Chapter Text
John knew Andrew was waiting for him to leave.
Since moving in together, Andrew made a point to take care of the lions share of the household chores. Partly because John worked long hours, and partly because he knew, as well-intentioned as John was, there was no way the other man would get it Andrew clean. Plus, in a way, he enjoyed it. It was relaxing to methodically go through each room and clean every nook and cranny, to be able to step back and see the difference when he was finished.
When possible, he scheduled his cleaning day for when John was at the hospital. Knowing that if the other man was home, he would try and distract him, or worse, help. This particular morning, John's shift didn't start until midday, so he was laid out on the couch, very aware of Andrew popping his head out of the kitchen every five minutes or so to check whether he was getting ready for work yet.
There was still another twenty minutes before he even had to think about getting up, still in his sleep shirt and boxer shorts. And he was going to make the most of the twenty minutes.
As he half-watched the television, he spotted Andrew appear in the kitchen doorway again, hovering as he cast his gaze over the lounge, lingering on John for a moment before he turned on the spot and returned to the kitchen. Warmth spread through John's chest. “Andrew?” he called out, not moving from where he was sprawled out.
Like clockwork Andrew walked back into the lounge, this time coming further in, stopping beside the couch and looking down at John. Andrew was already dressed, dark jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair fluffy after his shower, the curls soft and bouncy. If John didn't have to go to work, he'd already be running his fingers through it. “You okay?” the older man asked, eyes flicking between John and the clock.
“Sit with me?” John asked, batting his eyes.
Huffing, Andrew looked back at the clock. “Don't you need to get up soon?”
“Please?”
John saw the exact moment Andrew gave in. The way his lips twitched into a little smile, and a warm blush rose on his cheeks before disappearing beneath the freckles again. John let himself be manoeuvred so he was leaning against the older man's chest, his thick thighs bracketing him. Smug, John wriggled to get comfy, delighted when he heard Andrew's sharp intake of breath. Two large hands grabbed his hips, stopping his movement. “You keep doing that, and you'll be late,” Andrew warned, softening the words with a kiss just behind John's ear.
Craning his neck to look his boyfriend in the eye, John grinned, completely unapologetic. “Sorry.” Then collapsed into the bigger man's embrace, turning slightly so he could wrap one arm around Andrew's waist.
“Brat,” Andrew growled, nipping at his earlobe, then soothing the spot with another kiss.
They stayed like that, enjoying each other's company, Andrew's hand moving quietly to John's hair and rhythmically carding through the strands. If John were a cat, he would be purring, the repetitive motion and warmth of Andrew's body lulling him into a stupor.
The shrill ringing of his alarm brought him back to reality with a groan. Begrudgingly, he pulled himself up, silencing the alarm as he stretched out. He felt Andrew move behind him, and half expected to be pulled back into his boyfriend's arms. But he wasn't. Instead, Andrew gently pushed him to the side, eyes focused on the television.
Confused and a little offended, John stood up with a huff, glancing at the television. It was nothing remarkable, just another episode of MasterChef. But Andrew seemed to be entranced by whatever Gordon Ramsey was demonstrating on the screen. Before he had a chance to ruminate on it, his alarm blared again. So he filed away Andrew's behaviour and hurried off to get ready.
Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed, and ready to head out the door, John found Andrew in the exact same position he had left him. “So, you really like MasterChef, huh?”
Those words were enough to snap Andrew out of it, tearing his gaze from the television, tension rippling through his body as he sat up. “No.” he looked up at John, eyes widening as he realised the other man was now fully dressed. “You're leaving?”
“Yup,” John affirmed, moving between Andrew's legs.
“I'll come pick you up; just text me when you're finished,” Andrew instructed.
Scoffing, John couldn't stop the blush rising on his cheeks. “You know I am a grown-up; I can walk home all by myself.”
“I know.”
“But you still want me to text you?”
“Yeah. I like walking you home,” he admitted with a sniff. “Is that okay?”
Blushing hard, John cupped Andrew's cheek, running the pad of his thumb across the older man's cheek. “Yeah, I like when you walk me home too. You going to do the cleaning now?”
