Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty One
It was Sunday morning. The pale winter sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxury suite, casting long, sharp shadows over the rumpled silk sheets. It was their last day in the apartment,their last few hours in this beautiful place before they had to descend back into the real world of O’Neil Street and the watchful eyes of the city.

Hunter sighed into Nikhil’s arm, his breath warm against the skin. He traced the line of Nikhil’s collarbone with a lazy finger, but his gaze was fixed on the ceiling.

"I've been thinking," Hunter said softly.

Nikhil tightened his hold on him, pulling him closer. "That the weekend is a scam? Because I agree. We should stay here forever. I’ll just tell Adze I’ve developed a permanent allergy to hospitals."

Hunter smiled, a small, private flicker of a thing. He rolled over on the bed to face Nikhil, propping himself up on one elbow. "I want to get a job."

The silence that followed was abrupt. Nikhil’s hand stopped its rhythmic stroking of Hunter’s hair. "A job? Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Hunter’s voice grew more animated. "Since we got here, I've been a glorified house partner. I wait for you to come home. I watch the door. want to contribute too, Nik."

"Baby, don't..."

"What do you mean don't?" Hunter interrupted, his jaw setting in that stubborn line Nikhil knew so well. "Nikhil, I don't want to be useless. I was never useless back home. I might not have the big degree or the mind for surgery, but I want to stand tall too. What will I say when we actually get married? Will people just see me as the doctor's husband? A shadow in your apartment? Do you want that for me?"

Nikhil sat up on the bed, the luxury of the room suddenly feeling cold. He licked his lips, searching for the right words. "What's wrong with you relaxing and letting me work? I am a doctor, and in a few months, when I'm done with this internship, I will have the money to maintain the life of our dreams. You don't have to toil, Hunter. You've been through enough."

"Exactly!" Hunter countered, sitting up to meet him. "You. Your dreams. Your money. What about me? I'm a very independent man, Nikhil. I need to feel the ground under my own feet, not just your floorboards."

Nikhil looked at him, seeing the fire in Hunter’s eyes,the same fire that had pulled him back from the brink of death in that hospital bed. He realized he couldn't extinguish it just because he was afraid.

"Okay," Nikhil said, exhaling slowly. "Okay. Tell me what you want to do. Which job are you thinking about, hm?"

Hunter bit his bottom lip, a nervous habit that usually made Nikhil want to kiss him, but this time it made Nikhil’s eyes narrow.

"Baby?"

"A cleaning job," Hunter whispered.

Nikhil’s eyes went wide. For a second, his brain short-circuited. He thought of his colleagues at St. Jude’s,the elitist interns, the judgmental residents. He thought of Julian Vane’s smirking face. He wanted to scream, to forbid it, to argue that it was beneath him, but he saw the look on Hunter’s face. It wasn't shame. it was hope.

Nikhil decided to get up from the bed. He forced a smile onto his lips, pacing the plush rug. "Where? And how much is the pay?"

"At a restaurant called The Gilded Spoon," Hunter said, gaining confidence. "And the pay is just fine. I won't tell you the exact amount, but it’s just fine. I start tomorrow."

Nikhil almost fainted but kept himself upright by leaning on the dresser. "So soon?"

"Are you mad?" Hunter asked, standing up and walking toward him. "Nik, it's just a job. A legal job. I mean, what would the world be without cleaners? Don't look down on it, okay? I really want this. I want to see people. I want to talk to someone who isn't a shadow under the door."

Nikhil looked at him and realized that his protection was starting to feel like a prison. "Anything that makes you happy, baby."

Hunter let out a squeal of joy and ran to Nikhil, throwing his arms around his neck and planting a fierce kiss on his lips. "Really? You're not going to say anything else? No 'doctor' lecture?"

"I'm your partner, my love," Nikhil said, though his heart was heavy with a new kind of worry. "And I'll support you. As you support me."

"Thank you. I love you."

"Love you more," Nikhil whispered, though his mind was already racing toward a thousand different scenarios.



"He has to lose that job!" Nikhil announced the next day at lunchtime.

He was sitting in the hospital cafeteria with Charles and a few other interns. The arrogance of the OR hadn't followed him here, instead, he looked like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Charles frowned, poking at his salad. "He’s trying to help out, dude. If my boyfriend wanted a job,any job,I would be totally thrilled. But nope. He decides to chill at home and make 'unnecessary purchases' on my credit card. I love him down, but God, would it be good if he at least stopped buying designer candles."

"My Hunter is a sweet man," Nikhil insisted, his voice rising. "A sweet, sweet man. I want to protect him from the world. A nine-to-five scrubbing kitchens is not what I want for him at all. He should be in art galleries or parks. I'm going to give him the best, and I can't do that if he's elbow-deep in dishwater."

"So you're going to sabotage him?" another intern asked, amused. "That's cold, Nik."

"I'm going to make it... inconvenient," Nikhil muttered.

That afternoon, Nikhil’s protective instincts took a turn for the absurd. Between rounds, he slipped into a quiet corridor and dialed the restaurant.

"Yes, hello," Nikhil said, pitching his voice into a high-pitched, nasal tone. "I'm calling on behalf of the... the Metropolitan Dust Sensitivity League. We have heard rumors that your new cleaner is far too efficient. It’s making the air too thin! We demand you give him shorter hours!"

The manager hung up on him.

An hour later, he tried again, this time pretending to be a panicked relative. "Hello! My cousin Hunter just started there? Yes, well, he has a very rare allergy to... floor wax! Please, if you see him near a mop, tell him to go home immediately for his own safety!"

By the time Nikhil finished his shift, he was convinced his plan had worked. He expected to find Hunter at the apartment, perhaps a bit discouraged but safe.

Instead, he found the apartment empty.

Nikhil raced to The Gilded Spoon. He stood outside the glass windows, heart hammering. He expected to see Hunter struggling, perhaps being yelled at by a chef.

But Hunter was in the middle of the dining room. He was laughing with a waitress, his mop moving with a steady, practiced rhythm. He looked energized. He looked like he belonged. He was talking to a regular customer, a kind-looking old man, and the smile on Hunter's face was brighter than any light Nikhil had seen in the city.

Nikhil watched from the shadows. He saw Hunter high-five a cook as he went into the kitchen. He saw the pride in the way Hunter wiped down the counters.

The sabotage felt like a lead weight in Nikhil's pocket. He felt ashamed. He waited until Hunter clocked out, and as Hunter emerged from the back door, smelling of lemon cleaner and old grease, Nikhil was waiting.

"I’m an idiot," Nikhil said before Hunter could speak.

Hunter stopped, blinking. "Nik? What are you doing here?"

"I tried to get you fired," Nikhil confessed, his head hanging. "I made the phone calls.” He told Hunter the silly ideas he had come up with to get him fired. “I was so busy trying to protect you that I forgot to respect the man I love."

Hunter stared at him for a beat, then let out a peal of laughter that echoed down the alleyway. " Really, Nik?"

Nikhil stepped forward, taking Hunter's hands. They were a little red, a little tired. "I saw you through the window. You were happy. You made friends. I realized I was trying to steal your joy because I'm a selfish, scared man."

Hunter softened, squeezing Nikhil's hands. "I'm not just a cleaner, Nik. I'm a part of this city now. I'm helping people enjoy their dinner. I’m happy."

"I'm sorry," Nikhil whispered. "I’ll support you. For real this time. No more phone calls."

Hunter kissed him, the scent of the restaurant clinging to him, but to Nikhil, it was the best thing he’d ever smelled. "I love you. Now, let’s go home. My feet hurt, and I want my doctor to take care of me."

Nikhil smiled, but as they walked away.