So @rachwavs pointed out that Se/thos occasionally says things in threes, and @snzzone suggested he might do something else in threes...
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Just a little fanart for this beautiful gift of an answer, @empresskaze has written. I love them so much! I'll be thinking of them for the rest of my weekend!
It t-stormed today and made me remember I have this!
⛈️ thunderstorm
🍎 picnic
💞 cuddles
~~~~
The shade beneath the willow shielded the sun when the puffy clouds over head did not. Ambrose leaned against Cecil's chest, sat between the taller man's out stretched legs; Cecil's back against the mightly tree. A blanket under both gave a bit of comfort from the grass; the basket of food packed by Cecil's father's kitchen staff lay around them. The lunch had been delicious and now the two men comfortably now enjoyed each others company.
Trying to keep his eyes on the book he read a loud, Cecil's concerned gaze kept creeping to the clouds overhead or, more accurately, to the ones seemingly inching closer from the distance.
"Hart?" Ambrose's tone gave the realization Cecil was no longer paying attention to what he'd been reading.
"Apologies, belle." Cecil whispered, as Ambrose shifted closer to him as the wind picked up. "We should ride back, I fear the weather is changing, you're still..."
"Hart, please. A bit longer." Ambrose said, though not able to hide the shiver that quickly crept down his spine. "As soon as we return either, Clifford or your father will steal you away from me." Ambrose turned his pale face to up towards Cecil's. "You said we'd have time together here."
A sigh escaped the third born son of Edmund Percival Livingston Lockhart, "We have, today's ride in the county and picnic has greatly improved my spirits." His long fingers stroked Ambrose's jawline. "However, there is a chill in the air, and those clouds lie low. The last thing you need is to be caught in a sudden storm.
Ambrose straightened, pulling himself closer to Cecil, hoping more of his body heat would warm him. "I understand, I do, but you always put work before me. I want time to ourselves Hart, I want..." He turned, raising his fist to cough into.
Immediately, Cecil removed his jacket, throwing it around Ambrose's shoulders, hoping it would help against the growing chill. "You are still recovering, belle. Dr Fairchild lectured you on..."
"Not now, Cecil, I beg you." Ambrose pinched the bridge of nose, his voice slightly more strained.
Before either could speak again, a low rumble of thunder loomed. The clouds Cecil had been worried about were now nearly overhead, dark and angry looking, ready to expell their rain onto the pair. Ambrose, if possible, turned paler.
"We must hurry." Cecil said, standing, then helped Ambrose up. Quickly, they packed up their basket; the wind whipped around them, blowing the blanket around as they gathered everything. Cecil worried, seeing Ambrose struggle against the cold, his wheezing more prominent now. Just as he'd secured basket straps to the horses, lightning lit up the sky while thunder boomed, Ambrose ducked back under the tree, hands pressure firmly against his ears, a pained expression of fear across his face.
"Come." Cecil called holding his hand out to the frightened man, "You'll be safe, I promise." His lips pressed against Ambrose's ear. Right as Ambrose mounted, fat drops of rain began falling, Cecil cursed under his breath and sent the horse with their belongings back to the stable.
Another crash of thunder, rain now pelting the two men as Cecil climbed up strattling the horse so Ambrose could remain in the saddle. It wouldn’t be a comfortable ride but he didn’t care, taking the reigns and commanding The Kings' Favor to run.
Ambrose kept his head down as they raced, through the meadow, in a poor effort to keep the rain from stinging his face. His wet hair blew around making it hard to see anything. He could feel Cecil behind him, one hand on the reign, the other placed across Ambrose's chest.
Every thunder clap sent waves of terror through him, the words Cecil had spoken locked in his head. Even at breaking speed, the ride back felt much longer to Ambrose, who shivered violently. Finally, he felt the horse slow. Looking up, he saw the front entrance of grand estate; a small group of servants stood under the veranda awaiting their arrival. It was then that Ambrose noticed a fallen tree near the edge of the driveway end.
Immediately pulling back, stopping the horse, Cecil hopped down, grabbing Ambrose off the saddle. A male servant wrapped a blanket Ambrose, as female approached Cecil but he shook his head, "Take Mr Beaumont in, put him near a fire, run a hot bath, and fetch dry clothes." He yelled over the rain while handing off the horse to a stable boy, then headed back down the driveway with another member of staff.
"Cecil!" Ambrose hoarse voice called he was ushered away, "Cecil!" But he was inside. "What about Master Lockhart?" He asked the girl escorting him down the hall.
"He'll be attended to don't worry, sir. I'm sure he wants to make nothing was damaged when the tree fell." She replied, opening a door which lead to a room Amrbose hadn't been in before but had a roaring fire. Ambrose sat, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around him.
"Tea sir?" The girl asked as another entered with dry clothes, setting them down on the table. "Also do you need assistance dressing?"
"No, I shall managed." Ambrose coughed, "Tea is appreciated."
When he was alone, Ambrose changed into his simple cotton shirt and pants. His own jacket along with Cecil's he'd been wearing, fully soaked, so he hung them both by the fire. The chill from his wet hair didn't help even with the fire.
Ambrose's breath hitched, and he muffled a sneeze into the blanket. "Gods." He muttered into it.
A knock sounded, "Mr Beaumont, your bath is ready."
"Right, right, coming." Ambrose sighed, rising from the chair, wondering why he'd even bothered putting on clothes, then remembered how soaked his others were.
The bath helped, Ambrose relaxed until the water began to cool which caused unwanted shivers. He could still hear the thunder outside even muted within the thick walls of the estate. He worried about Cecil who still hadn't returned.
Back in his own room with a warm fire and tea, he sat looking at the window at the dull grey sky and pouring rain. He pulled the blanket closer around, trying to ignore how tickly the back of his throat felt. The door opened, Ambrose whipped around to see Cecil, hair slicked back yet still glistening wet, wearing a fresh black shirt and pants, enter.
"Hart!" Amrbose jumped up running over to the other man who took him in his arms. "Oh my you feel chilled!" He said looking up at Cecil.
"As do you Ambrosia." Cecil whispered leading them back over to the fire. "Was the bath drawn for you?"
"Yes, it was and it was lovely." Ambrose sniffled, trying not to rub his increasing inching nose. "Where have you been? I've been worried." He asked as they sat together on the bed, Cecil pulling at the blanket so Ambrose would be covered.
"A tree blocked the main road; we had to clear it. Clifford and I, along with staff, finally managed." Cecil replied, settling in next to Ambrose.
Another boom of thunder caused Ambrose to jump but Cecil firmly held him close. "I hope the storm passes soon, I know how it induces stress." Cecil said softly resting his head against Ambrose's shoulder.
"I-I'm fine." Ambrose stuttered wishing he sounded more confident. What grown man was still afraid of storms?
He coughed, feeling Cecil's hold tighten. "I believe tomorrow I'll be staying in bed." Ambrose sighed heavily.
He waited for Cecil to reply but then noticed the soft rhythmic breathing coming from him. A smile formed across his face. "Perhaps we may both...stay in bed..." Ambrose said quickly as his own breath hitched, stifling a sneeze into his elbow. "That would make this cold forming, much easier to..." Another sneeze, Ambrose pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose, "deal with."
tgun vwood in hotel resort au, set a little earlier in timeline (few months of knowing each other). thank you to all you people who stay interested!!!!!!! and to the anon this morning who asked for vash feature <3
tags: character with sneeze kink, common cold, fatigue, fever, brusque caretaking
warnings: guilt complex inner monologue, self-neglect from isolating while sick, complicated feelings about having this fetish and wanting to hide a cold from some but be cared for by others
words: 2.6k
-
Of the two of them, Vash is the first to catch a cold.
