John is a troll and a bad boy, but he also got swag (aka he's perfect for the tall nerd carrying the biggest moral compass).
Eating lunch without the familiar presence of his juice box is wasted time. When his stomach growls again, he ignores the poorly disguised cry for attention. Eyes track his feet as he wanders the corridors. So focused is he in counting each step that he almost runs into John.
He's as distracted as Henrik is, fastening his ID card on his trousers.
"Henrik." He's surprised too. That is rare.
He blinks.
John blinks back. "You all right?"
A part of him wants to say yes, but lying to John is hard. Lying to him is almost impossible.
He's recovered now and leans closer to him.
How easy it is to mirror him, to step closer until their breaths mingle, but Henrik can't.
"My juice box," he blurts out. The panic that's coursing through his body hasn't reached his voice. Yet.
"It's missing." Very odd. He's quite sure he's packed it.
"Oh." John blinks again but says nothing else. He seems to be waiting for something, something he's not sure he can give.
They stare at each other. Henrik becomes lost in these blue eyes and notices how dilated his pupils are.
He swallows.
A nurse passes them and ends the spell that is cast on him.
John glances away. Henrik coughs quietly and they split here, walking in opposite directions.
00
One day is an accident, two days too. Three days in a row is a pattern and that shows foul play. The mystery sours his mood, the same way an earworm can latch onto his mind and refuse to leave for days. He thinks about the missing juice box when he's examining a patient, scrubbing his hands before surgery, making his rounds.
Very frustrating indeed.
00
He greets him with a soft Henrik.
He nods, walks past him, but John follows him, always a step behind, as if this is the most natural thing for him to do. He frowns and slowly turns around.
John glances up in silence.
"Yes?" he asks curtly. Currently, he lacks the patience and care to unravel his motives.
"You've asked for a consult," he says, putting his hands in his pockets.
Indeed, but he's expected someone else. Surely John must be busy. Surely-
"I have time." John shrugs and glances around, almost bored now.
Henrik is missing something, a clue, as he so often does in matters not concerning his job, but standing here pondering on it will only waste valuable time.
He leads him to the patient in question and remains close in case he's needed. When he realizes he's staring at John – mesmerizing, always – he grabs the blue file and loses himself in the words.
He freezes when his stethoscope moves. He blinks, his brain is playing a trick on him. The alternative he doesn't want to think about. But no. The next moment John places the eartips in his ears, lays a hand on the patient's shoulder, and listens to the heart.
The rest of the examination he's in a haze.
Henrik blinks again when he hangs the stethoscope back around his neck. John scribbles something in the file that's still in his grip. The pen is familiar.
John bites his lip, mirth glinting in his eyes.
"Keep me posted," he says and places the pen back in his inner pocket.
Henrik only manages to nod, still perplexed. A surreptitious glance at his wrist tells him his watch is still there. This time only his pen is the victim.
He expects John to leave, but he lingers. He exchanges pleasantries with the staff, passes every occupied bed. He catches his gaze a few times, and even from afar he sees how content John is.
When lunch time nears, he's pulled a vanishing act. The strange gloom he feels almost rivals the one that hits him when he collects his lunch and stares at the empty spot where his juice box should be.
00
Every day he opens his locker and the same, sad sight greets him. He's certain now: a burglar is on the loose, one that is only interested in his beverage.
He keeps an eye on the locker room, but never catches them. He files a request to replace the lock – noted and denied. He asks if others have seen suspicious activity. The results vary. The amount of trivial facts and peculiar rumors still surprise him, but key information is never revealed.
Roxanna glances at him funnily. She shows the same expression when someone's behaving silly. He hopes it's not aimed at him.
He can install a camera, but money and resources will not be wasted on a private matter. He can pack two juice boxes, but every time something deep inside him stops him. Some things must not change, especially something as important as this. No, he will not change this habit.
00
"Should have known when everyone steers clear of this room." She shakes her head as she closes the door softly behind her.
