As it turned out, Mark was called into work that afternoon. Otto had woken up from his nap finding that he was not only cuddled against his housemate, but he had embarrassingly drooled on Mark’s sleeve.

“Hey,” Mark had said, making no note to the wet stain on his shirt.

Otto realized the reason he’d woken was because Mark had lightly jostled him. How long had he been asleep that it was afternoon already? What time had he first woken up anyway? He couldn’t recall. And why had he been cuddled into the space between Mark’s shoulder and chest?!

“Oh...shit,” Otto said after his brain had finally computed all of the details and spat out the results. His voice tried and failed to be clear. He wiped furiously at the wetness of Mark’s shirt. “Dude...shit, I’m sorry!”

“No big deal,” Mark had responded with frustrating ease and patience. “I need to change anyway. Just got a text. I need to go into work.”

Mark tried to hide that he was shaking his arm to get the feeling back into it, but Otto saw and grew even more sheepish at the realization that he had legitimately fallen asleep on his friend. And it had been for a pretty decent amount of time if the small ache in his neck indicated anything.

“Yeah, sure,” Otto said distractedly as his eyes followed Mark’s rising from the couch. “I’m so sorry about falling asleep on you. You coulda pushed me off.”

“Nah,” Mark said with a chuckle. “You needed it and you looked so cute.”

Otto bristled a little at the teasing tone, but it felt a little easier to communicate with than the non-bothered easy-going reaction Mark had given previously.

“There may be pictures…” Mark said with a smirk.

Otto opened his mouth to express his extreme displeasure at the possibility of the visage of his slobbering sleeping mug preserved for eternity in Mark’s phone, but the detective hurried off to get ready before Otto could verbalize those complaints and the clockmaker was left to stew in his discontent.

A few hours later, after Mark had gone into work, Otto sluggishly moved about the house. Not feeling well was bad enough, but the boredom was nearly worse. He didn’t have the energy to do any cleaning. He couldn’t work on any clock or watch projects because of his hand. He couldn’t even read because his eyes, even with his readers and an eye loupe attached, could not focus and the act of scanning the pages made his head swim.

Mark had told Otto to make sure to take the medications he’d been giving him, leaving them out on the counter for easy access. Otto took all but the cough syrup because he was tired of randomly falling asleep places and he’d pegged the cough syrup as the culprit. Instead, the clockmaker sought to treat the persistent hacking with some tea. It wasn’t quite as effective, but it did ease his throat at least.

Having nothing he could actively do to distract himself without worsening his symptoms, Otto eventually relented to put on a record and lay on his couch next to a box of tissues and a trash can with an arm dramatically draped over his eyes as he fought against coughing and sneezing as his chest and abdomen becoming sorer with every expulsion.

It was in this moment of repose that he startled to a knock on the door. Had Mark come back early? He searched for his phone only to find it had gotten wedged into the back of the couch at some point. When he recovered it, he unearthed messages he’d missed and one phone call from someone he hadn’t been expecting.

The first missed text message had been from Mark and read:

Don’t be mad at me.

It gave no context.

Otto prepared himself to be mad at Mark.

The second group of missed text messages was from...Jana:

Hey. Tried to call, but you might’ve been asleep. Mark said you didn’t feel well. Coming over to bring soup and company. If you want.

The missed call had, indeed, been from Jana.

At another rap at his door, Otto looked suspiciously at it and groaned. A coughing fit erupted and, unfortunately, that was the sight greeting Jana as Otto opened the door to her, his face smothered in his arm as painful barking coughs wracked through his body, and he waved at her to enter while he tried to catch his breath.

Jana’s large brown eyes stared up at Otto as the tall man huddled into his arm at his coughs. She knitted her eyebrows in concern while she heeded Otto’s nonverbal wave and entered the house walking to the kitchen to set a Tupperware bowl on the small table and rushed to the sink, quickly filling a glass of water for him.

“You sound awful, Otto,” she said with concern.

Jana was tall with olive skin. She was naturally slim, having been told her entire life she was too skinny. It wasn’t something Jana had sought out to achieve, but what genetics had dealt her. She was tall and lanky with a small chest, wide hips, straight brown hair and a face seemingly permanently affixed in a look of someone trying to figure something out. It only opened up from the default tightness when she relaxed and smiled. Recently relaxing and smiling had not been states she’d been able to enjoy in great amount.

After Otto’s coughing calmed down, he took some breaths and shook his head.

“‘T’s not that bad,” Otto said, trying to sound light as he leaned against the counter. “Once you get past the...searing chest pain, throbbing head pressure, random bouts of dizziness, joint aches, sneezing fits, and inability to regulate body temperature it’s...a piece of cake!”

Jana’s face opened a little bit in a smile before it closed again.

“Poor guy,” she said softly as a long-fingered hand rested gently on his shoulder before she turned back the soup she’d brought. “You up for something to eat?”

Otto stuttered. He tried not to argue with Jana as to why she’d agreed to come here, presumably at the request of Mark. He’d already had a journey in discovering how much self-worth he had, and the results were less than pleasing. If he could, he’d try to avoid going down that path again. As it happened, it was a hard path to avoid.

“Uh-um, yeah, sure,” he finally said uncertainly. He made his way over to the small table and sat down heavily, sipping more water once he was there.

“Wow. Don’t get excited or anything,” Jana said dryly before snickering.

“No-I-I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I’m just not...thank you. Yes. Soup would be nice.”

“Hm,” Jana said with a stern nod. “I’m assuming we’re not going to discuss what you didn’t say between those stutters.”

Otto laughed airily and closed his eyes leaning his forehead on his hand.

“Can we maybe put that off for a bit? I’m still...digesting it myself,” Otto requested before reopening his eyes.

Jana smiled and nodded as she wordlessly went about recovering a pot to reheat the soup in.

It was easy talking to Jana, Otto thought. It hadn’t been easy the first time they’d spoken. That conversation had been powered by blame and feelings of betrayal for Mark talking about her so candidly to someone she didn’t even know. Subsequent conversations had been emotionally heated with denial, sadness, guilt, and fear. But eventually Jana had been able to trust Otto and his intentions, despite her regret at Mark having met with Otto to discuss her addiction without her consent.

The truth was, Jana had come out pretty good from the trial held after the death of an animal in her care due to possible negligence during surgery after the discovery of Jana’s drug addiction by her boss. The animal death had been ruled independent to Jana’s performance during that surgery. Surprisingly, the attorney against her was more than fair and Jana had been able to keep practicing on the condition that she would willingly attend a court mandated rehabilitation program.

Jana was in outpatient rehab now. She would further her rehab journey out of state as she’d decided to move in a couple of months. Otto had been pivotal in helping her process that decision and connect to good programs locally and to where she was relocating. In Jana’s mind, helping Otto while he was sick was a drop in the bucket of what he had volunteered to be present for while she struggled in the awareness of her addiction and first steps to recovery.

Otto smiled at her again as she sat across from him at the table waiting for the soup to simmer. She’d made it last night when Mark had first told her of Otto’s illness and kept it in her refrigerator for the flavors to marinate more.

“So, what kind of soup?” he asked casually, muffling more coughs into his fist.

Jana gave him a sympathetic look at the pain the coughs seemed to cause.

“Just a recipe from my abuela,” she said with a shrug. “She always made it when one of us was sick.”

“Hm. Spicy?” Otto asked.

“Eh, a little? Helps with the sinuses,” she explained.

“I could definitely use a little help there,” Otto said.

“Yeah, you don’t look great. Is it okay if I put my hand on your forehead to feel your temperature?” Jana asked.

Otto grew suspicious.

“Just how much did Mark tell you about me being sick?” he asked.

“Oh,” she groused, “you know Mark. Always trying to take care of people by telling strangers about their vulnerabilities so they can help despite there being a total lack of consent. He’s a funny guy, that one.”

Otto raised his eyebrows then coughed out a laugh and nodded.

“Okay, yeah. You totally nailed that,” he exclaimed and then sighed. “Yeah, go ahead. Don’t know why people think their hand is somehow more accurate than technology created for the specific purpose of reading someone’s internal temperature but knock yourself out!”

Jana smiled softly at the sharpness of Otto’s voice, seemingly unaffected by the acidity of the words as she laid the back of her hand on Otto’s forehead.

The clockmaker felt his heart thump harder at the physical contact and swallowed thickly at the sensation of the soft skin of Jana’s hand on his forehead. Then she put the hand on his cheek, palm toward his overgrown scruff. She rubbed a soft thumb on his cheek right under his eye and Otto had to measure his breathing as he felt his chest become heavy and tense.

“You’re a little warm, but it’s not too bad,” Jana said with a smile as her hand still lingered on his face. Though she noticed he’d gone a little ashen. She slipped her hand away finally and Otto seemed to relax, bringing a hand to rub his chest.

“Oh, right,” Jana said, spotting the bandage. “Mark told me about the cut. Do you want me to look at that?”

Otto, still feeling inexplicably disoriented and anxious, shook his head emphatically.

“No! No. I mean...no,” he babbled as he took a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry. Uh. It’s-it’s fine, Jana. Thank you, though. I’m-um-I’m looking forward to the soup.”

Jana held her lips together with some effort and nodded. Then, in a small voice she added, “Maybe later?”

Otto eyes had already begun to prickle with some sort of yet unidentified emotion the attention to his injury and soft touch had inspired. He swallowed again to the sensation and nodded stiffly.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, then forced a laugh, “Sorry. I hate being sick. Always makes me so...damn emotional.”

The clockmaker hissed in a breath and let it out as he continued to look extremely uncomfortable.

“Well,” Jana said good-naturedly, “you’ve definitely seen me when I was way more emotional, so no judgment, huh?”

“Yeah,” Otto replied with a more genuine smile. He nodded and wrung his hands a little, running his fingertips on the bandage Mark had put on his right palm. “No judgment.”

When the soup was ready, Jana sat a small bowl of it in front of Otto.

“I just gave you a little bit. If you don’t like it or start to feel sicker, don’t feel pressured to eat it. It’s mostly broth, but has some cilantro, corn, onion...it has sausage in it, too, for protein. It’s salty and spicy. Always makes me feel better. Like chicken noodle soup for others, I guess,” Jana explained.

“I wish I could smell it,” Otto lamented. He’d been missing his ability to sniff and smell things more than he thought he would. Not being able to smell his coffee or his shampoo or other familiar odors was unsettling. He usually had a pretty sensitive nose, so being without the sense was disorienting, though certainly not the most disorienting part of being ill.

“Mmm,” Jana said and propped her head up to watch him inspect the soup. “Maybe just get your nose in there? Might help clear up the sinus cavities, at least.”

“Hm!” Otto nodded and put his head near the bowl trying to sniff inward. He could feel the heat opening the pores in his skin and then he felt a very familiar tickle in his nostrils. “Oh…!”

Otto turned bodily away from the soup and Jana and shoved his nose into his elbow as he was suddenly attacked by multiple sneezes, one after the other. Most of them were muffled, but all of them were loud and violent.

“HMMM’CHMP! HNK’SHMM! HNG’CHNK! HET’CHM! CHUH! K’CHU! HNK’SHOO! CHMP! CHM! CH! CHU! TCH! TCH! HET’CHYUH! T’CHUH! KTCH!KTCH!KTCH’CHOO! Da-ha-dammit! Huh...ETCH’CHYAH!” When Otto’s sneezing finally stopped, he shoved a tissue over his nose and blew it before leaning back in the chair out of breath and dazed. His face was red, and his eyes were glossy as he panted.

Jana watched him, a little too stunned to be concerned at first.

“Uh, you alright?” she finally asked.

After a second Otto nodded, sniffing and rubbing his nose.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. “Kinda...twinged my side, though.” He rubbed along his ribs with a wince. “Is there...did I get everything off my face?”

