head in the clouds @hurt-some-comfort - Tumblr Blog

Ink Blot

Just rewatched F/ullmetal A/lchemist: Brotherhood, so here's Roy and Riza both trying to hide their colds from each other at the office🥰

3k, set immediately post-series. Minor mess mentions.

*****

Riza Hawkeye was the perfect sharpshooter. Her discipline, precision, and control allowed for near-flawless aim, while her calm and collected demeanor ensured that she could get in, get the job done, and get out without hesitation.

As Riza awoke with her head in a fog and aching limbs, she prayed her skills would not be needed today.

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #fanfic #f/ullmetal a/lchemist

sternumentum

At last I return from the depths with a gift, snzblr. I swear at some point I'll get back to allergy fics but I've been on a cold kick lately.

So here's 4k words of a pyromancer trying to hide a horrible cold from his necromancer wife until she gets fed up and teases his nose with a feather to get him to admit it. A lot of sneezing but has some strong mushy, romantic caretake-y elements mixed in with it if you like that sort of thing. So if you're more interested in a man sneezing his head off while laid in someone's lap that's in there too. Please enjoy it!

Please DNI if a minor or non-kink blog. Thanks!

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #original fiction

whiskey-tango-matcha

Flu Shot (M, flu)

Heyyy here I am again, going a month without posting a thing and then posting a fic and running away. This is the fic I did the poll about! In it, Greyson gets the flu and gives it to Elijah, who was supposed to get a flu shot and, shocker, didn't. It takes place 6 months into Elijah and Emily's established relationship, and explores their burgeoning relationship a bit. The boys are v sick in it. It's dual POV - Elijah & Emily, it switches back and forth. It's extremely long. If you read it, I hope you like it! I'd love to hear how people feel about this relationship.

CW: Male snz, male illness, contagion (not purposeful), lots of coughing, fevers, dizziness, all things flu-related. Mention of pneumonia, but nothing scary happens. 7kish words under the cut.

Enjoy :)

Flu Shot

The waiting room was a chorus, a cacophony, of coughing.

“I’m ready for whoever’s next,” Emily said to the charge nurse at the front desk, adjusting her mask so it better fit over her face. “And room two is clean.”

Rhonda, the charge nurse, smiled behind her own mask. “Thanks, Em, for being so quick about it. Maybe if everyone was as on top of it as you, we’d get through this waiting room before shift change.”

Emily hummed out a laugh. “Doubt it,” she said, squirting hand sanitizer onto her palms and rubbing it halfway up her arms. “It’s like a never-ending revolving door in this place lately.”

“Mmm,” said Rhonda, handing Emily a clipboard. “Flu season. My favorite time of year.” She rolled her eyes, prompting a giggle from Emily.

“Yours and mine both, sister,” she said, checking her watch with the clipboard under her arm. Elijah had texted her a good morning.“Hey, I’ll get this next one in just a second, if that’s okay.”

“No worries,” Rhonda said. “Not like they’re going anywhere.”

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #original fiction #elijah + greyson

north-east-sf

The Discipline of Falling Apart | Ch 13

A slow-burn enemies to lovers story following my college OC's Sawyer Henderson and Harrison Whitaker. Word Count: 4,631

─────────────

Chapter 13 - Harrison’s POV

Harrison Whitaker had spent the whole off-season doing literally anything to keep himself distracted. And so far, it was going great.

They’d lost in the playoffs in December with a missed field goal that had sent them home for the year. Now it was February and he was supposed to be recovering but he wasn’t. If a sponsor wanted him in New York for a day, he went and flew back late. If Eliza had an event, he attended. He felt like a hamster on a wheel sprinting his ass off and getting nowhere. But it was better than sitting alone in his penthouse and staring at the life he had supposedly always wanted.

Speaking of Eliza, everyone was having an absolute field day with their romance. There were fan pages on social media now. Her agent had called it a “brand defining move,” and sure enough the auditions had started rolling in. She’d landed a small but significant role in a network drama. Harrison liked her more than he thought he would which made things harder. It would’ve been easier if she was a jerk. But she wasn’t. Somewhere between the staged outings, Harrison and Eliza became actual friends.

One night after an event, they had gotten to talking and she’d admitted she didn’t really understand sex or attraction the way everyone else seemed to. Harrison had surprised himself by telling her the truth about his own sexuality too. He also talked a little about Sawyer. Eliza hadn’t judged him. She also didn’t press for details which he appreciated. She just nodded knowingly.

“So he’s the one that got away?”

“Something like that,” he murmured.

***

Harrison’s hectic lifestyle all caught up to him in March.

It didn’t start with a bang but with a slow creep. A scratch in the back of his throat he blamed on the dry air on a flight to LA.

He woke up the next day feeling like death. His head was stuffed with so much pressure he felt like his eyeballs might pop. He blew his nose with a pathetic wet sound that produced absolutely nothing. He sat with a towel over his head inhaling steam from a bowl of hot water like some kind of medieval peasant. It didn’t help. Every few minutes his breath would hitch in that way that meant he was about to sneeze. He turned away from the TV and buried his face in the towel before letting loose.

“Hah-SSSHHH! Huh-CHOOO! Hih-KSHHHOO!”

The force of them left him gasping. His face felt hot and he took his temperature: 101.2

Damn it. He had the flu. He told himself he’d sleep it off. For the next few days he didn’t leave his place. His nose ran constantly like a faucet he couldn’t turn off. His nostrils were raw and painful to touch. The sneezing came in fits that seemed to have no end. He’d be half asleep and feel that flutter building deep in his sinuses. He’d barely get the tissues to his face before they ripped out of him.

"HAAAA-SSSHHH! Huh-CHOOO! Hih-KSHHH! Hah-CHOOO!"

By the end of each fit he was breathless and dizzy with his nose running worse than before. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this sick.

Zane called twice with his voice full of fake concern that was really just anxiety about a missed media appearance.

“Whitaker, you sound awful,” Zane had said. “You sure you can’t just pop some DayQuil and show up for an hour? The fans love you.”

Harrison had just hung up. He couldn’t even form the words to tell his agent to fuck off.

The fever eventually broke but left a sinus infection that refused to leave. The antibiotics slowly helped. Too slowly for Harrison’s patience and definitely too slowly for his schedule.

“You need to rest,” the doctor told him. He tried but found he couldn’t. Being sick was the worst. It forced him to just sit there and his brain wouldn’t shut up. Mostly he hated that when he was too tired to distract himself he kept thinking about Sawyer. It had been almost a year since they last spoke. Sawyer should feel distant by now but he didn’t. Lying there in the dark, Harrison thought about the way Sawyer would make fun of Harrison’s sneezing while he was handing him tissues and how he would kiss Harrison’s forehead anyway.

One afternoon, Harrison sat in bed with his laptop open trying to answer emails. He had a mug of tea cooling on the nightstand and a box of tissues balanced beside his thigh. Every few minutes his nose would start to itch in that way that made the muscles around his nostrils twitch involuntarily and he’d have to pause and wait to see if it would pass or if he was about to sneeze again. He pressed a knuckle under his nose and squinted at a message from his agent in his inbox.

Alumni Weekend Final Agenda

Harrison stared at the words. Right…that. His alma mater had reached out ages ago about bringing him back for an alumni event and at the time it had seemed harmless enough. He’d agreed without thinking as a vague “sure sounds good” text while he was in the middle of training camp. He’d totally forgotten. He clicked the PDF attachment and read through the usual boring itinerary when his eyes landed on the section for the student speaker program.

Student Keynote Speaker: Sawyer Henderson

Harrison sat up too quickly.

What the fuck?!

Since when was Sawyer in the Student Alumni Association?!

Since when did Sawyer give speeches??

The Sawyer he remembered could command a room without trying but he would rather light himself on fire than get up in front of a crowd and talk about leadership and resilience. Sawyer had been charming when he wanted something and unless there was free alcohol or his father breathing down his neck, Sawyer usually found a way out of it.

Harrison shut the laptop then opened it again thirty seconds later. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter.

Except Sawyer was literally on the fucking agenda as a speaker.

“Shit,” he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. He was sick as a dog. And in a week he would be in the same room as Sawyer.

He couldn’t think of a single worse thing.

****

A week should have been enough time to recover, especially after antibiotics but Harrison seemed determined to sabotage himself. He threw himself into his training with an almost manic intensity. He barely slept. His mind raced with a dozen different scenarios of how the reunion could go. Would Sawyer hate him? Would he have moved on?

By the time alumni weekend approached, the congestion clung stubbornly in the back of his nose no matter how many hot showers he took.

“You sound like hell,” Zane told him over the phone. His voice was a mix of concern and annoyance. “This alumni thing is important. Good PR.”

“I’m fine,” Harrison lied.

He wasn’t fine. He spent Friday night in his hotel room near campus staring at the ceiling trying to will his body to heal itself. It didn’t work. He was a wreck and somehow no closer to figuring out what he was supposed to say to Sawyer when he saw him.

***

The morning of the keynote he felt exactly the same. He tried to breathe through his nose and got absolutely nothing.

Shit.

He rolled onto his side and checked his phone. 7:12AM. The keynote started at 10AM. Three hours to somehow become a functional human being.

He reached for the tissue box on the nightstand already half-empty from the night before and barely got a handful to his face before the tickle hit. His nostrils flared and his breath hitched in that desperate uncontrollable way.

“Hah..”

He buried his face in the tissues just in time.

“Hah-SSSHHHHOOO! Huh-CHOOO! Hih-KSHHHOOO!”

The sneezes were wet and miserable. He sneezed and sneezed into the wad of tissues. “huh-HISSSHHH! HAah-CHOOOO!”

He sat there feeling pathetic. A starting quarterback in the NFL and here he was currently being held hostage by his own sinuses. He got dressed anyway. He tucked a handkerchief into his breast pocket and grabbed another handful of tissues to shove into his jacket pocket.

The SUV was waiting downstairs. Harrison walked toward it with his sunglasses on even though it was overcast. Eliza was already in the back seat scrolling through her phone. She glanced up when he slid in beside her and her expression immediately shifted to concern.

“You look terrible.”

“Thangks,” Harrison said as he settled into the seat. “I feel like sobeone ran mbe over with a truck. Then backed up and did it agaid.”

“I thought you were getting better.”

“I thought so too.” He sighed. “Ad now I have to give a speech id three hours ad I sound like I’b dyig.”

“You’ll get through it,” she reassured. “Just..maybe blow your nose first.”

He managed a weak smile at that. He pressed his knuckle under his nose and prayed he could make it through the day without humiliating himself.

The SUV pulled up to the athletic center and immediately Harrison wanted to sink through the floor. There was a small crowd already waiting. Dave greeted them and guided them toward a side hallway. “We’ll get you situated in the green room first then bring you out for welcome remarks.”

“Thagks. Thad sounds good,” Harrison said. His voice sounded horribly congested even to him.

Dave glanced over with polite concern. “Still fighting that cold?”

“Little bit.”

The auditorium was packed. Harrison could hear the murmur of the crowd from backstage and his heart started pounding in a way it hadn’t during games in years. This was worse than the NFL. This was personal. These were people who’d known him before everything.

And somewhere in the mix Sawyer would be here. He tried not to think about that.

They walked out onto the stage. The lights were bright and Harrison felt sweat break out on his forehead immediately. The welcome remarks began exactly the way welcome remarks always began. He could feel a tickle starting in his sinuses and he discreetly pressed the sleeve of his jacket against his nose. He sniffed a wet congested sound that felt way too loud in the quiet auditorium. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck.

The moderator made a joke about how nobody in the room needed an introduction to Harrison Whitaker which got a laugh. The applause swelled when he reached the podium.

“Thangk you,” he said and immediately heard how congested he sounded.

Fantastic. A few people smiled sympathetically. Harrison cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’b still gettig over a cold so if I sound like I’b doig a bad ibpressiod of byself that’s why.”