He’d love to be surprised, but that’s usually how these things go. He manages to avoid Nai all morning once it becomes impossible to disguise, but he knows he’s caught when he runs into Nicholas in one of the break rooms downstairs.
“You’re still here, Wolfwood?” he asks in-between a croak and a screech, giving himself away when his presently-excitable lungs express their displeasure with a cough. He battles it, speaking through the intrusion with intent to display that he’s well enough to talk. “I thought you were working the night shift.”
“I was,” Nicholas says. “Just had some stuff to take care of. I’m about to head out.”
He doesn’t even ask Vash what’s wrong with him or if he’s sick, just touches his throat gently, right under his jaw with the rasp of his singed fingertips. He hums lowly, and Vash swallows.
“Where’d you pick that up, Blondie? Too much mingling with all the fly-ins from Moneybags Island?”
Nicholas takes his hand away and tilts his head playfully, rubbing his fingers together as he sizes Vash up.
“That’s not a real place,” Vash says. He clears his throat as Nicholas steps back. “Please don’t tell my brother.”
“Okay. Wanna tell me how come?”
“He’s going to overreact and send me to bed.”
“Huh. Sounds like the right idea to me.”
“Wolfwood, I’m serious—”
“Relax,” Nicholas says. He hops up on an empty table and crosses his arms. “I’m not gonna tattle. Or talk to your creepy evil twin on my off-hours, no offense.”
Vash sighs. “Thank you.”
“You have to tell me why, though. Sounds like he’d go full freak when he hears about it, and I’m a gossip.”
“He’s just… he’s overprotective,” is the best explanation Vash can muster without saying something unflattering. Nai is misunderstood enough as it is.
Nicholas flinches. “That make you uncomfortable?”
“I guess it does,” Vash says. He just needs two more days to hide this, and Nai will be off to the mainland on business and Vash can sulk in quarantine unbothered. “I don’t like that he wastes a bunch of people’s time making them check on me. I don’t want to get them sick, too.”
“But not me, right?” Nicholas tips his chin down and looks Vash in the eye, pointing a finger at himself.
Vash sniffles. “What do you mean?”
“A cold that bad doesn’t come on overnight, man,” he says. “You must’ve felt it starting the other day when we—”
“Okay!” Vash says in a precursor to a hoarse and loud nervous laugh, nearly knocking Nicholas off the table as he presses both palms on his chest to quiet him in case somebody hears the next part. He feels Nicholas breathing on him and envies the clarity of his windpipe.
“Blondie, watch it—”
There’s sturdiness in the grip Nicholas has around Vash’s shoulders, holding onto him for stability while emanating a steely resolve to pacify his energy. They both take a moment.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Vash says as Nicholas pivots back up. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. But you don’t feel sick, do you?”
Not that he’d hate that, at least not the part of him that took Nicholas in his bed in the first place. It’s a cruel thing to hope for.
“I’m fine,” Nicholas says instantly, “but I wouldn’t mind a day off if you did wanna pass it on to me. Does your oh-so-loving brother offer OTO?”
And for that reason, Vash can’t take more of this Nicholas-talking-about-colds business. He’s going to run a fever if it goes on much longer.
“He should,” Vash says. “Isn’t it illegal not to?”
“Beats me,” Nicholas says.
Without warning, Vash’s cold displays itself and barely gives him enough time to turn his head. He sneezes twice with a demanding jolt, so urgent and fast that they nearly topple over each other.
“nd’tch! ndKTCH’iu!” And then again, when the first two didn’t do the job. He gets his hand up just in time, anticipating the strength of it. “hh’AKTCH’yiew!”
Nicholas says, “God damn it, Blondie,” and then, “that’s how you sneeze?”
A warm, electric tsunami hits Vash from the inside out, groin and heart and skin.
“What? You’ve heard me sneeze before,” Vash says blearily. He must have. Most people have. He’s moved past it, kind of.
“Hell no I haven’t,” Nicholas says. “Fuck me, that’s the cutest little— it’s like a—” He smiles with his lips closed and looks at the ceiling. “You doing it like that on purpose?”
“Stop it,” Vash insists. “Don’t tease me while I’m sick.”
Nicholas ignores him and pushes himself back to the ground. He rubs Vash’s shoulder once, back and forth, then says, “Well bless you. My goodness.”
Even with the teasing, even knowing he’s not trying to sound serious, it’s still Nicholas and it’s still too emphatic and genuine. Nicholas has responded in the same way to others sneezing before, and Vash realizes Nicholas had been right. Vash would have definitely remembered that, too, if Nicholas had ever directed one of those replies toward him. It’s almost as exciting as if the roles were reversed.
“…Thank you,” Vash returns, though the exchange doesn’t feel like the routine of etiquette he’s used to. As with everything else, even this turns out to be different with Nicholas.
-
NW 0345AM: Casino day babyyyyyy
NW 0345AM: You take care of your adorable little cold?
NW 0358AM: I’ll come up later
Vash must be dreaming. He drops his phone and slides it across the lonely expanses of his mattress.
NW 0910AM: Done setting up. U awake?
NW 0910AM: Break’s at noon
From the purgatory of congested, throbbing insomnia, Vash reacts to the text alert and rubs at his headache through his temples so that he can understand what time it is and assess the urgency of the messages. He’s supposed to be awake by now, but he’s definitely not, at least not all the way.
Nicholas is going to show up if Vash doesn’t say something. He pulls up enough strength to move his fingers.
VS 0915AM: No, sorry.
NW 0915AM: ??????
VS 0915AM: Still not at a hundred percent. Maybe tomorrow?
NW 0915AM: Wym lol
VS 0916 AM: Please don’t check on me! I’m fine.
NW 0916 AM: ???????
NW 0916 AM: U ok blondie?
VS 0916 AM: Yeah! I’ll text you later :)
He stares at the clock on his screen with dry eyes for three minutes, unable to get himself to move enough to open or close another app to pass the time as he waits to see if Nicholas has more to say. Vash was clear enough and he isn’t sure he has the capacity to explain himself further. It’s been two days since Vash has talked to anyone, since he’d decided to go incognito once the fever came on. There’s no energy to do much else than lay in bed, anyway.
Perhaps Nicholas has returned to work, but Vash can give more details after he’s slept some more. He lets his screen go dim and slides his body back down, turning on his side so he can resume napping.
Sleep never feels right when he’s sick. He’s cognizant for his dreams, which confuses him, because it’s hard to tell whether that means he was ever asleep at all. He just kind of floats within himself at a heavy simmer, too distracted by the all-over discomfort to thoroughly relax. He’s grateful that his body essentially forbids him from leaving his home when it gets this bad, because he’d otherwise find it difficult to resist the craving to seek the company of others, even peripherally.
As nice as it’d feel to just sit down in the same room as another person, it would feel so, so much worse to become a patient zero.
He could use some more orange juice, though.
“Room service!”
He could still be dreaming, at least partially, because the regular service staff doesn’t come to this floor and Vash had canceled the higher staff for the week just to be safe. Could it be someone trying to break in? One of those ambushes that Nai is so paranoid about?
If so, he really doesn’t want to answer.
“C’mon, sickie, chop chop! Don’t get me in trouble!”
Oh.
“You know I’m not supposed to be up here, man! I’m riskin’ it all for you, you know!”
“Just—” Vash says, sort of, but it hurts so terribly despite the whispery volume and stops him right away. In the loudest croak he can scrounge up, he tries again: “Just a sec.”
His throat tickles and he muffles a cough into his wrist. That hurts, too. Nicholas shouldn’t have to see him like this.
Eventually, he makes it to the door.
“Can I help you?” he says. “Aren’t you on shift?”