Otto flexed his nose and scruffy mustache at Jana.

“Yeah, you’re good,” she confirmed. “That was intense.”

“Yeah,” Otto confirmed with a nod. “I think…” he made a gurgled sniffing sound, “...I think I can breath through my nose a little bit now, though. Damn.”

The clockmaker wiped his eyes and blew out a breath, sniffing again.

Jana chuckled, shaking her head.

“Let’s see what happens if when I eat it!” Otto said a bit excitedly.

“Oh wow. Yep. There’s that need to push your body just a little too far that us addicts enjoy testing the limits of so much,” Jana said.

“Hey now,” Otto argued as he bent over the soup again, careful not to breath in too deeply, “you’re the one who brought me this soup after all.”

“Oh, I’m your dealer now?” Jana joked.

Otto snorted, it aborted a little by his still inflamed sinuses and shrugged in bemused agreement to Jana’s deadpan and then (unnecessary in Otto’s opinion) eye roll.

Undaunted, Otto took a spoonful and hummed.

“Oh, I can taste that,” he said. “I haven’t been able to taste anything lately. Oh, that’s-that’s really nice, Jana.”

“Not too spicy?” she asked, a little worried.

“It’s spicy but...but it sort of feels good? Like...like a hug from the inside. In my chest. Oh gawd, yeah, that’s really good,” Otto crooned.

“I actually made it last night. I planned to bring it over anyway at some point after Mark told me you weren’t feeling great. So, when he messaged me, it was perfect timing. It’s been sitting overnight in my refrigerator,” she explained.

Otto took another bite as he tried and failed in not considering how much time and effort she’d put into making soup for him; how it was her grandmother’s recipe and all the hereditary and familial love there was instilled in the preparation of said soup. As he failed not to think about it more and more, he could feel emotion coming back up. He put a fist over his mouth trying to control whatever he’d been feeling in regard to being taken care of for the last day and a half. He wasn’t doing a very good job at it.

“Ooh, is it too spicy after all?” Jana asked, misreading his expression. “I can get—”

“No, it’s not,” Otto said cutting her off, voice failing not because of hoarseness but because of emotion pushing up his throat like a balloon he couldn’t quite swallow. “Um. I think...I think I’m just overwhelmed right now?”

Otto shook his head and felt tears finally cresting over his lower lids and grunted, hissing through his mouth to try and control himself.

“Why are you feeling overwhelmed, Otto?” Jana asked as her hand reached out to his arm to lightly grasp it.

“Um…” Otto blew air out of his mouth and scoffed as he tried not to make direct eye contact with her. All the while his eyes got redder and wetter against his desires. “I think…”

Otto’s voice trembled and deepened and he swallowed, tasting the delicious soup Jana had spent so much time preparing for him. Jana waited patiently, sitting with him as he gathered his thoughts the same way he’d sat with her so many times before. Her thumb rubbed his hand softly.

“I ju-just think this might-might be the first time anyone has,” Otto started and sniffed, “anyone has actually made an effort to-to,” he breathed, “take care of me? Or think of me? And I’m-I’m-heh, I’m just really...sad...that I’m just experiencing this now for the first time I can remember or-or-or recognize?”

Otto’s eyes squinted more, and his mouth turned into a frown as he looked down in his lap.

“Because,” he whined, “it feels really good. And-um-I’m s-I’m sad that...um...I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t...I don’t want to fuck this up. I just...I just I feel so loved right now? By-by you...and Mark...and I don’t think I can...sustain it. Because. I’m. Not a-not a good person.”

He sobbed and whimpered, “Shit, I’m sorry. Can we just...pretend I didn’t s-say all that? Fuck.”

“Oh sweetie,” Jana said in an uncharacteristically soft tone to her usual sensible nearly clipped voice.

When Otto chanced a look Jana was staring straight at him with a strong but kind face. Gone was the questioning look, but her brows were stern, and her mouth was tight even though her eyes were warm. She spoke again.

“You have been lied to so much,” Jana stated. It wasn’t a question in the least; it was a statement of fact. It caused Otto to sob again.

“Otto, you have no idea how much of a role you played in helping me get my shit together. I was an angry mess of a person. I was dangerous and self-destructive. And I hated you. I did. I hated that Mark thought you knew so much better than I did what my issues were. But you never told me I was wrong; you just told me what I needed to hear. And you did so with compassion and patience and honesty. More compassion, patience, and honesty than I deserved. So, whoever told you, convinced you, that you weren’t a good person can just fuck right off, okay?” Jana said, voice low and determined.

Otto sniffled and nodded. His eyes were puffy and his face was flushed. He kept wiping, more liquid coming out of his nose than his eyes. It would’ve been annoying if he weren’t distracted by all the emotion charging through his body.

Jana stood up and Otto followed her path until she was right beside him and, as if in askance, she wordlessly took his head and put it against her body in a hug. Otto leaned into her and allowed her hands to caress his hair and face as he wept.

After a while Jana looked down at Otto. She paused in her stroking as he seemed to calm down.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked.

Otto looked up and despite the mess of tears along his red stained cheeks, his painfully chapped lips and nose, and his tired swollen eyes he smiled.

“Yeah, I think so. I’m...really sorry about that. I...I don’t even think I knew that was in there,” he admitted.

Jana chuckled, “Yeah, been there.”

Otto huffed, “I thought I’d been to all those places, honestly. That one threw me off guard.”

“Oh good, something to look forward to,” she said sarcastically.

Otto laughed. He leaned up from her embrace and wiped his face again.

“I’m going to eat some more of this soup. I won’t let it defeat me with heart wrenching emotional breakthroughs,” he said.

Jana let go a breathy laugh as she rounded the table again and watched Otto continue to eat the soup.

“I hope you know how much you mean to people, Otto,” she said.

Otto paused and looked up, “I’m working on it.”

Jana smiled.

“You want any more?” Jana said after Otto’s spoon hit the bottom of the bowl.

“No,” Otto said shaking his head, “I think I’m full-Hup! Scuse me. Hmp!-uh...Huh!-oh. Got the-Himp! again.”

“Ha!” Jana laughed. “Hiccups?” She covered her mouth as she grinned.

“Yeah-Hip! second ti—ime today! Hmph!-uh,” Otto said as he put a hand on his chest. “At least my thro—oat doesn’t Hurp!-hurt as mu—uch. Hm’mpk!-mm.”

Though his side still pulled a little from the small strain it sustained during his sneezing fit and he rubbed it a little with a grunt.

“Do you remember,” Jana said with a grin that broke through her face’s default expression, “when I texted-no called-I called you. That day I called you because I was so overwhelmed with everything going on and I couldn’t stop crying?”

Otto could remember a couple of days like that, though he could guess which one Jana was talking about. He waited for her to continue.

“And you came to see me. Mark was at work or at a bar or something. I don’t remember, actually. But you, like, it sounded like you almost didn’t want to come over but you came anyway. And we sat there and you started talking to me and asking me what was wrong and then suddenly you just...started hiccuping? Like, out of nowhere!” Jana giggled. “And they were really bad. And loud. And you were so embarrassed and felt so bad and told me that’s why you didn’t want to come over because you’d had them all day and couldn’t shake them and told me to just try to ignore them—”

“Oh yeah-Himpk!” Otto took over. “Yeah a—and you ju-Hup!-ust started la—aughing uncontrol—lably. Hugk! And then you s-Hip!-said, um, Higgurp!-you said hiccups ha—ad always made y-Hmpk!-you laugh since y—ou were a kid. Hmpk!”

Jana was proving that now by laughing after nearly ever hiccup Otto made.

“It was the first time,” Jana said, eyes crinkled in laughter, “I’d done anything but cried in, like, a week. It felt-haha!-oh, it felt so damn good to laugh!”

Jana smiled and then laughed again, hand over her mouth at another hiccup. She had no idea why she found hiccups so immediately hilarious, but she always had.

“I will never forget how it made me feel when you said, ‘Well, okay, what about I just sit here and hiccup for you until you feel better?’ And you did!” Jana laughed again. “You just sat there and hiccuped and laughed with me. Even though you were embarrassed and you almost didn’t come over because of them, you still did it. It’s always been that way, Otto. You have always been so honest and genuine and vulnerable. You always met me where I was, no matter what.

Otto was laughing now, himself, remembering the moment more clearly.

“I was s—so sore af—ter that. Higgulp!-uh,” he paused as Jana giggled hysterically and grinned. “But it w—as so good to se-Hip!-see you la—augh. I’m glad I coul—could do that Himp! for you. You’ve Hrp!-you’ve been thr—ough a lot in the last f—ew years. Hulmgk!-heh! I’m reall—ly gonna miss y—ou when Hilp! when you leave. But I—I’m super proud of Hmp! of you, kiddo.”

Through her spontaneous fits of laughter Jana gave a more genuine smile.

“I’m really glad I met you, Otto,” Jana said.

She scooted her chair over next to him and gave him a proper hug as they both sat at the same level.

Otto only hesitated for a second before embracing her back saying, “I don’t wa—ant to g-Hmp-get you sick.”

“I’ll be okay,” Jana reassured.

Otto let his mouth open for a “Huggolp!” that sent them both into hysterics.

“You bet—ter be,” he said, softer.

Jana stayed and they laughed until Otto’s hiccups finally relented. They’d moved over to the couch. Otto was reclined and Jana had his legs in her lap. When she laughed Otto could feel her stomach seizing and it set him off as well.

“Oh, they’ve finally stopped,” Otto said when they finally stopped, relieved as he rubbed his chest and abdomen. Though part of him would miss the spontaneous laughing.

“Thank gawd,” Jana breathed. “My belly was starting to cramp from the laughter.”

Otto chuckled, “How do you think my belly felt?!”

“Oh, poor thing,” Jana said with a grin as she turned toward him.

“I do feel better though,” Otto admitted after a moment.

“Yeah, you seem like you do,” she said as she rubbed his legs. “It’s the soup. Miracle worker.”

“Mmm, maybe. Company helped, too,” he said. “And the soup. I get to keep the rest of it, right?”

“Yes,” Jana said with a wincing laugh, rubbing her midsection, “you get to keep the rest. That’s yours. Don’t let Mark have any. It’s not for him. It’s for you.”

“Ha! Got it,” Otto said. “Um...thanks for coming over.”

“Like I said,” Jana replied, “I was gonna come over anyway after Mark said you weren’t feeling well. I’m happy to do it.”

Jana rubbed his legs again and smiled.

Otto sighed and was delighted to realize the sigh was a happy one.

“I better take some more meds. And that cough syrup. My chest and throat are starting to hurt again, and I could use a nap. That stuff knocks me the fuck out,” he grumbled as he made a move to stand.

“I got you,” Jana interrupted as she lifted his legs and stood. “I’ll give you the meds and stay with you until you get tired. Then, I’ve got some things I need to take care of tonight. Moving stuff. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Otto said. “And, uh...maybe you can look at this cut? I think it’s okay, but might as well make sure with an actual doctor…”

“Well,” Jana said with a pause, “you are kind of dog-like, so I guess you sort of count as one of my usual patients.” Otto scoffed, but laughed, having to regain his breath after he started another coughing fit.

“I’ve been called worse,” he admitted.

After Jana gave him his meds, laughing as he winced at the cough syrup with his revived sense of taste, she brought over a first aid kit, which had seen more action in the past day and a half than it had since Otto had purchased it in the drugstore three years ago.

“Let’s see,” Jana muttered as she slowly peeled away Mark’s handiwork. “Mark did this, right? He did a good job. I taught him well.”

Otto grinned as he watched Jana inspect the cut carefully. It was the first time his heart didn’t try to leap through his chest when someone else touched it. He felt a fuzzy sort of calmness instead that he could only partially blame on the medicine as he’d just taken it.