He talked about arriving on campus as a kid full of dreams. He talked about learning discipline from teammates and coaches and about leadership. People nodded at the right parts.

He heard himself say, “The biggest thing this place taught me is that success means staying true to who you are.”

And for a second Harrison almost lost his place. Because he didn’t believe it.

Not really. Maybe he had once. But now he was living his whole life by carefully leaving shit out. He was fake dating a woman he liked but was not romantically in love with. He was standing in front of students and telling them to stay true to themselves while he had spent the better part of a year pretending.

As he continued, he could feel his nose starting to run again. It was a constant drip that he couldn’t stop. He sniffled into the microphone. The sound echoed through the auditorium and he wanted to die.

Towards the end he felt it. That dreaded itch. A sneeze was gathering and was demanding to be let out. His eyes started to water and his nostrils flared involuntarily. He tried to keep talking but his breath was hitching and he knew that he was about to sneeze in front of hundreds of people.

“Excuse mbe,” he choked out. He turned sharply away and buried his face in the crook of his arm just in time.

“Huh-NGSHH! HAah-sshhOO! HET-CHOOO!”

The loud sneezes exploded out of him uncontrollably. The microphone picked up the first one and amplified it through the room like a gunshot. Harrison bent forward as the fit continued and each sneeze shook his whole body.

“HAAAA-SSSHHHH! Huh-CHOOO!”

Harrison straightened up and turned back to the podium. “Sorry,” he rasped.

“Bless you!” a voice called out from the middle of the rows. It was followed by some sympathetic chuckles. Harrison fumbled for the water bottle on the podium and took a sip to buy himself time as he tried to remember where he was in the speech. He had maybe three minutes left in the talk. He powered through and wrapped it up as fast as he could without being completely rude.

The applause was enthusiastic. Of course it was. He was Harrison Whitaker. They would have applauded if he’d read the phone book. He walked back to his seat and tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. The moderator took over and launched into the Q&A portion. Harrison took the opportunity to pull out his handkerchief and quietly blow his nose. The sound was thoroughly disgusting but he didn’t care anymore. He was beyond caring. He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and tried to focus on the questions being asked.

The Q&A eventually ended and lunch began. Harrison picked at a salad he couldn’t taste and tried to make small talk through his congestion. His nose was still running and he had to excuse himself twice to blow his nose in the bathroom. Each time he came back to the table feeling more exhausted.

After lunch, the program resumed. “And now,” Dave said, “Our Student Leadership Speaker. This young man has shown remarkable growth during his time here, and we’re proud to have him representing the student body.”

Harrison felt his entire body go still.

“Please join me in welcoming Sawyer Henderson.”

Applause filled the room and then Sawyer walked onto the stage. For one stupid second, Harrison’s mind refused to make the image fit.

Because it was Sawyer, but not exactly the Sawyer he had been carrying around in memory. That Sawyer was all sharp edges and lazy charm, a little reckless and a little sick at a party. This Sawyer who walked to the podium now seemed steadier. His hair still fell slightly into his eyes and he still had that unfairly easy way of moving. But he wore a dark suit that actually fit him and he looked older.

Sawyer set a few notes on the podium then glanced at the audience and smiled. Not the one he used when he wanted to get away with something. This one was smaller and a little bit nervous.

“Thanks Dave,” Sawyer began. His voice was clear and strong and nothing like the congested mess Harrison’s had been. “When I was asked to give this speech I spent about three weeks trying to figure out if there had been a mistake.”

The room laughed.

“Last year, I was not the person people would’ve picked to talk about leadership. Honestly there were semesters where I wasn’t sure I’d make it through finals without some kind of divine intervention.”

More laughter and Sawyer smiled. Harrison watched as his own misery was momentarily forgotten. He remembered those semesters. He remembered the frantic 3AM texts from Sawyer asking for lecture notes he’d never bothered to take himself.

“For a long time I thought having no plan was the same thing as freedom. I’d tell people I was keeping my options open, which sounded a lot better than saying I was avoiding making decisions. And honestly that worked for a while.” He paused. “Until it didn’t.”

He glanced down at his notes before continuing.

“The biggest changes in my life happened because I lost people. And when that happens, you either deal with it or you don’t. I spent a while not dealing with it.”

The room had gone quieter. Sawyer kept his eyes on the audience but there was something careful in his expression now…something honest enough that Harrison almost wanted to look away.

“I wasted alot of time waiting to magically become a different person,” Sawyer said. He smiled. “Turns out that is not how it works.”

A few people chuckled softly.

“So I changed my major. I got involved on campus and started actually showing up to things. And somewhere along the way I realized I liked being somebody people could count on.”

Sawyer rested his hands on either side of the podium.

“I still don’t know exactly where my life is headed. But I’ve learned that leadership is not always being the loudest person in the room or the person with the cleanest plan. Sometimes it is just being honest enough to admit that something needs to change.”

The room was completely still. Sawyer gazed out over the audience and his voice softened slightly. “Anyway, if you’re sitting there feeling like everyone else has a plan and you don’t, I can promise you that’s not true. Pick a direction you’re proud of and keep going. Lead your own path. Eventually you’ll look back and realize you’ve actually gone somewhere.”

The applause started slowly then grew. Sawyer stepped back from the podium and looked almost embarrassed by the reaction. He nodded and smiled and Harrison had the sudden impossible urge to stand up and leave before something broke open in his chest right there on stage.

Because Sawyer stood in front of a room looking fully comfortable in his own skin while Harrison sat 10ft away feeling like a fraud.

Harrison watched Sawyer walk off stage and shake hands with Dave and accept congratulations from students who approached him. He seemed happy. Not the frantic desperate happy of college parties but something quieter and real.

Sawyer turned and his eyes finally swept across the seated panel to Harrison. For one second he looked at Harrison like he was seeing a ghost. Then Sawyer blinked and it was gone. He straightened and smoothed his jacket but his hand was shaking. Harrison saw the tremor in his fingers as he reached out to shake someone else’s hand.

Harrison was left staring at Sawyer’s retreating back with his heart hammering so loud he was sure the microphone was picking it up.

***

The event dragged on in the way that only university events could. Harrison watched Sawyer work the room. He moved through groups of alumni and students with an ease that Harrison recognized from college but it was different now. It looked like he actually wanted to be there. He laughed at something an old professor said and the sound carried across the room bright and genuine.

Harrison took a sip of water. The mild fever he’d been fighting all morning was finally winning.

Sawyer eventually walked away from the group and slowly drifted toward the back end of the room. Harrison watched him pause and then push through the glass doors and disappear out on the balcony.

Harrison stood there for a full minute arguing with himself. He should stay inside. He should definitely not follow Sawyer Henderson out into the cold like some kind of pathetic ex-boyfriend.

He followed him.

The balcony was empty and hidden from view. Sawyer stood at the railing overlooking the quad. His jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled to his forearms.

Sawyer turned at the sound of the door and for a moment neither of them said anything. His face went carefully blank and polite.

“Hey,” Harrison said. His voice came out rough.

“Hey,” Sawyer replied. He turned back to the railing. “Good speech.”

“You too.” Harrison stepped up beside him and left careful space between them. “That was..it was really good.”

“Thanks.”

They stood there in silence. The wind picked up and Harrison shivered but he didn’t move. He was looking at Sawyer’s profile: the way his hair fell across his forehead and the small freckle above his eyebrow that Harrison had kissed a dozen times back when he was allowed to do that. He remembered how it felt to fall asleep next to him. Now they were standing here like complete strangers.

Harrison opened his mouth to say something…anything, when he felt a tickle that started deep in his sinuses and spread.

Fuck.

He fumbled for his breast pocket and pulled out the handkerchief just as his breath started to hitch. He turned away from Sawyer just as the sneezes ripped out of him.

“Heh-CHOO! Huh-NGSHH!..huh-HISSSHHH!”

When he straightened, his eyes were watering and his nose was running freely. He had no choice but to give his nose a good loud blow.

Sawyer was wincing. “Bless you,” he murmured quietly. “You sound awful.”

“Thanks,” Harrison croaked as he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. He sniffled and cringed at the sound.

“You should be in bed,” Sawyer continued. “Not..whatever this is.”

“You sound like Eliza,” Harrison mumbled and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face.

Sawyer’s expression changed. Something crossed his face….hurt maybe or resignation and he turned away.

“She seems nice,” he said neutrally.

Harrison didn’t respond. The mention of Eliza sat uncomfortably between them.

After a tense pause Sawyer spoke again. “You played the whole thing perfectly didn’t you? Looks like you got everything you wanted.”

The words were offhand and casual like he didn’t care, but they hit Harrison like he’d been slapped and his temper flared. He was sick and exhausted and now here was Sawyer being a smartass about his life.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Harrison asked sharper than he intended.

Sawyer turned to look at him. “Come on Harrison.” He gestured vaguely at him. “Look at you. You made it.”

Harrison laughed but it came out wrong. The sound was ugly and bitter and nothing like the polished one he used for interviews. “Made it? Oh yeah. That must be why I’m so fucking happy all the time.”

Sawyer’s eyes widened slightly. Harrison could see he hadn’t expected that answer.

“Don’t stand here,” Harrison continued, “And make snarky comments about how I’m living a life you chose to leave. You were the one that pushed me away! You said -”

“I said you were better off without me,” Sawyer finished. The brief flash of surprise was replaced by anger. “Because look at you!” he snapped. “You went first round! You had an insane rookie year! Everyone wants to be you! You have it all.”

“I don’t!” Harrison exclaimed and his voice cracked on the words. He felt everything he’d been holding in for a year starting to collapse. He tried to swallow it down like he always did but his body was too sick and tired of pretending. “I don’t have it all.” His voice was breaking. “It’s empty. It’s all empty Sawyer. I thought if I finally got here, it would actually be enough but I don’t care about any of it.”

To his humiliation he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Years probably. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve but they kept coming and his nose was running and mixing with the tears. He was a complete disaster.

Sawyer was staring at him with mouth slightly open like he’d never seen Harrison before. “I...I didn’t-”

“You want to know what I think about when I’m alone?” Harrison continued. “I think about you. I think about you every fucking day and I’m so tired of pretending I don’t.” Harrison wiped his nose again. “I miss you,” he choked out. “I miss you so fucking much.”

Sawyer looked genuinely blindsided. The anger was gone now and Harrison thought for a second that he was going to walk away and leave Harrison standing there like an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” Harrison mumbled. He tried to pull himself together and was failing completely. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have..I’m not thinking straight..”

But then Sawyer swore a string of words Harrison barely caught and turned back. “You can’t just..” he started then stopped. “You can’t just say that! You can’t just show up here after a year and say you miss me when you’re pretending to date her.”

“I..I know,” Harrison stammered. “But it’s complicated. She’s my friend. She’s…we’re not..she knows I’m gay. She knows about you.” Harrison broke off coughing. When he straightened, Sawyer was closer. “There’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else.”

Sawyer’s features crumpled. “I thought..I thought you were happy. How the hell was I supposed to know? You looked happy.” He closed his eyes. “I miss you too,” he said finally as his voice cracked. “Every day. I see you on TV and I want to call you, but I thought..I thought you were better off.”

Sawyer ran a hand through his hair before closing the distance between them in two steps. He hesitantly reached out and then slowly pulled Harrison into a hug.

Harrison stiffened then collapsed into it. Sawyer’s hands moved in slow soothing circles on his back. “I’m sorry,” Sawyer said softly. “I’m sorry Harrison. I didn’t know. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought..I didn’t know it was like this.”

Harrison shook his head. His face was still pressed against Sawyer’s shoulder. His nose was running and he was probably getting snot all over Sawyer’s jacket but he couldn’t make himself care. He felt Sawyer’s hand slide up to the back of his head as his fingers grabbed his hair. It was so familiar and exactly what he needed.

Sawyer cupped Harrison’s face in his hands. His hazel eyes were the same color they’d always been with flecks of gold in them. Harrison wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand then remembered the handkerchief. He pulled it out and blew his nose messily without dignity. Sawyer didn’t flinch. His thumbs made small comforting movements against Harrison’s collarbone.

