In congratulations to myself for actually putting my ocs out there, I decided I needed to start keeping track of my tags and such.
Iâll be adding as I post new things about more characters, but I donât feel like I need to spam yall with all 34 right off the bat. Thatâs a lot.
Fics will be linked as well when I figure out how tf to do that and when I actually post them. The list of (most of) my fools is under the cut, and a pic of (most of) the team is my banner image!!
Okay everyone, Iâm back with part 2 of the contagion chain fic. Part 1 can be found here
Y'all. I come bearing part 1 (of, according to my plan, 6) of the infamous contagion chain-fic beginning with a character... â @blooming-trees on Tumblr
My proofreading might be off because I have stared at this document for hours, so I'm sorry in advance for any mistakes. Also I don't know how any of the professions I write about actually work, so take everything with many grains of salt. đ
Please let me know if you like it. đĽşđ
A Clusterfuck Of A Cold, part 2, female, cold, CONTAGION, MESS
The elevator doors open, but the hotel maid inside isnât stepping out into the empty corridor with her cart. She is too caught in the throes of a sneezing fit. She has been sneezing all morning, has used up three travel packs of tissues and has now resorted to sneezing openly into the air, at least as long as no oneâs there to see her.
âHaaESSSHHHoo-ESSCCHH-AESSSHHHoo! Oh my God⌠aaerSSHHghh!â
This cold she caught is a doozy; she doesnât think she has gone more than three minutes tops without sneezing since she woke up, and thatâs not an exaggeration. She kept thinking the tickle in her nose would go away, but instead it has doubled down, turning into a deep, prickly sensation as the cold is declaring her nose conquered territory.
She has finally reached a brief respite and pulls her cart out of the elevator and into the corridor before the doors can close again. The thick rug on the floor muffles sounds, making sure any commotion in the corridor wonât disturb other guests, and much as she hates cleaning this goddamn rug, sheâs very grateful for its existence today. The last thing she needs is to have any of these important, wealthy guests stepping out to chide her for being noisy. She canât help it. Her poor nose is so irritated, she doesnât know what to do with herself.
âHaaEESSSHHHah!â
Apart from sneezing, that is. Not that itâs a choice sheâs making; this cold doesnât just cause a tickle that eventually leads to a sneeze, this cold simply makes her sneeze, like a merciless queen torturing her lowly subjects for her own sadistic but absent-minded pleasure. Every couple of minutes she has to sneeze, and she canât stop it until her nose decides itâs done. Which might be after two sneezes, five sneezes, or ten, or seventeen, or twenty-four. Itâs ridiculous.
Itâs no surprise that she got sick, though. The pharmacist was so obviously at the peak of her contagious phase and she sneezed her right in the face, and Robin wasnât exactly at a place where her immune system could take all that and shrug it off. She has slept really poorly for weeks, has been too busy picking up extra shifts to take good care of herself. It will be worth it; sheâs planning a trip overseas next year, and she wants a budget that will actually allow her to stay at nice hotels and go to all the famous sites. If that means suffering extra at work for a few months, so be it.
She hadnât taken this monster of a cold into account, however.
Robin is walking slowly down the corridor, one hand pulling the cart and the other pinching, squashing, rubbing, squeezing her itchy nose in an ongoing but ineffective attempt at quelling this sneeziness once and for all.
âHuhhESSSHH! HuhhEASSSHHH! Oh fucking hell⌠snnrrghhâŚâ she mutters in a watery voice to no one in particular. She tried to get some sympathy from her colleagues in the breakroom earlier, but they just looked at her, repulsed, and told her she should go home before she got everyone sick. Yeah, she should, she knows that, but she is not going to stay at some bedbug-infested hostel when she finally realises her dream of going to Italy. She wants to stay at places with the standard of the one sheâs working at. And if she wants to save up, she needs to work as much as she can and spend as little as possible until then. Thatâs that. If she has to work through this hellish cold, so be it. Itâs not her fault that the sneezes sometimes come on too suddenly for her to cover, even if she tries to when sheâs around people. And yes, she may have sneezed all over the coffeemaker while she poured herself a cup this morning, but the way Marilyn and Isabel reacted youâd think sheâd spat right in their cups, or sneezed them in the face like that pharmacist did to her. Itâs not like itâs some unique situation Robin brings to the workplace; everyone catches a cold sometimes, and everyone goes to work with it too, itâs pretty pointless to deny that. Even if this is a very sneezy type of cold.