“Yeah, it looks good actually. It’s long, but not that deep. Pretty clean cut, actually. Mark said this was from a broken coffee cup?” Jana asked as she cradled his hand.

“Yeah,” Otto said with a hint of sadness, “my favorite one, actually.”

“Aw,” Jana said sympathetically. “Well, it looks good. I’ll clean it up and re-bandage it. I don’t think you need to see anyone about it. It’ll heal fine. Now, if you were one of my patients I’d give you a handful of treats for being such a good boy.”

“I think you’ve given me enough treats today,” Otto said, smiling.

Jana wrapped the gauze around his hand with the type of ease one only developed by having done it a thousand other times on a thousand different breeds and species of animal.

“You think you’ll practice again where you’re moving,” Otto asked.

Jana took a moment to think.

“Maybe eventually. Might look into something a little different. Animal sanctuary, maybe? I dunno. I still want to work with animals, though,” she said.

“Simpler than people,” Otto agreed.

“A-men,” she said emphatically.

Jana stayed with Otto until he seemed to drift. She made sure he was comfortable on the couch and asked if he needed anything before she left. After he seemed settled, she left and promised she’d contact him tomorrow to see how he was.

There was no claim out there saying Otto was a particularly good singer. But he wasn’t terrible, either.

Otto’s playlist was a bit surprising as his phone sat beside him on his workbench. Zither music, sure. Classical symphonic music, absolutely. A smattering of folk and bluegrass might be a little startling, but all in all still seemingly on brand. It was the sad white boy songs of the late 90’s and early aughts which often surprised people. But what could he say? Oasis deserved as much praise as Beethoven for their contribution to the musical landscape of history, in his opinion.

So, he sat involved in the last touches of a project, a Valentine’s Day gift for Atticus, wearing earbuds (so the sound didn’t wake his partner) as he softly sang the lyrics of one of his favorite pop songs.

“Because maaaybe…,” he sang, “you're gonna be the one that saves meee...and after aall, you're my wonderwaall.”

He felt a pair of small hands grip his shoulders abruptly and he yelped caving his body over the project protectively with a sharp gasp inward. He knew he should’ve kept one earbud out!

“Hey!” Atticus yelled at a volume easy to hear even with Otto’s earbuds in. “What ya workin’ on there, bud?!”

Truth be told, Atticus had listened to him singing “Wonderwall” for a few lines to appreciate the aesthetic before attacking him. Of course, they knew he must be working on their Valentine’s Day gift. He’d been talking about it with a gleeful smile for days. And him bodily covering the object in front of him confirmed their suspicion.

“No—nothing!” he sputtered.

Though his pause could’ve been a stutter for anyone who wasn’t keenly aware of all things hiccup-related, Atticus could tell from his body spasming under theirs what that break in words was actually caused by. They played it cool, though, while still reveling in the sensation of his body’s movements under theirs as they still playfully pretended to try to peek beyond his arms to catch a glimpse.

“Oh yeah, Oasis boy? Well, why don’t you show me then, huh? Huuuh?” Atticus drawled obnoxiously, biting their lip in amusement.

Otto turned toward his partner as he pulled out his earbuds quickly and gave them a very effective glare. Otto was very good at threatening facial experiences. His face lent itself to the vision of being dangerous easily with his pronounced brow-bone and wide manic eyes.

However, as he muffled squeaks of rapid hiccups induced by being startled the effect of seriousness and possible threat was thrown off into something more comical and endearing.

Despite their arousal, Atticus found themselves giving a giggle.

Obviously unaffected by his glare Otto relaxed his face into something less threatening and tinged more in weary vexation. He rolled his eyes with a hiccuping sigh.

“Can you pl—please go huck! to the kitch—en while I hmk!hmk! put this aw-uck!-away?” he requested calmly.

Atticus grinned cheekily.

“Did I give you those?” they asked innocently.

“You gave the—them back hupk! to me hukkle! actually,” he said, his torso jumping again from his crouched position over the present.

The white t-shirt he wore was thin and rode up his belly in all the right ways.

When Atticus continued to grin as they pressed against his spasming back, he gave an imploring expression.

“Kitch—chen, please? Huck’a!Hulp!Huck’m!Hmmk!Mk!” he asked as he suppressed the rest of the cluster with a focusing squint of his eyes and slightly down-turned mouth.

Atticus allowed the cluster to end before they nodded dramatically.

“Okay! Fine!” they relented. “I’ll get some coffee.”

They gave his back a pat and a rub before departing.

Otto busied himself, after he was sure they were gone from eye line, securing the project that was to be their gift in a box and the box in a drawer. He held his hand on his chest briefly as more hiccups pounded through his body rapidly before regaining his breath with a deep inhale before the hiccups continued at their usual erratic pace.

His hiccups had always been a bit erratic. At times they were evenly space but, for inexplicable reasons to him, they then sped up back-to-back, two to ten hiccups at a time, before they relented to a slower, even pace again.

Then again, he’d never been so sharply aware of his hiccups’ patterns and tendencies until dating someone with a hiccup fetish. The quirks of his body had never before been so appreciated or sought after before Atticus. He was charmed by his partner’s effect on the awareness he developed of his own body. He smiled again as he stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

Atticus leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee poured from the Chemex Otto had brewed earlier that morning. The coffee was still warm thanks to a very efficient cozy Atticus had bought Otto for Christmas one year.

Though still hiccuping, Otto casually poured himself some more coffee in kind, all the while giving his partner a smirk as his head jerked in a way he knew Atticus found extremely alluring.

“So,” they said, attempting to keep a casual air to their voice, “this is the second time you’ve had them?”

Otto’s smirk turned into a shit-eating grin.

“Had wh-hukkle!-what?” he prompted.

He took a slow sip of the warm liquid and Atticus couldn’t help but notice how it enticed more muffled hiccups to sharply and quickly happen with the swallow.

The writer took a breath and measured out its release. As Otto leaned on the counter beside them his stomach popped several times as his body jerked. They cleared their throat and drank more coffee before responding.

Otto dipped his face into his mug again, too, waiting for them to speak, trying to keep the amusement at Atticus’ fluster tamped down.

“You know…” Atticus finally said, motioning in the general direction of his body and up to his face with wide eyes and a pointed jut of their chin.

“HmmMMK!mk!mm?” Otto said, feigning confusion. Then his eyes widened in apparent understanding, mouth opening with an ‘oh’ which was cut off by a very enthusiastic HUP!

“Oh!” he recovered, “cu-hmph!-cup of coffee! Huck’p!Mmk! Yeah it—it’s my second Hup!HUP! my second one.”

He grinned at Atticus’ huffing frustration and gave in to silently laughing which, unfortunately, acutely sped up his hiccups and made them harder as holding his laughter in had led to him unintentionally holding his breath.

“Hup!Hip!Huck!-shit-Huck’m!Hulp!HmMMK!MMK!H’muck! Ugh!” he groused as he put down his coffee and put a hand on his belly and then right below his ribs as he winced with the increased power of them.

“No offense, but you sort of deserved that,” Atticus said primly. But they had the decency to look sheepish as Otto rode out the worsening case. The hiccups became higher pitched and sharper than his run-of-the-mill ones.

“You okay, though?” they finally asked.

Otto nodded quickly, wanting to assuage their worry.

“Yeah-huck’m!-yeah I pro-HUP!-probably did des—Erve that, th-hup!hup!-though,” he said. He waited out another cluster with a sigh before continuing, “Sorry if-up!uck!-if that was too m—uch teasing.”

“Nah,” Atticus said, brushing it off with a smile. “Just enough. C’mon, at least sit down on the couch and let me rub your belly for a while. Those things...um...those hiccups got fast and hard real quick, huh?”

Otto grinned at Atticus saying The Word, as they had such an adorably hard time saying it but nodded with a grunt at more hiccups.

“May—be more than HUP! just HU’UP! belly ru—rubbing?” Otto queried as he followed Atty to the couch. “If yo-HUP! if y-HMK! you’re up for MK!MMK! for it MK!, that is.”

“Hmmm,” Atty uttered as they plopped on the couch and watched Otto sit next to them. “Twist my arm, why don’t ya…”

SEXY PART START

At this point in their relationship, the couple hadn’t yet explored anything beyond self-pleasuring next to each other. Atticus hadn’t given into the desire to ride Otto’s belly. The writer wasn’t yet comfortable with allowing Otto to explore and assist in the rubbing of that part of their body.

Atticus also hadn’t acclimated to...all of...Otto’s parts. They stole glimpses of his movements below the line of his pants as he stroked himself, but it was only curiosity as their eyes mostly trained on the deep spasms which caused the lower part of his belly to jiggle madly in faster and faster repetition as his ribs expanded and chest dipped.

Like fast little waves, Otto’s torso rippled between the gyrating motions of his own arousal. His moans came out more like pants as his hiccups overcame the sounds of pleasure, becoming more rapid as his body tensed right before his orgasm. His face, Atticus noticed, was in a concentrated frown. But the clock maker peeked his eyes open in slits to study Atty’s face which was, no doubt, not dissimilar from his.

Atticus’ face was often the stimulus which ended up sending Otto over the edge. The desperate panting they made, the furrowed brow, and their eyes closing automatically as their lip sneered, pushing their mustache into their nose, and they groaned and yelped as their back arched. For someone who got their arousal from watching others be aroused, Otto thought Atticus had some of the best reactions he had ever seen to the act.

Panting, yelping, and still hiccuping (from one of them) their bodies relaxed to lean against each other on the couch.

SEXY PART OVER

“Hi’UCK!-uuuh,” Otto sighed. He breathed a couple of times as he put an arm around Atticus and let them lean further into him as he pulled up his pants. “Hi’UMP!-mmm!” He rubbed his chest right below his ribs with another deep breath.

“It’s my solemn oath to figure out a way to cure those things when they get too much for you,” Atty said seriously.

Otto chuckled with a Hi’ULP! and a sigh. His head jerked back into the couch cushion lazily.

“Seems a little counterproducti-HEEYULP!-mmph!” he said.

Before Otto could put his hand back on his torso, he found Atticus’ there to provide the comfort he was planning to give himself. He smiled softly.

“I know I’ve said this before,” they said softly. “But I don’t want you uncomfortable. My...my fetish doesn’t mean I want you to-to hiccup no matter what. If they hurt or go on too long, I want to see if I can help with that. Besides...shit...if I got off every time you hiccuped my junk, what little there is, would fall plum off, my dude.”

“Heh-HYUCK!-uh...well if anyone can find out what ULP! can cure them, it’d be you. H’MMP!-mm!” he said as he lowered his head to the top of Atticus’ and put a kiss into their hair before jerking away with another hiccup.

It was a craps shoot if an orgasm cured his hiccups, he’d found. Sometimes the orgasm was an immediate cure, stopping the spasms dead in their tracks. Sometimes it slowed them and weakened the hiccups, and they petered out on their own. Other times it did nothing at all or, in fact, worsened his hiccups. And other times...well...they kept going but not as quickly, like they were doing now.

They both stayed another several seconds resting on the couch before Atticus spoke up again.

“So...Oasis, huh? Never pegged you for that genre, honestly,” they said.

Otto chuckled, paying note to the way his hiccups reacted to the movement of his diaphragm by interrupting the action. He took a moment before replying, taking time to think back on that time in life and reflect on who he was and why. He didn’t tend to play close to his chest when it came to telling his life story, but there were many embarrassing and shameful things he did in his late teens and 20’s. And, quite honestly, he hadn’t been a good person.

Atticus rode through a couple more hiccups as Otto jerked while they leaned against his chest before looking up to catch the far away look. Otto seemed to sense their stare and glanced down with a soft expression back.