“Holy shit,” Nicholas says, and he takes advantage of Vash’s infirm and pushes him aside so that he can invade his home. “Jesus, Blondie, is this where you’ve been holed up?”
“I’m sick,” Vash justifies.
“Yeah, no kiddin’,” Nicholas says. “Lie down. No one’s seen you for almost a week.”
It can’t have been that long.
“You been eating?” he asks, looking through the room and touching Vash’s things. “What’s actually wrong with you, anyway?”
Nicholas is like a tornado, destructive and intense, whirling around the room and making Vash dizzy. He’s a danger to himself, having to witness Vash at his worst, unshowered and exhausted and contagious. He doesn’t know what to do, so he sits down on the…
No, he can’t. The bed’s too far. He allows himself to slide down against the wall.
“Hey!”
Somehow, he doesn’t hit the ground. Vash assesses the pressure underneath his arms and realizes Nicholas is keeping him on his feet and helping him stumble back to his mess of sheets and tissues.
“You said you had a cold?” Nicholas prompts as he arranges Vash’s pillows. “What’s with the swooning?”
“I didn’t faint,” Vash reports. “I’m just tired. You barged in here while I was sleeping it off.”
“Seems like you’ve been ‘sleeping it off’ for a while. Not so sure it’s working.” Nicholas touches Vash’s neck like he had earlier this week, then moves down to pat at his chest.
“Are you an EMT, too?”
“No.” Nicholas takes Vash’s wrist and holds a thumb on his pulse gently, doesn’t even bother to check his temperature with the forehead. He grunts and straightens up. “I’m a big brother. Your blood sugar’s low.”
Well, that makes sense.
“Okay,” Vash replies. He isn’t sure what else to say. “Sorry.”
“What do you have around here? Tell me you’ve been using one of those grocery services, or somethin’?”
“It’s fine. I’ve just been… y’know.”
“No, I don’t.”
Vash expects Nicholas to scold him and then take care of the basics – food, water, bare minimum tidiness – and be on his way. That’s what the staff tend to do when Knives sends them over, but he can usually manage to get them to put a mask on. Nicholas is bare-faced and bare-handed and eager to get in Vash’s breathing space over and over.
“Got a thermometer?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s—”
“I found it. Why was it in the kitchen?” He uncaps it and brings it over, pressing the ‘on’ button and undoubtedly seeing its last reading. “I don’t think you’re hot enough to be shaking like that. Let me grab you a snack while you check it again.”
Vash does, because he’s a little curious now, and his thermometer only takes a few seconds before deeming him little over a hundred Fahrenheit. That means this is still just a cold, though they don’t usually hit him this hard.
“There’s nothing in here,” Nicholas complains. “Just a bunch of little cakes. No wonder you’re all fucked up. Where’s your phone?”
After clearing his throat, Vash says, “Why?”
“Room service. For you and for me.” Nicholas walks to the bed and holds out his hand. “C’mon. I know it’s somewhere in there after all the weird shit you were sending me before.”
Without the energy to make a case for himself, Vash complies, taking the phone from underneath his spare pillow.
“Disinfect it,” he orders.
“No, you freak.”
Having used Vash’s phone before, Nicholas is familiar with the privileges he has on the resort app. It shouldn’t take Nicholas a long time to decide what he wants to eat – he’s never very picky – but Vash waits for what seems like an eternity. He stares at the wall, muscles so frozen with all-over exhaustion that it’d feel like an effort to even close them.
Eventually they shut in a blink that doesn’t bounce back, and then Nicholas is dropping Vash’s phone back onto his chest.
“How’s your stomach?” he asks.
“It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“I just haven’t been very hungry.” If he’s been out for as long as Nicholas said, that means Nai will be back by tomorrow and interacting with him will be unavoidable. Vash has to get better soon, or else. “Sorry. I need to eat something.”
Nicholas looks at him like he’s an idiot and says, “Yeah.”
It would be fair for Nicholas to be angry at him, but he’s prone to wearing irritability as a mask when he’s feeling something else unpleasant. Vash is good enough at reading him not to take offense, although the grace and care Nicholas gives to him is heavier than he can carry. True anger is easier for Vash to bear than concern and fear for something unearned.
-
The soup Nicholas orders to the suite is packed thick with large, tender slices of in-season vegetables and served in dishware from one of the restaurants downstairs. Instead of scolding or hovering, Nicholas wraps Vash up in a blanket and carries his tissues over to the coffee table, then sits him down on the couch and eats alongside him with instructions to take it easy and let the homestyle cooking do its magic.
“I’m not surprised you’re somebody who can’t be left alone when you get sick,” he adds when they’re halfway through their meal. “Seems like all you needed was a little attention.”
Vash nearly sputters. “Pardon me?”
“You’re almost halfway back to normal now that you’ve had some basic human needs met,” explains Nicholas through a spoonful of broth and potato. “Food, water, meds. All you're missin’ is a hot bath and I bet you’ll only be one stuffy nose away from Healthy.”
A secondary flush on his face threatens to make Vash dizzy. Why did he have to say it like that?
“Sorry,” he deflects in response. The room feels quieter now. “I guess I just kinda fell off.”
“There’s one way to put it.” Nicholas looks him up and down. “You always been like this, Blondie?”
“I guess I just lost track of time,” Vash admits. Gently, he adds, “Thank you for taking care of me, Wolfwood. I didn’t mean to make you go through the trouble.”
A blunted but good-natured huff bounces out before Nicholas says, “I got a free meal out of it, didn’t I?”
Nicholas is smirk-smiling at him, mouth closed and crooked like he’s shy. He looks away when he realizes they’re making eye contact, and Vash receives his vulnerability like a treasure with a laugh of his own.
When someone has a bigger nose, and they’re so used to it coming up in conversations that they’ve learned to get ahead of the comments by referencing it first, often with the use of self-deprecating humor. Because sometimes people are mean, too, and if they can poke a little fun at themself, then maybe no one else will?
Since may has past but I got sick here is a belated May surprise for @dr-ground-zero Oc Shu and Mine oc Zip
I love theses two with my whole heart and I had this idea for like 4 weeks and then I finally had a brain cell to work on it so here you go!
A Weekend Away!
---
Zip, wanted to be like everyone else, but his life played cruel tricks on him. First was his complexion. Blue-skinned with pointed elf ears, he had always been an anomaly in the modern world. With his azure complexion and pointed ears, he stood out amidst the bustling city streets. If that wasn’t enough Zip wasn't just any person—he was a hero. Well, a Villante hero- By day, a basketball training athlete and by night he fought crime, thwarting villains with his supersonic hearing and echolocation.
One sunny morning, after much debating with his coach Adian, Zip decided he needed a break from the chaos. His hero duties had left him drained, and the relentless sneezing that had plagued him for the past four days didn't help. So, he packed his beach bag, donned his oversized sunglasses, and boarded the train to the nearest coastal town.
The beach stretched out before him—a vast expanse of golden sand and sparkling waves- it was mesmerizing. Zip kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes, relishing the sensation of the sand. The salty breeze blew his white hair, and he sighed contently, feeling the tension melt away.
But then came the sneezes and he felt that nagging feeling of being different from everyone. His eyes watered, and he fumbled for his handkerchief. Wiping his nose he settled onto a beach towel, wrapped in a fluffy blue beach robe he had taken from the motel. His pointed ears twitched as he glanced around. Families built sandcastles, children splashed in the shallows, and seagulls squawked overhead. It was all so delightfully mundane.
And then, Zip's phone buzzed. It was Shu, his boyfriend—the one person who understood him completely. Shu was normal (compared to himself), and ironically part of the Mafia a secret Zip found himself pondering sometimes but their love transcended rivalry and bias.