Harrison lowered the handkerchief and stared at Sawyer properly for the first time. He was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful but now there was something grounded about it. Neither of them moved and Harrison could feel Sawyer’s hands still resting against his chest.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and kissed him.

It was desperate and messy and their noses bumped awkwardly but Sawyer kissed him back just as hard.

“I’m gross,” Harrison mumbled when they broke apart

“I don’t fucking care.” Sawyer kissed him again harder this time and Harrison fell into it. When he pulled away, Sawyer was still watching him but his eyes had shifted from hungry to something softer. He pressed the back of his hand against Harrison’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Fuck Harrison. You’re actually feverish.”

The wind had picked up and Harrison realized he was freezing. The adrenaline of the fight and the kissing had masked how sick he actually was. Now his head was pounding and he felt dizzy. Sawyer grabbed Harrison’s hand and started pulling him toward the door. “We need to get you back to your hotel. You’re gonna get pneumonia standing out here.”

“Can you come with me?” Harrison asked. The question came out smaller and more vulnerable than he intended.

Sawyer looked at him for a long moment. “Yes. I’m not leaving you again,” he replied firmly.

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#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #original fiction

dr-ground-zero

Rookie Mistake

((here's an OC x OC (m/m) fic for two new OCs i made during my time in EMT school bc i was bored n horny))

((CW medical accuracies but no gore or violence or anything crazy...just like...mention of the flu. and MESS))

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #original fiction

north-east-sf

The Discipline of Falling Apart

A slow-burn enemies to lovers story following my college OC's Sawyer Henderson and Harrison Whitaker. Word Count: 6,485

Link to Chapter 1 is: Here Link to Chapter 2 is: Here Link to Chapter 3 is: Here Link to Chapter 4 is: Here Link to Chapter 5 is: Here Link to Chapter 6 is: Here Link to Chapter 7 is: Here Link to Chapter 8 is: Here Link to Chapter 9 is: Here (nsfw) Link to Chapter 10 is: Here

─────────────

Chapter 11 - Harrison’s POV

Harrison had spent his whole life trying not to be an idiot. And here he was sitting in a student conduct meeting because he punched a guy at a fucking frat party.

His head was pounding. His knuckles still hurt too which was annoying because every time his hand brushed the table or he flexed his fingers he got another reminder of what he’d done. Whenever he closed his eyes he could still see Devon’s drunk face, feel the crunch of his fist hitting his jaw and then see Sawyer’s shocked eyes.

Harrison sat at a long polished table. Across from him sat the Athletic Director. Next to him was his Coach who seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was also a woman from Student Conduct whose name Harrison had already forgotten. And Devon was there too looking surprisingly smug for a guy with a bruised jaw. He had this fake wounded look that made Harrison’s stomach clench.

Harrison wasn’t a fighter. He'd spent his whole life learning to keep control. On the field, it was his greatest asset. He didn’t get rattled or throw weak interceptions. He was the guy who stayed calm and made the smart play. Last night, he hadn’t made the smart play. He’d made the stupidest one possible. He could already see the headlines: NFL prospect punches guy at party.

The door opened and Sawyer walked in.

He looked like shit but it was a strangely composed version. He was wearing a clean shirt and his hair was neatly styled but his face was pale with dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired. Sawyer took the empty chair beside Harrison and he heard the faint congested whistle of his breath.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sawyer said. His voice sounded rough as hell. He didn’t look at Harrison; just placed his hands flat on the table like he was grounding himself.

Harrison had braced for chaos. He’d expected a defensive sarcastic Sawyer who made jokes to deflect the tension. But this wasn’t that Sawyer. He sniffled once and appeared steady in a way Harrison had never seen before.

“Mr. Henderson,” the Athletic Director began. “Glad you could join us.” He steepled his fingers. “Alright. Let’s all be adults here. We’ve heard several versions of what happened already. We’re here to decide how the university is going to proceed.”

“Right,” Sawyer responded. He gave a small nod of cooperation but Harrison saw his nostrils flare slightly. “I understand there was an incident.”

“There was a fight, son,” the Coach cut in bluntly. “In your fraternity house. With our quarterback.”

Harrison flinched. Sawyer didn’t.

“Yes,” Sawyer agreed calmly. He turned his gaze to Devon. “I think we can all admit that things got out of hand. Let’s back up for a second.” He paused and Harrison watched him take a careful breath through his mouth. His nostrils trembled slightly in a familiar frustrated twitch. He sniffed and pressed on. “Devon here was concerned about an interaction I had with his girlfriend Kelly.”

“I saw you hitting on her,” Devon sneered.

Sawyer’s expression didn’t change. “I was getting a bottle of water. She approached me. I politely disengaged. I was sick, I wasn’t looking for any interaction. Later, Devon found me outside. He was drunk and came looking for me.”

“I told him to leave,” Sawyer continued. His nostrils were beginning to flare with each breath, and he rubbed at the tip of his nose. Harrison had spent enough time around him lately to recognize the warning signs. Sawyer tried to keep going.

“He shoved me against the wall.” He glanced at the Athletic Director. “I was tired, I wasn’t feeling well, and I reacted poorly. I threw a punch. It was a stupid reactive thing to do, and that’s on me.”

For a second Harrison thought he was in the clear. Then Sawyer’s eyes narrowed slightly. He took a shaky breath and his nostrils began to flutter wildly.

“Hh…”

The sound escaped so quietly Harrison wasn’t even sure anybody else heard it. Sawyer turned his head a few inches and covered quickly with his fist.

“Hh’...ngktSH!...k’tshh!—kshh’ngkt!”

The sneezes were somewhat caught by whatever desperate effort Sawyer had made to suppress them but they still left him pausing for a second afterward. Then he straightened immediately and focused back at the table like nothing had happened.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “Anyway,” Sawyer continued. His eyes finally flicked to Harrison for the first time in a quick unreadable glance, “Devon came back at me. He was winding up to swing again. Harrison..intervened.”

“He decked me!” Devon exclaimed.

“Harrison threw one punch,” Sawyer corrected firmly. “One. And the fight was over immediately. Nobody else got involved. Nobody was seriously injured. Devon was helped up and he left with friends. That was it.”

Sawyer looked around the table confidently and Harrison felt like he’d missed a step somewhere. Sawyer wasn’t exactly lying. He was simply leaving out the parts that made it sound like a big deal.

“Look,” Sawyer continued as he leaned forward slightly. The movement made him wince and he pressed a hand to his temple for a second. “This was a stupid fight between college kids. It happens. No police were called.” He looked at the woman from Student Conduct. “Making this an official university thing…what’s the point? It just creates paperwork for everyone. Nobody wants that.”

Harrison watched, mesmerized, as Sawyer subtly turned to Devon. “Right, Devon? You don’t wanna spend the next month talking to student conduct people either. You really wanna be known as the guy who tried to drag everyone’s favorite quarterback over some fight you started? It’s over. Let’s just leave it over.”

Devon scoffed weakly. “So what, he just gets away with punching people because he’s famous?”

“No,” Sawyer said simply. “He gets treated like a college kid who lost his temper for a second because he thought his friend was about to get hit by you.”

Friend. The word hit his chest wrong. Before he could dwell too much on it, Sawyer’s breath suddenly hitched and he whipped his head towards the side.

“Hhh’eshh’nghooo! Hih’ksh! Hh’kshhh!—h’kshh!—Ksshh!”

Harrison’s Coach sighed. “You sound awful Henderson.”

Sawyer gave a weak shrug without looking up. “Yeah, well. Been a long night.”

Sawyer hadn’t even meant to do that and somehow it still worked. Instead of looking like an aggressive instigator, he was now just like a sick guy running on no sleep. Sawyer sniffled softly into his fist then continued before anyone else could grab control back.

“Look Devon. It was a stupid night. You were drunk, I was sick and in a bad mood. Let’s not make this into something it isn’t. We were all idiots.”

Devon sort of deflated as Sawyer kept talking reasonably. Five minutes ago Devon had looked ready to drag this out and now he looked like he wanted to disappear. Sawyer was giving him an out.

“I..I guess,” Devon mumbled.

The university people exchanged glances. They weren’t hostile and if anything, they seemed relieved. The Rose Bowl win had put the university on the map and the NFL draft was a PR goldmine. They didn’t want a scandal. They wanted this to go away. Sawyer was giving them the perfect excuse to do exactly that.

Harrison’s Coach cleared his throat. “So we’re in agreement. An unfortunate incident. But handled internally. No further action from the university.”

Sawyer nodded. “We’ll handle things with the fraternity. We’ve all already spoken.”

Harrison doubted they had, but it was the perfect thing to say.

The meeting wrapped up ten minutes later. As they filed out of the room Harrison felt a wave of relief so intense it made his knees feel weak. They’d done it. Sawyer had saved him.

Sawyer was already walking ahead of him. “Hey,” Harrison called out.

Sawyer stopped. His face was wiped clean of whatever performance he’d given in that room. He seemed hollowed out now.

“Thanks,” Harrison said. It came out rough. “For what you did in there.”

Sawyer shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He then hesitated. “Look..maybe we should take it easy for a while. Lay low until things cool down with the draft.”

Harrison frowned. “Take it easy how?”

“You know,” Sawyer said vaguely. “Just not be so visible together for a bit.”

Before Harrison could respond to that, Sawyer started digging through his pockets. “Do you..hhh..have a…a tissue? I don't know where mine went.” He rubbed his twitching nostrils with his knuckle. “Hh…god.”

Harrison checked his own pockets automatically even though he already knew he didn’t have anything. “Sorry, I don’t.”

Sawyer glanced over at him but Harrison wasn’t even sure he’d fully processed the answer. He lifted a hand toward his face like he was still trying to stop it but the effort barely lasted a second before he turned away sharply and folded into his elbow.

“Hh’NGKXT’tshh! Hhh’eshh’ngh! Hih…Hih’KSSHHiew!”

Sawyer sniffed thickly and dragged his sleeve across beneath his nose before immediately looking annoyed with himself for having to do it. “Look, I’m beat. I need to crash for like..four hours. Maybe six.”

“Yeah,” Harrison said quickly. “Of course.”

Sawyer nodded. “You left your stuff at the house. Your jacket and backpack.”

“I can grab it later. You should sleep.”

“Mmm.” Sawyer finally looked at him and Harrison saw something complicated move through his eyes: exhaustion and something else he couldn’t quite place. “Swing by whenever. I’ll be there.”

Then he turned and walked away. His shoulders dropped with every step he took away from Harrison until he seemed like a different person entirely. Not the guy who’d commanded that conference room. Just someone sick trying to make it to his bed.

Harrison watched him go until he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

***

The frat house looked wrong in daylight. Harrison had only ever seen it at night full of string lights and red solo cups. Now it sat quiet with the paint peeling in places he hadn’t noticed before. He climbed the steps and pushed through the front door.

A few guys were sprawled on the couches watching some sports recap with the volume low. They turned when Harrison walked in.

“Whitaker?”

“Hey,” Harrison said awkwardly.

“Dude!” The guy who Harrison thought was Connor or maybe Chase, grinned and stood up. “That was fucking insane last night. You decked that guy.”

“It was-” Harrison started.

“No seriously,” cut in another guy from the kitchen. “Devon’s a dick. Everyone knows it.”

“And you stood up for Sawyer,” the first guy continued. He was nodding like Harrison had passed some kind of test. “That’s solid man. Most guys wouldn’t get involved.”

Harrison shifted his weight. He didn’t know what to do with this gratitude or approval or whatever it was.

“Is Sawyer around?” he asked. “He has some of my stuff I left here last night.”

“Upstairs,” the kitchen guy said. “Came back a few hours ago looking like death. He’s probably in his room.”

Harrison nodded thanks and headed for the stairs. The hallway upstairs was narrow and lined with doors that had names written on them. He found Sawyer’s door at the end and knocked.