Robin isnât actually an uncaring person, but if life has taught her one thing itâs that if she doesnât put herself first, sheâs never getting anything. And she wants this future trip to be perfect. If she ends up passing this cold on to others because she has to work, thatâs a sacrifice sheâs willing to make. Itâs not that she wishes this cold on anyone else, but sheâs not going to hole up and wait it out either. Besides, once againâŚsheâs not going to sneeze anyone right in the face.
The housekeeping crew at this hotel have one floor each that they work, so sheâs working alone on the 7th floor. Robin is a social person and this isnât always a setup she likes, but itâs a good thing she can work alone today. That way she doesnât have to keep up with these sneezes and catch each and every one of them, because today theyâre very unpredictable. She is a rather sneezy person naturally, but she can always feel them coming well in advance. Today is something else, to say the least.
Plenty of the rooms have do not disturb signs, and itâs common for some of these people to decline housekeeping for a day or two; they stay at the same rooms for weeks, most of them. Long-distance travellers, working business projects. Oh they do want to be waited on, theyâre wealthy people and thatâs just something they expect, but she has been lucky in that aspect today (and so have the guests, because not having her inside their rooms have at least given them a fighting chance to avoid her cold). All the occupied rooms decline housekeeping today. It wonât make her work day easier because once youâre done with your part, you help out with those who arenât finished⌠though Robin has a feeling most of her colleagues will decline her assistance today even if theyâre behind.
I guess there are some perks even to having the plague, she thinks to herself.
Her nose is really bothering her though, and she brings a hand up to it, pressing the already upturned tip of her nose even further upwards with her knuckle, hoping this hard pressure against it will help.
It doesnât.
âAaaEESSHHoo! AaeeSSSHH!â
Wetness shoots out of her nostrils and hits her hand, and instead of stopping the sneezes sheâs now standing there with the aftermath coating her fingers.
âOh God,â she growls in a disgusted voice, wiping her hand on her apron, then she wipes her nose on the apron as well. Her nose is really taking it seriously, this attempt at expelling the cold one sneeze at a time.
She gives up on trying to hold in the sneezes; she lets them out openly as she continues walking down the corridor, spraying her cold freely into the air, where the smallest droplets remain floating for a while, before they eventually settle, on the rug where guests will walk and put down their bags⌠on the door handles to the rooms she passesâŚ
Everywhere she goes, her cold contaminates the area as her sneezing is essentially relentless; her nose itches so much she can do nothing to keep it under her control.
And frankly, sheâs not even trying. Holding in the sneezes is only painful and usually ends up in failed stifles, shooting snot everywhere. Spray is certainly preferable to that⌠at least as long as youâre not in the way of said spray.
Fumbling with the key card to the door, Robin sneezes again, this time all over the doorhandle as well as herself. At least this was just a single sneeze, which she has quickly realised is an anomaly with this cold. Â
âHihh-ESSSHHUH!â
She steps inside, closes the door behind her, and surveys the room and what needs to be done. A light cleaning â thankfully itâs in decent shape â and then changing bedsheets and towels, and adding the extra, champagne on ice, a fruit basket, fresh flowers⌠she hates having to put fresh flowers in the hotel rooms, thankfully itâs just one of those additional perks for certain guests so itâs not something she has to do every day, but sheâs so allergic to flowers. With how much sheâs already sneezing from this cold, the flowers will have to be the very last thing she does, or she wonât be able to get anything else done.
She sniffles wetly, tired before sheâs even started, and gets to work.
***
It does feel counterproductive to sneeze all over the room while sheâs trying to clean it, spraying surfaces she just wiped clean, so she opts to use her apron to contain the sneezes. She wipes surfaces with one hand, pressing the bottom part of her apron against her nose and mouth with the other, repeatedly muffling wet, sometimes messy sneezes into the white cotton.