“Uh, yeah. HUG’K!-guh, you know that guy who always sa—sat under a tree with a guitar HM’mk! and didn’t sing really well but g-hoogk!-good enough to attract a small circle around him?” he asked.

“Oh gawd. Yeah. That guy! Ha! Never interested in me even when I had boobs cause I wouldn’t put out!” Atticus said with a guffaw.

Otto gave an amused huff out of his nose and smiled tersely.

“Yeah...hmk’m!...that was me,” he said, brows raised.

“Oh...shit,” they replied sheepishly.

“No, no. That was exa-HIG’K!-ctly who I was. The douchiest douche who ever do-HUCK!-douched!” he said. “And I did. But only before cer—certain encounters.”

“I don’t know what surprises me more,” Atticus admitted. “That you were a douche or that you were a bottom!”

Otto couldn’t help but laugh. It took him a while to stop, his fist covering his mouth as his hiccups sped up. He waited out the deluge of spasms until they’d calmed down again, feeling Atticus’ hand slowly massaging his stomach and chest as he kept the fist to his mouth and then flat against his chest, sighing in a breath he was finally able to take fully.

“You good?” Atticus asked.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding briskly. “And yeah, that was me. And when I was HU’UCK!-mm, under the tree playing al-HULP!-all of those...sad boy reve—ries? That was peek alcohol-hip!-ism. I was not a happy person. HUCK’P!-guh.”

Otto sniffed and rubbed his nose. It wasn’t a significant gesture. He wasn’t crying. But it was a pause in talking he took advantage of to collect his thoughts.

“You know...you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Atticus said.

Perhaps the writer had perceived his itchy nose as a hesitation emotionally in addition to physically. Perhaps they were more perceptive of his emotions than he was.

“Hmm. No huck’k!-mm, it’s okay. If you’re okay to hear it? Mmp!” he asked.

Atticus smiled, “I am.”

And so, Otto told his partner what a terrible person he’d been while he was in college (and after when he’d dropped out before graduating). How he’d manipulated people he thought he loved. How every act of control was a reflection of how much he hated himself and found himself unworthy to be loved back except while he was deceiving the other person into making them think he was more than he was.

Otto used intelligence as a shield. He was smart and learned quickly. He knew a lot. He would always one-up a conversation. And he loved playing the Devil’s advocate. He loved making others squirm. He spent so much of his life on the receiving end of being the one who squirmed that college, and alcohol, gave him the false sense of power by thinking he had control when, in actuality, he was the one who was slowly growing weaker and weaker with every drink he took, every binge he had, and every job he was fired from when the management realized he couldn’t control himself and refused to get help.

While telling these stories his hiccups would vary in speed and power. Sometimes he had to pause to let a string of them take over and, inevitably, he’d look down to see Atty’s wide and compassionate eyes looking up at him while their hand comforted his body.

He glossed over the story about his childhood friend from school and him splitting ways (the one whose parents took him in after he was kicked out of his house when he was a teenager after Olivia discovered his sexuality). Atticus let him.

But he pulled no punches when he told the story of Serena, Sera, who simultaneously broke his heart while he both worshiped her and emotionally abused her. In fact, they both abused each other in many ways. But the shame of the relationship’s journey left Otto telling mainly the parts he’d played in the abuse. It was a fact Atticus realized, though refused to negate for Otto’s need to process and confess.

It was Sera’s death while Otto was in this 30’s that had been the cause of Otto’s fall off the wagon several years back in the presence of Mark. Atticus had caught bits and pieces of the story. It consisted of Mark finding Otto on the roof of his house, shitfaced, and taking care of him. The writer knew in time they’d learn the whole story. But they didn’t push it.

“And that was when my own rock-bottom hit-mmk!” Otto said as he talked about Sera and him breaking up. He’d been talking for a while now and his hiccups had kept going. In honesty, he was starting to tire from them.

“When you and Sera broke up?” Atticus prompted.

“Mm. Sorta hip’k!” he said shortly.

Atticus noticed his hiccups speeding up a little, which had been consistent for when he’d gotten to a more emotional part of the story. They rubbed his belly again.

“Just a reminder that I don’t expect you to tell me everything. I know what’s in your heart, Otto. Even if I don’t know everything about you, I know who I see and who he is. Nothing you can tell me can change that,” they said.

He smiled.

“I’m fine tell—ing you. Just don’t let me HUCK’m! trauma dump on yo-HMP!-you too much,” he said.

“I’m not. Listen, to be fair I’ll trauma dump on you tomorrow. How about that?” Atticus said with a grin.

“Ha! HUCK’ULP!-mm!” Otto said and huffed, rubbing his sternum. Then he sighed again. “After Sera and I-hilmp! broke up I bi—inged for a month. Hmk!mk!-uh, I...didn’t really eat. I just...drank. Hup! My roommate at th—the time, Ian, he was fr—om Ireland. Mk! He found me mm! found me on the floor of hup! of our living room un-hu’ump!-unresponsive. Hmf! He pretty much saved my li—life.”

Otto took a couple of drinks from a glass of water that had been procured by Atticus during the conversation. It eased the pain in this throat that had developed and helped loosen up the tenseness there.

“I woke up in a hospital room. Hmf! They told me hup! I had pancreatitis. Hmp! And my liver was on the verge of f—failing. If I ke—kept drinking I would probably mk! probably die in a year. Mlk!” he said matter-of-factly. “That was my rock bottom. Hul’m!”

“Holy shit,” Atticus muttered.

Otto scoffed, hiccuped, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Ia—Ian really helped me out hup! during the recovery. He had hmf! had no reason to. I was an a—ass! Never paid re-himpk! rent. Left the place tras—shed. But he...HUMP’K!, scuse me! He was there. I need to hup! to catch up with him c—come to think of it. Hip!”

“Hm,” Atticus said. “So...what happened after you...got out of the hospital? Did you still stay with Ian?”

Otto shook his head sternly.

“Not at fi—first. I had to-hmf!-had to medically hmk! ween off alcohol. I was encouraged to hulp! to go to a rehab facility. But I di—dn’t have the money fo—for it. I could be there thi—thirty days under my hup! my insurance, I was sti—ll under Oli-hilp!-livia’s insurance, but...I needed a humpk!-uh, a lot more time than that,” he explained. He rubbed his sternum again and sighed.

Atticus snuggled closer to him and reached a hand up to run it through his hair. They were awarded a tired smile.

“So, what did you do?” Atty asked.

“I called Olivia fir-HERP!-uh, first,” he said.

“Oof. How did that go?”

“Heh-huck!, about as well as y—you could imagine it went. Himpk!-mm. She finally agreed to se—nd me fifty doll—dollars after telling me mk! I should be happy she still let—let me use her health ins—surance,” he said.

“Classy,” Atticus said sarcastically.

“Very ‘on-brand’,” he said with air quotes. He smiled at Atty’s chuckle.

“So, you just went to rehab for thirty days?” Atticus asked.

“No. I was en-HUCK!-encouraged by my spons—ser to hmk! to contact my dad’s side hup! of the family,” he said. “My uncle hmf!, my dad’s brother...hu’ulp!...mm, he gave me the money for how—ever much rehab I needed. And...hmpk!-mm, he also offered this h—house to me after my gr-hrp!-great uncle passed away.”

“Wow…” Atticus said. They glanced around the house with a new appreciation of, not only the history, but the altruism Otto’s uncle had shown a nephew the man hadn’t seen in decades by fully supporting him through a recovery that had to have been very rough.

“Yeah! Oli—Olivia had made it huck’m! seem like my dad’s s—side of the family wan-huck!-wanted nothing to do mmk! with us. Turned out HUP! they just wanted nothing hulp!-nothing to do with her!” he said with a mischievous smile. “Mainly because MLP!-mm, because any money they’d gi—given to her hup! would mysteriously disap—pear before it could hlmk!-could go to where it wa—as supposed to go towards. Huck!”

“Imagine that,” Atty responded acidly.

“MmhmHMK! Mmhmm,” Otto agreed with a nod.

“So...how did you get into clock repair, then?” Atticus asked. And, honestly, they were surprised they’d never thought to ask the question before.

To Atticus, clock repair seemed like part of Otto’s DNA. But he hadn’t mentioned his eventual career path once during the story. He’d said he’d studied religion and philosophy in college, at that.

“Ah, right. Huck’mp! AA encouraged us to ta—take up hobbies. Something to fix-hilp!-fixate on, distract us from hulp! from wanting to drink. One of my dis—stractions from drinking hmk!hmp! was hmp!, sorry, hmp!mk!-uh, was repairing clocks. My dad started to—to teach me before he died. I was pretty good at it ev-hip!-even as a kid. There were a bunch of ol—d clocks here that didn’t work so hmk! I started working on them to s—see if I could fix them.

“I got some help from some of the l—local clock making com-mp!-munity. And the rest is HILP! is HILP! his—history,” Otto said and then whined as he laid his head back to more hiccups, digging his thumb into the space underneath his ribcage with a wince. “Oof!”

“You’ve had these things for a while. Poor guy,” Atticus cooed as they hugged him.

Otto sighed once more, earning him a gulpy set of hiccups from his diaphragm. Atticus watched his torso dip, spread, and bounce under his thin white shirt with sympathy.

“They ca-ALP!-calm down event—eventually. HIP!-uh,” the clock maker said as he scratched at Atticus’ scalp through their hair.

“Maybe some food would help?” Atticus asked. “Have you had breakfast?”

Otto frowned at the question. Had he really not eaten, yet?

“Uuu-HAU’AWP! Oof! Ow! Heh, mm. No, I do-ump!-’nt think so…” Otto said, bemused.

“Well then,” Atticus said, “I think your belly is saying…” they took their hands over the chubbiness of his stomach, trying to ignore how much they enjoyed the sensation of it leaping into their hands in its spasming, and squished the flab over his belly button as they recited, “Feed me, Seymour!!!”

Otto rolled his eyes and tried desperately not to laugh too hard.

Otto’s hiccups did manage to ease and fade away after breakfast. A week later, Valentine’s Day, they both presented each other with their gifts.

Atticus’ gift to him was a music box which, when cranked, played “Wonderwall” by Oasis. They’d had it engraved by a local jeweler Otto often worked with, and it said under the lid “To My Favorite Douche Under A Tree” followed by the date.

Otto had cackled and been amazed Atty had been able to pull off such a specific moment captured in such a small amount of time.

Otto’s gift seemed quite simple. It was a shadow box, albeit a small one. Inside was a coil of flat metal. It had been meticulously bent into the shape of a heart, spiraled inward.

Atticus could tell right away it was the mainspring of a clock. They noticed it was old, tarnished, and stained with chips of metal rotted out of the sides leaving an uneven edge in some places as they turned the shadowbox around to inspect it. It felt familiar, but they didn’t know why.

There was small silver a plaque on the front of the frame. It was titled “Heart Spring”, but the date wasn’t the current day. It was, instead, a few years back. It was, in fact, around the time Atticus figured they’d met Otto. It could have very well been the day Mark introduced Atticus to Otto in the first place.

Atty’s apartment had been broken into. Mark had been the detective assigned to the case. While they didn’t care about any of the belongings that had been taken, there had been a mantel clock which had been damaged somehow during the break-in. It had never run well, anyway, but the fact that it no longer ticked at all had been distressing as it was an heirloom from Atticus’ parents, though they never knew which parent it had really originated from.

Mark suggested Otto to help them with the repair. He said he could work with Otto on the price as he was a close friend. As it ended up, Otto had done the repair for free as during the process of it he’d become enamored with Atticus, though the writer wasn’t aware of that for several months.

Atticus continued to look down at the shadowbox with widening eyes as the memories of the year etched on the plaque started becoming clearer.