“Come in,” came a muffled voice.

Harrison pushed the door open.

Sawyer’s room was smaller than he’d expected. It was definitely more cluttered than Harrison’s apartment but there was an order to it that surprised him. Not messy, exactly. Just…full. The walls were covered in posters, Polaroids and a tapestry that had probably been acquired at a music festival and never taken down. A collection of shot glasses lined the windowsill. Each one was from a different city. Chicago. New Orleans. Austin.

Sawyer was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt that said “Kiss Me I’m Irish” even though it was January and Harrison didn’t think he was even Irish. He did look slightly better than he had at the meeting though. The nap had taken some of the paleness out of his skin.

“Hey,” Sawyer greeted. He sniffled, then reached for a tissue from the box beside him. “Your jacket’s here.” He pointed to where it was draped over the back of his desk chair.

“Thanks,” Harrison said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. There was a wastebasket next to the desk overflowing with crumpled tissues. Empty packets of cold medicine littered the nightstand that looked like they were torn open with teeth marks on the edges.

“Your backpack’s downstairs though,” Sawyer said as he stood up. He swayed slightly. “Shit. Sorry. Got up too fast.”

“You good?”

“Fine. Just dizzy.” Sawyer waved him off but his voice sounded hoarse. “I’ll grab it. Be right back.”

He shuffled past, close enough that Harrison could feel the heat coming off him and then he was gone.

Harrison stood there suddenly alone in Sawyer’s space.

He didn’t mean to snoop. That wasn’t the plan. But the room was so specific and aggressively personal. It was like being inside Sawyer’s head and Harrison found himself slowly taking it in. The books on the wall weren’t only decoration. Many of them had bookmarks sticking out. There was a bulletin board above the desk covered in layers of photos and ticket stubs and random crap; the kind of leftovers from a life that actually gets lived.

Harrison stepped closer. The photos were mostly what he expected: Sawyer with friends, Sawyer at parties, Sawyer making stupid faces at the camera. But there was one in the corner slightly tucked behind a flyer that caught his eye.

It was smaller than the others and printed on matte paper that had started to curl at the edges. Two boys stood on a golf course. One was clearly Sawyer but younger (maybe sixteen?) with softer features and hair that hadn’t been styled yet, just falling over his forehead in messy brown waves. He was wearing a polo shirt that was too big for him and he was smiling. Not the performative grin Harrison was used to but something real.

The other guy had his arm around Sawyer’s shoulders. He looked like Sawyer but older and harder around the edges with the same hazel eyes and sharp jawline. He was grinning at the camera like he was challenging it and knew exactly how handsome he was and didn’t care.

Grant.

Harrison knew it immediately. He’d never seen a photo of Sawyer’s brother but there was no mistaking the resemblance or the easy familiarity of the pose. Grant’s hand was heavy on Sawyer’s shoulder and Sawyer was leaning into him looking happy in a way that made Harrison’s chest hurt.

He looked away. He felt like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have.

His gaze then dropped to the desk. It was covered in the usual mess. But underneath a pile of old concert wristbands there were papers. Printouts actually, with highlighter marks and notes.

Harrison pushed the wristbands aside.

They were court documents. Or summaries of them anyway. He recognized one on top but underneath were more unknown ones. The margins were filled with handwriting he recognized as Sawyer’s. Next to a highlighted section, Sawyer had written “This argument is insane. How did they prove this?”

Harrison frowned and picked up another stack. LSAT practice questions. It was folded hastily like someone had shoved it away. Harrison smoothed it out.

There was one section filled out and the answers were circled in pen. Harrison scanned the questions. They were the kind that made his own head hurt just looking at them. Harrison flipped to the answer key at the back. Sawyer had answered almost all of them correctly. Out of 25 questions, Sawyer had only missed two.

Harrison stared at the paper. He thought about the meeting that morning and the way Sawyer had read that room and handled those university officials and Devon like they were chess pieces. He thought about Sawyer at parties acting like nothing mattered. Making stupid jokes and getting everyone to laugh and making people underestimate him. He thought about himself, who had to study for hours to maintain his GPA and rehearse answers before interviews.

And Sawyer, who apparently aced LSAT questions for fun.

The door clicked open.

Harrison jumped and nearly dropped the paper. He shoved it back under the wristbands but not fast enough.

Sawyer stood in the doorway holding Harrison’s backpack. His attention went from Harrison’s face to the desk and his expression shifted instantly.

“Uhh,” Sawyer said. He sniffled. “Find what you were looking for?”

“I wasn’t..” Harrison started. He then stopped. There was no point in lying. “You’re studying for the LSAT or something?”

Sawyer’s grip tightened on the backpack strap. “What?? No. That’s old stuff.”

“Old stuff,” Harrison repeated. He pointed to the court case printouts. “You wrote notes in the margins.”

Sawyer immediately became uncomfortable. He walked over to the desk and started gathering the papers. “It’s not...I mean, it’s not some whole thing. This stuff is just a hobby. I listen to true crime podcasts. It’s not a big deal.”

“Bullshit,” Harrison said.

Sawyer's hands stilled. He looked up and there was something dangerous in his eyes now. “Excuse me?”

“You aced that practice sheet,” Harrison pressed. He wasn’t even sure why this was getting under his skin so much. Maybe because Harrison hated learning he had been wrong about someone. He’d spent months thinking he had Sawyer figured out and suddenly realized he’d missed something huge. “You got most of these right. That’s not a hobby. That’s potential.”

Sawyer laughed but it was sharp and wrong. “Potential? What am I, Elle Woods? Greek life turned Harvard Law?” He scooped up the LSAT papers and shoved them into a desk drawer. “It’s nothing. I do logic puzzles when I’m bored. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Harrison insisted. “I saw you this morning in that meeting. You read everyone in that room. You knew exactly what to say to make them back down. That’s not..that’s not just party tricks. That’s skill.”

Sawyer turned away to face the window. “I’m good at talking to people. So what?”

“So you could actually do it,” Harrison argued. He couldn’t let this go. It felt important, like he’d suddenly uncovered something crucial. “You’re clearly smart enough. Why are you hiding it?”

“Not hiding,” Sawyer mumbled. He brought his hand up to his face and pressed his fingers against his temples like he was trying to hold something in. “Just...not advertising.”

“Why??”

Sawyer didn’t answer. His breath hitched and Sawyer turned his head. Harrison saw his nostrils flaring and the desperate intake of breath.

“Hh’ih…” Sawyer turned away from Harrison and buried his face in the crook of his elbow just in time. “Hh’KSSHH!—Hh’ksh! K’shh! Hih...ksh!—ksh!—ih’kshh!”

The sneezes were violent and rapid. When Sawyer straightened up he seemed more exhausted than ever.

“Because,” Sawyer sniffed thickly. “I already have a plan. I take over the family business. Why mess with what’s already decided?”

Harrison stared at him. The room felt too small. He could see the photo of Sawyer and Grant out of the corner of his eye: a different version of Sawyer that didn’t exist anymore.

Sawyer cleared his throat and broke Harrison’s train of thought. “Your backpack’s by the door. You should probably go before you catch this.”

Harrison gazed at him for a second longer. He wanted to argue. The words were already there. That’s not your plan though. That’s your father’s plan. Or, You don’t sound like someone who wants that.

But Sawyer had gone quiet in that particular way Harrison was starting to recognize. Not silence exactly. Sawyer could still joke when he wanted to avoid something. This was different.

Sawyer cared.

He had apparently been sitting alone in this room taking LSAT practice tests and reading court cases while everyone else thought he was just screwing around.

Sawyer was rubbing tiredly at his face now. Harrison grabbed his jacket from the chair and bent to pick up his backpack by the door. Pushing him anymore felt shitty. He had the feeling that if he stayed any longer he was going to start asking questions Sawyer wasn’t ready to answer.

“I’ll see you later.” He hesitated. “Get some sleep or something.”

Harrison pulled the door open. Halfway to the stairs he stopped.

23 out of 25.

What the hell.

***

The next day, Harrison was stretched out on the couch in his apartment with a playbook open in front of him though he’d been staring at the same page for nearly 5 minutes without actually reading any of it. His phone buzzed against the cushion beside him.

Normally he would’ve let it sit there. Between reporters, boosters, alumni and random people somehow getting his number, texts had started multiplying lately. But something made him pick it up. The message was short.

Harrison, this is Richard Henderson. I'll be in town Monday evening and wanted to congratulate you properly on your season. Join Sawyer and I for dinner at 7:00 PM. I'll send the location.

Wait. What the fuck??

He found himself staring at Sawyer’s name in his contacts before pressing call. The phone rang long enough that Harrison thought he wasn’t going to answer. When Sawyer finally picked up, he sounded like he’d been asleep.

“Hello?”

Sawyer’s voice still sounded slightly congested but better than it had been before.

Harrison shifted on the couch. “Your father texted me.”

“What?” Harrison heard sheets moving around on the other end and pictured Sawyer rolling over in bed.

“Yeah. He wants to grab dinner with me and you I guess? Why would he want to do that?”

Sawyer paused. He got the feeling he was waking up and trying to catch up with the conversation. “I..I don’t know. But my father doesn’t really do things for no reason. Maybe he wants to talk football stuff. He likes connecting with prospects in the athletic department.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re there though.”

Sawyer coughed quietly and Harrison heard him clear his throat afterward.

“I bet it’s about the fight. I’m sure he heard about it.” Sawyer sounded distracted now, like he was thinking through it while he talked. “He probably wants to make sure everything’s fine.” He sniffed again. “Or make sure I’m not dragging important people into dumb shit.”

Harrison frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sawyer was quiet. Then he laughed softly. “Nothing.” Harrison could practically hear him rubbing at his face. “I don’t know. Maybe he just wants dinner. My father gets ideas sometimes.”

Harrison leaned back against the couch and stared down at the message again. For some reason the whole thing seemed stranger now than it had two minutes ago. Ever since the student conduct meeting something had shifted and Harrison couldn’t quite get his hands around it.

“I guess we’ll find out at dinner.”

***

Harrison arrived at 6:55 PM. It was one of those restaurants that didn’t have a sign out front, only a heavy oak door with a brass handle. Harrison was wearing the only suit he owned which was now slightly too tight across the shoulders from last season’s weight training. He’d shaved too close and nicked himself under the jaw. He could feel the sting every time he turned his head.

As the hostess guided Harrison towards the back, he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and found himself wishing he’d loosened his tie before coming in. Why was he so nervous? He’d played in front of packed stadiums with thousands of people screaming at him. He straightened automatically when he spotted Mr. Henderson and Sawyer.

Sawyer was sitting with his back partially turned so Harrison saw Mr. Henderson first. And somehow the man appeared exactly the same. He seemed expensive in a way Harrison couldn’t really explain. Everything fit perfectly. Not flashy, not trying too hard. Just...certain. Like the suit had been made specifically for him.

Sawyer’s hair was combed back and styled like the gala months ago. He looked presentable. Or maybe more accurately, he looked like somebody had spent time making sure he looked presentable.

Harrison had forgotten about this version of him. Maybe forgotten wasn’t the right word because he’d definitely thought about the gala afterward. He remembered seeing Sawyer that night and feeling totally thrown off by it. Sawyer usually wore hoodies and backwards hats with his hair falling into his eyes because he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. He was always effortlessly attractive, which Harrison hated acknowledging out of jealousy from how natural it seemed to be.

Sitting across from his father, Sawyer looked like he belonged there. He was wearing a dark sweater with his hair styled neatly and he seemed like he fit into the same world his father did. He could suddenly picture Sawyer ten or fifteen years from now sitting at some long conference table wearing a suit and talking to investors. The image was so clear it actually caught him off guard.

But then he got closer. And like the gala, the illusion started to break apart around the edges.