"Hey, Zip," Shu's voice crackled through the phone. "How's the beach?"
Zip sniffled. "Sneezier than expected."
Shu chuckled. "You're allergic to sand, aren't you?"
"Apparently," Zip replied. "And seawater. And seagulls. And—"
"Okay, okay," Shu interrupted. "I get it. You're a delicate man-child with a delicate nose."
Zip smiled. "I miss you, Shu."
"I miss you too," Shu said. "But you needed this vacation.”
"Yeah, I can’t remember the last day I had off," Zip admitted. "I've been battling both on the court and out in the streets. Like a week ago, I fought a bouncy bank robber."
Shu laughed. "Well, at least you're not bored."
"No, but I'm definitely sneezing," Zip said. "And I wish you were here."
"Close your eyes," Shu instructed. "Imagine I'm right beside you. Feel the warmth of the sun, the sand between your toes."
Zip obeyed, and for a moment, he could almost smell Shu's familiar scent—the mix of energy drinks and old books. "It's not the same."
"I know," Shu said softly. "But I'm here with you in spirit. And hey, maybe the ocean will cure your cold."
Zip chuckled. "If it does, I'll credit Poseidon himself."
As the sun dipped lower, casting a glow over the water, Zip curled up on his towel. He listened to the waves, Shu's voice still in his ear. The sneezes subsided, replaced by a sense of peace.
"Thanks, Shu," Zip whispered. "For being my anchor."
"Always," Shu replied. "Now go take a dip. Maybe the saltwater will work its magic."
Zip stood, brushing sand off his robe. He waded into the shallows; the water cooled against his skin. And as he floated, he imagined Shu beside him, their fingers entwined.
---
Shu, back in their cozy apartment, had been worried sick. He’d listened to Zip’s congested voice over the phone, each sneeze tugging at his heartstrings. So, he did what any boyfriend would do when taking care of a himbo idiot: he packed a bag, grabbed his hoodie, and hopped on the next available train.
Now, as Shu stepped onto the same beach where Zip battled his cold, he marveled at the vastness of the ocean. The waves whispered secrets, and the seagulls squawked a raucous welcome. He scanned the shoreline, searching for the familiar shade of blue.
And there, under a striped beach umbrella, sat Zip. His hair tousled by the breeze, his eyes squinting against the sun. Shu’s heart skipped a beat.
“Zip!” Shu called, jogging toward him.
Zip looked up, and his sneezy expression transformed into pure delight. “Shu? What are you doing here?”
Shu grinned. “Surprising you, of course.”
Zip stood, and they embraced—a tangle of blue and white. Shu’s arms wrapped around Zip’s slender waist, and he felt the warmth of the sun through the fabric of his shirt.
“You’re freezing,” Shu said, pulling back. “And sneezing a lot.”
Zip chuckled. “I missed you.”
They settled on the sand, Zip leaning against Shu’s chest. Shu held a handkerchief, ready to intercept any impending sneezes. And sure enough, Zip’s nose twitched.
“Shu…ha-haaESSHH! HaISSCHew..!”
Shu caught it, the handkerchief billowing like a sail. “I got you!”
Zip grinned. “You’re ridiculous.”
They spent the day like that—Zip sneezing, Shu catching it, and the sun painting their love story across the sky. They built sandcastles, their laughter mingling with the crashing waves. Shu even taught Zip how to skip stones, and his imperial eyes sparkled with wonder.
As evening approached, they strolled along the water’s edge, hand in hand. Zip’s sneezes had subsided, replaced by a contented sniffle.
Back at the hotel, Shu brewed a pot of chicken soup. The aroma filled the room, and Zip curled up on the bed, wrapped in blankets. Shu sat beside him, feeding him spoonful’s of warmth and healing.
“You’re my hero,” Zip murmured, sipping the soup.
Shu blushed. “Nah, you’re the real hero. Saving the world and shit.”
They cuddled, the ocean’s lullaby outside their window. Shu traced circles on Zip’s back, and the elf’s blue skin radiated heat. The sneezes were forgotten, replaced by whispered promises and stolen kisses.
As the night continued, Zip’s eyes drooped, and he nestled closer.
“Stay,” Zip whispered.
“I will,” Shu vowed. “Forever.”
--
The hotel room was a cocoon of warmth and soft sheets. Shu lay on his back, snoring softly, while Zip nestled against him, their legs entwined. The ocean’s rhythm seeped through the walls, lulling them into dreams.
But then, in the darkest hours of the night, Zip stirred. His purple eyes blinked open, and he felt it—the dreaded stuck sneeze. It hovered at the edge of his consciousness, teasing him like a mischievous sprite.
He nudged Shu, who mumbled something about coffee and Zip chuckled. “Shu, wake up.”
Shu groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What is it, Zip? Did the seagulls steal your handkerchief?”
“No,” Zip whispered. “It’s the sneeze. It’s stuck.”
Shu blinked, fully awake now. “Stuck? Really?”
“Fuck you,” Zip said, and he tilted his head back, inhaling deeply. But the sneeze refused to budge. It hung there, tantalizingly close, tickling his sinuses.
Shu sat up, intrigued. “Well, we can’t have that.”
Zip nodded solemnly as his breath began to hitch. “I need your help.”
Shu leaned closer, examining Zip’s face. “Okay, hold still.”
Zip grabbed Shu’s shirt.
“Just a little more.” He said as he rubbed his septum back and forth.
The sneezes exploded from Zip’s nose, catching them both by surprise. Shu scrambled for the handkerchief, but it was too late. Zip sighed out a breath of relief he collapsed against the pillows.
“Wow,” Shu said. “That was a lot.”
Zip wiped his nose. “I wanted help with 1 sneeze not a million.”
Shu chuckled. “It is not my fault you are so sensitive.”
After a bit more tending too, the two of them fell back asleep, entangled in each other’s arms.
---
The morning sun painted the hotel room in soft hues of gold. Shu stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and he blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings. Then it hit him—the beach, the ocean, and the idiot who stole his heart and most of the blankets.
But something was different. His nose twitched, and he reached for the tissue box on the nightstand. A small kitten-like sneeze erupted, and Shu groaned. "Not fair.”
Zip, already awake, chuckled. "Seems like my sneezes are contagious."
Shu sniffled. "You're a terrible patient, Zip."
"Pot, kettle," Zip replied. "Now, let me take care of you."
And so, the roles reversed. Zip brewed a pot of tea. Shu sat at the small table, wrapped in a blanket, while Zip fussed over him.
"Drink up," Zip said, handing him a cup. "It'll chase away the sneezes."
Shu sipped the tea, its warmth spreading through his chest. "You're good at this."
Zip shrugged. "Anything for my kitten."
Shu leaned across the table, pressing a kiss to his blue cheek. As the day unfolded, Shu's sneezes continued. They were different from Zip's—small, kitten-like, and utterly endearing. Each one made Zip's heart skip a beat. He fetched tissues, fluffed pillows, and tucked Shu into bed.
"Maybe I should sing to you," Zip mused. "Lull you to sleep."
Shu wrinkled his nose. "Please, no. I don’t need motel police called on for the dying cat sounds."
Zip laughed. "Fuck you."
They spent the day cocooned in the hotel room. The ocean sang outside, and Shu's sneezes punctuated their conversations. Zip brewed more tea, and Shu tried to read a book but kept dozing off.
"Tell me a story," Shu said, his voice thick with congestion.
Zip settled on the edge of the bed. "Once upon a time, there was a human named Shu. He was very stubborn and a little possessive. But one day he might have a handsome lord named Zip."
Shu narrowed his eyes. "Go on."