âHahhMMKTSSHHuh! Oh for fuckâs saYIEESSSHHHoo! HahhESSSSHHH! Ugh⌠snrrfff⌠snrf-GTSSSHHHOO!â
The damp fabric sticks to the palm of her hand as she doubles over and delivers the last desperate sneeze of this particular fit. Unless you want to argue that her entire day consists of one single but very drawn-out sneezing fit.
She hesitantly lowers her hand, letting the damp apron fall back in place, and wipes her palm on her skirt. Her reddish nostrils flex when she sniffs, tentatively testing if this will set her off again. The sharp smell of cleaning products stings her nose and her eyes water as she tries to rise above the sensation. It reaches a crescendo and then backs down, still taxing on her nose but not pushing her over the edge. Her shoulders relax as she sniffs again, very gingerly.
Yes. She gets a breather. Probably not one that will last very long, but her exhausted body takes what it can at this point.
She wraps up the cleaning part quickly, and then begins to make the bed. But she starts sneezing again, and after stopping to sneeze into her apron, again and again, she decides that she canât make the bed with just one hand. She either has to wait until she gets a longer respite between sneezes, or she has to forego covering.
Itâs not like anyone is in here watching her being unhygienic with her terrible cold, and either way, itâs not the same thing as sneezing right in the face of the next guest in this room. Nowhere near. Who knows if the guest will even arrive this afternoon; itâs supposed to be one of those real hotshots and they usually donât arrive until late in the evening. Always travelling, always delayed, always meetings or whatever. Robin doesnât care what the guests do for a living, so she never asks when thereâs a particular buzz going on, which there has been the past few days. Itâs probably some influencer she has never heard of, if it isnât some semi-high politician or businessman, or businesswoman, she doesnât even know that.Â
This time around, Robin has been so utterly miserable with her cold that she has paid even less attention to the grapevine. Everything that isnât immediately related to her despairing nose is just an unimportant blur.
She looks at the bed like youâd look at a mountain you have to climb, sighs, wipes away the snot bubble that emerges from her left nostril when she does, and starts putting the sheets in place.
Sheâs not sure if itâs the laundry detergent, or if itâs the tiny cotton fibres coming loose when she handles the sheet, or if itâs âjustâ the cold, but she hasnât even gotten the bottom sheet tucked in place before the tickle in her nose again is driving sneezes out of her.
If the sneezes prior to this were wet, these are a full show rivalling a tropical storm. Each sneeze releases thousands of droplets landing on the lamp and the nightstand, the sheets, the blanket, the pillows⌠the viral load of this sneezing fit alone would be enough to infect probably a dozen people just from lying on that bed, but Robin canât stop sneezing and she wonât stop making the bed. She has often joked that she has made so many beds that she can do it with her eyes closed, and sheâs going to prove herself true to her word. Not that she can keep her eyes open for more than a couple of seconds at a time before sheâs overcome again either way.
Spray flies out of her mouth and nose, settling everywhere all over the spot where the wealthy guest will sleep tonight, as well as the nightstand and the lamp on it, itâs all covered in contagious droplets. Â
She sneezes again, a particularly snotty sneeze that makes landfall on the pillow. Streaks of clear snot, on the pillow. Oh God. She sniffles back whatâs still dripping out of her nose and wipes the mess off the pillow with her damp apron, grateful that it was on the pillow itself and not the pillowcase. She puts the pillowcase on and places the pillow with the snot-streaked side down, sniffling liquidly and trying to hold back the rest of the snot-loaded sneezes for the time being.
Finishing making the bed, she turns away from it and sneezes again, two back-to-back sneezes that go straight in the air. There is so much spray she can still see it lazily float in the air when she opens her eyes again.
âUgh, GodâŚâ she moans and blows her nose into her apron, having no option right now. At least not in her mind; she could of course take some paper towels from the bathroom, but her thought process is so slowed by the cold-derived congestion that she doesnât even consider it.
She stands there for a moment, trying to gather herself. Her nose is prickling and dripping, her head is pounding with a sinus headache, her whole body is tired from the endless sneezing fits. For the moment, however, the sneezy urge seems to have faded into the background, for which she is grateful. Even if she knows itâs only temporary.
Towels. Right. Changing the towels in the bathroom, thatâs next.
