The Alpha’s Best Friend: His Secret Omega Love

Chapter 001 James' POV The ward was antiseptic and had cheap coffee. Machines beeped, steady and cold, like a heartbeat that was not mine. I followed Oliver, skipping along with that spring in his step that drove me crazy occasionally. The sunshine was in his pocket. I didn't. Here is the new block census. "There are no new admissions, and all the beds are full, sir," he said, smiling broadly as he handed the folder to Dr. Whitmore. I was standing behind him, with my arms crossed, trying not to roll my eyes. He smiled at everything. He never stopped. Dr. Whitmore received the papers, rubbed his temples, and then smiled slightly at Oliver. Be thankful, Oliver. I shall miss you two when you go. You are a good pair of people. Do not waste your community rotation; make the best of it whilst you have it." Oliver smiled proudly, as if wearing a medal on his chest. "Thanks! I have had so much pleasure in studying under you that I have chosen to apply to pediatrics. This sealed the deal with me." Of course, he put it in that way. He appeared eager and cheerful, as if the world were bending itself to his will. He nodded and went out the door. I was on the point of following when Whitmore cleared his throat. His eyes were turned to me, sharp and intelligent. Wait, James. Little word." I motioned Oliver to go on. He shrugged and went down the corridor, his footsteps light, fading too soon. Whitmore leaned over the desk as the door clicked shut. So. When are you going to tell him?" I gazed at him, pretending not to know. What do you mean, tell who what? He snorted. Don't be a fool. Tell Oliver how you feel. You have had it since Natural Sciences. You think that people do not see? You look at him as though he is oxygen." My stomach tied up. I put my hands in my coat pockets and looked at the floor. The talk might die of itself were I to stand still long enough to allow it to do so. Whitmore was not finished yet, however, as he had a few more tricks up his sleeve. He never was. Everyone saw it, mate. You would sit next to him like glue at the society meetings. You studied together, you crammed together, and you sweated through exams together. We noticed the way you stared at him when he wasn't looking at you. You never look at anybody like that." He was not mistaken. It did not imply that he had to speak it out. What is crazy is that you know. Whitmore said, leaning back now, his arms crossed. And that night you came to my place, drunk, and sobbing about how you liked him so much? Did not surprise me at all. Not a bit." My ears were burning. I remembered that night too well—the taste of cheap whisky, the sting in my chest when I had finally said it aloud. That was not the same, I said to myself. "Different? How? The internship is almost over. You cannot keep burying it. One day you will be sorry." I smiled a little, but it was a strained smile. He is my best friend; I will not spoil that. It is better to be quiet than to lose him." Whitmore spoke more softly. "Perhaps you are already losing him, one moment of silence at a time." I said nothing in reply. I turned, pushed the door open, and left him behind. His words came down the hall like shadows. Just imagine it. The junior doctors' lounge smelled of bleach and cold pizza. Oliver sat on a chair reading his phone. He looked up as I came in. "Finally! It was long enough for you. What did Whitmore want?" I sat down on the bed against the wall, took off my coat, and closed my eyes. Maybe he would not keep telling me to stay still had I only stayed still. "Well?" He instructed me to read about the case we had admitted. Blood sugar is required in bed at twenty-seven. The urine production at bed twenty-one was also excessive. Is that all? His eyebrows went up. That is everything. He stared a moment too long, his lips compressed, and then he dropped it. "Fine. I have already prepared the endorsement slides. They are on the laptop, in case you want to see. And coffee in the fridge. And cake. Bought it for us, but go ahead if you are desperate." I lay back, with my eyes closed. The room was quiet with humming. I heard him stamping his foot in impatience. Guilt tugged at me. He was irritated, but he would never admit it. Rain battered the lounge windows that night. It was a continuous noise, louder than the machines outside. I slept and woke and slept and woke, half-dreaming, half-thinking. Never sweet, not even in dreams, Oliver said. I was not certain whether I heard it or it came to me in my dream. I heard his laugh in the mist somewhere. Quiet, warm. I had a pain in my chest. Why may I not say it? Why may I not tell him? Since it is out, it cannot be recalled. When I woke up, the room was full of the smell of coffee. Oliver stood by the kettle, with his hair all over the place and a mug in his hand. "It is your turn," he said. "Barely." I woke up, rubbing my eyes. "Coffee?" "Please." He gave it to me, his fingers touching mine. Too quick. Too much. I drank to distract myself with the burning of my tongue. He was standing against the counter, his eyes narrowed. You will not tell me what Whitmore said?" Silence stretched. You are a poor liar, James. I smiled a little. "Maybe." His smile flickered, but he did not follow up on the point. It was a terrible day: patients, paperwork, and endless calls. Oliver joked at the nurses' station, and everyone laughed. I stood behind him, twitching my lips but not saying anything. Not to be defeated, I noticed Whitmore observing us out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head as though we were some sad comedy. We were two foolish individuals, too arrogant to recognize the significance of our actions. Oliver waved the last bit of cake in my face that night. Eat it yourself before I eat it." I am not eating." "Liar." Well, maybe later. You are irredeemable. He took a big bite of food, leaving crumbs on his lips. One day, you will laugh, right? That is my mission." I shook my head, but my lips curved a little. Were you but conscious of it! That night I lay awake on the ceiling. I heard his laugh. His smile followed me, and the thought that followed me to bed was the same thought that had followed me all these years. I lose him by telling him: Otherwise, I lose him anyhow. Which is the less painful loss?