"They spent their days by the ocean," Zip continued. "Sneezing, laughing, and falling in love. And when Shu caught Zip's cold, Zip took care of him."
Shu reached for Zip's hand. "And they lived happily ever after?" he said rolling his eyes.
Zip leaned down, their foreheads touching. "Not yet. There's more to the story."
"Tell me," Shu whispered now intrigued.
"Love," Zip said, "is like a magical potion. It heals, it warms, and it makes sneezes bearable."
Shu pretending to be surprised at Zip’s hopeless romantic abundance leans into his chest. "And what happens next?"
Zip kissed him—a gentle, lingering promise. "Next, we'll watch the sunset together. And then, when the moon rises, we'll dance on the beach."
Shu barley break away from the kiss to sneeze “Zip move…. Itchiew! hit'chiew! hit'chiew! Ixg'chiiew!”
Shu sneezed, and Zip caught it with the handkerchief. "Bless you, kitten."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they sat on the balcony, wrapped in blankets. Shu's head rested on Zip's shoulder, and the ocean whispered secrets. The world felt smaller, cozier, as if it had shrunk to fit just the two of them.
And when the moon rose, they danced—a clumsy, sneezy waltz. Shu stepped on Zip's toes, and Zip twirled him until they both collapsed in giggles.
"Best cold ever," Shu declared.
Zip agreed. "Best love ever."
The train back home was a bittersweet journey. Zip and Shu sat side by side, their fingers entwined. The ocean's salty scent still clung to their skin, and the memories of sunsets and sneezes danced in their minds.
But as the train jolted them along the tracks, Shu's sneezes returned with a vengeance. His nose twitched, and he fumbled for tissues. The passengers around them exchanged annoyed glances, and a few muttered under their breath.
"Can't he control that?" someone whispered.
"Probably allergic to something," another passenger replied. "Or maybe he's just attention-seeking."
Shu's cheeks flushed, and Zip's eyes blazed. He leaned across the aisle, his voice sharp. "My boyfriend is not attention-seeking. He's sick."
The passengers fell silent, their eyes widening at the sight of the blue-skinned person. Zip's protective instincts flared—he'd faced knife wielding villains, but nothing scared him more than seeing Shu ridiculed.
Shu sneezed again, and Zip pulled him close, muffling the sound into his chest. "It's okay," he whispered. "Let them talk. You're not alone."
Shu's gratitude shone in his eyes. "I love you, Zip."
"I know," Zip teased. "But seriously, they have no idea what you're going through."
As the train leveled off, Shu's sneezes subsided. Zip wiped his nose, and Shu leaned against him, exhaustion etching lines on his face.
"Thank you," Shu murmured. "For defending me."
Zip kissed his forehead. "Always."
But the passengers weren't done. A woman across the aisle leaned over. "Is he contagious?"
Zip's patience waned. "No, he's not contagious. And even if he were, kindness costs nothing."
The woman huffed, turning away. But the man next to her spoke up. "You're lucky to have such a devoted boyfriend."
Zip smiled. "I am."
And so, in that cramped train car, love triumphed over judgment. Shu's sneezes became a testament to their bond—a melody of care and compassion.
When they finally arrived, Zip helped Shu off the train, their fingers still entwined. The station buzzed with activity, but all Zip saw was Shu and the pink hue spreading across his face.
As they stepped outside, Shu's sneezes echoed in the crisp air. Zip pulled him into a tight hug, shielding him from curious glances.
"Home," Shu whispered.
"Yes," Zip agreed. "Our home."
And so, in the glow of streetlights, they walked hand in hand. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the cobblestone streets. Shu's sneezes echoed through the quiet night, each one a symphony of congestion and exhaustion. Zip, ever the protective one, couldn't bear to see his boyfriend suffer.
"Shu," Zip said, eyes filled with determination, "this is unacceptable."
Shu sniffled. "What's unacceptable?"
"Your flushed cheeks," Zip declared. "They're far too rosy for my liking."
Shu blinked. "My cheeks?"
"Yes," Zip replied, pinching Shu's nose playfully. "And your sneezes—they're like tiny storms brewing inside you. We can't have that."
"But I—" Shu began, but before he could protest further, Zip scooped him up in his arms. Shu's feet dangled, and he clung to Zip's shoulders, both surprised and amused.
"Zip," Shu said, his voice half-muffled against Zip's chest, "what are you doing?"
"Carrying you home," Zip announced. "It's the only solution."
And so, with Shu nestled against him, Zip strode through the moonlit streets. Shu's sneezes continued, but now they were cushioned by Zip's shoulder. Passersby stared, their eyes widening at the sight.
"Look," someone whispered, "it's a real-life fairy tale."
"More like a mismatched couple," another person muttered.
Zip ignored them all. His focus was on Shu—the warmth of his body, the way his hair tickled Zip's chin, and the occasional sneeze that vibrated through his chest.
"Where are we going?" Shu asked.
"Home," Zip replied.
Shu chuckled. "Sounds perfect."
They reached their building, and Zip climbed the stairs effortlessly. Shu's sneezes had subsided, replaced by a contented sigh. The door creaked open, and Zip carried Shu inside, kicking it shut with his heel.
"Home sweet home," Zip declared, depositing Shu on the couch.
Shu leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. The room smelled of salt and memories—the remnants of their seaside adventure. Shu's cheeks were still flushed, but now it was from something other than illness.
---
The morning dawned gray and chilly, and Shu woke up feeling as if a cement truck had taken residence in his sinuses. His nose was congested, and each sneeze rattled his bones. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow.
Zip, ever the attentive boyfriend, hovered by the bed. "Shu, my love, you look like a wilted hyacinth."
Shu managed a weak smile. "Thanks for the poetic comparison. I feel like a wilted hyacinth too."
Zip helped him sit up, fluffing the pillows. "We're going to the doctor. No arguments."
They bundled up, Shu's scarf wrapped around his red nose. The walk to the doctor's office felt like a marathon, each step an effort. But Zip's presence kept him going—the way he adjusted Shu's scarf, the warmth of his hand on Shu's back.
The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and anxiety. Shu sneezed, and the receptionist handed him a tissue with a sympathetic smile. Zip filled out the paperwork, his elegant script dancing across the page.
Finally, they were called in. Dr. Porter, a stern-faced woman with silver hair, listened to Shu's symptoms. She nodded, her eyes kind but no-nonsense.
"Let's do a nasal swab," Dr. Porter said. "We need to rule out the flu."
Shu's heart sank. The nasal swab—the dreaded test that felt like someone poking his brain. He hated this test; He was already sensitive on a good day but this he knew sneezing uncontrollably during the procedure was basically foretold.
Zip squeezed Shu's hand. "You'll be fine. I'll be right here."
In the examination room, Dr. Porter explained the process. Shu tilted his head back, and she inserted the long swab into his nostril. Shu's eyes watered, and he fought the urge to sneeze.
"Almost there," Dr. Porter said. "Just a few more seconds."
But Shu's nose had other plans. The sneeze built up—a tidal wave of pressure. He clenched his teeth, desperate not to ruin the test.
And then, Zip did something unexpected. He leaned down, pressing his lips to Shu's, muffling the sneeze. Shu's eyes widened, but the sneeze dissipated, replaced by a different kind of warmth.
Dr. Porter raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's a new technique."
Zip blushed. "You be surprised, it works wonders."
The swab came out, and Shu wiped his eyes. "Thank you, Zip."
Dr. Porter chuckled. "I'll send this off for testing. Meanwhile, rest, drink fluids, until we get the results."
Back home, Shu curled up on the couch, Zip fussing over him. The test results would take a day or two. Shu sneezed, and Zip handed him a cup of ginger tea.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Shu's symptoms eased. The waiting game began—the anticipation of results, the worry, and the hope that it was just a common cold.
