Retirement Beckons
Slice-of-life & fantasy short. An ageing doctor tends to a deliveryman.
2.5k, M/M, rated M. A deliveryman to fae lands comes back to his doctor — his lover, too.
Metcalf was tall, thin, and dead-eyed, and when he shambled into Ginger’s office, it was without his greatcoat — a sign that the winter had given way and that spring had given way, although it took him a lot longer than most people to start feeling the heat, and Ginger was fairly certain he only really noticed because he started to drip with sweat, and enough sweat gave him a rash.
If it didn’t, Ginger supposed he wouldn’t take it off until Ginger told him to, much as he started to wear it again at Ginger’s instruction, or he’d wait until he started noticing his frostbite.
It was past six o’clock, and Ginger had actually closed the office at half-past four, sent Claire home, but when he’d gotten word from Verity at the train ticket office that Metcalf had arrived, he’d opened the surgery back up again. Metcalf always came to Ginger’s surgery first before he came to the house, no matter the time of day or night. It was as if he moved according to a map sometimes, as though his way forward had been plotted out for him in advance and all he could do was follow it unfailingly.