"Their loss," he quips, with his mouth full of food.
Henrik winces and refuses to glance at the presence beside him, sprawled in two chairs, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, tupperware on his lap. It's not the salad that offends him, but the tomatoes. Why Henrik hasn't stopped him, or better yet, left the room – tomatoes, oh the horror! – will remain a mystery.
Roxanna fills the kettle, rummages through the cupboards. "Tea?"
"No, thanks," John replies quickly.
Henrik raises an eyebrow. He hasn't drunk anything either since he's here. John ignores him, licks a thumb and leafs through a new magazine on the table.
"Henrik?" she asks softly.
"...No, thank you."
Roxanna regards him for a moment, then shrugs and drops the teabag in the water. She takes the seat beside him, wraps her hands around the biggest mug on Keller. "Still not found then, the culprit?"
"No," Henrik says.
His eyes are trained on his tablet, but in his peripheral vision they share a look. He frowns.
"Don't worry, you'll find him," Roxanna says and nods. At least one of them is convinced of it.
He glances up and indeed, her eyes are trained on John. She's signaling with her eyes and eyebrows. Henrik follows her gaze. John's answers is a wink.
She exhales, shows her sweetest smile. John slowly sits up and turns to her. She nudges her tea aside.
Without warning they make a dive for the remaining, untouched magazine.
Henrik counts the seconds before the bickering starts. Tension leaves his body and he can't stop a smile. He sits between them, like Switzerland, while both sides are stubborn and refuse to surrender to the other.
This stalemate can last for days, weeks, months.
He swipes the screen and reads the next page.
00
This must stop. Now.
He goes through the list of possible suspects, starting with the senior staff. None of them are guilty. The other consultants are next and give the same results. He's reached the registrars when he notices another pattern. A certain kind of air – primal and universal fear – surrounds the staff. Everyone goes to great lengths to not be separated from the group.
This is one of the reasons why he's traded his suits for warm sweaters and red scrubs. He wants to be a part of this hospital, wants to belong in a team. He doesn't want to repeat past mistakes.
When a staff member dashes behind an equipment trolley and almost causes an accident, he stops. If solving the mystery comes with this price, Henrik won't continue.
00
"I have given this a great amount of thought and I have come to the conclusion..."
He pauses.
"Yes?"
"...That the burglar is very resourceful and may bear a personal grudge against me. Or this is a very elaborate prank."
"Okay," she says slowly, stretching the vowels.
"Someone who fits these descriptions is you."
"What?"
She opens her mouth, frowns, changes her mind and stares, as if he's standing before her naked.
"I'm not mad..."
"It's not me!"
"You should confess."
"I don't even like juice," she mutters.
"Now."
She stares. "Tell me this, then. Why would I go through all this trouble if there's an easier way? If I ask for it, you will give it to me, right?"
He wants to say no, but she's correct. He trusts her completely. And he cares about her deeply. There isn't much he won't do for her.
"You know this is not my style."
She has a point. Still...
"But-"
"It's John."
That stops him. Of course he's considered him, but it can't be him. The juice box vanishes every day, even on the days John's not here.
The irony is not lost here. She is quick to point her finger at John now, while she's ignored his doubts about his research project.
"I hate to burst your bubble," she says, as if she's read his mind. "But half of the staff are in his pocket."
Oh, Henrik knows that.
"Talk to John."
00
He should listen to her. She always offers easy solutions, but talking to John is never easy. He hates small talk. Discussions about their shared passion – surgery – always circle back to the line separating work and...everything that isn't work.
So far, Henrik has yet to see the other side. John always steers clear from any topics that might trigger that innate part in him that tells him to run away and pretend he's in a safe bubble.
00
Henrik holds the elevator door open for him, urges him to come closer. He barely greets him, is subdued. Tooquiet. Yet Henrik smiles. He's missed him.
"Another journey across the world, John?" he teases, but the only thought that occupies his mind is I want to see the other side.