She grabs a pile of towels and heads for the bathroom, when that oh so familiar sensation blooms in the depths of her nose again, hitting her so suddenly she doesnât have time to think, and she instinctively buries her face into the soft, fluffy pile of towels, sneezing into them several times. Wet, contagious sneezes soaking into the thick softness of the fabric, her cold getting cosy in its new home, biding its time until someone else presses the towels against their face.
Robin inspects the towel, finds that although itâs a bit damp, thereâs no visible snot on it, so she merely turns the wet spot inward and hangs it among the rest.
There. Just the âfinal touchâ left to do. She glances at her watch and sees that she needs to hurry. She still doesnât think the guest will arrive promptly when the room is available, but thatâs besides the point, the point is that the room must be available.
Meaning she must be finished in here and out the door post-haste.
She quickly puts the champagne glasses on the desk, gets the MoĂŤt & Chandon bottle out of the fridge (no mini fridges in these rooms), holding her breath as she opens the fridge door because the flowers are still in there, then grabs the ice bucket and heads out to the ice machine in the corridor.
Sheâs sniffling hard to keep her nose from dripping into the bucket, but this sniffling only irritates her sensitive nasal passages even further. She has just made it to the ice machine when she canât hold back anymore, the sneezes begin to burst out of her again.
She keeps sneezing all over the bucket as well as the ice when she fills it with ice and then returns to the room, but who cares, itâs not like the ice is meant to go in the drink, and the bucket is not meant to drink from. Â
She puts the bottle in the ice, and as she arranges it to make sure ice covers it from each side, sheâs so focused on this task that the sneeze sneaking up on her sprays all over it. Bucket and ice were already generously sneezed on, but now the virus-filled mist covers the bottle as well.
âAaah-IEESSSHHH! Hehh⌠huhYIEESSSSHHHoo!â
She scrubs desperately at her burning nose with the palm of her hand, really trying her hardest to rub the itch out of her poor nose, but instead sneezes all over her palm.
âHEH-GTSSSHHuh!â
She sniffle-snorts miserably, wipes her hand on her skirt again, and places the glass next to the bucket. Of course she moves the glass with the same hand she just sneezed all over.
The fruit basket is put in place behind the ice bucket, and this time she manages to hold back the sneezes wanting to spray out of her. The fruit basket remains uncontaminated, unless you count the fact that she touched the basket with her very thoroughly contaminated hands.
Now comes the last and hardest part. Fetching the flowers. She is madly allergic to flowers, and with how sneezy this cold alone makes her⌠itâs not good. Even if itâs just a minute she has to be close to them, itâs lilies, and lilies are just the worst enemy her nose ever had.
Well, until this cold, that is.
Once Iâve got the flowers in place I can get out of here, Robin tells herself as she walks over to the fridge again, takes the flowers out, holding her breath as long as she can to avoid inhaling the pollen.
She is so sneezy already, she doesnât know if the flowers have gotten to her or if itâs still the cold working alone, but it feels like a fire is raging inside her red-rubbed nostrils, nostrils that flare and tense as she tries to fight back the need, knowing itâs pointless.
Several sneezes go all over the flowers before she can stop herself, but a critical look at the mess she has made isnât too alarming; it looks more like the droplets got on the flowers when she put water in the vase. Hopefully thatâs what the guest will think, if they notice at all.
A fine mist has fallen over the fruit basket as well, but she doesnât even realise that. More sneezes are filling her nose and she has to get out of here, her allergies on top of this nightmare cold will turn this into an absolute disaster, so she flees, grabs her cart and hurries to the elevator, nose pressed against her wrist as she tries to keep the next sneeze attack at bay until sheâs in the elevator at least.
***
The doors to the staff elevator have just closed behind her when the other elevatorâs doors open and Mackenzie, no-last-name-just-like-Cher, a Hollywood sweetheart for the past decade or so, steps out, heading down the corridor to find her room. Sheâs thinking about if she should take a shower or a nap first. Filming starts tomorrow after lunch â well, it starts at 7 am technically, but she doesnât have to be on set until after lunch â and sheâs really jetlagged after travelling from Europe. If she hears the faint sound of sneezes from the elevator next to hers, she doesnât register it. Her mind is occupied with many things and potential biohazards in her vicinity is not one of them.