“What...is this…?” Atticus tried to ask.

“It’s the old mainspring from your clock I replaced. The date is when I met you. I...you know...for some reason I never got rid of the mainspring? I usually just toss them. So, I don’t know why I kept it. But I’m glad I did. It’s sort of...symbolic, I guess? Replacing the ‘heart’ of your old clock to get it running again. Sort of like...like you sort of helped me find my heart again after all of the time I spent trying to avoid that kind of thing. Kind of dorky, I know,” he said shrugging and rolling his eyes up at himself, “a bit too on the nose and sill—Oh!”

Otto hadn’t hiccuped. Instead, his speech had been interrupted when his tiny partner had suddenly wrapped their arms around his waist as far as they would go in a tight embrace.

“I love it,” was all Atticus said.

Otto relaxed and lightly held Atticus’ head against his chest and placed his other arm at their shoulders.

“I love you,” he said.

“So, don’t freak out,” Otto said as he appeared in front of Atticus while they sat up in bed after waking.

Otto looked a little...wilder than usual. His hair was a little more frazzled. His eyes somehow seemed larger, though they had faint shadows of exhaustion under them. He held his hands up to the writer as if to defend himself from whatever reaction he was hoping to prevent. His long finger splayed in front of Atticus’ eyes and the writer followed them to his palms and then to his face, blinking themselves into a state of alertness they deemed necessary to process Otto’s unusual request.

It was mid-December of the first year they’d lived together. As such, Atticus had not quite assimilated to all of Otto’s quirks, nor Otto to theirs. So, what should they expect when faced with the words ‘don’t freak out’?

It took more than a moment to form a response which seemed to leave Otto bouncing on the balls of his feet and biting his lip in anticipation.

“Pro-tip,” Atticus finally said, voice still hoarse from sleep, “the words ‘don’t freak out’ rarely succeed in calming someone down.”

Otto balled his hands up to his mouth with a solemn nod.

“Okay,” he said as he fanned his hands back out in gesticulation, “that’s a fair point.”

Atticus snorted a soft laugh at the concession.

“What, exactly, am I not supposed to freak out about?” they asked.

“What...is your opinion on decorating for the holidays?” he asked with forced casualness.

“Um...I like it? I mean, I rarely have the energy to do it myself, but I like Christmas. I might not believe in the...anything of it, but the décor was always kind of nostalgic,” Atticus admitted.

“Good!!” Otto said with so much enthusiasm and loudness it caused Atticus to visibly jump. “Sorry! Good. Good. That’s good. Cause...when you walk downstairs...I...just...know that I really love decorating for Christmas. I’m on the same page as you with the believing but...just…”

Otto’s face became a little desperate as he searched for words and got caught up with passion.

“I really like Christmas decorations. A lot,” he finally said.

“O...kay,” Atticus said slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. “Did you...did you stay up all night decorating?”

“No!” he said with a finger pointing upward in front of him, “I got up in the middle of the night and decorated! I wanted to surprise you. But then I thought, what if they don’t like it? We haven’t talked about it. And didn’t they say they were Jewish? But they aren’t practicing? I don’t know if you’re practicing. I don’t think we’ve ever discussed it actually. Why haven’t we discussed it? I guess it’s not something you just talk about, is it? Or maybe something bad happened to them on Christmas and I’m just going to be inciting some traumatic event by reminding them of Christmas. So, I wanted to warn you and...and if you want me to take it down...give me a few hours because it’ll take a whi—”

Atticus had grabbed his wandering hands in front of him to stop his words. It had worked surprisingly well as he now stared down on them owlishly as they stood in front of him smirking.

“I love Christmas decorations, and I really want to see them,” they said.

Otto gifted them with a wide grin.

“Okay! Okay, good! C’mon!” he said as he led them downstairs.

The first thing Atticus noticed was lights. No, actually the first thing Atticus noticed was garland on the banister. Well, no, the first thing Atticus noticed was an explosion of reds, greens, golds, and shining decorations literally everywhere they turned their head. It was overwhelming and they walked slowly as they took in how the living room, dining room, and entire downstairs area had been taken over by meticulously placed and organized decorations culminating in an impressively realistic artificial tree in the corner of the living room next to the front window.

In the perimeter of their awareness, they heard Otto excitedly explaining the history of the nut crackers, the glass blown ornaments, the vintage strings of light, and various other characteristics of the veritable winter wonderland he’d created.

“...all from Germany. My dad’s side of the family. I have a vintage train set I used to bring out, but it’s honestly too much trouble to put it up anymore and it sort of blocks the flow of the house. And honestly? I’m not really into trains? Like, I know, right? I seem like a person who would be totally into trains, but they’re not really my thing. I can’t bring myself to get rid of it, though. Too sentimental, I guess. Maybe one day I’ll set it up again. Or maybe I can donate it to someone who would appreciate it. I dunno. Haven’t really looked into it…” Otto continued to babble until he noticed Atticus’ face taking all of the decorations in.

“Dude…” Atty finally said.

Otto’s eyes widened as he tried to figure out exactly what the statement of awe implied.

“Is that a good ‘dude’ or…” he asked.

Atticus simply turned to him with eyes wide behind their large glasses. A grin slowly grew on their face until it stretched into their cheeks and pushed into their eyes.

“Duuude!” they exclaimed. “This is awesome!”

Otto grinned and bounced on his feet.

“Yeah? Really? You don’t think it’s too much? I mean, I’d totally get it if you thought it was too much,” he said quickly.

“No-I-this is amazing! I can’t believe you did all of this in less than a night! I...well...the nutcrackers are kind of creepy. I like them but...something about nutcrackers. I think I was way too impressionable when I saw The Nutcracker performance. But they’re really cool, still! And...oh my gosh this tree! Man! Holy moly. This is just...like...it feels so warm and cozy!” Atticus said, beaming.

“I know! Right? That’s what I think! It’s-it’s why I do it every year. I...before my dad died, he used to decorate our house like this every Christmas. Our mom was never too into it so after he was gone it was just...you know...the basics,” he said as his fingers toyed with themselves in explaining.

“But, um, you know I actually inherited this house,” he continued. “Sorta. Kinda. After I got into recovery and was making amends I was encouraged to reach out to my uncle, my dad’s brother, by my sponsor. My therapist at the time thought it was a good idea, too. My uncle said there was this house here that he owned. My great aunt used to live here. He thought one of my cousins might want it, but they were already married and set up where they wanted to be, so he offered it to me. It came with so many things, and he told me I could do whatever I wanted to with them. Most of it I kept. Just...the history, y’know? And all of these decorations. Then I asked my mom if I could have the decorations from dad’s collection. And, you know, she made it this big thing. But she gave them to me eventually. Anyway.”

Atticus listened and nodded, scanning the scene again as he explained the history. They noticed how very old the ornaments were at that point. Timeless. Or, perhaps, trapped in time? They couldn’t pinpoint it, but they felt as if they’d stepped into a greeting card or the pictures in a book. Even the lights seemed to give the house a sepia feel. It gave them a swelling of emotion they didn’t exactly expect; they rubbed their hand on their chest at it.

“Yeah. Yeah, you know...my mom...she didn’t really care for Christmas,” Atticus said, “But, for my sake, she decorated every year despite it. My mom didn’t have great memories of her family. But she did have some ornaments. I kept them with me. Some stuff from when I packed up at her apartment after she died, I still have in boxes in the loft bedroom. Um...she was always surprised how much Christmas meant to me. But I’ve always loved it.”

Atty felt Otto’s arm around them and found themselves leaning into the softness of his side.

“My dad,” they continued, “he wasn’t really practicing. He had a menorah. I have that, too. Sometimes I give a light-hearted attempt at celebrating. But I wasn’t really brought up religiously Jewish. I think my mom made more of an attempt to connect me with that part of my culture than my dad ever did.”

“Yeah?” Otto said. “Well, if you want you are more than free to add anything you have. I mean...that would actually be pretty great. Mmk! I’d mmk! I’d li—like to se-mp!-see those ornaments and mk!mk! and men—norah! Heh. I thi-himp!-think the ex-ip!-excitement himp’k! gave me mmk! the hiccups!”

Atticus had felt a flush take over their body from the first soft jostle they’d felt as his side. They shivered involuntarily and Otto had the audacity to bring them closer into his body. Though, to be fair, Atty didn’t resist.

“Oh no…” Atticus said weakly with very little attempt at genuineness. They smiled up at the tall clock maker as he placed his hand on his chest and grinned sheepishly.

Still fairly new to celebrating their shared arousals Otto rocked them with his body as he shifted weight from one foot to the other feeling the thumps of his diaphragm pull at his abdomen and jerk his head.

“Guess herp! guess this hmm! is our fir—irst hmp! gift of the hup’k!hmp! of the season!” he said as he looked shyly down at them.

“You want to…” Atty said as they couldn’t resist putting a hand on his stomach to feel the movements “...open the present down here or upstairs?”

“Hmmhmmmk!-mm!” he said, rubbing his chest at the deepness of that one. The hiccups were getting stronger with his increasing arousal as he watched and felt Atticus’ reactions and their struggle to keep themselves together.

“May-hmm!-maybe upsta-huh’mmk! upstairs?” he suggested. “HU’ULK! Oh, excuse me! Hnk!-uh. huULK!-uh.”

Atticus let out a shaky breath at the quickening hiccups and his apology for the loud hiccup.

“Yeah. Yeah-yeah. Upstairs. Like, now,” they said, urgently.

With that same sense of urgency, the couple rushed to their shared bed. Lying next to each other, against each other, Atticus nearly on top of Otto with how close they were, they fed off of one another’s moans and sounds and movements as they masturbated simultaneously until they found themselves breathless and spent.

Atticus heard themselves vocalizing their pleasure excitedly as Otto’s hiccups continued and became worse, faster, as he gasped in his own excited self-administrations. Atty grew more and more aroused with every quickened breath and moan choked off by hiccup clusters hardly giving him space to breathe.

At one point the writer remembered looking up to make sure Otto was still okay as the hiccups hit him in such quick succession. The sounds ran into each other, gasping croakily in his throat as if he was experiencing one elongated hiccup instead of a cluster of several. But their concern was temporary as they only saw in Otto’s closed eyes an expression of intense arousal, brow furrowed as his body curled with the rhythmic administrations of his hand to himself. And then he vocalized a sighing moan before more hiccups interrupted him.

The visual electrified and quickened Atticus’ own pleasure and, though their climaxes were staggered they weren’t that far apart as they both eventually ended up lax and spent. Atticus’ head found its way to Otto’s chest and Otto’s arm wound around their body as they both gasped and panted into calmer breathing.

Otto’s diaphragm didn’t make it easy to calm his breathing, though, as it still tugged at his lungs in strong spasms.

“H’muuck!-uh. Hm’mmk!-mm. Guess they’re mmk! stubborn toda-hup’k!-today! Scuse me! Hrmk!-mm. Mm!mm!hmmk’m!-uh. Jeez. HU’UPK! Whew,” he said as he rubbed his chest and belly.

“Dang, those sound so strong, still,” Atticus noted, the buzz and afterglow softening their arousal reaction leaving them more concerned than turned on.

“Yeah they huh’mmk!-uh, they are a li-hip!-litt—little. Damn. HULP!HUP!-oof. They’ll mmk!hmp! they’ll calm do-hup!-down after hm’mmk! after a whi—ile, I think,” he said.

“Hope so,” Atticus said as they rubbed his jiggling and popping stomach sympathetically.

Otto smiled at the gesture.

“Have you eaten breakfast, yet?” they asked.

The question gave Otto pause.