Because Sawyer was the gentler version of his father. Less controlled and polished. There was something softer in Sawyer’s face that kept him from looking intimidating in the same way. Even when Sawyer tried to look serious, Harrison always had the feeling that if you waited long enough you’d catch him smiling at something stupid.

And right now the cold wasn’t helping. His nose was still pink from constant rubbing and his skin was slightly flushed beneath the restaurant lighting. He looked like somebody trying very hard to hold himself together. Sawyer probably hadn’t wanted to be here at all. And yet he’d still fixed his hair and put on nice clothes and showed up anyway.

“Mr. Whitaker,” Mr. Henderson said as he stood in greeting. His grip was firm. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you for having me, sir,” Harrison responded. His voice came out steadier than he felt.

They sat. Harrison slid into the booth opposite Sawyer so he was looking at both of them.

“So,” Mr. Henderson began. He didn’t look at Sawyer, only at Harrison. “The Rose Bowl. That final drive was something else. I was in the stands. The awareness you showed..most quarterbacks panic in that situation.”

Harrison blinked. “Thank you. I just tried to stay calm.”

“Calm,” Mr. Henderson repeated like he was tasting the word. “That’s exactly it.”

He then asked about the season and Harrison’s training. Harrison answered automatically as he fell into the rhythm of post-game interviews. Mr. Henderson wasn’t simply asking to be polite. He was listening. He nodded at the right moments and asked follow up questions that showed he actually understood football.

Harrison found himself relaxing. This was territory he knew. He could talk about this for hours, and Mr. Henderson seemed content to let him.

But after twenty minutes, Harrison realized something was wrong. Sawyer hadn’t spoken. He’d ordered the salmon when asked, but he was otherwise silent and withdrawn like a ghost. He was staring at the bread basket like it required his full attention but Harrison could see his jaw working and the muscle ticking in his cheek.

Harrison watched him from the corner of his eye while answering a question about zone coverage and noticed the subtle hitching of Sawyer’s breath and the way his nostrils flared every few minutes. He’d bring his napkin up to his face and press it there for a second, then lower it. His face was contorting into that familiar pre-sneeze expression. His father didn’t notice. His father didn’t look at him at all.

Something hot and uncomfortable settled in his chest. Harrison thought about the conference room and how Sawyer had sat there looking exhausted and sick while still getting an entire room to follow exactly where he wanted them to go. He thought about Sawyer at parties: sharp and impossible to ignore. And now he was watching him disappear. Harrison glanced over at Mr. Henderson.

Why are you more curious about me than your own son?

The thought popped into his head and Harrison pushed it down and took a sip of water. But it stayed there burning.

Sawyer’s breath hitched again more urgently this time. He was trying to hold it back but it was a losing battle. His free hand came up and pinched his nose. It didn’t work.

“Hh’ih..Hhh..h’KSSHH!!—ihh’kshoo! Hh’NGKXT!”

The three rapid sneezes exploded into his napkin and they were loud enough to cut through the restaurant’s quiet atmosphere. Sawyer bent forward with his face hidden in the white cloth as his body jerked with each one. They sounded painfully congested and desperate like they’d been building for a long time.

Sawyer lowered the napkin slowly. His eyes were watering and his face was flushed a deep embarrassed red. He wiped his nose and reached for his glass of water with a hand that trembled slightly.

“Bless you,” Harrison murmured quietly.

Mr. Henderson finally looked at his son. Not with concern but with something like inconvenience. “Still sick?” he asked.

“Getting better,” Sawyer mumbled. He sounded stuffed up.

“Speaking of which. I heard there was some excitement at the fraternity last weekend.”

Sawyer stiffened. “It was nothing. A misunderstanding.”

“A fight,” Mr. Henderson corrected. He turned back to Harrison. “You’ve worked hard for where you are. One unfortunate moment can follow someone for a long time.”

Harrison opened his mouth but Mr. Henderson held up a hand. “I know young men get into arguments," he said smoothly and diplomatically. “I know alcohol and emotion can make people irrational sometimes.” He paused and swirled his wine. “I’m sure you’re aware that your reputation is everything at this level. The Athletic Department and the NFL invests millions and they want to make sure that investment is sound.” He let the weight of his words settle before continuing.

“People usually like Sawyer very quickly. He always has a tendency to be...intense. Discipline matters at your level and you can’t let other things distract you.”

Harrison felt the implication land. Sawyer’s a bad influence. Are you smart enough to distance yourself from my son?

He glanced over at Sawyer and waited for the rebuttal. The sharp sarcastic deflection or the Dad, fuck off that Sawyer would have delivered to anyone else. He expected Sawyer to straighten up and grin that crooked grin saying something cutting and clever that would put Mr. Henderson in his place.

But Sawyer just sat there. The fire Harrison was used to, the spark that made Sawyer Sawyer, was gone. He seemed like he believed everything his father was implying.

“Well Sawyer’s disciplined too,” Harrison heard himself say.

Sawyer looked up so quickly his chair shifted slightly against the floor.

Harrison hesitated but then continued. Maybe it was because Sawyer had spent the entire dinner shrinking into himself and sitting there half sick and exhausted while the conversation flowed around him like he wasn’t really part of it.

“He hides it. I saw some of his stuff the other day. Sawyer’s really smart. He’s not just..I mean, he’s got potential.”

Mr. Henderson turned his head over curiously. “What stuff exactly?”

Harrison’s heart was hammering and his palms were sweating against his suit pants. “...law things.”

Mr. Henderson glanced from Harrison to Sawyer. His expression was unreadable. “Law?” he asked. “That’s new.”

“It’s nothing,” Sawyer said quickly. His voice was strained. “Just a hobby. I like true crime podcasts. It’s stupid.”

Mr. Henderson smiled faintly. “Well, you've always enjoyed arguing.” He chuckled a low sound that made Harrison’s skin crawl. “But law school? That’s a serious commitment. And Sawyer’s path has always been clear. The family business is waiting for him when he graduates.”

He said it like it was an inevitable gift. Sawyer was staring at his hands. His knuckles were white. Harrison looked at Sawyer and then looked at Mr. Henderson; the man who had spent an hour asking Harrison about his dreams while ignoring his own son’s.

Sawyer made eye contact with Harrison and shook his head faintly in warning. Let it go.

Harrison’s jaw ached from clenching it. “Of course,” Harrison said as he forced the words out. “The family business. That makes sense.”

Mr. Henderson gave a satisfied smile. “Exactly. Now, dessert?”

The dinner continued but Harrison barely tasted his food. When the check came, Mr. Henderson paid without looking at it. He stood, shook Harrison’s hand and told him he had a bright future. He briefly touched Sawyer’s shoulder. “Keep me updated about next semester,” he said and walked away.

Sawyer stayed seated. Then slowly he brought his napkin back to his face.

“Hh’kshh!” he sneezed quietly into the cloth. Then again. “Hh’kshh! Hih…t’shh!”

Sawyer lowered the napkin. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he said. His voice was flat.

“I’m sorry,” Harrison said. “He was treating you like..”

“Like what?” Sawyer stood up. “That’s just how he treats me. It doesn’t matter.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Thanks for dinner. Good luck at the combine.”

Then he turned and started walking toward the front of the restaurant.

For a second Harrison stayed where he was. He realized that tonight wasn’t only a congratulatory dinner. Mr. Henderson heard about the fight and wanted to see for himself what was going on. He wanted to figure out if Harrison was the problem or if Sawyer was.

By the time Harrison pushed through the restaurant doors, the parking lot had mostly emptied out and the air outside was colder than he expected.

“Hey,” Harrison said as he hurried to catch up. “Wait up.”

Sawyer stopped in front of his car and pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket. He pressed it to his nose as his breath hitched.

“Hh’ngkxt! K’tschh! Hih…KSSHH!”

The sneezes were harsh and congested. He blew his nose miserably and Harrison’s chest tightened pity.

“I meant what I said Sawyer,” Harrison emphasized as his voice softened. “He’s wrong about you. You were amazing in the conference meeting that morning.”

Sawyer finally looked at him. “Yeah, well,” he rasped, “Somebody had to be. You can’t exactly afford a black mark on your record.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means I saw the headlines in my head too,” Sawyer said as his voice cracked with exhaustion. “Future NFL Star in Brawl. It wasn’t a good look.”

“So you fixed it,” Harrison countered. “You got us out of it. We’re good.”

“Are we?” Sawyer asked. He glanced away again. “I’m..I’m a complication.” He gestured at his current state. “My father’s not wrong. The fight at my fraternity kind of proved it, right? I drag you into stupid shit.”

Harrison stared at him completely lost. “What? All that night proved was that I care about you. I saw that guy coming at you and I didn’t even think. I reacted.”

“And that’s the problem!” Sawyer’s voice rose. He turned to face Harrison fully. “You didn’t think. You’re the guy who thinks about everything. You plan, you calculate and with me you lose control. You threw a punch in a backyard full of cell phones because some drunk asshole shoved me. Don’t you get how dangerous that is for you?”

Frustration tightened in Harrison’s chest. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Sawyer let out a sound that was half laugh. “Harrison, I’ve been in fights before. I can handle myself. But you can’t. You can’t have a scandal. You have one job for the next few months, and that’s to be perfect. To be the clean cut guy every team wants to draft. You can’t have a loose cannon in your corner.”

“You’re not a loose cannon,” Harrison protested.

“Aren’t I?” Sawyer gave a short bitter laugh. “I party too much. I’m the guy who hooks up with half the campus. I’m a bad influence. That’s what they’ll call me. The guy who’s dragging the golden boy down.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“But you should!” Sawyer’s voice cracked with emotion. “Harrison, you’ve worked your whole life for this! I’m not going to be the reason you throw it away. I can’t be.”

Harrison stared at him for a second breathing hard now too. “I think you’re overreacting. Your father doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You shouldn’t listen to him. And you’re acting like one drunk fight means we’re doomed or something.”

Sawyer rubbed his temples. “Tonight just made it obvious. My father saw this huge future with you. Then he looked at me and saw the thing that could screw it up.” He took a shaky breath.

“Harrison, in four months you’re gonna be drafted. Your life is about to become insane. Training camps, travel, endorsements, press. You barely have time for yourself now.” He swallowed. “What exactly do you think this turns into?”

“I…I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

The question hit hard because Sawyer asked it so plainly.

“No seriously, how?” Sawyer pressed. “You think an NFL rookie schedule magically leaves room for a secret relationship with some guy back at your college? You gonna fly back between games? Sneak around hotel rooms? Pretend we’re just friends forever?”

Harrison had no answers.

“You don’t even know what we’re figuring out.” Sawyer sighed. “It’s better this way. To stop this before it gets harder.”

The blood drained from Harrison's face. This couldn’t be happening. How had they gotten here? He thought about the couch in his apartment and how Sawyer melted into his arms and was honest for the first time about his brother. He thought about the shower and the intimacy of it, the way Sawyer had surrendered control. How could all of that stop?

Sawyer finally looked at him and his eyes were glistening. He wasn’t quite crying, but he was close. He reached out like he wanted to touch Harrison’s arm but his hand stopped halfway and fell back to his side. “You’re going to be amazing Harrison. Truly. Go be the guy everyone knows you can be. Just..do it without me.”

He turned and got in his car, leaving Harrison in the parking lot.

Harrison stood there for a moment before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started towards his own car. His mind was reeling. Sawyer probably believed every word he’d said. That this was somehow protecting Harrison and that he would eventually look back and realize Sawyer had done him a favor. But Harrison kept thinking about the way Sawyer’s hand had lifted towards him before falling back to his side. Because people didn’t look at you like that when they were done.

Not really.

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#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #original fiction

ssnzz

hi i've returned with a small something! more sneezing wizards im afraid (cri/tical ro/le) i wrote this a while back while i was on some kind of snzfic kick and its actually kinda cute so i figured id share it :) no cute name this time unfortunately but this does also happen to be part of a lil 5+1 thing i was trying to write (different from the one the last fic is from, i just really like 5+1's lol) so maybe you'll get more kink!wizards being horny for each other who knows

1.6k words, kink!ca/leb, dust allergies, vaguely post-canon but not spoilery, not edited!!

