forgive me father i got excited and wrote another bonus drabble / silly epilogue based on a comment @bizarreohmart left
Noel comes home later than he means to.
Predictably his last phone call of the day had been an incredibly important one, requiring half an hour of writing down names and addresses and lots of flipping through the phonebook with the receiver tucked against his ear, and it’d been starting to get dark by the time he was sorted enough to hang up. He’d stayed after that to file away all the information he’d just been given, and put away all the records he’d dug out in the process before closing up. Not to mention that he’d run into John while leaving his office, and had taken a detour to walk him the rest of the way to the cinema. He was already behind on schedule, but he felt he ought to be chivalrous, and that was only tangentially related to the fact that John looked gorgeous dressed up for the night.
When they’d passed down an empty alley that shortcuts to the cinema, John had taken Noel’s tie in his hand and leaned over to kiss him, presumably holding back only so he wouldn’t ruin his lipstick. Noel had commented that he seemed to be in a good mood– (‘Is there a problem with that?’ ‘Oh, daffodil, I’m not complaining–’) and hadn’t felt too bad himself walking the rest of the way back after dropping him off.
In short, plenty of worse reasons to be home late.
Arthur’s meeting John for dinner after the movies, so it’s just Oscar waiting for him back at their place. Noel finds him sitting on the couch fiddling with his rosary, running his nail above the arm of the crucifix while staring at the opposite wall. His usually forlorn resting expression has smoothed out into something more… blank, and Noel squeezes his shoulder affectionately as he walks past.
Oscar turns to look over his shoulder at him. “Noel,” he says, like he hadn’t heard him come in.
Oscar grimaces as he gets up from the couch, letting his rosary fall back against his chest. “Ah- not too bad.”
Noel hums in acknowledgement, slipping the strap of his bag off of his shoulder. “You see Arthur before he went into town? I need his advice on a lead.”
“Afraid not. Must’ve left straight from the office.”
“Bastard,” Noel sighs, though he appreciates the mental image of the two at dinner– Arthur looking characteristically disheveled with his tie loosened messily around his collar, sitting across from the most stunningly beautiful man Noel’s ever had the pleasure of looking in the eyes. “I’ll catch him when he gets home, then.”
He walks into the kitchen and over to the stack of letters on the counter, having piled up over the course of a week or so. The nature of four people in relatively different social circles sharing an address is that there’s almost always mail to look through, and Noel’s almost always behind on writing to someone.
Oscar follows him, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the other room, and Noel realizes that he doesn’t look nervous, exactly, nor is it the usual faint solemnity of his default expression.
Noel frowns at him. “You look a little shaken.”
Oscar scrubs his hand along the bottom half of his face, nodding. His hand falls back to his side. “Aye, just- out of it, today.”
“Work stress?” Noel asks, sliding out the letter opener that’s been left half-buried in the envelopes. It’s somewhere between a guess and an offered way out, if Oscar doesn’t want to talk about it. “You’ve been goin’ in more often lately.”
Oscar makes a faint noise of agreement, noncommittal enough for Noel to be sure this has nothing to do with work. “Aye.”
Oscar keeps watching Noel’s hands as he sets down the letter opener and takes out the letter, slanted handwriting in skilled calligraphy. It’s from a former client and friend he hasn’t spoken to since she moved away, but she promised she’d write. He scans the first few lines to ensure it’s nothing urgent, then folds the paper to read in full later in the evening.
Next to him, Oscar’s brow furrows. “And it isn’t as if you haven’t been staying late either.”
Noel slips the paper back into its envelope. “How about we make a pact, huh, doll? I’m afraid it’d be the only thing that’d get me to start leaving on time.”
“Don’t know anything about bad ideas, darling,” Noel says, closing the envelope and kissing the side of Oscar’s face. Oscar turns his head and Noel takes the opportunity to kiss him on the lips, his hand resting on the edge of the counter while Oscar’s palm presses warm against Noel’s sleeve.
It’s as he’s about to break away that he tastes something, the slightest familiar aftertaste on Oscar’s lips. He chases it a moment longer before Oscar moves, hand loosening on the side of Noel’s arm, and moves back.
“Course not,” Oscar says.
Noel sifts through the rest of the letters, sorting them into loose piles by recipient, with Arthur’s letters tucked under John’s, considering John will be the one reading them to him. He still can’t exactly place the taste lingering on his lips– it’s nice, sweet and touch floral, but he struggles to figure out on what other instance he would’ve tried it.
When he glances, mystified, over at Oscar, Noel sees that his hand is on his rosary again. He still looks a little bit like someone just slapped him in the face and he’s too stunned to look annoyed yet. It’s only when he sorts another letter into John’s pile that Noel looks up from the counter, pausing, and it clicks.
He’d tasted it half an hour ago, on a shortcut to the cinema.
He’s off the clock for the day, technically, but between the look on Oscar’s face and the several hours they would’ve had alone today, it isn’t that difficult to deduce what happened.
“Hey, you and John ever figure out that argument?” he asks as he passes Oscar his stack of letters, as casually as he can manage. There’s a pause.
Then Oscar inhales, fanning the letters open in his hand and chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We talked.”
Noel has the slightest suspicion they might’ve done more than talk, but that’s for Oscar to bring up. For now he sets his hand on the small of Oscar’s back, flipping over the next letter of his own with his free hand and resisting the urge to smile.
“Good to hear, doll. Keep me updated, yeah?”
He’s glad to know they’ve started getting along.
janainaart
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