“No actu—actually. HUP!-ooh. Sorry. Wonder hmk! wonder mk!mk!mm!…” Otto said and paused as his head and stomach jerked silently a few more times at the rapid attack before slowing again as he sighed. “Ugh. Mm. Wonder if th—that would hup! he—help! hu’uuck!”

“Let’s find out,” Atticus offered.

As it turned out, having food helped a great deal in slowing Otto’s hiccups. Sitting in the kitchen he watched Atticus stare into the living room, head leaning in hand, as they ate their eggs distractedly.

Otto’s hiccups hadn’t stopped completely, yet, but he could tell they were on the way out. He was relieved to have been given some more breathing room, and his throat was starting to feel less irritated with the cool water he was drinking. He smiled as Atticus’ attention continued to be distracted by his decorations.

“You reall—really do like them don’t y—don’t you?” he said as he swallowed another bite of eggs.

“I really do,” Atticus confirmed. They turned back to Otto with a soft smile. They gave his belly a gentle pat. “How’s your diaphragm?”

“Calming down, thankfully,” he said. His body bounced again with another silent spasm. “Mm. That was a nice surprise, though.” He jerked again and took another drink of water to ease his throat.

“Mmm. Yeah, it was. Thank you. I know you didn’t plan it, but thanks anyway. Heck, if advent calendars had gifts like that, I might consider actually participating!” Atticus said in humor.

Otto chuckled and released a small hup!

“Twelve days of—of hiccuping might be a little much. E—even for me,” he said.

“No kidding,” Atticus said with a nod of agreement.

“You know you’re not the only one who g—gets something out of it, right?” Otto asked.

Atticus shrugged.

“Yeah, but you do more for it,” they said, brushing off the comparison.

“Mm, I don’t really see it that way,” he said. He swallowed another mouthful of food and noticed a distinct lack of tickle in the back of his throat. Breathing in through his nose he confirmed the case had come to an end. “Having the hiccups isn’t something that takes effort, y’know? I just, sorta, it just happens! And it-it doesn’t really bother me to have them. Not really. So, don’t think you’re expecting me to sacrifice myself to any sort of, I dunno, laborious physical action. Hiccups are just...part of my life, I guess. And having you admire them and get aroused by them is, well, really convenient!”

Atticus was facing him now. Their eyes studied him as he spoke. They took a breath, trying to take in the truth of what he’d said.

“You’re sure? They don’t...they don’t bother you too much?” they asked.

Otto shook his head enthusiastically, lowering his eyebrows in emphasis.

“No, man! Seriously! I would have them if you found them arousing or not! I’m just...glad they don’t annoy you. The fact they please you is sort of a bonus! For both of us! Cause...cause when you get all hot and bothered and flustered I just...mm. Man. It gets me really nng! Y’know?!” he said as he bounced in his chair a little.

“Oh, I know ‘nng’ all too well!” they said with a smile.

Otto chuckled.

“Well...I guess Happy Holidays, then! To both of us!” Atticus said.

“Happy Holidays,” Otto agreed emphatically. “And, who knows, we might get a couple more advent presents today. This little dome shaped muscle feels frisky.”

Otto rubbed under his ribs.

“Oof. You tease!” Atty exclaimed.

“I would never!” Otto rebuked.

“Careful. Santa Clause will get you for lying…” Atty said.

“Actually, no, that would be Krampus,” Otto said.

“...What’s a Krampus?”

The next morning Otto walked down the stairs stiffly from his room. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to see Mark still on his computer in the chair beside his couch, which he had been sleeping on, and said he was going to head upstairs to his bed. Mark insisted on shoving more pills and “grape”-flavored cough syrup into his mouth while making him promise if he needed anything to call down.

The clockmaker’s head felt heavy and clouded as he continued to make his way to the first level of his house. He wasn’t sure if it was the medication or the illness that had settled into his ears and sinuses that made his brain feel so swimmy. Regardless, he didn’t enjoy the sensation at all. The shower he took hadn’t helped much except to make him cough and sneeze more and he held his robe tighter around him at the chill his wet hair was giving him, his body having completely given up on regulating his temperature. His head was pounding as well.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw Mark through the living room in the kitchen. He frowned. The man was in sweats and a white shirt studying something very hard. As Otto squinted, he realized with surprise that it was his Chemex.

It was quite possible, Otto realized, that he was hallucinating due to fever. Surely Mark couldn’t be attempting to make coffee. But as he crept closer, he noticed Mark’s open laptop on the counter with step-by-step instructions on how to make pour over coffee using a Chemex. Mark kept glancing from the computer screen to the glass vessel as he poured hot water into the filter at the top and stared at it as the water seeped through the coffee grounds.

Otto stopped at the threshold of the kitchen and huddled the robe closer to him curling his toes inside his house-slippers and leaned against the side of the entrance to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” he finally asked, annoyed at how hoarse his voice was and his inability to make it any clearer. He coughed a little into his shoulder as speaking encouraged more phlegm to dislodge.

Mark started a little but then smiled one of his very achieved looking smiles at Otto.

“Making coffee!” he replied, enthusiastically.

Otto gave a long-suffering sigh, wincing at the wheeze he felt in his chest as he expelled the air.

“No—I see that—what are you doing here,” he emphasized. And while he hadn’t intended on his tone being confrontational, it’d come out that way a little with his tired exasperation and current mood.

Mark scoffed with some humor, though some of the glow from earlier left his face.

“Okay, um, well,” Mark said and took a breath, “I’m here because I’m on-call the rest of this week. So...I thought I’d wake up and make coffee because I knew you probably weren’t going to feel up to it so...but y’know, if you’d rather I wasn’t here, I can do that, too!”

“No! I! Ugh,” Otto leaned his head on the frame of the threshold and closed his eyes with a deep breath he could only take through his mouth. He swallowed at the dryness of his throat and groaned as he whined, “My head hurts...my throat hurts...I don’t—I didn’t mean to sound so...uh…”

“Grumpy?” Mark prompted.

When Otto opened his eyes, Mark was giving him a bemused smirk and Otto sighed again, coughed a little, and nodded in agreement to Mark’s word choice.

“Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Grumpy. I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for making coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said. Then he frowned and glanced at the taller man for a moment until Otto frowned back at him.

“You really don’t do well with people taking care of you, do you?” Mark finally said.

Otto groaned again and rubbed his head as he forced himself straight from leaning.

“Can we...not do the whole...profiling your housemate bit today? I’m really not feeling up for it,” Otto admitted.

“Yeah, sure,” Mark said sheepishly. “Sorry bout that. Hey! What’re you doing?”

Otto had just opened the refrigerator to pull out eggs and stopped mid-bend. He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m...making scrambled eggs? My stomach feels a little iffy so I thought I’d make something simple. Is...that okay?” Otto asked.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” Mark said, crossing the distance to grab the eggs from in front of Otto. “I’ll make us both some. And toast, if you want.”

Otto slowly rose with confusion.

“Okay…” he said slowly. Then he hissed and shook his hand as his palm brushed against the fibers of his robe. He’d forgotten he’d taken the bandage off to shower.

“But first,” Mark said as he noticed, “I’m gonna bandage that hand up again.”

Otto hummed, still scowling a little. Then he began to feel a little light-headed. His heart started thumping harder in his chest. Mark, of course, noticed the change.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, dark blue eyes tracking Otto’s brown ones with concern.

Otto swallowed hard before speaking, “Mark...even when you’re on-call you usually don’t hang around here. Or you’re upstairs doing...something. Are you really here just to take care of me because I’m sick?”

The clockmaker said this with a tone of disbelief. His head swam a little harder and he gripped the counter as Mark took his elbow.

“Whoa, hey! Let’s get you to the couch first,” Mark said and led Otto with a hand to his back to the couch so he could sit down. He could feel the warmth emitting from him through the robe.

Mark sat next to Otto and gripped his shoulder.

“You good?” Mark asked, those worried blue eyes sparkling again. When Otto nodded lightly Mark sighed, “Dude, you really thought I was gonna just leave you here alone when you were feeling like crap? I mean, I know I’m not exactly...well...the most intuitive roommate, but I’m not just gonna abandon you like this.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said softly as he nodded a little. Though part of him really didn’t understand it. And another part of him didn’t get why he didn’t understand it. Was someone taking care of him that foreign a concept to him? His heart continued to feel hard in his chest.

Then Mark gave him a look that he wished he hadn’t seen. It wasn’t pity, exactly, but there was some sadness there after a gleam of understanding. Otto looked away and tried desperately not to think about the implication of the look. But then Mark had to say the quiet part out loud.

“Otto, you really aren’t used to this, are you?” Mark said.

Otto felt a very frustrating and stubborn knot in his throat as his eyes squinted and shined. He gave Mark a glance at his side, only being able to look at the sympathetic face for a second. He didn’t say anything but shook his head. No. No, he really wasn’t used to being taken care of like this.

The realization of it was almost sadder than it being true. Was he really this broken? And why had it taken him so long to realize it? If nothing else, he certainly had a topic to talk to his therapist about at his next appointment. He swallowed hard.

“Okay,” Mark said softly. “That’s okay. Before I was with Jana?”

Otto cautioned a look at him and met his eyes, nodding for him to continue and in understanding.

“I was kind of the same way,” Mark continued. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I actually got really angry because I didn’t understand why she was treating me like a kid. That was when I realized that even though my aunt loved me and tried to give me the best life she could after my parents died, she just didn’t know how to take care of anyone else. And Jana was just...caring for me. I saw that as something insulting, but Jana helped me realize what it really was.”

Mark sighed then, a look of sadness coming in his face.

“I hate...I really hate that we didn’t work out. I hate...ugh, I dunno. I hate that addiction exists and changes people and...that it took her away from me. And I hate that she couldn’t be with me because—because…” Mark stopped for a minute and bit his lip.

Otto put a hand on his shoulder then.

“Because,” Otto said, voice hoarse with illness and emotion, “she needed to work on her shit alone. That had nothing to do with you, Mark. Jana knew she couldn’t be where she needed to be in her recovery with the pressure of a relationship, especially one with so much baggage. She made the choice that was best for her and her recovery. And I know for a fact that wasn’t an easy decision to make. The last thing she ever wanted to do was to hurt you. She assumed this was the best way to avoid that. And...I agree with her.”

Mark looked like he had something to respond to that, but he clamped it down, pressing his lips together momentarily.

“I know,” he responded, instead. He nodded. Then he took a breath. “Um, lemme get the first aid kit and bandage that hand and I’ll work on the eggs. The coffee’s probably ready if you feel like you want any with your stomach?

Otto was recovering himself from the emotional toll of their conversation when he nodded.

“Yeah, man. If a doctor told me coffee was the thing that was gonna kill me, I’d make the best cup of coffee with the most expensive beans I could find and write my will while drinking it. That being said...might not hurt to take an antacid, too. Think I had a whole bunch of postnasal drippage last night. I’m gassy as hell this morning. You ever try coughing, sneezing, and belching at the same time? I don’t recommend it, man. Thank gawd the shower has a drain is all I gotta say,” Otto said rubbing his chest.

Mark snorted a laugh.

“Well, that is certainly a visual!” he said with a smile.

Despite himself, Otto smiled as well.

After Mark had wrapped Otto’s hand, handed him a coffee (which Otto had to admit wasn’t terrible), fed him eggs, and (to the clockmaker’s chagrin) gave him more meds, they both sat side by side on the couch sitting in the heaviness of their prior conversation but also in the lightness of having broken through some sort of barrier neither one of them realized had existed before in their relationship.

Mark had put something on TV in order to break some of the tension of the silence. Still, the lack of conversation felt a little heavy after all they’d revealed to each other. Until…

“Hmk!...Hmk!...Hm’mk!-uh...Hrmk!-dammit,” Otto muttered as he put a hand to his chest.