00
He's tying a knot when it dawns on him. He stares at his reflection, his tie. He thinks about tie bars and the way John blends in with the environment. No restricted areas are safe. Guards and security cameras rarely catch him. With a mere paperclip John can open handcuffs, windows, doors...lockers.
What a blind fool he has been.
00
The plan to ambush him fails when John notices him first. He's lost this battle but not the war. Not yet.
"Did you know?" he asks.
John raises an eyebrow, but doesn't answer. Henrik has his full attention.
"When I was a young boy, I always forgot to pack my drink. Fortunately, my mother would slip a juice box in my bag." He smiles. Every memory of his mother is important to him, but this particular set of memories he'll always treasure.
This startles John, as expected. What does surprise Henrik is how easy he's confided in him. He decides not to dwell on this. He's got what he came for.
"Carry on," Henrik says.
His eyes follow him when he walks away.
00
He should be happy. Things are back to normal. But he still can't shake off the feeling that his trips aren't only related to his research project. This is more than simple wanderlust.
He interacts with others, eats his lunch, is in his car. He always comes to the same conclusion: history is repeating itself.
Some bring out the best in others, some the worst. But John and him...While the four of them attended university, Henrik's made sure absolutely nothing distracted him from his studies.
Not even John, the one that always caused trouble. One time he punched someone in the face. Henrik will never forget the blood – so much blood – and the sickening crack when the nose broke in several places. Only later David confided in him: the poor stranger has mocked them.
John always wanted to fix everything, too.
00
"I'm not spying." Not like this, not behind his back.
"Of course not."
Henrik's not fooled by his aloof manner. It's usually a sign that he's hiding something. But he's not here to criticize his research, to snoop around his lab. He's here for lunch, but lunch hour has passed.
Silence settles in the room, uncomfortable yet familiar.
As usual, John takes the lead.
"I want-"
"Don't apologize," Henrik interrupts, for he should.
"I wasn't," he says quickly.
Henrik isn't the only one that has difficulty saying three simple words: I am sorry.
"I want to...explain."
He's waiting for him. Henrik can only nod, disappointment and guilt swirling in his stomach.
His permission calms him. "Roxanna's told me these...stories. I didn't believe her. She must be pulling my leg."
Henrik smiles. Their friendship remains a constant through the years. He hopes the research won't cause a rift between them.
"I...checked."
He raises an eyebrow. John shrugs, but he's smiling now.
"But when I saw how you reacted, I, well..." He shrugs.
Henrik isn't sure if this is merely about stolen juice boxes. "You couldn't help it."
John nods.
No, things haven't changed that much. John's still trying to impress others, feeling the need to prove himself.
"And then you dropped that bombshell." He looks defeated, as if sad news has reached him, as if they've switched places and traveled back in time: John is a child and his mother has passed away.
He reaches into his pocket, finds what he's looking for and sets it on the desk. His own comfort object. A peace offering. A new start.
"No need to rely on drastic measures."
No need to draw attention to himself, for Henrik notices him, even if it's not always apparent.
John glances between him and the juice box, before he accepts his gift.
"You're free to take anything you want." His eyes are twinkling.
Normally, he will decline, but this time he can almost taste the smugness in his voice.
That won't do.
He bides his time, waits for John to turn his attention to his project. He closes the distance between them and turns the chair.
John flinches, eyes widening, as he stares up at him.
"I'll take this, thank you," he says and fishes out the handkerchief in his breast pocket.
Without taking his eyes off him, Henrik carefully pockets the soft silk, not missing the way John is clutching the juice box.
He gives the chair a push. John doesn't stop him.
"See you tomorrow," he says, the same way he says see you on the ice. A goodbye and a promise.
John throws the juice box up and catches it. He rips away the straw, punctures the hole and throws him a boyish grin.
Henrik shakes his head and retreats.
But before the door closes, the sounds of wheels rolling on hospital floor and loud slurping reaches his ears.
He shakes his head again and smiles.
See him tomorrow, indeed.