#snzfic #allergyfic #other people's writing #c/ritical r/ole #fanfic

softblesses

Just Allergies...?

Fandom: H/ouse M/D.

Characters: H/ouse, R/obert C/hase, A/llison C/ameron, E/ric F/oreman.

Word Count: 1.2k (Part 1.)

Set sometime during season 2. Enjoy! :)

softblesses

Part 2/3.

Word Count: 1k.

CW: mild references to past abuse.

This part is more feverish goodness, sorry for the lack of snz!! <3

softblesses

Final Part. (3/3.)

Word count: 1.3k.

#snzfic #sickfic #allergyfic #other people's writing #fanfic #h/ouse m/d

softblesses

Sharing is Caring... Right?

Another fic... who is shocked? :0 No one.

Fandom: You guessed it! H/ouse M/D.

Characters: Mostly just R/obert C/hase & A/llison C/ameron, but a lil W/ilson, H/ouse and maybe some others.

Word count: 1.4k in part 1.

Enjoy <3!

softblesses

Part 2.

Fandom: H/ouse M/D.

Characters: Mostly just R/obert C/hase & A/llison C/ameron, but a lil W/ilson, H/ouse and maybe some others.

Word count: 821.

softblesses

Part 3. 💜

Word count: 1.3k

softblesses

Part 4. 🤒

Word count: 1.9k.

softblesses

Part 5. Final part. 💙

Word count: 1.4k.

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #fanfic #h/ouse m/d

hehhllo-world

"you're not as sneaky as you think..."

Dr. Robby is acting a little bit…off. But it’s fine. He’s fine. And he’s doing an excellent job being fine. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Abbot knows him a little bit too well.

This is a very short drabble i whipped up a little while ago. Lmk what you think :-D

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #fanfic #t/he p/itt

hehhllo-world

Hello world! I was very brave and actually posted something on ao3, and was shocked to find that I was not met with tomatoes. It’s a little collection of J/ohn C/arter drabbles. Here it is:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Once my head is above water (ie, finals stop beating the life-loving shit out of me) i will try for some more writing. PLEASEPLEASE PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOU HAVE IDEAS FOR MORE STUFF!!

#snzfic #allergyfic #other people's writing #fanfic #e/r

north-east-sf

The Discipline of Falling Apart

A slow-burn enemies to lovers story following my college OC's Sawyer Henderson and Harrison Whitaker. Word Count: 5,489

Link to Chapter 1 is: Here Link to Chapter 2 is: Here Link to Chapter 3 is: Here Link to Chapter 4 is: Here Link to Chapter 5 is: Here Link to Chapter 6 is: Here

I just wanted to say, thank you so much for all the beautiful feedback I’ve received. I know this story is a bit of a slow burn and can be a kind of plot heavy at times, and I was nervous people wouldn’t stick around. It means alot when I see such nice and uplifting comments; they really make my day and keep me motivated to continue. Thank you!!

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Chapter 7 - Harrison's POV

Harrison sat on the bench in front of his locker in his sweat soaked pads. The roar of the stadium crowd had faded and was replaced by the quiet frustrated sounds of his teammates stripping off their gear. The locker room smelled like defeat. It clung to the air thicker than the usual post game fog.

His body ached but it wasn’t the good, deep ache of a game well played. This was a dull throb from sloppy footwork. It hadn’t necessarily been a disaster. He didn’t throw any interceptions, nor did he collapse under pressure in the way that turned into highlight reels for the wrong reasons. But the rhythm of the game had slipped through his fingers and the small mistakes had stacked together until the loss became inevitable. It was lazy. It was undisciplined.

And he knew exactly why.

His mind hadn’t been on the field. Sawyer Henderson with his sharp tongue and his soft smile had managed to do what an entire defense couldn’t. He’d gotten inside his head and completely shut him down. The irony was so thick it was suffocating. Last Saturday, he’d played through sickness and they’d won. He’d pushed through the pain and the exhaustion but he couldn’t push through whatever…this was.

Harrison couldn’t stop thinking about Tuesday night. Sawyer had looked at him with his usual sarcastic guard fully gone and replaced by a concern so genuine it made Harrison’s chest ache. He brought him medicine. He sat with him. He listened to him talk about being a shy kid with no friends. He saw him at his absolute lowest: feverish, snotty, and weak, and he didn't run. He stayed.

And then Harrison had kissed him.

The shame hit him in a fresh hot wave. Sawyer had been leaning in with his face so close and his thumb brushing Harrison’s jaw, and Harrison just…broke. He saw the flicker of surprise in Sawyer’s eyes right before he closed the distance, but then Sawyer had met him with an intensity that had stolen his breath. It felt real.

But the next morning, the rational part of his brain had kicked in. What the hell was he thinking? This was Sawyer Henderson. The guy whose social media was a highlight reel of frat parties and sorority girls. The guy who had Ashley practically draped all over him every time Harrison saw them. As far as Harrison could tell, Sawyer was more of a casual, hook up kind of guy. Maybe he kissed him because the moment was intense, because Harrison was sick and vulnerable and he felt sorry for him.

Harrison had known he was into men for years. It wasn’t a sudden realization, but a slow, quiet acceptance that settled in the back of his mind like a secret he knew he could never tell. There were a few anonymous encounters but nothing that was ever real or lasting. They were transactions: a way to scratch an itch without risking his future. The NFL draft wasn’t just a possibility, it was an expectation. The media attention was already constant. Coming out wasn’t only a personal risk; it was a professional one and a gamble he was too scared to take.

And yet with Sawyer, he felt himself wanting to. That was the terrifying part. He trusted him. He knew deep in his gut that Sawyer was a good person. Sawyer challenged him in ways most people didn’t. He saw through Harrison’s composure far too easily and had a habit of saying things that forced Harrison to think about himself in uncomfortable ways. On top of that, Sawyer somehow managed to make him laugh when he least expected it (which was not something many people could claim). All of it was intoxicating. It was also scary. Sawyer threw him off balance. One conversation with him and Harrison’s carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble.

He liked the kiss too much. And that’s why he had to retreat. He had to shut it down before it got away from him. It made him feel like a jerk for doing it, especially seeing how sick Sawyer was and knowing he was the one who gave it to him. But the alternative of letting this thing with him grow felt dangerous.

“Whitaker! You coming?”

He glanced up. Marcus was already changed out of his uniform. He was watching him with an easy expression. The anger had already faded from the room. Losses happened. They were a good team but they weren’t perfect.

“Yeah,” Harrison replied. He pulled on a clean t-shirt and grabbed his duffel bag. “Where you guys headed?”

“Delta house is throwing something,” Marcus suggested.

“What about Henderson’s place?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

A few other guys who were within earshot perked up. “That party last week was insane.”

Harrison forced a smile but his mind was already racing. Why had he said that? He was asking to put himself right back in the middle of the thing that was screwing with his head. But there was another more pressing reason that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d given Sawyer this nasty cold, the one that had knocked Harrison flat. The thought of him out there drinking all day with that thing tearing through his system made a knot of dread form in his gut. He was probably 2 beers deep by 8 AM, just like he told Dylan.

He needed to see if he was okay. It was a stupid reckless impulse but it was there.

“Alright, Henderson’s it is,” Marcus announced with a grin.

As they walked out of the locker room, Harrison followed his teammates with a mix of dread and anticipation.

***

Coming to the house was a mistake. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around and leave. This was Sawyer’s world, not his. It was loud, chaotic and totally out of his hands. But he was here now. He might as well see it through.

Harrison rarely drank. He was health conscious to a fault and meticulously tracked his sleep and training. But tonight he grabbed a can from a cooler as he passed and took a sip. It was watery cheap beer, but it was cold and the slight bitterness distracted him from the chaos in his head.

He found his teammates near a makeshift beer pong table in the living room. The first beer went down quickly and the second followed. He wasn’t drunk but a pleasant, fuzzy buzz began to dull the edges of his frustration. His eyes scanned the crowd; he couldn’t stop the instinctive search. He was looking for Sawyer.

It took him ten minutes to find him. Sawyer stood across the room near the back door that led to the patio. His face was pale under the flashing lights except for an unnaturally flushed patch that sat high on his cheekbones. His hair was a mess and strands kept falling into his eyes, which were bloodshot and glassy. He was clearly drunk, but it was a different kind of drunk than Harrison had ever seen. Usually Sawyer moved through these parties with an effortless grace. He lingered, he charmed and he stayed in control of every interaction. But tonight he carried a restless, nervous energy. This wasn’t the charming social buzz of a guy who enjoyed a party. He was drinking faster than anyone around him. Ashley and Tyler hovered near him trying to slow him down but he brushed them off with a grin.

Sawyer was in the middle of telling a story when his nose, which was already a little pink from his cold, began to twitch. He paused mid-sentence as he tried to rub the sensation away with the back of his hand. His nostrils began to flare and his eyes lost focus. Sawyer gave up on the story entirely as his face crumpled into a familiar pre-sneeze expression. With a sharp gasp, he turned his head quickly away from the group as he brought his elbow up to his face.

“Hh'kshh! Hih'tshh! Kshh'ngh! Hh—kshh!—kshh!—kshh!—ihh’kshoo!”

Each sneeze slammed into him one after the other with no time to breathe in between. His head snapped forward with each desperate explosion. When the fit ended, his eyes appeared dazed. Harrison guessed he had probably been sneezing like that all night.

Then with strained effort, Sawyer pulled himself together. He took an unsteady breath and forced his expression back into a casual mask. Harrison could see his nostrils were still fluttering slightly and he still looked a little sneezy. He gave a dismissive wave with his hand and jumped right back into the conversation.

The next time Harrison saw him, Sawyer was leaning against a wall and laughing at something one of his frat brothers said. The laugh broke apart and turned into a deep rattling cough that bent him in half. It sounded wet and painful, and Harrison guessed that his smoking or vaping habit probably made it worse. Sawyer grimaced and pressed a fist to his chest before he took another long pull from his cup.

The breaking point came when Sawyer stumbled through the back door and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Harrison watched as Sawyer fumbled to open a fresh pack. He finally got one out and stuck it between his lips. He tried once to flick it to life, then paused when a cough seized him without warning. The force of it bent him forward at the waist. When he straightened again, he sniffed thickly and swiped at his nose with the back of his hand before he tried to light the cigarette a second time.

Something in Harrison snapped.

He pushed off the wall and made his way across the room and out the back door. The cool night air hit him hard and was a shock after the stuffy heat inside. Sawyer leaned against the siding of the house and struggled to get a flame to catch at the tip of his cigarette. Each failed attempt ended with a frustrated curse.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Sawyer’s head snapped up and his eyes went wide with surprise. “Harrison? What are you-”

“I asked what the fuck you’re doing,” Harrison repeated. His voice was low and dangerously even. He gestured at the cigarette that hung from Sawyer’s lips. “You can barely breathe. You’re coughing up a lung and now you’re trying to smoke?”

Sawyer flinched as his defensive walls went up immediately. He finally got the lighter to work and cupped his hand around the flame. He took a long shaky drag, then blew the smoke out in a rush as the cloud drifted lazily towards Harrison. “It’s just a cigarette, man. Chill out.”

“Chill out?!” Harrison felt his anger rise. The smoke drifted around him and his irritation intensified as a tickle flared high in his nose. “I gave you this cold, Sawyer. I know how bad it is. I was laid out. You look like you’re about to collapse and you’re out here making it worse!”

Sawyer watched him as a flicker of confusion moved through his drunk eyes. “Oh, I’b sorry, Dr. Whitaker. I didn't realize you were so concerned about-”

“Huh-HHHHHHH-CHOOOO!”

The sneeze exploded out of Harrison. It was forceful enough that his ears popped. He straightened up and his eyes watered as he tried to recover, completely thrown off his rhythm.