“Do you want some more water?” Mark asked. Mark wasn’t familiar with the ins and outs of Otto’s diaphragm, yet.

Otto sighed, his diaphragm pulling another gulp of air that hit his already sore throat like sandpaper. He swallowed and another gulpy hiccup interrupted the action and he grunted.

“Y—eah, it won’t Huggulp!-uh, stop th—em but Hmgk!-mm, might help m—my throat Hurg’k!-ow,” he said.

Fortunately, the pills and cough syrup Mark had pushed on him had helped most of the pain he’d been in, including his headache. So, he thought drowsily, it could be worse.

Apparently, Mark had gotten up because a second later he felt a glass of water touch his hand. And damn, Otto thought, whatever was in that cough syrup was good stuff. If it wasn’t for the hiccups, he could’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

“Tha-Hingk!-thanks,” Otto said and took a mouthful of water, waited for the next hiccup, and swallowed.

The clockmaker hummed and nodded at the cool sensation on his throat. His head rocked back with another hiccup as he kept the water in his hand between his legs.

“Those seem pretty rough,” Mark said.

“They n-Irgk!-not too bad. Mrgk!-mm, just hur-Urgk!-hurting my thro—oat,” he said.

“Maybe hold your breath?” Mark suggested.

Otto shook his head. He always got people suggesting cures. He really didn’t care about having the hiccups, even if they hurt a little. Besides, not much helped them anyways.

“Naw I ju—ust kinda have to H’murgk! let them Hmgk!-mm, let them go aw—way on their own. Hm’guck! ooh, excu—scuse me!” Otto said as he patted his chest and took another sip of water.

Mark hummed but still glanced over at Otto with some concern.

“I’m fi—ine!” Otto said with a little laugh. “They’re ju-Urgk!-just hiccups, ma—man! They won’t Hulgk! won’t last long. Hrmulgk!-mm.”

A pregnant pause filled only by the soft thumps and sounds of Otto’s hiccups.

“Otto?” Mark asked. When the clockmaker looked up in question the detective doubted himself for a second before continuing, “Look, man, I’m really sorry your mom didn’t—”

“Mm!” Otto vocalized before a muffled hiccup and shook his head firmly. “I don’t H’mulgk! I don’t wa—ant that. Please d-Ulgk!-don’t do that? I kno—ow it’s Hrp! it’s coming fro—om a goo—ood place, but I ca...Huggulp!-uh, I don’t wa—want that. Ple—please?”

Mark nodded.

“Yeah. No, I should’ve—I’m sorry,” Mark said.

“It’s fi—ine,” Otto said with a wince of a smile. After a while he added, “Thanks for, Hugguh! you know, car—ing.”

Otto rolled his eyes upward in response to how lame it sounded. He sniffed a little and swallowed hard against both a hiccup and another rush of emotion. He hated being sick. He took another drink of water like he would’ve taken a gulp of liquor if he still drank.

“Of course,” Mark responded with a quick smile and turned back to whatever was playing on the TV.

After a few minutes Otto’s hiccups quelled on their own. He hadn’t even noticed they were gone at first. When he did, he took a sigh through his mouth and relaxed a little more.

“Your hiccups finally gone?” Mark muttered.

At some point the detective must’ve gotten another cup of coffee, but Otto couldn’t recall when that was.

“Yeah,” Otto confirmed breathily as he closed his eyes and leaned on the back of the couch letting his head hit the cushion heavily.

That was the last thing Otto said for a while. When Mark looked over Otto’s form was completely relaxed and his head lolled with open-mouth congested snores. Slowly Otto’s head lolled over more and more toward Mark until, unconsciously sensing the closeness of something to be propped on, Otto let his head completely drop down on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark let Otto rest on his shoulder. Then, very slowly, he lifted his arm behind the man to let him lie a little more comfortably against him. Mark would never share this, but Otto snuggled into Mark at this movement. And while there was embarrassment when he woke up, it was worth it to Mark for Otto to feel cared for. It was a gift Jana had given to Mark he would cherish always. He was more than happy to pay it forward to a man who he felt deserved it so much.

He really didn’t get enough time with Ralph, Otto thought to himself as the man in question stood behind him while he studied the old watch.

“I really didn’t mean to interrupt you on your personal day,” Ralph said, apologizing again for the timing (no pun intended) of requesting Otto take a look at his grandfather’s watch, which had recently been passed down to him.

“No, man, like I said, it’s no big deal. Seriously!” Otto explained.

The clockmaker had mentioned to Ralph about having a personal day. He had explained as a result of both Atticus and himself working from home, and thus being around each other all the time, they both regularly needed time to themselves to recharge from each other’s presence. They were both essentially introverted people who needed personal time, and even if they weren’t, Atticus read an article online that highlighted how important it was for partners to have some time apart. And who was Otto to argue with the credibility of an online article?

But time away from each other didn’t necessarily mean time alone, as Otto explained to Mark’s work partner. It just meant time for themselves to do their own things and reclaim some of their separate identity.

With the majority of Otto’s past relationships sustaining themselves on various kinds of unhealthy codependency, the freedom to actually have personal time was a novelty and gift he became grateful to have access to, if not initially a little awkward in performing.

The first time they separated for personal time he struggled to find things to do even though he had lived years before Atticus (or Mark) in a kind of self-isolation. But he soon came to appreciate the acute separation and, at times, even looked forward to his plans of doing things Atticus wouldn’t have enjoyed. This time he hadn’t planned anything, so he was grateful for the unexpected company, and he told Ralph as much.

“Yeah, so, it’s cool that you came by!” he said. “I’ve been wanting to hang out with you more, anyway. Seems we only get to see each other when Mark’s involved. I like talking to you and hey, you’re speaking my love language by bringing me this watch. You said it was your grandfather’s, right?”

“Yeah,” Ralph confirmed. “I don’t know much about it, but I know it’s automatic? It’s...that means it winds when you wear it, right? From the movement of your arm?”

Otto nodded. He suppressed the urge to info dump and explain how to mechanism worked as he bit his lip. It was easy to get him started on the specifics when all most people wanted to know was if it was too broken to fix.

“So, my dad gave this to me last year. He said the last time it was serviced was about 4 years ago. I’m guessing it needs to be serviced cause even though I give it a little jump-start wind every morning, it starts to slow down or stop randomly during the day. Just hoping I didn’t break it and it just needs, like, a tune up or something,” Ralph said, hand rubbing against the back of his neck, the dark brown skin of his forehead wrinkling in worry as his eyebrows clinched together high on his head.

“No, that actually makes sense. It hasn’t been serviced in a while. My guess is it just needs a new mainspring and a cleaning, which is totally doable. Did-do you know if your dad serviced it regularly somewhere?” Otto asked as he turned the old watch around with his fingertips, feeling the slight tremor of the winding mechanism inside the case.

“Uh, yeah, actually. He used to take it to this dude on Central. Think the place was called Central Clocks and Watches?” Ralph said.

“Oh yeah! George! He’s retired now. Eyesight was starting to go and arthritis. Man, he was a great watch repairer, though. We used to trade customers back in the day. I’d send watch customers his way and he’d send clock customers mine if we got stuck on an issue. Good guy. Only knew him a couple of years before he retired, though. This is a dying business, man. I shudder to think in ten years if anyone is gonna be able to service the older timepieces and clocks, y’know? Anyway, yeah, if your dad used him, this watch has probably been really well taken care of. And it’s definitely scheduled for some service,” Otto said with a smile.

The detective looked a little relieved.

“Good, cause if this watch wasn’t working the next time I saw my father, I might not be of this world for much longer,” Ralph said with a meaningful nod.

Otto chuckled, “We won’t let that happen.”

“That’s great. Not sure Jon would appreciate being a widower,” he replied.

“I dunno,” Otto quipped with a mischievous grin. “You guys still have those two cats, right? Eh, he’ll be fine!”

“Wow! I see how it is!” Ralph said, crossing his arms. “You really think Dot and Rose could replace me?”

“Listen,” the clockmaker said, holding up his hands in defense after setting the old watch down, “I follow them on Instagram and if I wasn’t deathly allergic to cats, I might marry them myself. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Ugh!” Ralph exclaimed, head lolling back momentarily in mostly mock frustration. “I don’t know how that man has time to post as much as he does. I swear people know more about those damn cats than they do about me.”

Otto laughed, shaking his head.

“Hey, I wasn’t kidding about wanting to talk to you more. If you don’t have anything else to do today, I can fix us some coffee, and we can catch up?” Otto asked.

Ralph took a moment to think about the proposition. He narrowed his eyes and nodded.

“You know, that might be nice. It’s been go-go-go for me and Mark recently at the station. I don’t think I’ve had time enough to just sit and have a real conversation with someone. And you make some great coffee, so I’m in,” Ralph said as he rubbed his hands together.

“Perfect. I’ll get started on your watch tonight. I’ve never worked on one of these before, so I want to do a little research before I dive in. It’s a great watch from what I know of it. And it looks like it’s in really good condition,” Otto said as he went to the kitchen as Ralph followed him.

“Yeah, take your time. I trust you. Just tell me what I owe. Whatever it is, it’s worth it,” he said.

Ralph watched as Otto brought out a burr coffee grinder, a scale, and a goose-neck kettle. He snickered too soft for the curly-haired man to hear as he shook his head at what seemed a bit theatrical of a performance, or something out of some sort of chemistry lab.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Otto said as he went through the steps in making them both pour-over coffee, “I take my time very seriously.”

The clockmaker looked over his shoulder to see Ralph’s deadpan expression glaring at him. It tickled him all the more, though.

“Sorry,” he wasn’t, “couldn’t resist. And depending on what’s going on with it, I can probably cut you a good deal on the service.”

“Well, I appreciate that. It’s not necessary but thank you. Also, this is a lot of equipment for one cup of coffee. I mean, Jon and I have an espresso machine, but I don’t touch it…”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Usually, I just make it in the Chemex and don’t do all of this part with the measuring and stuff. But I figured since this is sort of...I dunno...we have time and it’s event...adjacent, at least...I thought I might put a little more care into it. We also have some pie left. Way more than Atticus or I should eat. You interested in a slice?” Otto asked.

“C’mon,” Ralph said with his mouth agape. “Really? Yes. Absolutely. What kind?”

“Chocolate chess!”

“Aww! That’s, I haven’t had a chess pie in...it’s been a minute!” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, it’s Atty’s great aunt’s recipe. Their mom used to make it during the holidays. Thought I’d try my hand at it. It’s pretty phenomenal. Just loads of sugar. So, obviously delicious,” Otto said.

Soon the pair was sat at the couch. Otto had put on a record and Ralph, for all the tenseness he usually kept in his tall, bulky body, seemed to have melted into the cushions in a rare display of relaxation as they both shared a companionable silence eating the rich, creamy chocolate pie and sipping the smooth warm cups of coffee Otto had prepared.

Soft instrumental music played on Otto’s record player and created a soothing atmosphere among the subtle sounds of clocks in the background. The sun streamed through the front window in the living room, diffused by the sheer white curtain liner into a warm light.

Otto and Ralph breathed in at the same time and then chuckled at the realization of their synchronicity.

“That pie was delicious,” the detective finally said as he sat the small plate down on the coffee table in front of him.

“I know, right? Recipe was really simple, too!” Otto piled his plate on top of Ralph’s and sat back with his coffee in his hands.

“Hmm. Think you might send it our way?” Ralph asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“Yeah, no problem. I don’t think Atticus would mind. But confession?” Otto said as he put his hand softly on his midsection with a grunt. “That was sort of my third piece today?”

“Third piece?!” Ralph exclaimed incredulously. The pie was so incredibly rich that, sure, he might’ve eaten another piece. But he would definitely be regretting it, if he did.

