Free Fiction: Rough Day

I had a little inspiration for Oscar and Phillip!

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The meeting at the end of the day ran long, which meant the underground parking area was locked and Oscar had to hunt down a security guard before he could be allowed egress. Leaving late meant the traffic flow clogged up in the direction he needed to travel, inching him along in slow increments. Every traffic light burned red all the way down the strip.

His neck ached from the tension and stress, and his right ear felt stuffed up. Hints of a headache hovered at the edges of his attention and weariness dragged at his limbs. Oscar’s mouth tasted bitter from too much black coffee too late in the day.

The weather mirrored his dark mood. Fall shortened the hours of sun, leaving shadows grey skies dimming early. Clouds stuffed up the heavens and cascaded a bleak, chill rain down on the streets, and his windshield. One windshield wiper refused to behave, and thump-squeaked its way across the glass in a regular rhythm that could not be drowned out by anything on the radio. The car’s headlights weren’t quite enough to illuminate the wet pavement, and he kept his speed down. It made his drive home twice as long.

Oscar pulled into the driveway and remembered the garage was unavailable due to a cleaning project he’d put there himself over the weekend. The tops of his shoulders were soaked through by the time he dashed into the house.

But inside, all was different.

Phillip called out to him the moment his entered. “You’re home! I’m so glad!” And the air was saturated with a rich buttery, oniony smell, and the crisp scent of toast.

Oscar shed his sodden jacket and pulled off his wet shoes. He headed to the kitchen, where the warm lights were on fully bright and pulsating. Cheerful music tumbled out of speakers and Phillip stirred a pot of something delicious on the stove.

“I made French onion soup,” Phillip said, pausing long enough to plant two noisy kisses on Oscar’s right cheek, and give him a one-armed hug with his free hand. A pile of shredded cheese awaited on the cutting board, next to tower of toast. “Five minutes in the oven and it’ll be ready. Sit and relax. There’s red wine breathing and ready to pour.”

Oscar didn’t move. He pulled himself closer to Phillip and pressed his face against the back of his love’s head. He closed his eyes and just breathed it all in.

Phillip stroked his arm. “Rough day?”

“It’s better now,” Oscar said.