Sawyer stared at him and for a moment his anger disappeared. “Bless you.”

“I amb concerned!” Harrison shot back as he tried to reclaim his train of thought. He sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “I’m watching you destroy yourself. You have all this…this potential, this life, and you just throw it away like it's nothing. You have everything, and you act like you don't give a shit.”

Sawyer’s face was already flushed from the alcohol and illness but it turned a deeper shade of red. He pushed himself off the wall and his body swayed slightly. “Everything??? You think I have everything? You stand there in your…your perfect little bubble and you think you know anything about me?!”

“I know you’re smarter than this,” Harrison retorted as his frustration boiled over. He could feel another sneeze building and the pressure rolled through him in a way that made it impossible to ignore. He turned his head away and tried to hold it back. “Hhh...you’re better than...haaah... than..HHH'KSSHHIEW!” This one was louder and wetter, and it left him shaky and off balance.

“Ndo you don’t,” Sawyer slurred. His voice was cracked with emotion. He seemed to take Harrison’s sudden loss of control as some kind of mockery. “You…you don’t know shit. Ndothing.” He took a congested inhale and scrubbed at his nose. “All you see is, what? Some rich frat bro who throws parties, right? So yeah. I’m gonna have a cigarette. And another drink. Because what the hell else am I supposed to do, huh? With all this purpose I supposedly have?”

He let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh but it didn’t land right.

“You think this is all stupid. You think I’m stupid,” he went on and his words started to blur at the edges. “You sit there with your…your perfect discipline and you just…you judge me. I know you judge me.”

Harrison stared at him with his own anger momentarily forgotten. He took a step closer as his voice dropped to a frustrated whisper. “Judge you? That’s what you think this is? I’m not judging you Sawyer. I’m jealous.”

The words hung in the cold night air and Sawyer’s drunken, defiant expression was replaced by confusion.

“Yeah,” Harrison continued as he sniffed roughly. “Jealous. Every single thing I do is scheduled. I wake up and I know exactly what I’m supposed to do because if I don’t, I lose everything.” He gestured vaguely at the house behind them. “You…you get to just be. You can mess up. You have all the family money in the world. You can be a happy idiot and people still like you.”

Sawyer’s eyes blazed with a drunken fury. “Oh, that’s…that’s fucking rich,” he scoffed as he took another angry drag from his cigarette. “You think my dad gives a shit if I’m happy? He just needs me to not fuck up the family name long enough to graduate. You think people like me? They like the idea of me. They don’t…they don’t know me.”

His voice dropped. “Neither do you. You don’t know anything about me.”

Sawyer took another angry drag of his cigarette and his hand trembled as he held it there. The smoke billowed out and formed a final, defiant cloud that drifted directly into Harrison’s face. Harrison flinched as his eyes watered instantly. A stinging tickle flared high in his sinuses.

“Hhh…hah…HHH’NGKXTCHOO!” The sneeze ripped out of him violently and bent him over. He straightened and sniffled wetly, only to be hit by another wave. “Hih…HAAAA-CHOO! Hih’KSSHHIEW!”

Sawyer watched him as something unreadable passed over his glassy eyes. “So you can take your concern and you can shove it.”

He turned and stumbled back toward the house, then slammed the screen door behind him. Harrison stood there as the anger slowly drained away. He had made it worse. He always made it worse. And now on top of everything, his own nose was starting to run.

The screen door creaked open behind him. “What the hell is going on out here?”

Harrison turned. Ashley stood on the small porch with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes flicked from Harrison’s guilty face to the closed door Sawyer had recently slammed through.

He took her in. Even though Harrison liked men, he wasn’t blind. She really was striking with large dark eyes and a cascade of blonde hair over one shoulder. He sensed that familiar bitter sting of jealousy, an automatic reflex to the easy intimacy she shared with Sawyer before he shoved it back down.

“I don’t know,” Harrison admitted hoarsely. “He’s…he’s sick and smoking. He’s being an idiot.”

Ashley’s defensive posture didn’t soften, but a flicker of understanding crossed her face. “Hey,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Take it easy on him. Today is a tough day.”

Harrison frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ashley looked at him and her expression softened with something like pity. “It’s the anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?” Harrison asked, confused.

“Of Grant’s death. Grant was Sawyer’s older brother.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut and completely knocked the wind out of him.

Grant’s death. Older brother.

Harrison felt the world tilt on its axis as the loud thumping of the party inside the house faded into a distant hum. Suddenly all the confusing pieces of Sawyer he’d been trying to fit together clicked. It wasn’t a picture he’d even known he was looking at but now it was staring him right in the face.

“His..his brother?” Harrison repeated. The words were foreign and clumsy in his own mouth. “What?? I...I didn’t know he died.”

“I know,” Ashley replied gently. She wasn't mean, but she was firm and protective, and Harrison could understand exactly why they were friends. “Sawyer doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Harrison thought of the donor event. The way Sawyer had mentioned an older brother and then stopped. The way he had been drinking harder than usual tonight.

Ashley took a step closer and gazed directly at Harrison. “And for what it’s worth, you weren’t wrong to chide him for smoking when he’s sick. It’s a disgusting habit. Just…today isn’t the best day to do it.” She sighed, a small, weary sound. “I don’t usually like to broadcast Sawyer’s personal information but it seemed right in this particular situation.” She regarded him and her expression softened. “I can tell you care about him.”

The wistful way she said it made Harrison slightly uneasy. It was like she knew about them. Or whatever it was. But Ashley didn’t seem angry or scandalized. There was almost an invisible smile and a knowing warmth in her eyes that disarmed him. He got the distinct sense that Ashley and Sawyer were truly more friends than anything else romantic. She wasn’t a rival; she was an ally.

“Today’s the one day a year he can’t outrun it,” Ashley continued softly. “The rest of the year, he’s Sawyer Henderson, the life of the party. But today he’s just a guy who lost his brother. So, yeah. Take it easy on him. He’s doing the best he can.”

With that, Ashley gave him a nod and walked back toward the house and disappeared inside. Harrison was left alone with the cigarette Sawyer had dropped smoldering on the concrete at his feet. The anger he’d had moments ago evaporated, leaving nothing but shame.

He had to fix this.

He took a step toward the door when a new sound cut through the bass of the music. Sirens. A collective groan rippled through the house and it was followed by a frantic scramble. “Shit, it’s the cops!” someone yelled.

“Relax, they never stick around,” someone else muttered. “Just clear out for a bit.”

Harrison got swept up in the current and his mission to find Sawyer was momentarily derailed. He tried to push against the flow of traffic towards the stairs where Sawyer might have gone, but a firm hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Hey Harrison, this way!” Marcus urged. “Don’t bother fighting it man. Get out through the back.”

Harrison glanced from Marcus to the mass of people who blocked the stairs and his frustration built. “I need to find someone.”

“You’ll find them tomorrow,” Marcus countered firmly as he pulled him toward the kitchen. “Move. Now.”

Harrison ended up outside on the lawn, surrounded by his confused and disgruntled teammates. He pulled out his phone as his thumb hovered over Sawyer’s name. What could he even say? Sorry I was an asshole? Sorry about your loss? Sorry I care about you? It all sounded painfully inadequate.

“Come on,” Marcus called. “Nothing to see here.”

Reluctantly, Harrison followed. He cast one last look back at the frat house. Its windows were dark and quieter now as the party dwindled down to avoid trouble. He had no choice but to leave. But the image of Sawyer’s face filled with grief and anger that Harrison had been too blind to see was now burnt into his memory.

***

Harrison’s alarm hadn't gone off Sunday morning. He’d simply given up on tossing and turning and had been staring at the ceiling ever since. A phantom tickle lingered in his nose, the ghost of the cold he had passed on to Sawyer. He rubbed at it irritably. He needed to move. He needed to sweat out the poison, both literal and figurative.

He knew he shouldn’t. The training staff would’ve benched him for this without hesitation. Recovery, hydration, and only light mobility the day after a game. That was the rule.

He ignored it anyway.

The athletic training facility was fairly empty at this hour on a Sunday. This was his sanctuary, the place where he could shed the complications of his life. He started with the squat rack and loaded the bar with a punishing weight. With each rep, he tried to force the image of Sawyer’s face out of his mind but it didn’t work. He saw him on the patio, defiant and hurting. He saw him in the lab, pale and sick. He saw him leaning in with his bright hazel eyes right before Harrison had kissed him.

An hour and a half later, he was spent. His muscles trembled and his t-shirt was soaked through. His body was blissfully empty. His mind, on the other hand, was still a complete wreck. He had to talk to Sawyer. He had to apologize properly this time.

As he walked down the main corridor toward the exit, he heard voices echoing from the direction of the administrative wing. It was unusual for this part of the facility to be active on a Sunday. He slowed his steps as his curiosity piqued. When he rounded the corner, he saw the source of the commotion.

A university staff member walked beside a man who radiated a quiet, immense power. Harrison recognized the staff member as one of the Athletic Directors, although he couldn’t remember his name. The other man was older, probably in his late fifties. He wore a custom tailored blazer that likely cost more than Harrison’s entire wardrobe. He moved with easy confidence and kept his hands clasped behind his back while he listened to the Director explain something about the new sports medicine wing.

And trailing a few steps behind them looking deeply uncomfortable, was Sawyer.

Harrison stopped dead and his breath caught in his throat. It was Sawyer but it wasn’t the Sawyer from the party or the chemistry lab. He was clearly hungover, but the hoodie and sunglasses were gone. He wore a crisp dark button up shirt and his hair was styled with some level of order. By every objective measure, he appeared presentable. But it wasn’t enough.

Deep bruised shadows sat under his bloodshot eyes. But instead of being their normal bright and playful self, they were now just…empty. He wasn’t the confident, sharp witted social charmer that Harrison had come to know. This version of him was quieter and stripped down. Seeing him like that sent a sharp protective jolt through Harrison.

Harrison stayed frozen in the doorway of a side office and watched as the group moved down the hall. The director pointed out features while Sawyer’s father listened. Sawyer lagged behind them like an afterthought. He wasn’t part of the conversation. He was just there.

Sawyer paused as he turned his head to the side and muffled a cough into his elbow. The rough sound made Harrison wince. Harrison could almost feel the irritation in his own chest like a phantom echo of the cigarette smoke Sawyer had inhaled the night before.

Sawyer’s father didn’t react. He kept walking and stayed focused on the Athletic Director’s explanation about funding and alumni engagement. It was like Sawyer wasn’t there, or worse, was simply a prop to be trotted out for these kinds of occasions.

Harrison realized too late that he was standing directly in their path. He was no longer hidden in the shadows of the doorway but fully exposed in the middle of the corridor. The Athletic Director spotted him first and his face lit up with the enthusiasm of a man who knew a PR opportunity when he saw one.

“Mr. Henderson, sir, if I could interrupt for a moment,” the Director said. His voice sounded smooth and ingratiating. “I’d like you to meet one of our star players, Harrison Whitaker.”

Mr. Henderson turned his gaze toward Harrison, and Harrison felt himself being measured in a single sweeping glance. The man’s eyes were the same shade of bright hazel as Sawyer’s, but without any of their warmth or humor. They were the eyes of a man who didn't need to prove anything, so he didn't try to impress, connect, or intimidate. He simply assessed. Harrison suddenly felt like he was on the scouting block again being sized up for his draft potential.

“Whitaker,” Mr. Henderson said. His voice was a low baritone and it carried undeniable authority. He offered his hand and his grip was firm and strong. “I’ve seen you play. Strong arm. Your decision making under pressure has improved.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

Out of the corner of Harrison’s eye, he could see Sawyer’s profile. His brow was furrowed, and his lips were parted slightly. His nostrils flared subtly with each congested breath and he kept rubbing at the tip of his nose with his knuckle.

Harrison forced his attention back to Mr. Henderson and tried to engage in the stiff small talk that the Athletic Director facilitated. “Yes, sir. We’re working hard this season. The loss yesterday was a setback but we’re already focusing on next week.”