Andrew's eyebrows shot up, his gaze quickly flitting to the television and then back to John. “Maybe.”
Laughing, John placed a single kiss on Andrew's forehead, and with a final goodbye, he left.
As with any shift in an emergency department, John had very little time to himself, instead finding himself stretched between patients and staff alike. When he did get a breather, he hid out in the break room, pleased that he had it to himself. Munching on a protein bar, he checked his phone.
(3:15pm) Andy: Do you like artichoke?
(3:41pm) Sent: Sure? I don't think I've had it since I was a kid though x
(3:41pm) Andy: Okay.
He barely had a chance to swallow the last bite of the protein bar before he was called out on the floor again, and the message was swiftly forgotten.
Andrew knew better than to assume that John would finish on time. It didn't stop him arriving five minutes before though, just in case. The staff schedule said John would be there from 12pm midday to 10pm, so Andrew was dutifully waiting in the ambulance bay at 9:55pm.
Winter had well and truly arrived in Pittsburgh; the clouds had been growing all day and snow was threatening on the forecast. Not used to the weather, Andrew was still only wearing his leather jacket; with no winter clothing in his wardrobe, it was the best he could do. John had told him repeatedly to just come into the hospital and wait in the staff lounge when he came to collect him, but Andrew refused, not wanting to get in anyone's way or take up space. He was fine in the ambulance bay, even if his fingers were starting to go numb in his pockets.
He wasn't sure how long he had been waiting when he was approached by a large man in a clerks uniform. He had been stood there long enough for the joints in his hands to have locked up with the cold, and he couldn't recall being able to feel his ears or nose since arriving.
“Hey, man,” Andrew looked up. “What you doing out here?” The man was staring at him, he was easily six inches taller than Andrew, and maybe even a little broader.
“I'm waiting.” he winced as he felt his chapped lips crack.
“Okay. What you waiting for?”
“My boyfriend.”
The man nodded, his breath clouding as he breathed. “Right, he a patient? You want to come in and see if I can find where he's at?”
“No. He's a doctor. I'm here to pick him up when he finishes.” Andrew explained, scowling. “He knows I'm here.”
“Well, I can't let you just hang out in the ambulance bay, I'm afraid,” the man scratched the back of his neck, “had a couple of comments from err, staff. Also, you'll probably freeze your ass off dressed like that. Why don't you come inside? Defrost a bit, and we can see if we can find your boyfriend?”
The man was speaking with a tone Andrew knew well. It was gentle, the way someone may speak to a dog or a child when trying to convince them to do something they'd rather not. He hated it. “I'm fine. John will be out soon.”
With those words, the man's face did something odd, frowning then opening up all of a sudden in realisation. “Wait, are you Andrew?” he sounded almost giddy. Andrew nodded, shuffling back against the wall. “No way! I'm Jerry; Carter has told us all about you, man.” He slapped Andrew on the shoulder, a grin splitting his face. “Wow, he was not kidding when he called you a California boy. You gotta come in, come on-” Jerry didn't wait for an answer this time, just slipping his hand under Andrew's elbow and leading him towards the entrance.
The noise and smell of the emergency room were almost overwhelming as Andrew was dragged in, Jerry still rambling on. He let himself be lead through the stacked waiting room, down a corridor, and into what he assumed was the staff lounge. “You wait here; I'll tell Carter you're in here, okay?” Jerry said, giving him a solid pat on the shoulder. As he left he turned back, “Oh and help yourself to coffee or whatever man; you're freezing,” then disappeared into the corridor.
Andrew didn't move for a moment, taking in his new surroundings, making the most of the warmth slowly starting to creep back into his extremities. The lounge was unremarkable, but at least had more character than the one Jack and Robby had at PTMC. There were two well worn couches, and a small breakfast table with four mismatched chairs. The kitchenette was sparse but tidy, a few mugs soaking in the sink, but clean enough.
There was a coffee pot to the side of the hot plate, steam rising enticingly. He looked over the mugs on the shelf above the pot, picking one with a duck on after checking how clean it was. The coffee, as John had often lamented, was awful. Burnt and over brewed, leaving a sour tang in his mouth, the heat had him draining the cup though and quickly refilling it.