She finds her room, opens the door and steps inside. She puts her bag on the floor and gathers her long brown hair, tying it back into a loose ponytail. She has given her assistant a couple of days off to visit family in the city, and she doesnât mind travelling on her own for a bit. Unlike many of her actor colleagues, she prefers to travel light and without a ton of staff.
The media hasnât seemed to picked up on her presence in the city yet, they havenât even realised that filming starts tomorrow, but sheâs not in the mood for any sightseeing or outings today. Jetlag has always been hitting her hard, she never gets used to these timezone changes.
She ponders whether to go down to the hotelâs restaurant and have dinner tonight, or just order some room service. Then she spots the champagne and the fruit and decides to start with a glass of champagne and some strawberries. Then a long shower, then snuggle up in bed and just scroll on her phone and keep sipping champagne until she passes out. Maybe she wonât even feel like ordering room service for dinner, maybe some fruit will be enough on its own.
The pillow looks so fluffy, she canât wait to bury her whole face in it. All in all, everything looks nice.
I have a good feeling about this project, she thinks, pleased, and leans into the flowers, inhaling their sweet perfume.
Always stop to smell the flowers. Good advice, that.
Then she pops the champagne, pours herself a glass, grabs the fruit basket, and brings it to bed.
The pillow is just as fluffy as it looks, and she has no idea that she is lying among millions of cold viruses, all ready to get to work on her nose and turn it into an inflamed, itchy, sneezy hellscape.
***
In the elevator, Robin is sneezing so hard, she has pressed the stop button so she can get through the fit before she has to step out of the elevator again. She wishes she had taken one of those soft towels to tend to her miserable nose, but all she has is her apron. She makes good use of that; blowing her nose into the fabric over and over, filling it with the messy contents of her nose.
Oh man, this cold is terrible, she thinks, wishing she was home watching a movie instead. Maybe one of those medical examiner movies with that hot actress Mackenzie no-last-name.
If Robin had known that the suite she just prepared was meant for the very same Mackenzie, she might have made more of an effort not to fill the room with contagious sneezes, but then again maybe not. Sheâs really too tired to care much at all anymore.
One thing is for sure though: sheâs not going back to the pharmacy to pick up any remedies. She picked up this cold there, no doubt about it, if she goes back sheâll probably get the bubonic plague or something to top it off.
She sneezes heavily into the apron again, three intense, rough-sounding sneezes, and blows her nose into the oversaturated fabric once more.
Actually, on second thought, the bubonic plague wouldnât be so bad, at least that would kill her faster than this snotty demise.
***
Mackenzie wakes up the next morning feeling like she was hit by a truck. Still jetlagged, thatâs not really common for her, but it has to be. Because she canât be hungover from the champagne, she only had two glasses before switching to sparkling water⌠but her head feels heavy and her sinuses are completely clogged.
Ugh.
She sits up, the congestion shifts back in her nose, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath and sneezes violently all over herself.
Then she just sits there, blinking, trying to process what just happened, when her nose begins to tickle again.
âHeeh-ISSSHHHEW!â
She sniffles, a knot of dread filling the pit of her stomach. Is she coming down with a cold? No, she canât be. Please, donât let it be a cold.
â⌠snrrff⌠hehh-ehhh⌠herrISSSHHHEW!â
Itâs definitely the beginning stages of a cold. Just great. She has no idea where she could have caught it; has to have been on the plane, though she canât recall any of the other passengers â or the flight crew â appearing ill. She has been on plenty of flights with sick passengers and crew, but she rarely catches anything that way. It seems odd that she would get sick when nobody is even showing symptoms.
Well. Maybe it was in the airport, then. All those people coming and going, touching things, sneezing and coughing without covering and then moving on, only for some other unlucky traveller to touch the same things or breathe the same air. Germy places.
She gets out of bed, grabs a few paper towels and blows her nose, then calls room service to order breakfast. When she speaks, she notices thereâs a bit of a twinge in her throat too, driving home the idea that this is indeed a cold, and congestion immediately begins to fill up her sinuses again.
She blows her nose again, gets dressed, and sits on the bed waiting apathetically for breakfast to arrive.
âHuhh-aah-ISSSSHHEW!â
Yeah. Sheâs definitely coming down with something.
Perfect timing⌠but isnât it always?