“Yeah…” Otto said sheepishly, “and the other two had whipped cream on them. First one was at breakfast before eggs and toast. Second one was right before you got here. And this one, well, I couldn’t just sit and wa—watch you Hmk! you ea—eat one with-Hup’k!-without hav—ing one mys—elf!”

He put his hand on his chest as the start of a hiccup attack made his head jolt back and his chin tuck.

“Ah, the conse—quences ofHup! my act—tions!” he continued.

Otto looked up into the bemused face of his friend and rolled his eyes at himself.

“You and those hiccups, man,” Ralph laughed, shaking his head.

“What-Hulp! do you kn—ow about Huggulp! my hiccups?” Otto asked in a moment of complete lack of self-awareness at his own quirks and an odd defensiveness about Atticus’ appreciation of them.

Ralph guffawed at the odd reaction. The detective had become used to Otto’s inherent quirks. Initially, when he’d first met the man (after proven innocent for mistaken identity in a crime both he and Mark were working), Ralph had assumed Otto’s criminal history indicated a possible overuse of drugs and alcohol that might have led to the personality quirks.

But, a bit humbly, Ralph realized Otto was simply who he was regardless of substance use. Knowing Otto had been helpful in changing how Ralph perceived other former and current substance users. Having grown up in a fairly strict household with a cop father and a mother who was a teacher, he admitted to having some biases to those who had, in his mistaken opinion, gotten themselves into trouble by getting addicted to things. So, knowing Otto, and subsequently spending some time with Margie, had helped give him some perspective and sympathy for people he met in his line of work who were struggling with addiction.

“Only the fact that you seem to get them a lot and that one time Mark told me about you having them for, what, like three hours or something?” Ralph explained.

“Fi-Hup!-five,” Otto corrected, grumbling a little that Mark had shared the experience.

“Five?!” Ralph exclaimed. “That...sounds pretty miserable!”

“They usu—ally don’t both-Herk! me that m—uch. Hm’k!Hm’mk!Hmmp!-oh, excuse me,” Otto said, pardoning himself for the cluster interrupting him. “But they were Humpk! they were pre—tty bad Hulp! that day. I was—was really sore for a wh—ile after. Hulmp!-mm.”

Otto admitted this as he took another long sip of his coffee, relishing in the taste and warmth even as hiccups continued to squelch in his throat. It was a pretty casual case for Otto.

“Man, hiccups bug the hell out of me,” Ralph admitted. “I don’t get them that often. But when I do I know it’s gonna be a whole damn day of them. Picture me, a grown-ass man, trying to interview a witness or talk to a victim or a suspect or, hell, even another officer hiccuping like a kid. Little squeaks, oh, they just piss me off.”

Ralph shook his head and took another sip of coffee. Otto chuckled a little, figuring Atticus would very much like to imagine a frustrated detective trying to navigate those situations while hiccuping. He’d have to share the image with them and see what they thought.

“I us—ed to hate Hilmpk! hate having th—em in public,” Otto admitted. “But-Hulmpk! Atticus thi-Hingk!-s they’re cu—ute.” Otto swallowed more coffee and shrugged. “So I gu-Hilmp!-guess I don’t mi—mind them any—anymore.”

Ralph hummed in thought.

Otto let him seemingly get lost in some reflecting as he muffled his hiccups to prevent them from interrupting whatever Ralph was ruminating on. Ralph did this every once and a while. He took a moment to pause before speaking. If one were patient enough to wait for it, they’d be gifted with something insightful or introspective. So, Otto let his hiccups thump in his chest while he waited.

“I guess,” Ralph said after a moment, “I guess I can care a little too much about how I look, y’know? The way I grew up, I learned how to control myself. I learned to be smart and act confident. I learned to be in control of my emotions. Y’know, my dad was a cop, and my granddad was a soldier. My dad saw first-hand what happened to young black men who didn’t know how to control themselves. At least that’s how he saw it. Not having control could mean death in the wrong situation.”

“Hmm-Hmmk!-mm,” Otto hummed sympathetically not feeling equipped to talk on the subject. He also gave an apologetic look at the hiccup, but Ralph didn’t seem to really notice.

“Jon is working on loosening me up, though,” Ralph continued. “Mark tried to, but he’s just a kid. I couldn’t take him seriously even when I knew he was smart and intuitive. Plus, he looks like a guy on the front of a damn Sears catalog, and how’m I supposed to take that with any kind of seriousness? I’m not about to have the Sears catalog guy convince me to loosen up, you know?”

Otto cackled, his head thrown back, neck convulsing in a couple more hiccups before he relented, patting his chest.

“You’re not HURK! not wro—ong there! HI’ULK!-oh!” Otto exclaimed, rubbing his neck. Laughing had definitely made them worse.

“I’m gla-HULK!-glad you ha—ave Jon HRMK’L to help w—ith that. HUGGULP!-Oh! Sorry. Th-HINGK! la—aughing HU’ULP! made them wo—orse. HMMPK!-mm,” Otto said puffing out a breath as he placed a hand below his ribs. Yeah, the pie had been a misjudgment, he decided.

Ralph just laughed, shaking his head in amusement at Otto’s predicament.

“Yeah...Jon’s been amazing,” Ralph said, and then his face grew a little solemn as he looked in his mug. “It was-uh-really hard coming out to my dad, though. My mom, I mean, I think she always sort of knew. But dad? If he did, he pretended not to. It took-uh-a really long time for him to even talk to me after. Guys at the department were actually pretty cool with it. They were happy for me and Jon. But my dad? Oof. Man. That was hard.

“All I ever wanted to do was impress him, y’know? I mean, I know that’s pretty common. But it was a pretty low point when he didn’t even come to our wedding. Then, out of the blue last year, on Jon and my anniversary, he came to our house and gave me this personally. Wasn’t even with my mom. Just him. He said my granddad would’ve wanted me to have it. I never met my granddad but heard a lot about him.”

Ralph took another moment of silence as he looked out to the brightly lit curtain liner floating a little with a breeze of air from the air conditioner. Then he spoke again.

“He never said the words, ‘I accept you and respect the relationship you have with your partner,’ but Jon was there, and he said my dad smiled at him. I was too taken back by the watch to say anything. He asked if he could come in and maybe have a cup of coffee. And, again, we never talked about how he felt about Jon or me being gay. We just talked about family. Jon talked about his family. Dad told me about the watch. And then he left.” Ralph shrugged. “Ever since then he’s checked in with me regularly. Made sure I was doing okay. Mom’d always done that, but dad started, too. I don’t know what changed and I’m kind of scared to ask. But I’m grateful. I’m glad he’s part of my life again, even if I don’t know why.”

When Ralph finally looked to Otto again, his eyes were shining.

Otto, still convulsing with hiccups he was trying very hard to respectfully muffle, smiled back. After a moment of pause, Otto spoke.

“I’m gl-HMMK!-glad you ha—ad that m—moment with MMK! with your d—ad,” he said. “That’s r—eally speci-ULK!-mm, special.”

Otto decided not to share the story of his birth-giver, Olivia, kicking him out of the house for admitting having feelings for another guy in his school. He also didn’t share the complete lack of acceptance throughout the rest of her life for him and for his relationship with Atticus. Instead, he took a moment to be grateful someone else in his life had found acceptance in the person who raised him. And then he attempted to diffuse the emotionality of the situation.

“Kind-MMK! hard to h—ave a de-HEEP!-heh, deep conv—ersation with hi—hiccups,” he said with a chuckle.

Ralph scoffed, amused, “I dunno, I feel like you’re doing pretty good with it.”

Otto smiled, “Hey, ULMPK!, you and J—on going HILMPK! to the Pr—ide parade Su-HULP!-Sunday?”

“Oh yeah! Yeah, actually. You and Atticus going, too?” Ralph asked, happy to change topics. At Otto’s nod he said, “Great. Yeah. Few people from the department are gonna be there redirecting traffic. Jon and I are off that day. So is Mark. Margie and Cindy, are they going?”

“Y—yeah, we’ll be ri—iding with the-HM!” Otto said.

“Cool. Maybe we can meet up somewhere beforehand? I still, you know, I’m not used to being at these things. Jon gets a little nervous too. It’d be nice to have people so we’re not just...wandering or something,” Ralph shrugged as he spoke, as if trying to make it not seem like a big deal.

Otto smiled.

“I—’ll put you o—on the gr-HUP-group chat!” he said.

“Cool. Thanks. This was nice, Otto. I think I needed this. Sorry for sort of...unloading on you there,” Ralph said.

“Not a-HMK!-not a probl—em,” Otto explained with a wave of his hand. “Thanks for—for trusting m-HNGK!-me with it. I’ll t-HMP!-take really go—ood care of that WHUP!-watch! Jeez. HLMPK!-Sorry about th—ese things! HRMP!”

“Hey, you can’t control what you can’t control, right? Alright. I’m gonna get out of here and get some groceries. Jon is making dinner tonight. Something Filipino I can’t pronounce, so that means it’s gonna be really good! I’ve got a list and am supposed to stick to it. Unfortunately, it’s beside a record store so I will be spending more money,” Ralph said with a laugh.

“Ooh, I lo-HUCK!-ove that store! HERMP! I’m n—ot allowed to go-HMP!-go in there al—one anymore,” Otto said.

“We’ll have to trip together unsupervised sometime, then,” Ralph said with an eyebrow waggle.

“Ooh-HOOMPK I’m to—tally game to HIGGULP!-uh, to be en—abled,” Otto said excited, standing to walk Ralph to the door.

“Looking forward to enabling!” Ralph said. “And introducing you to some truly amazing jazz.”

Otto nodded excitedly, genuinely into the prospect of learning Ralph’s musical tastes.

“I c-UMP!-can let yo—you listen to HILMPK!-uh, some o—of my z-HIP!-zither albu—ums!” Otto said, eyes wide.

“What’s a ‘zither’?” Ralph asked. But then, at Otto’s eyes getting even larger and a gasp turned hiccup seeming to start on an info-dump on a hyper-fixation Ralph realized he didn’t have time for, he held his hand up with a slightly too-wide smile stretched across his face. “You know, let’s talk about it when we’re able to make the plan, huh?” Ralph put a hand on Otto’s shoulder and Otto nodded, understanding.

“M—aybe when Huck’UCK! I don’t h—have the hi-Hilp!-hiccups, too,” Otto said. Though finally it seemed like the spasms were starting to relax.

“Exactly,” Ralph said, smiling knowingly. “Listen, man, thank you again for taking a look at that watch. And... listening to my story. We should definitely do something like this again.” “Yeah-Hup’k-yeah, I’d li—like that, actually. Hump’k!” Otto said, his chin tucking at both the hiccup and in askance as he continued talking, “You ok—kay with a hu-Hmp!-hug?”

“What? Yeah! Of course. Bring it in,” Ralph said easily.

They embraced and Otto watched the detective leave with a smile. It’d taken too long for him to hang out with that man. But doing so instilled him with even more respect for Ralph than he already had. Ralph had been the one who encouraged Mark to give a second look to the evidence and probably played an important part in Otto being cleared of the charges they pinned on him.

Now that he thought about it, Ralph and Mark knew every illegal thing Otto had done by looking at his record. They probably knew more than Atticus. Heck, they probably knew more than Otto himself recalled. But they never brought it up, not once.

Pride, he thought, would be really fun this year. And if Atticus had their way, he’d be in a crop top they’d specifically ordered to match with theirs. Otto could certainly guess Atty’s true motive for the fashion as he held his hand on his stomach, feeling the pie-filled chubby vessel jiggle with each hiccup. On and they’d enjoy it a great deal when he told them about talking with Ralph with hiccups later. Or…

Otto pulled his phone out and looked at it suspiciously. He casually navigated to video.