---
Shu's diagnosis was a sinus infection. His head felt like a storm cloud, and his nose was a leaky faucet. Each sneeze seemed to echo through the apartment, and Zip couldn't bear to see his boyfriend suffer.
"Shu," Zip said, his eyes filled with concern, "I love your kitten sneezes, but we need to fix this."
Shu managed a weak smile. "Oh, really now you want to help, how?"
Zip guided Shu to the couch, fluffing the pillows. "Rest here. I have a plan."
Shu's congested voice followed him. "What kind of plan?"
"Operation Comfort," Zip declared. "Step one: Sinus Massage."
Shu raised an eyebrow. "Sinus massage?"
Zip sat beside him, cradling Shu's face in his hands. His thumbs traced gentle circles on Shu's cheeks, then moved to the bridge of his nose. Shu's eyes fluttered closed, and he sighed.
"Better?" Zip asked.
Shu nodded. "Much better. You have magic fingers."
Zip continued. "Now, step two: Catching the Sneezes."
Shu's sneezes were like tiny kittens—cute, but prone to getting stuck. Zip had observed this phenomenon during their interesting relationship. Shu would inhale, eyes wide, and then... nothing. The sneeze would retreat, leaving Shu frustrated.
So, Zip positioned himself in front of Shu, ready for action. When the next sneeze threatened, he cupped his hands around Shu's nose, creating a little sneeze-catching cocoon.
"Ready?" Zip asked.
Shu nodded, his nose twitching. "Ready."
And then it happened—a kitten-like sneeze, muffled by Zip's palms.
"Perfect," Zip said. "Now, step three: Tea."
He brewed a pot of new tea leaves he had gotten off Instagram Shop. As he looked at the container and its name, Dandelion tea.
---
The cozy apartment was filled with the earthy aroma of dandelion tea. Zip, ever the thoughtful elf, had brewed it for Shu, hoping to ease his sinus infection. But as the pot of tea brewed, Zip’s own nose twitched, and his eyes widened.
“Shu,” Zip said, his voice tinged with panic, “I think I’m allergic to dandelions.”
Shu, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, sniffled. “Are you sure?”
Zip sneezed, and Shu handed him a tissue. “Apparently. My nose feels like it’s hosting a tiny rebellion.”
Shu chuckled. “Maybe it’s a protest against dandelions. They’re like the rebels of the flower world.”
Zip sat beside him, rubbing his itchy nose. “Well, I brewed this tea for you, but now I’m afraid to be near it.”
Shu took a sip, his eyes closing in bliss. “It’s delicious. And my sinuses actually feel better.”
Zip frowned. “But what about my allergic reaction?”
Shu leaned against him. “Oh boo-hoo.” Shu laughed, and the sound warmed Zip’s heart. “You’re adorable, allergic reactions and all.”
As the afternoon sun painted the room, Shu’s sneezes subsided. He sipped the tea, and Zip watched him.
New fic, new OC's. Set in an 80s inspired space opera with lots of ray-guns, robots, space rockstars and probably a lot of crop tops and neon colored, intergalactic outfits. Did anyone want this? not sure, not sure. Fic will be in three parts. Sadly no snz in part one just a nice build-up because you know I love dragging that out.. I promise there will be plenty in the future.
Plot - Grieg is a put-upon mercenary ready to retire after this one last mission. Helios is a sheltered rockstar who's never seen a tree in his life. Both are trapped on a botanical space-ship. Allergies ensue.
CW - cartoonish scifi violence, rayguns and mentions of cartoonish scifi weaponry, allergies, hayfever, allergy attacks, slow buildups, characters experiencing sneezing for the first time, swh, really cheesy dialogue, most likely a heavy synth soundtrack
This was it. This is my last job. It has to be.
Grieg was done.
He shouldn’t even be here. But his boss was an idiot, which was true of most bosses, including whoever ran the intergalactic mercenary corp Unit 02, which Grieg was shamefully a part of. It’s not that they were a shoddy operation, far from it. Their reputation as an efficient crew scouring the galaxy for whatever hapless target they’d been hired to eliminate was solid. They were even feared, which was always a great advertisement for a mercenary operation. To be infamous meant to be well compensated.
It’s just management. It sucked. No time or explanation for missions. Pay is always late. Worst of all, Grieg wasn’t even sure who management was. All information on a target, their name, whatever space station they were on, even their damn eye color was given to them in an email. Casual and completely disconnected. Grieg understood the need for merc corps like Unit 02 to be as discreet as possible, but getting hit intel in an email? Ridiculous.
He also felt ridiculous in the mass-issued gear he had to wear. Designed for strong and wide-shouldered people, both things Grieg certainly was not. Apparently,ly there were no battery-powered, laser repelling high-octane space suits with a “wiry” in mind. He felt silly wearing it and felt every bit the lost, sickly kid stuck on that rock of a planet twenty years ago.
If there was one thing about his past he was thankful for, it did make him virtually indestructible. Some of these space-born mercs, for all their dumb muscle and bluster, were pathetic when it came to body constitution. Unit 02 burned through their recruits who easily succumbed to basic infections. Grieg used to joke with his fellow earth-raised kids that the spacers could die from a damn paper cut. What Grieg lacked in physical strength he made up for in pure resilience, which is why he was still stuck with Unit 02. And it’s why he was stuck in a tiny windowless room with his shockwave blaster in hand, guarding the hostage.
Grieg thought over all possibilities of retiring as he fiddled with the little switches of his shockwave blaster in hand, tempting himself with the idea of walking out right then and there. He could hear the space station’s alarm system beep outside, the whirring of bots humming and the rest of the crew firing away with their blasters. All the fun stuff outside. Sure, leave the little guy to babysit. Typical.
Across from him sat his hostage. Funny, despite never having met the man he seemed to know a hell of a lot about him. Even without the briefing from Unit 02, the guy was kind of famous.
He’d first learned about him from his niece, Luce. She’d been head-over-heels obsessed with this singer guy. Outrageous clothes, guitar, etc. He adored Luce but she tested his patience with the never-ending replays of the guy’s album. It wasn’t that bad actually, just not his kind of music. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.
He chuckled to himself. What’d she do if she found out beloved Uncle Grieg was currently holding her favorite musician hostage?
The singer’s stage name was Helios, but according to Grieg’s briefing, the man’s civilian name was Burt which wasn’t nearly as exciting. He also looked a lot more dressed down from what Grieg had seen of him in those photos his niece had pinned up on her bedroom walls. Still in his pajamas, wavy hair mussed and sticking out in all directions. A slight dusting of grey in his hair suggested he was a little older than the stage makeup and neon lighting suggested.
Helios seemed just as bored as Grieg was. He fidgeted in his chair, hands bound. He huffed, he swung his feet.
“You, uh- done this before?” Asked Grieg, trying to kill the time with pointless chatter. Didn’t matter if he was talking to someone who was technically his prisoner.
“What?”
“You’re being held hostage, this isn’t…I dunno…terrifying?”
“This? Oh yeah, this is nothing. Every other week I feel like I’m being kidnapped. Part of the whole superstar thing.” Helios rolled his eyes “Between you and me, I’d still choose this over having to do this gig. You’re doing me a favor.”
“Am I?”
“The gala. Such bullshit, supposedly it’s to fundraise for this garden thing, but I already know it’s just a racket for a bunch of rich people to stand around and look cool. Boring.”
“Ah, I was wondering why we had to raid a botanical ship. Didn’t think someone like you’d be here.”
It really was a nice space ship. All glass domes encasing what looked like an extensive garden. He didn’t get to actually see the garden, what with the whole “holding famed intergalactic rockstar hostage” thing.