***
By lunchtime, her cold has really settled in, and thereâs a persistent tickle in her nose, returning over and over even if she rubs it away, even if she gives in to it and sneezes, it just keeps coming back.
When she arrives on set, her makeup artist, a pretty, bubbly blonde woman a few years younger than Mackenzie, introduces herself as Ashley and gushes over how long she has wanted to work with Mackenzie.
Mackenzie, who doesnât want to get the reputation of being difficult, always tries to be pleasant with the people on set, but sheâs not in the mood for talking.
âItâs really nice to meet you, Ashley, and Iâm sure youâre going to do a great job,â she says and clears her throat. âBut Iâm very jetlagged from travelling, so Iâm afraid I wonât be very chatty today.â
âOh.â Ashley looks momentarily disappointed, but fixes her expression within microseconds. âI understand, no worries. Do you want some music on while I work?â
Mackenzie considers, then nods. Maybe with some music on it will be less obvious to Ashley when Mackenzie needs to sniffle, which she is certain she wonât be able to avoid.
âOkay,â Ashley says and turns on a Spotify playlist that makes Mackenzie smile while Ashley lays out all the brushes, because itâs the typical Millennial split personality playlist, Linkin Park followed by CĂŠline Dion followed by Shakira. She probably has a playlist just like this one herself, too.
But the songs are familiar, the volume not too loud and not too low, so she leans back and closes her eyes, going over her lines in her mind while Ashley begins. She knows what sheâs doing, Mackenzie can tell from her touch, and she relaxes even more. Trying to get into character. Though she is fairly certain Dr Cassidy has never had to deal with a cold quite like the one brewing inside of her; she can feel how her nose is getting more and more irritated by the minute.
Mackenzie has a large, unique nose, not the kind that Hollywood happily accepts, but she has stubbornly refused to get any nose jobs throughout her career, and lately the very fact that her profile is instantly recognisable has actually been a career-enhancing detail. But the thing about a bigger nose is that thereâs a bigger surface that can get tickled. And while sheâs not particularly sensitive in general, whenever she catches a cold, her nose suddenly becomes very sensitive to things that usually doesnât bother her. From scents to physical touch.
Ashley works on her with efficient skill, but Mackenzie is no longer feeling any serenity. The cold is twirling its fluttery tickle deeper into both her nostrils. Some of the powder soaring in the air got up her right nostril, teasing her. Ashleyâs brush is sweeping lightly up and down the left side of her nose, tickling her like a feather. She has so many tickles in her nose now and each tickle is a potential sneeze, and theyâre all increasing in strength. Mackenzie fights with all her might to hold back what is building inside her majestic nose, but itâs no use; the nose she so vehemently defended against modern beauty standards is preparing to betray her completely. She is notoriously bad at holding back her sneezes and she canât stifle. She is at the mercy of her cold-ridden, helplessly tickly nose and Ashleyâs meddling makeup tools.
She canât fight it any longer.
âOh God s-stopPGSHK-iksshhkkâŚ! Aaah-huhRESSSHHHoo!!â
Ashley jumps when Mackenzie erupts with the violent, wet sneeze that marks the absolute limits to her self-control. It sprays all over the makeup bottles and brushes, and all over Ashley too.
âI am so sorry,â Mackenzie begins, but Ashley is just laughing as she grabs a couple of tissues from the box on the table, gives one to Mackenzie and wipes some droplets off herself with the other.
âHoly shit, bless you!â she says, still laughing. âHow long have you been holding back on that one?â
Mackenzie sniffles miserably, dabbing at her nose, trying to avoid ruining the makeup already put on her face. Reading the expression in Ashleyâs eyes, sheâs not doing a great job of it, so she lowers the tissue.
âA while,â she says, not elaborating that she has technically needed to sneeze since she left the hotel, only in varying degrees. âMy nose is so tickly today, and the powder and the brushes⌠I canât help it.â
âHmm, well, I have to put on your makeup,â Ashley says, almost apologetically. âMaybe even an extra layer. Iâm sorry for saying it, but your nose is getting quite red. Are you coming down with something?â
Mackenzie sighs.