“This lounge is for staff; the friends and family room is down the corridor,” a bored voice announced from the doorway, snatching his attention. There was a man in dark blue scrubs glaring at him, holding the door open like he expected Andrew to leave.
He didn't move, squaring his jaw. “I was told to wait here.”
“You were told wrong. Look man, down this corridor, third door on the right, can't miss it.”
“Jerry said to wait here.” Andrew could feel his heckles raising, tension thrumming through him, as the man continued to match his glare. He knew he should have stayed in the ambulance bay, so what if it was cold?
The man opened his mouth to argue again, but promptly shut it when a figure in a white coat rushed past him. “Hey Peter,” John greeted as he stumbled in, barely sparing the man a look as he noticed Andrew. “Hi,” a grin spread on his face as he locked eyes with Andrew. “You came inside?”
The pride in those words had Andrew rolling his eyes. “Jerry, insisted,” he explained, happily wrapping an arm around the younger man when he stepped closer.
“You're freezing,” John lamented. “Did you only wear that jacket? I told yo-”
“Carter!” Peter yelled from the door. “Who is this guy?” he was still scowling as he looked at Andrew, eyes lingering over where his hand was resting around John's waist.
Blood rushed to John's cheeks, and he quickly unfurled himself from Andrew's grip. “Sorry, um, this is Andrew. My boyfriend.”
It wouldn't be fair to call the noise that came out of Peter a scoff, but it was close. “Right, well, your shift is over. Get out of here okay?”
“Yes sir.” John's smile grew even more. “Just got to grab my stuff from the locker, and we'll be gone. Come on, Andrew, I'll introduce you to Carol and Mark if they're still about.”
As John dragged Andrew out of the staff lounge, Peter called out “Carter, you ever need anything, you know you can just call me, right?” John felt Andrew's hold on him tighten as Peter stared them down.
“Let's go,” Andrew hissed, pulling on John's hand.
Realising Andrew was reaching in limit, John gave Peter a smile, “See you tomorrow, Doctor Benton!”
Not wanting to stress Andrew out more than he already was, John decided to bypass Mark and Carol, instead heading straight for the lockers. Opening his locker, John began rummaging beneath the papers and books.
“You should change your combination; it's too guessable.”
“Hmm?” John continued to rummage, grunting as he balanced a pile of books in one hand.
“If people know we're together, my birthday is the first thing they'll guess,” Andrew's voice was tight as he spoke, hovering behind John as the search continued.
After a bit more shuffling, John turned around victoriously, wielding a hideous ball of what Andrew thought might be wool. “Found it!” he unfurled the ball, revealing a scarf, looking incredibly proud of himself.
Without asking, he began looping it around the older man's neck, shushing him with a laugh when he tried to protest. “It's freezing outside; can't have you getting sick.”
“I'll be fine; I have a good doctor,” Andrew asserted, trying to sneak his hand under the scarf to uncurl it, but John just slapped his hand away.
“Uh-uh, leave it,” the younger man chided fondly. “It also means I can do things like this.” He tugged the two ends of the scarf, making Andrew tumble off balance towards him, and met him with a kiss. “Good, right?” The older man didn't respond, but the blush on his cheeks and smile on his lips told John he had won. “Now, walk me home.”
When they got home, John headed straight for the shower, whilst Andrew got to work in the kitchen. Whenever John worked late shifts, Andrew would always try to make sure there was something worth eating waiting for him in the fridge, even if it was just a sandwich, it was better than something he would get from some fast food place in the middle of the night. Tonight it was something different, and Andrew couldn't help but feel a little nervous. It was the first thing he had cooked from scratch for his partner, not including basics like omelets and pancakes.
The man on Masterchef had called it simple. Then the recipes he had found online had agreed. A cream of artichoke soup, with fresh bread rolls. It had taken him a good portion of the afternoon, having to restart halfway through the first attempt when he overcooked the base. But he was mostly happy with the result, the soup was darker than it was in the photos, but his rolls were perfect.