Grieg heard the distinct sound of a smoke-bomb go off. Those security bots must be putting up a decent fight out there. He wondered if there were any casualties. He also wondered if it’d be tacky to ask for Helios’s autograph, the perfect gift for Luce. He attempted to bring up the request as casually as possible but Helios looked suddenly troubled, eyebrows furrowed in worry. A distinct fuzziness passed over his face and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound was made.
It was over in a second, like a glitch on a screen that cleared with a shake of the console.
“You okay?” Grieg asked.
“Mm?” Helios quickly blinked. “Oh, yeah just… been feeling off since I got on this ship. My nose has been bugging me.”
For a moment, Grieg was utterly confused by what Helios was even talking about. But then he noticed the tell-tale twitch of the prisoner’s nose and he chuckled.
“You space-born?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever sneezed before?” Grieg leaned back in his seat, listening to the distant sound of blasters and bombs.
“Of course not, that’s such an earthy thing. No colds, fevers, none of that.” Helios brought his bound hands up to his face and rubbed at the underside of his nose tentatively. There was a soft congestion to his voice.
“No known allergic reactions either, I take it?”
“No— why would I? Never…wait..there’s that f-feeling..again’d” Helios’s voice watered and he craned his head back and forth, trying to shake the foreign sensation away. His nostrils flickered into a flare, and his eyes made a fluttering attempt to stay open. “S-so..fu-heh-weird..”
“Just let it out, trust me it’ll feel better. One time a space-born buddy of mine caught a cold for the first time in his life and held off a sneeze for a whole day, he was so damn scared of it. Poor guy was miserable.”
Helios didn’t seem to pay any attention. Usually when someone who was used to earthy things sneezed it was a quick, shotgun reaction. A quick duck behind an elbow, an almost bashful hiding of an annoying feature of the human body. Helios on the other hand, hung there open-mouthed, all dopey and muzzy as his body took its time trying to react. He looked kind of ridiculous, really. Grieg could almost see every time the tickle spiked or backed down as Helios loudly gasped and sighed around this new feeling.
And it was all for nothing. Just a shuddery sigh as Helios squirmed his nose around and around. He kept touching it gently, almost fearful of what was happening to him.
“Did I do it?” Helios sniffled, looking surprised by the sound it made. “Was that a sneeze?”
“… you don’t even know what one sounds like?” Grieg deadpanned.
“Y-yeah! Of course..I’m not that sheltered, I know what it sounds like. I just don’t know what it sounds like for me, yeah?”
Grieg rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply.
I’m not getting paid enough for this. That’s it I can’t keep doing this.
A red hot beam of light pierced the walls, and before Grieg could react the little room was flooded with security robots. No Unit 02 in sight, just several damaged bots on a pre-programmed rampage to destroy anything they came in contact with. Acting on pure instinct, Grieg quickly ripped Helios out of his seat by his shirt collar and dragged him out of the line of fire. Managing to take down a few security bots with his blaster, Grieg kicked and shoved his way through the rest of them, weapon in one hand and the flailing Helios in the other. Together they pushed their way out and stumbled into a sprint down the hallway of the ship. Their steps were illuminated only by the emergency lights, neither one bothering to stop and decide on a plan.
They didn’t need a plan. Grieg knew he wanted off the ship, and off Unit 02’s payroll and he wasn’t about to let his niece’s favorite idiot rockstar die in the process. She’d never forgive him.
Without a second thought, Grieg pulled Helios through the closest doorway he could find that hadn’t been sealed in lockdown. He was expecting to run into more bots, not a smacking face-first into the trunk of a tree.
Nanami anon hello, I come bearing 2,1k words worth of gifts as I also jump on the make a mess of him train
referenced fic here
cw/tags: illness, medical setting, alcohol mentions, spray/mess descriptions, being sneezed on, light humiliation, covering sneezes for someone else
-
“You’ve certainly looked better,” Shoko greets him without moving from her desk. She gives a once over his hunched form, hardly phased by his oversized sweatshirt and loose fitting pants.
“Who would’ve thought you’d return to us with so much fashion sense?” The click-click-click of her mouse resonates in the room before he can answer. She’s playing Minesweeper. On a five-win streak, too.
“Very funny,” Nanami answers dryly. He clears his throat. She notes the rasp, the catch of phlegm in the back of it.
Well great, she thinks to herself, the glow of the computer screen still half lighting her face. He’s in the throes of it. Probably thought he could manage whatever he’s caught on his own before realizing he’d been dealt a worse hand than he’d planned for. Which leaves him in her office, flushed and dripping everywhere, trying to procure a doctor’s note long after he should’ve first come in.
“That sounds promising,” she raises an eyebrow, tilting her head.
“Please, Ieri.” Nanami folds his arms, averts his gaze, a dulled version of his usual passive judgment. He sniffles in between sentences, showcasing the fullness, the heaviness of his sinuses as his features strain upwards. “I’m not in the mood right now...”
Speaking at all probably makes his nose run. Even now, he’s got his qualms about dignity. Poor thing.
That’s what a real nurse would think.
Another loose, noisy inhale from her favorite ex-salaryman. It’s like he’s telling her to hurry up.
“Can we just get this over with?”
“Mhmm,” she drawls, “give me juuust a second.” She clicks a box along the edge of the game window. Safe. Safe, safe—ah. The face in the middle of the window flickers. Eyes crossed out, pixelated tongue jutting forward.
Game over then.
“Alright,” she announces, minimizing the window. Nanami doesn’t seem to hear her, too busy fumbling in his pockets for an abused clump of tissues. His mouth twitches open, and then he disappears into hastily raised hands.
“Hh… hhH—! hEH’RHSCHhh-uh!”
It’s nasty work, Shoko thinks, opting not to comment on the new line of discoloration at the cuff of his sweater. Instead she swings the cabinets open and fishes for testing supplies.
“Gonna live there?”
Nanami coughs out something that sounds like, “Not at this rate,” and then begins to massage his nose through the wad of tissues, producing a soft squelching that would be less noticeable if they weren’t the only two people in the room. His goal, Shoko surmises, is discretion, but she thinks it would be easier on everyone if he just did the gruesome task of blowing his nose.
She’d say so herself, but then, god forbid, he might actually listen to her.
Her fingers close around the box she’s looking for, and she pulls it out. It isn’t often that she has to do this for sorcerers. It’s usually the assistants who come looking for sick leave and the students below grade one are granted outs based on Gojo’s will, not modern medicine’s, and certainly not hers.
“You can go ahead and sit,” she murmurs, slipping on two latex gloves. She tears the box open, then peels the plastic wrapping from a nasal swab.
“So what’s got you so messed up? Still taking the train?”
“Yeah. If I had to guess.”
“You know you don’t have to anymore. It’s a breeding ground for illness this time of year.”
“I don’t believe in using the assistants to run my own personal errands.”
“Oh?” Shoko laughs. Nanami never means to be funny. He’s the last person on Earth that would ever make light of anything. It’s what makes him so charming. “Careful now. Speak any more about him and he might appear.”
“I never said I was talking about…” he trails off.
“Our little secret.”
Shoko approaches the examination table he’s sat at. So formal. The furnishings of a true school nurse’s office. Also a neat place to stash bottles of alcohol, since Yaga likes to get on her sometimes about students and keeping up appearances and whatever.
Murky brown eyes glance up at her, and then Nanami’s posture stiffens. His apprehension is palpable. Warily, he sizes up the thin swab between her fingertips, almost seeming to recoil as she takes another step towards him.
“Hm? Not a fan of these?”
“Not particularly.”
“Me neither. Try not to sneeze on me, okay?”