âI might be,â she admits. Sheâs blushing, she can feel her cheeks heat, she doesnât like to admit being sick. Who does, especially in this line of work? But she doesnât want to pass it on either. A cold on a movie set usually goes through the actors and crew like a wildfire and itâs never a good thing.
âOh donât worry about it,â Ashley assures her. âIâm good at this, you know, no one will notice.â
âUnless I keep sneezing,â Mackenzie says, her eyelids fluttering, elongated, arched nostrils flaring. âI r-really need toâŚ.â
âItâs okay,â Ashley says. âGet them out and maybe it feels better.â
It wonât feel better if she just sneezes, because this cold is only getting started, and Mackenzie knows it, but she canât hold these sneezes in to save her life, and she puts the tissue in front of her mouth to at least capture the spray.
âHuh-ISSSHEW! Sorry, m-my noOOSSCHHUH⌠my nose is⌠is⌠so tihhh-hih-ESSSSHHIEW! ESSSSHHUH!â
ââŚtickly, huh? I can tell,â Ashley chuckles. âDo you need anything? Cold meds, maybe?â
âDo you have ady?â Mackenzie asks, wincing as she hears how congested she sounds by now.
âNot me, I donât use it â I never get sick, just so you know â but I can have someone go buy some.â
âI could really use it,â Mackenzie says gratefully, and Ashley sends one of the assistants out to pick up some cold meds, while she goes back to working on the red-nosed actress.
Mackenzie keeps sneezing throughout the makeup session, sometimes into a tissue, but sometimes they catch her so off guard that she sneezes uncovered, sometimes all over the makeup stuff, sometimes all over Ashley. She keeps apologising, but Ashley just brushes it off, insisting she never gets sick.
Mackenzie isnât someone who catches everything going around either, but this cold is a potent one, she can tell. The sneeziness hit her like a ton of bricks and sheâs only on the first day. That doesnât bode well for her, nor for poor Ashley who must have been sneezed on at least half a dozen times because Mackenzie truly didnât feel the sneezes coming before it was too late.
But the show must go on, as the saying goes.
***
Once the makeup is finished and sheâs in her outfit â scrubs with a lab coat on top; her character is a medical examiner, and she usually feels quite comfortable in this costume, but today sheâs freezing. Must be the illnessâs fault, but knowing that doesnât make her feel any better. A couple of swigs of DayQuil should be helping, but it only takes the edge off and that edge is still increasing.
She pushes herself through take after take, too many of those ruined by her sneezing or sniffling mid-line, or her missing her cue because sheâs too busy fighting off the tickle in her nose. Her acting is terrible and if she hadnât worked with this director and several of these actors before, knowing theyâre aware of her actual acting chops, sheâs sure sheâd be recast within the day.
âRigor mortis set in aboutTSSSHIEW! HEH-ISSSSHHew! âscuse me, Iâm so sorry!â
âDo you need a minute, Mac?â the director asks. He doesnât sound happy; itâs quite clear despite Ashleyâs impeccable makeup job that Mackenzie is coming down with â or rather is already very down with â a nasty cold.
âNo, I think Iâve got it now,â she says, resigned to the fact that regardless, theyâre going to have to redo her dialogue in post-production, because her voice sounds like sheâs drowning in her own cold.
âAre you sure?â
She nods.
âOkay, letâs try that again, then. Without the sneezing, this time, please. Action!â
Mackenzie tries her hardest, and this time she actually gets through the scene without any sneezy interruptions, but all that earns her is to move on to a scene that will prove to be even worse.
At first glance, it doesnât seem so bad. Sheâll speak to her colleague while putting on a mask, and the mask will then hide her nose from sight for the rest of the scene, ensuring that any redness wonât matter.
As it turns out, Mackenzieâs cold isnât going to make it easy on anyone today.
âOh God, good thing youâre not a real doctor,â her co-star laughs when Mackenzie turns away from her mid-sentence and sneezes openly, all over the slab with the âbodyâ that sheâll soon open up. The prop looks⌠well, life-like is the wrong word here, but⌠realistic. And she has to agree, if she were a real doctor sheâd probably be in big trouble.
âAt least the patients are dead,â Mackenzie sniffles and turns to the camera guy with an inquisitively raised eyebrow.
âStill rolling,â he says, giving a thumbs up, and Mackenzie turns back to her colleague and makes a new attempt at getting through the scene.