Freshly showered, John padded into the kitchen, his gingham pyjama pants dragging on the floor and Andrew's sleep shirt dwarfing his lithe frame. “Mmm, something smells good,” he exclaimed as Andrew put two bowls on the table.
“It's soup.”
Falling into his seat, John pulled his bowl closer, inhaling heavily. “What kind of soup?”
“Artichoke,” Andrew put the rolls on the table mat between them, chewing his lip as he looked over the spread.
“Did you get it from the deli?” John questioned, taking his first spoonful.
Before Andrew could answer, John cut him off with a loud “Fuck.” eyes wide as he held the now clean spoon in front of him. “Where did you get this soup?” and began scooping more into his mouth, moaning with every bite.
The tingling in his chest was unfamiliar to Andrew, and the warm sensation flowing through him, he thought should be making him uneasy. It was nice, there was no other way for him to think about it as he watched John devour the meal he had cooked, it was really, really, nice. “Got some rolls too,” he pushed the basket towards the other man.
Andrew slowly started his own soup, watching fondly as John tore into a roll, laughing whenever John commented on the meal. “These rolls are amazing, we're not buying other bread again,” he declared, reaching for a second and third. Within ten minutes of dishing up, both bowls were clean, the rolls were gone, and John had eaten the leftover dregs from the saucepan.
Full, warm, and happy, they curled up on the couch again, John resting on Andrew's chest. While Andrew was invested in the documentary, John soon began to fidget, wriggling until Andrew gave him a firm “Stop it.”
“Just need my phone,” the doctor explained, brandishing it triumphantly when he finally managed to wrench it from his pocket.
For five peaceful minutes, Andrew got to enjoy his documentary. Until John began grumbling in his arms, the swiping on his phone getting more and more aggressive.
“What's wrong?”
“I can't find the soup, you said it was from the deli right? Lou's?” John was pouting, as he continued to jab at the phone screen.
“I didn't buy it, I made it.” Had John been paying less attention, or had he been a few inches further away, he may have missed Andrew's response. The admission was quiet and low, the almost imperceptible rumble of his chest as he spoke was the only real give away he had said anything.
John dropped his phone. “What? You made – what do you mean you made it?” he scrambled up, turning so they were facing each other.
Andrew wouldn't meet his eye, staying focused on the television. “I made it. It was on that show this morning, so I made it”
“You made me soup?”
“Yeah.”
“And the rolls? You made the rolls too?”
“Yeah.”
Andrew was still staring resolutely at the television but his eyes had glazed over, his jaw working as he ground his teeth back and forth. John could feel the other man's fingers flexing sporadically against his hip. “Hey,” John raised his hand slowly, cupping the older man's cheek. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“It was just soup.” Andrew's eyes were downcast, but John could feel how he was pressing his face into his hand.
Rolling his eyes, John pushed forward. He telegraphed every movement as he got closer, not making contact until Andrew was looking directly at him. They were so close, John could feel Andrew's breath against his own lips. Tilting his head to avoid bumping noses, he placed a single kiss on Andrew's lips, pleased when he felt the other man press into it. “It was perfect.” he whispered before catching his lips once more. This kiss lingered, but neither man felt the need to deepen it, just luxuriating in each other's company.
Once the documentary was over, they headed to bed, moving around each other with practised ease as they went about their nighttime routines. Until they were both under the blankets, Andrew in the middle of the bed with John's head pillowed on his bare chest.
“Did you like making the soup?” John could feel his eyelids drooping as Andrew scratched lightly at his neck.
“It wasn't difficult, just followed the instructions.”
John hummed thoughtfully, letting his eyes close as he mumbled. “It was so good. I'm goin' to buy you an apron. Love you.”
Nine hours later, John would wake with a start, and realise what he said. He would panic, and fret, and then seek out Andrew as he tried to finish the laundry and tell him he meant it, and that he was fine if Andrew wasn't ready to say it. But all his worrying and fretting would be for nothing, because had he stayed awake for just ten more seconds, he would have heard Andrew say it back.