Things people don't know about ER nurses:

1) They don't get a lot of sleep.

Well, he didn't look new. Heracles rubbed his eyes, swaying back and forth by the mailboxes. He sort of did, in that I-think-I've-met-you-but-I'm-not-sure way. But the man standing in front of the rows of mailboxes seemed pretty confident when he had called Heracles' name.

Well, his last name.

Gosh, when had he even gotten his mail last?

"Mr. Karpusi," the man repeated.

Heracles' eyes had trouble focusing. "Mm, yes? My mail?"

"No, my mail. I think that mailman has been making a mistake and putting my mail in your box. I had figured I would go to you before I went to the administrators of the building. I have knocked on your door, but you have been out."

"Heracles."

The man's eyebrow ticked down. "Yes, Mr. Heracles."

"No, Heracles."

The key didn't want to slide into the lock. Heracles leaned his head against the row of mailboxes, attempting to open the stupid thing. It wasn't that much different than putting in an IV, and yet—

"As I was saying, I have knocked on your door a couple of times over the past week, only to find you 'busy' or not in." The man sounded like he was tapping his foot. Sounded like he would be.

"Busy?"

The man cleared his throat. "Yes."

Heracles looked around and squinted. "Are you talking about Francis?"

"T… The man who—it does not matter."

"Wait… You're 107. I knew I've seen you." The key slid into the lock and a flood of letters cascaded out of the box. "You're in the one next to me. The room. That's how you know about Francis."

Mr. 107 bent down to pick up the mail. Now the man avoided Heracles' gaze, sorting through the mail quickly and efficiently. Heracles watched for a moment, and then realized he should probably be attending to the rest of the mail.

"What's your name?"

"Here's your mail, Mr. Heracles. I think I have found all of my missing mail." Mr. 107 bowed slightly. "Sorry for troubling you."

"Name?"

"Honda Kiku."

"Honda?"

"Kiku." He handed Heracles' mail back to him, turning and walking away.

The next morning, Heracles wasn't sure if the interaction has been a dream or not. The pile of mail by the door—still yet to be attended to—told him the answer. As Heracles left for work, he knocked one apartment 107 and called a farewell.

2) They have odd ways to deal with stress.

Heracles hated the screamers. Other nurses just found them annoying, but the screams haunted Heracles for hours. Only thing that made his hands shake. Yesterday, there was a kid who had fallen into a river and caught frostbite. He was screaming that he would rather have his toes cut off.

"Coffee?"

Heracles cracked open his eye, brushing the hair from his face. "You working?"

"Ah, yes, sorry I cannot hang around like I usually do. There's coffee in the pot, and I've cleaned up the vase from last night. I'll check on the frostbite boy, don't worry. Sleep well."

Francis was good. Heracles mumbled a goodbye as the man weaved his way through the various vases and antiques. Besides feeding the cats, Heracles had nothing to do. He slept, changed the sheets, had some breakfast, than slept some more.

When he woke up, it was around eleven. A text from Francis, who told him that the boy would recover only minus one toe. The cats, meowing for food. Breakfast. There was nothing better than Sundays.

Heracles' bliss was only interrupted when he saw the pile of unattended letters by the door. The mail—when was the last time he had picked up his mail?

"Where is your shirt, Mr. Karpusi?"

"Heracles." He looked over his shoulder to see Kiku standing behind him, eyebrow lowered in a dubious expression.

"Yes, Mr. Heracles. I believe some more of my mail has been misplaced once again."

Back to the mail, then. The key was definitely too big for the lock, and Heracles had to lean against the rows of mailboxes and try to jiggle the key into the slot. His mind began to wonder, when Kiku cleared his throat.

"How is… Francis?"

"Mm, sorry about last night. He comes over, sometimes. To help me talk about things." Damn, he had been using his room key instead of his mail key. Back to the lock. "Hope we didn't keep you up."

"I would ask that you perhaps… Talk a little softer. I understand the importance of…" Heracles glanced over his shoulder, watching as Kiku gazed into the distance. "Of discussing your feelings, but," his eyes snapped back to Heracles', "It can be distracting at twelve in the evening."

The key finally opened the door. "Sorry, shifts get off late."

Kiku brushed by Heracles, collecting his mail. Most of it was written in Japanese, but Kiku tucked it under his arm quickly. "It is perfectly fine. I understand that being a doctor can become, at times, quite busy. I simply ask for a little—perhaps—warning when you wish to talk with your…"

"He's not my boyfriend," Heracles interrupted, feeling his mouth twitch into a smile.

Kiku nodded, shifting through his mail fervently. "I see."

"Do you—"

"Have a good day, Mr. Heracles."

"I'm a nurse, not a doctor," Heracles called after him.

3) They (over)react to screaming.

"A bug?"

Kiku, credit where it was due, looked serious as he nodded from atop his kitchen counter. He had broken a chair, screamed wildly, broke something else somewhere within the house… Over a bug. A cockroach.

Heracles looked down at the cup. The cockroach tapped against the glass, scuttling around before falling still. Heracles looked at the door he had kicked in. Then at Kiku, who was still perched atop his counter.

Heracles should be sleeping. He had just gotten off a triple shift, his eyes wouldn't focus, and he had to get up early for another shift.

But he laughed. And laughed, and got cockroach motels, and had tea, and talked about Japan and nursing and why Kiku had towers of comic books everywhere, and Francis, and Kiku ended up getting some wine and it was good.

Heracles taught Kiku how to ice bruised shoulders.