Conversation continued and Harrison risked another glance at Sawyer. He saw that his eyes were trembling shut and his face was tilted slightly upward. His breath started to hitch in soft, uneven gasps.

“Hhh...hih…”

Sawyer fought it. His body tensed as he tried to suppress it and he pinched his nose harder. Harrison’s heart started to pound in sympathy. The Athletic Director continued talking. “And Harrison here maintains a 3.8 GPA in Communications. He’s the kind of student athlete this program is proud to showcase.”

“Hhh...haaah...hih…”

The hitching grew more pronounced. Sawyer was losing control and Harrison could feel the tension building in the air. The tickle was becoming too much for his cold-ridden nose. With a final defeated gasp, he turned his head quickly towards his shoulder and let loose.

“Hih...KSHH'iew! Hh—kshh!—ngk’tshh! Hh’ksh!—ksh!—ih’ksh!”

The sneezes broke out in a rapid exhausting burst and Harrison grimaced as he experienced a stab of guilt. He’d been the one to give him this damn cold.

“Bless you,” Harrison said before he could stop himself. His voice was softer than he intended and laced with a concern he couldn’t disguise.

Sawyer lifted his head for a second. Their eyes met and Harrison caught a flash of humiliation before Sawyer looked away.

Mr. Henderson however, had no reaction. No annoyance or concern whatsoever. It was as if Sawyer had merely cleared his throat. He didn't even acknowledge that his son had just sneezed his brains out in the middle of a conversation. He simply turned back to Harrison with an unchanged expression. “As I was saying, discipline is the key. It separates the good from the great.”

Just then, a phone buzzed and Mr. Henderson pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. “I have to take this,” he said in a clipped tone. He turned to the Athletic Director with a brief nod. “Thank you for the tour. We’ll be in touch.”

He then gave a curt dismissive nod to Sawyer, the only interaction Harrison had witnessed between them. Not a word or touch of the arm, only a silent goodbye. Then he turned and walked away, already speaking into his phone in low, urgent tones with the Athletic Director scurrying to keep up with him.

Sawyer stood frozen for a moment behind his father’s retreating back. He was left alone with Harrison in the wide echoing corridor. Sawyer didn't look at him. He stared at the polished floor. He looked smaller than Harrison had ever seen him, stripped of all his defenses with his carefully constructed persona shattered into a million pieces at his feet.

And Harrison knew with certainty that this was the real Sawyer. The vulnerable, grieving, lonely man he’d only caught glimpses of before. And he was more beautiful and more heartbreaking than any version of him Harrison had ever imagined.

The silence stretched and Sawyer sniffed. His nose was running and he needed to deal with it but he stayed frozen. He either couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything about it. Harrison watched him and felt a strong ache of sympathy. He couldn’t stand the sight of Sawyer looking so lost and broken. Without thinking, he reached into his gym bag. His fingers brushed against a familiar folded square of cotton.

“Here,” Harrison said in a soft voice. He held it out to Sawyer.

Sawyer slowly turned his head and his eyes blinked as if he were coming out of a trance. He hesitated for a long moment. Finally he let out a reluctant sigh and took the cloth. His fingers brushed against Harrison’s, and Harrison noticed a slight tremor in them.

Sawyer turned slightly away and brought the handkerchief to his face. He took a deep, shuddering breath and then blew his nose. When he was finished, he gave a liquid sniff that Harrison could hear from where he was standing. He still seemed completely stuffed up.

“How do you feel?” Harrison asked gently.

Sawyer let out a short humorless laugh that turned into a harsh cough. “I feel great,” he rasped. His voice was so thick with congestion it was barely recognizable.

“I’m sorry,” Harrison said at last. The words came out quickly, almost tripping over each other. “I’m sorry for being a dick all week. I’m sorry for yelling at you last night. I…I didn’t know. About yesterday. About your brother.”

He paused and then looked directly at Sawyer. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Sawyer slowly turned to face him. His eyes were watery and the hazel color was blurred with unshed tears. He blinked them away. He opened his mouth to respond but his breath stuttered. His eyes slid shut and his nostrils flared. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Godda…godda sdeeze…”

He buried his face in the handkerchief and whipped his head away from Harrison.

“Hh’kshh!—ngk’tshh!—ihh’kshoo!”

The sound was slightly muffled but the force was still there as each one jerked his shoulders forward. He was completely at their mercy. The fit kept coming in a relentless miserable cascade.

“Hih'KSSHH! Hah'KSSHHIEW! Hih'NGKXT'shhoo! Hah-CHOO! Hhh...hih'KSSHH!”

Harrison just stood there feeling useless until the fit finally subsided, leaving Sawyer gasping for air. His eyes were watery and he swayed on his feet. Harrison could see a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. Without thinking, Harrison stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on Sawyer’s arm.

Sawyer flinched when Harrison touched him but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the contact and his body trembled with exhaustion. Harrison could feel the heat radiating off him. He was burning up.

“Come on,” Harrison said gently. “Let’s get you out of here. Come back to my place. I still have medicine from when I was sick.”

Sawyer looked up at him. For a moment, Harrison saw a flicker of that automatic “everything’s fine” look. But then, his shoulders slumped in defeat and he gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

He pushed off the wall but his knees buckled almost instantly. He let out a surprised grunt as he pitched forward. Harrison lunged and steadied him before he could hit the floor. Sawyer was burning hot and he trembled against Harrison’s chest with his head bowed.

“I got you,” Harrison murmured in a soothing voice. “You can lean on me.”

─────────────────────

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #original fiction

hehhllo-world

“It’s been rainy in Pittsburg…” [pt 1]

Jack notices an odd pattern in Robby every time it rains. Robby doesn’t like being perceived, or that the new attending, who seems to have wormed his way into Robby’s heart, thinks he knows him better than Robby knows himself. (Or, Jack follows Robby around the ED on a slow night trying to convince him he’s allergic to rainstorms.)

Set pre-C19!! Sometime during the early 2010s

Writing this was my self-gift for surviving another finals season. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing! Also special thanks to @softblesses for letting me yap about my ideas for this one :p

#snzfic #fanfic #t/he p/itt #other people's writing

shiverrrrrrr

The Chaperone (M, historical, pollen)

Now on to the good part haha. Thank you for your patience while I explored world and characters a bit (I'm hoping it will come in handy later for future installments) Enjoy!

~~~~

The large greenhouse really was one of her favorite places on the estate, and not just because she was a woman of science. It was really a sprawling, picturesque indoor garden, and it offered many places to sit serenely amongst the flora even if the outdoor weather found itself disagreeable.

Today, Charlotte would be having a lovely visit here with her fiancée—and a proper chaperone, of course. And since her closest brother had only had opportunity to meet the gentleman once before, he was the obvious choice.

Leo had been polite enough to show Nicholas to the small table in the middle of the greenhouse while Charlotte finished her toilette. At least, that’s what she had claimed to be doing. Really, this would all have been so much easier if Leo had had the decency to be sensitive to any of the dozens of varieties of good English plants they did grow at the estate. But no matter—she would have her revenge for the trouble he put her through within the hour.

“Miss Highgate!” Nicholas called out at her arrival, perhaps a bit desperately. He and her brother stood politely, Nicky practically falling over to pull out a chair for her.

Maybe she had been cruel in leaving them alone for so long. Oh, well. She was about to become much crueler.

“Good Afternoon, Mister Weatherley,” she put on her most saccharine voice. Being the beautiful youngest daughter of a large and well-to-do family, the tone was something she took to exquisitely well.

“I do hope our Leo hasn’t been too beastly” —she playfully bopped her brother’s nose with a finger— “to you in my absence?”

Leo laughed while she took her seat, and Nicholas tried to echo the sound. She had to admit she felt a bit nervous herself. But now all she had to do was wait and see if she could play her next move.

“Just discussing university,” Leo assured her with his easy smile and the patented hand through his coppery hair. “I must say I am rather worried the return to fine English education may be too much for me. Perhaps I’ll just drop out entirely.”

“Oh Mister High—Leo,” Charlotte’s ears perked up as Nicholas corrected himself quickly, as if the two had been over this several times already. “Surely that isn’t right! You’ll re-acclimate in no time, I promise you.” She grinned at his earnestness—the poor sucker. She wasn’t the only one prone to games.

“Ah. Well thank you, dear Nicholas,” Leo intoned with mock-wistfulness, “at least I know I’ll have a friend in you, examining bodies in the esteemed but woefully far-off campus morgue.” He flicked at the tip of his nose with a knuckle, but Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t meant as close-to-tears posturing.

“Th-the only morgue we have is the one in the University Hospital.” Nicholas gave the smallest of smiles, seeming to catch on to his assigned role. “It isn’t that far from everything else on campus. I’m usually always somewhere around there.”

“Then perhaps there’s hope for me yet!” Leo cried with a deviously earnest-sounding sense of relief. He leaned forward at their little outdoor table, brushing at his nose again and flashing Nicky his devilish grin. “If I ever find myself in need of your companionship, I’ll be sure to contract some sort of horrible, hospital-worthy disease.”

#snzfic #allergyfic #other people's writing #original fiction

sherbet-shivers

An Attending's Perfect Storm (Pt. 4/4)

An Attending’s Perfect Storm.

Series: T/he P/itt

Characters: M/ichael “Dr. R/obby” R/obinavitch, D/ennis W/hitaker

Blurb: Robby is found leading to a dramatic conclusion. Plot is spoiler-free (and set before s2)!

Length: 11.3k words (Links to Part One, Two and Three — omg this section is so long I’m sorry, trust me even I was gagged. I would’ve split it into two, but figured what’s the point when it’s all done and you've all jumped parts enough)

TW: Cursing, (probably) inaccurate doctor lingo, general hospital/ER stuff, single pandemic mention — NO gore!

NOTE: Thank you to those of you who followed along this whole ride. I know this was a lot and I always want you to know how thankful I am, truly c: (special thanks to @ktaaaashu @softblesses @themiseryandcompany @silentsneezes and my special anon — you guys are so sweet I feel like I’ve been given serotonin every time I see you interact <3 blessed wishes!!)

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs and minors DNI! Feedback and formatting tips are always welcome <3**

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #fanfic #t/he p/itt

meforeverz

Unwell (Project Hail Mary, Grace)

His head was buzzing unpleasantly in a way that he probably shouldn’t have ignored. Neither should he have ignored the scratchyness of his throat or the way he could feel himself getting more and more congested by the minute.

He did, throwing back the fourth cup of coffee in as many hours instead. It caught in his throat and threw him into a coughing fit that left tears in his eyes.

“Woah Grace, you good there?”

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #fanfic #p/roject h/ail m/ary

softsnzstuff

The Job That Keeps on Giving

Summary: Robby comes into work sick and makes it everybody else’s problem

Special shoutout to @silentsneezes @softblesses for letting me bounce ideas off you! (Part 2 coming, but it’s Jack’s turn) • Please don’t reblog to non-kink blogs

Word Count: 2.9k

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

7:00 AM

The turn from winter to spring in Pittsburgh was something greatly looked forward to. The crisp morning air would eventually give way to afternoon sunshine and gentle warmth; not too hot, but perfect for tee shirts or light layers.

This April was already shaping up to be a warm one, but the 6am wind wasn’t quite so forgiving. Michael Robinavitch sniffled wetly against the back of his hand and pulled his jacket hood a bit higher to protect his neck from the chill.

He knew he was sick - he’d felt it coming on for days. The sore throat, the post-nasal drip, and the fatigue…in a perfect world, he’d be working a job that he’d feel comfortable calling out. Be in a job where he didn’t feel like he was letting down his patients and his team by having his body fail him.

But this wasn’t a perfect world. And he was one stubborn son of a bitch. And that’s why he was dragging himself into the PTMC before 7am to start his 12+ hour shift.

#snzfic #sickfic #other people's writing #fanfic #t/he p/itt

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