hem of his hoodie pulled over his head, but the sight gives the man a soft homely look.
Oscar internally shakes himself, snapping himself out of it, because what is he doing here getting stumped by some random Hoodie Guy in a random convenience store? He offers the man a smile as he shuffles past, dropping his gaze before he can see if the man reciprocates, and goes to get his sandwich ringed up at the cashier. He exhales a soft thank you as he leaves to be polite, although it's probably wasted on the cashier lady who merely grunts in acknowledgement. Her video had still been running on her phone, one earpiece still tucked into her ear, and she'd barely lifted her eyes from her screen. It's alright; Oscar can commiserate. He's exhausted and hungry and it's only been week one of his placement.
He makes it back to his apartment, scarfs down the sad sandwich, sets about cleaning his apartment, making good progress in those few hours, and promptly crashes on the sofa once he's done, back already twinging in that minute it takes for sleep to take him. He'll prioritise getting his bed set up tomorrow.
-
Those plans to get his bed situation settled had been the sleep talking. Because now Oscar is wide awake, realising that the only way he can haul around the bed parts and other pieces of furniture is if he has a car. He doesn't have a car.
Oscar contemplates texting either Alex or George, but he doesn't think he feels comfortable to impose on them on their off days just yet. He'll try and broach the subject when he sees them next week in person. For now, he settles for giving all the rooms a thorough cleaning, including scrubbing the flooring tiles and trying to salvage the mouldy chair—seeing as he can't replace his furniture just yet—and stocking up on groceries to fill up his bereft fridge. He wraps some plastic around the cushion of the seat, lest the mould causes him to break out in rashes or—worse—elicits some kind of allergic reaction.
By the time he winds down for the evening, his apartment feeling much cleaner and his shoulders burning a little from all the cleaning, he doesn’t have much energy left, other than to doze off on the sofa. When he awakens, it’s dark outside, and his stomach is in a disagreeable mood, heckling him for some sustenance that isn’t just the cup of tea he’d had earlier in the day.
He takes a moment to orientate himself, stretching out his protesting back, and finds himself staring at the apartment in the block of buildings opposite. The light is on in the background, a man puttering about visible through the transparent sliding doors. There's something oddly settling about watching that neighbour of his, although Oscar does feel a pang of guilt for being such a creep, using neighbour-watching as a means to entertain himself. It's not the first time Oscar has noticed him. He can't really help it.
Oscar doesn't know what to feel about the guy. He's a mystery, an enigma, an idiosyncrasy to be studied. He knows next to nothing about the neighbour of his, apart from the fact that he, like Oscar, lives on the fourth floor
Here's what Oscar does know about the guy:
He spends his mornings fighting to tame his curls, filling Oscar with the irrational, overwhelming urge to tear those rough hands away and run his own fingers through the hair to see if it's as soft as it looks.
He works out on the balcony, shirtless, like an asshole.
He chugs vodka straight from a bottle, likely with a one-way wish ticket to liver disease.
He's the most inconsiderate neighbour in the whole building, blasting twangy country music from his speakers at three in the morning. Or maybe he's been living in a cave for most of his life and has never seen or heard of headphones. Who is Oscar to judge? Maybe he should get him a pair as a belated housewarming gift.
Lastly, his walls are fluorescent yellow. Which. Is a choice. Oscar is forever going to associate that colour with the man now.
So, yes, Oscar has noticed some of these useless details. Maybe he's mostly running on three hours of sleep for most of the week, he's stuck spending his evenings working on his paper, eating wilted convenience store sandwiches or pasta straight from a pot. He finds his joys where he can. And that just happens to come in the form of an eccentric neighbour.
-
It’s early when Oscar arrives at the hospital. He heads straight to the back to don his scrubs, and he finds George there, sipping on his coffee while scrolling on his phone. George looks up when he enters.
“Oscar! Good morning,” George greets.
Oscar can only summon up a soft grunt of acknowledgement, only belatedly realising that that’s quite rude and instantly sobers up in mortification, but George simply laughs.
“You get used to it,” George says. “Packed day?”
Oscar bobs his head to the sides. “Just some shadowing, making my rounds around the wards, blood tests.”
“Let me know if you need any help.”
The smile George gives him is sincere, and Oscar can only nod gratefully.
But Oscar finds that to be a problem, struggling to speak up and ask for help. The morning slips from him before he can pluck up the courage to ask George about a possible ride. And then he lets the opportunity to ask Alex when Alex comes in for the afternoon shift go, opting to listen to Alex regale stories about what his cats got up to that morning.
Oscar gets sent home with a stack of case notes to write up, opens his door and is greeted by the sight of his coursework study materials, and eats the leftovers in his fridge. He only makes it halfway through his case notes, doesn’t even get the chance to touch his study books, before he gives up, shoving everything aside to call it a night. He sleeps on the sofa and wakes up a few hours later, neck and back and shoulders battered.
-
It’s pitiful, but Oscar barely has time for anything besides working, studying, and greatly considering the merits of getting a bed delivered, even if the delivery fees will be quite costly. He gets his moments of reprieve when he looks straight up and across, catching glimpses of his neighbour. He wonders what his life is like, whether living in that fancy apartment block of his gives him a better perspective on life.
Oscar takes the stairs when he heads down to the store, guilt-tripped into finding any scraps of exercise to make up for what he’s been neglecting. But it does feel good to get some movement in. He should take up a gym membership—he can probably get some studying in at the same time by listening to his audiobooks on the treadmill.
On more than one occasion, he sees Hoodie Guy, always with his hood up. They don’t really talk, but it’s nice to see a familiar face. Even if Oscar hasn’t exactly seen the guy’s face.
-
The coffee is hot, soaking through the fabric and scalding his skin.
“Why is a student here? What are we, a zoo? I want real doctors,” the patient spits, unpenitent.
Oscar shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, dimly registering the doctor—Mark—telling him to get cleaned up and changed, and to take a breather while he’s at it. Oscar is grateful, doesn’t argue, and doesn’t look back at the patient who is grumbling curses at his retreating back. Mark’s voice is soft and soothing, attempting to get the old man to calm down.
Oscar just wants to peel the soaked scrubs off and get something cooling for his heated skin.
-
The country music from the balcony opposite is loud. It's late, Oscar's had a long day. It should be distracting.
Oscar smiles down at his textbook.
-
Somewhere in between his daily neighbour-watching and the purely coincidental convenience store run-ins, Oscar realises that his neighbour and Hoodie Guy are one and the same.
Hoodie-slash-Neighbour Guy jerks his chin in an up-nod when they pass each other by at the entrance. Oscar notes with startling familiarity the colour of his eyes from that first day in the convenience store, and the stray curl peeking out marginally more recognisable now that Oscar has seen the man's full head of hair already.
Oscar dips his head back in greeting. And then they're moving past each other, worlds orbiting past. That's it for that interaction.