Nanami’s fair complexion betrays him instantly. The pink hues dusting his cheeks deepen, complimenting the reddening tips of his ears as he frowns. She’d always found that cute, but she can’t find it in her to tease him any further now. This wasn’t quite the reaction she was expecting.
Still unable to meet her eye, Nanami gives an unconvincing nod and exhales through his mouth before tilting his chin up.
The skin around his nose is raw, inflamed, a little wet. His lips, very slightly parted so he can breathe through his mouth, are tight and drawn down, revealing his dread. Nothing surprising. Carefully, she inserts the tip of the swab onto his right nostril. It flares on contact, responds by growing an angrier shade of red.
“Ndh…” Nanami’s chest swells, long eyelashes starting to flutter, features contorting with the need to sneeze, and Shoko’s always had a good sense for self preservation. She draws her hand back so she can —
“Eh’EIITSHHhheugh!” — step out of the line of fire. So much for that, she thinks, noting the moisture on her forearm. She’ll have to text Nanami about a cleaning fee later (only kidding, of course. Maybe).
One of his hands twitches, forming the idea of an apologetic gesture before he rushes to tent both around his mouth. “I’b s-so…sih-hhh—! hehHH—! HhD’ZZSCHH’UE!”
Shoko raises an eyebrow at the unabashedly productive sound, her own sinuses buzzing with secondhand sympathy. To some degree, she’s stunned by the intensity of this outburst from her former underclassman, though she supposes it fits the new frame he’s grown into. Even if he’s still got the same brooding disposition.
“My god. You’re really got it bad this time, huh?”
Viscous tendrils of misery peek down from the opening between his palms, melding with the silence otherwise broken by his stuffy breathing to form an answer.
There’s a box of tissues at her desk, which she retrieves and sets wordlessly by Nanami’s lap. It feels like the humane thing to do. In passing observation during her short stint in medical school, she observed other nurses assure their patients during times like these. Cooing at them through clean up, voices soft and maternal, assuring them of how forgettable moments like these were.
In another world, she wonders if Nanami would have appreciated kindness like that.
“Ready to try again?” asks Shoko once he’s made a final swipe at his hands, waving the swab through the air in a careless motion.
Nanami closes his eyes and huffs a bone deep sigh. His index finger rests on the slope of his nose, gently massaging it.
“Is there no other way to do this?”
“Rules are rules, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately,” echoes Nanami.
“I could snap a picture of you and send it to them.”
Glancing up from behind his hand, Nanami’s brow knits in question.
“Chances are fifty-fifty it’ll actually work though.” She watches the dim light leave his eyes.
“I’ll pass.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
Nanami focuses somewhere past her, flicking his used tissues into a nearby basket. He nods, slight and imperceptible, seemingly to himself and Shoko takes that as her cue.
Once again, she directs the swab into his right nostril, and it quivers at the contact. Gently, she presses it against the edge of his —
“hehYIIEHh’SCHHuu!”
— she whips the swab out as his palm hits her waist, pushing her back while he bends completely at the waist and sneezes violently into his lap. A few strands of jostled hair fall unnaturally over his forehead as he coughs ticklishly.
“Oh, no.”
Nanami sighs again, glancing down in distaste at the state of himself as he reaches for the tissues again.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve seen worse.” She shrugs. “The real problem here is how we’re going to get this sample, because I need to move this around for a couple seconds if it’s going to be accurate. I want it to be over with just as much as you do.”
“I can…” Nanami pauses, lip curling up in the way it does when he’s saying something necessary that he doesn’t like. She’s a little proud that she’s still able to recognize it. Not that it’s very hard to put together. “… try to control myself. Though I’m not sure how well that will work. I’ve already been sneezing all day, even without the extra prodding. Sorry. I’m not usually this sensitive.”
“Well,” she muses dryly, “A cold’s a cold.”
She shifts, reaching past him to grab several tissues with her free hand. Looming over him, she positions her slender fingers at the side of his mouth, wisps of fresh tissues close enough to brush against his cheek.
“Alright, Nanami.”
“Please don’t tell me you want me to submit to something so mortifying.”
Without moving her hands, she tilts her head and offers him a pleasant, deal-with-it smile.
“Relax, this happens all the time,” lies Shoko. “This is the best way to deal with it.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”
“Well, I’ve never done it, but I’ve read about it somewhere.”
“How reassuring.” Nanami sniffles, a faint blush rising in his cheeks again. “If you have to.”
“What a good sport,” Shoko murmurs, twirling the swab between her fingers. “Alright, then.”
Once more, she levers it into his sinuses, reflexively moving the tissues closer to his mouth when she feels him flinch. He sniffles, loose and wanting as she starts to nudges the swab against the inner walls of his nose, cupid’s bow flexing as he scrunches his face.
“I know. But I need you to hold on a liiitle longer.”
His brow is knitting now, a battle playing out in the trembling corners of his lips, the deepening flush in the skin surrounding his abused nostrils.
“hh…”
“Not yet,” she warns him, laser focused on keeping her motions steady and circular. A thin tear beads in the corner of his right eye, wetting his eyelashes as it tracks down his cheek.
She watches his throat bob with a hurried swallow, his nostrils flaring desperately against the pale edge of the medical swab. And she’s at six seconds, seven, eight.
The cadence of his breathing shifts and his shoulders begin to hike up. He shakes his head, the warmth of his exhaled breath ghosting over her wrist.
“hh… ahHihh!” She glimpses his tongue, pressed in urgency to the roof of his mouth.
“One more,” she assures him. A watery sliver of mess starts to run down from the same nostril the swab is in. How interesting, she thinks, that someone like Nanami has been reduced to this from a simple cold caught on the train.
And ten.
She pulls the swab out unceremoniously, rushing to swap in her hand as he dives forward with a much needed sneeze, the bridge of his nose squishing against her palm.
“UHdtsZ’IIEHSHH’hue!” Some of the spray still catches her forearm, but most of it is caught in the cage she’s imposed around his mouth and nose. She keeps her hand there as he draws in another heaving breath, resigning herself to the moment, holding steady even as Nanami’s sneezing begins to crackle with dislodged congestion and the tissues grow heavy with it. “H’ndhHTSCHH-IUh! hhhH’nghkCHHH-shiuh!”
After a cautiously held breath and a few weighted seconds, he sags against her. She doesn’t think he means to. As his hands travel upwards, they trade places, but not before she catches the cascading strands of mess, trailing from his nose to the fabric.
She’ll have to wash her hands. Disinfect the place. Maybe even burn her office.
She turns around to give him some privacy, walking back towards the counter while he blows his nose.
“EHh’IIShyeugh!”
“That ought to clear you out for the next, oh, I don’t know. Five minutes or so?”
Somewhere in the background, he groans.
“Cheer up. Hard part’s over.” She drops the swab in some solution, and then stands over a separate waste bin to strip off her gloves.
“You should get a text in a few hours with your results. Not that you need any confirmation.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“Nope. You’re all set.”
“Alright.” A tender, awkward pause. “Thanks.”
“Mhm. Get some rest. Don’t let me catch you back here any time soon.”
“Right. I hope not to.”
Ah, Nanami. Always so achingly sincere.
She waves him off pleasantly, then eyes the filing cabinet with all of the administrative forms she’ll need to fill out. She also eyes the back of the examination table, where her emergency casual drinks are stowed.
After a second’s worth of deliberation, she heads away from the counter, stretching out with a sigh. Hasn’t she earned it, after all?
After struggling with my Apple Pencil all day since it suddenly doesn’t want to work anymore, I finally got to finish one of my newest OC’s, Mathis’ first snz art~
theartofmadeline
stormborns
dededos
kianamaiart
prguitarman
