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The key turning in the lock felt heavier than usual. Dennis Whitaker shrugged his shoulder against the door, nudging it open with a weary sigh that seemed to originate from his very bones. A fifteen-hour shift at Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Centre would do that to a person. His black scrubs were rumpled, his auburn hair was left, right, and sideways in dramatic wisps, and there was a faint but distinct smell of antiseptic and stale coffee clinging to him.
The house was dark and quiet. A grumble, low and pitiful, escaped his lips. Of course. Frank was off today. Frank was probably relaxed, well-rested, and had probably done something incredibly productive and wholesome like meal-prepping for both of them or finally reading that book that was stuck forever on his nightstand. Meanwhile, Dennis felt like he’d been wrestling cement mixers and a herd of cats.
He dumped his bag by the door, not caring where it landed. He was mentally composing a text to Frank, not even checking if he was actually texting on his phone. Something along the lines of I am a zombie. A very grumpy, hungry zombie. Please tell me you saved me some dinner. When all of a sudden, a soft click sounded from the living room.
The room was bathed in the warm, soft glow of a dozen flickering electronic candles. They were nestled on every available surface: the coffee table, the mantlepiece, the bookshelves. The air was sweet with the scent of vanilla and roses. And standing in the middle of it all, looking like he’d just stepped out of a sex dream Dennis didn’t know he was having, was Frank.
Dennis’s brain, sluggish from exhaustion, ground to a complete halt.
Frank was wearing a suit. Not his usual very casual off-duty wear, but a suit of the most breathtaking ocean blue Dennis had ever seen. It was the color of Lake Michigan he’d visited once when he went to Chicago; it was the exact shade of a summer sky just after dusk. And it did something incredible to Frank’s eyes. They weren’t just blue; they were the same deep, sparkling azure as the suit, reflecting the candlelight and looking at Dennis with such warmth and adoration that it stole the air from his lungs.
Frank grinned, a slow, knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Farm Boy.”
Dennis just stared, his mouth slightly agape. All the grumpiness, all the exhaustion, had been zapped out of him, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming surge of heat that rushed to his cheeks. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck, painting his face a bright crimson. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled, flustered noise.
Frank’s grin widened. He loved seeing the formidable powerhouse of a second-year resident reduced to a speechless, blushing mess. He crossed the room in a few easy strides.
“You’re… you’re wearing a suit,” Dennis finally managed, his voice a whisper. “A… really, really blue suit.”
“I am,” Frank confirmed, his voice a low murmur. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from Dennis’s face. “And you’re wearing the expression of a man who’s just seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost,” Dennis breathed, finally finding his voice. “Just… the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in, and Frank met him halfway. The kiss was soft, tender, a perfect antidote to the long, harsh day. It tasted of home, and mint gum, and the faint, expensive cologne Frank was wearing.
After a long, perfect moment, they broke apart, their foreheads resting together. Frank’s lips curved against Dennis’s skin as he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, sensual purr that sent shivers straight down Dennis’s spine, “I’ve got a little surprise for you, too. Why don’t you go check the bedroom?”
For a second, Dennis just blinked, lost in the proximity and that voice. Then the words registered. A surprise. The bedroom. He was off like a cheetah, his exhaustion completely forgotten. Frank let out a surprised, delighted laugh as Dennis nearly flew out of his arms and down the hallway.
He burst into their bedroom and stopped dead. Laid out on the bed, crisp and perfect, was a suit. It was a deep, rich indigo, his absolute favorite color. He reached out a trembling hand to touch the fabric. It was expensive, soft, and it was in his exact size. It was as if Frank had somehow stolen his measurements in the night and had it custom-made.
“FRANK!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the apartment. There was no response, only the faint sound of Frank’s chuckle from the living room.
Grinning like a maniac, Dennis tore off his grimy black scrubs, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He pulled on the crisp white shirt, the indigo trousers that fit like a glove, and the matching jacket. He spritzed himself generously with his favourite cologne, the one Frank had bought him for Christmas.
A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it: he looked good. He looked happy and undeniably in love, even if he was a little unrested. He rushed back out to the living room and launched himself into Frank’s waiting arms.
Frank caught him easily, laughing. “Someone’s happy.”
“Happy? Frank, I love it. It’s perfect. It’s my favourite colour. How did you even?!”
Frank shushed him with a gentle finger to his lips, his eyes soft. He then took a moment, his hands moving with the same focused precision he used in the ER. He gently adjusted Dennis’s tousled ducktail. Then, with meticulous care, he reached up and did up the top button of Dennis’s shirt, his knuckles brushing against the skin of his throat. The simple, intimate gesture was more romantic than any grand speech.
“There,” Frank murmured, his eyes scanning Dennis from head to toe with clear approval. “Perfect.”
Dennis felt the blush return, hotter this time. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, but his eyes shone with adoration.
Frank just smiled, his hands coming to rest on Dennis’s waist. “Now,” he said, his voice returning to its normal, excited pitch. “I know how much you’ve been wanting to try real sushi. The good stuff.” He paused for effect. “So I got us a five-course tasting menu at OTARU.”
Dennis’s jaw dropped for the second time that night. OTARU was the newest, most exclusive, and most notoriously hard-to-book Japanese restaurant in the city. People made reservations months in advance. “You’re joking.”
“I never joke about date nights,” Frank said solemnly, his eyes twinkling. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dennie.”
Dennis just shook his head, a wide, incredulous smile spreading across his face. He was exhausted, he was flustered, and he was standing in his living room in a brand-new, perfect suit, about to go to the best restaurant in the city with the man who looked at him like he’d hung the moon. The grumpy resident was gone, replaced by the luckiest man in Pittsburgh.