âDid you speak to Charlie?â she says, putting on a pair of rubber gloves. Sheâs thankful there are at least no mâs or nâs in that sentence. Her nose feels like itâs about to start running, just to really make things fun, but if she can only hold off on sniffling a few seconds longer she can put the mask on and then she wonât have to sniffle back the mess trickling out of her nostrils. Itâll be disgusting, but no one will see it behind the mask.
âYeah, heâs waiting for your report.â
âWell, letâs get to work, then,â she says and takes a mask and puts it on, not realising what a horrible mistake it is until itâs too late. This slight brush against her sensitive nose sets off the urge to sneeze immediately. In fact, the mask isnât even in place yet when she sneezes helplessly, trying with all her might to hold it back but all that does is resulting in a string of clear snot shooting out of one nostril and just hanging there until the next sneeze pushes it out of her nose altogether, then followed by yet another wet sneeze. At least the fallout lands in the mask and not on her co-star, who is leaning in front of her looking at the lacerations on the body on the slab, just about to say her next line.
âMPSSSHHKhh! HehRRSSSSHHIEW! Snrrrkkk⌠hahhh-ISSSHHHUH! Oh by God Iâb so sorry, thatâs disgusting,â Mackenzie groans, pinch-wiping her nose with the surgical mask to make sure she has no mess left on her face at least.
âBless you, but wow,â her co-star says, looking at the director, âcanât she wear like a hazmat suit in these scenes instead? Or can I? Iâd rather not catch that. No offense, Mac, but goddamnit.â
âNone taken, and I agree,â she manages to say, somewhat intelligibly, but she is deeply embarrassed. She has ugly-cried for scenes and dripped with snot, so itâs not the mess in itself, not exactly. But this is something completely different; this isnât a character losing control, this is her losing control. She feels like a disaster, and she knows she has probably doomed half the people on set to catching this cold, simply because the sneezes are so sudden. And all the lab props she and her co-star have been handing back and forth, things that Mackenzie has handled between wiping and rubbing at her nose and then given to the other woman. She shudders with guilt.
âOkay, guys,â the director calls, âtake ten. Get Mac cleaned up. Makeup!â
Ashley hurries up to them, putting several Kleenexes in Mackenzieâs gloved hands and takes the snotty mask from her, throwing it away.
âI assume youâre going to go with a clean mask for the next take, huh?â she jokes, not appearing one bit bothered by being this close to someone so obviously contagious.
âMaybe you should wear a mask while working on me,â Mackenzie says. She hates being patient zero; she has been many times, both on movie sets and in theatre groups. Ashley getting sick wonât be noticeable on screen, but she in turn may spread it to other actors when working on them, or the other makeup artists who in turns will pass it on to the actors they work on. Mackenzie feels the weight of the guilt for causing this.
âI told you already,â Ashley says, her tone one of perfect faith, âI donât get sick. I have a failproof immune system. Bless you,â she says in advance when she notices Mackenzieâs breath starting to hitch. Two seconds later the actress bends over, sneezing into the tissues Ashley gave her.
âUgh, thag you,â she says when she resurfaces from the now soggy tissues, but is only able to take one deep breath before she bends over and sneezes again.
Ashley puts the brushes down again, waiting for Mackenzie to regain control over her cold-plagued nose. The same brushes that Mackenzie accidentally sneezed all over earlier. While sheâs waiting, Ashley takes a piece of gum out of her pocket and puts it in her mouth, not thinking twice about it but still in her calm but false belief that she wonât catch this.
Thereâs no way of telling if this is the moment she becomes infected, or if that has already happened; Mackenzie did sneeze on her by accident several times earlier as well, and she has handled several of her used tissues and the damp mask as well. It could have happened any time since the sneezy, cold-ridden actress entered set. Either way, when Ashley leaves work that day, her body is incubating that very same cold. Not everyone on set will end up catching it, shockingly enough, but Ashley is about to have her own battle with these viruses.
Alright guys, this one is fun. Read under the cut for the chronicles of my husband having his first ever sinus infection, and (apparently) his first experience with sinus congestion at all.
First off, this man has âmonster adenoidsâ and will be getting surgery within the next couple years to fix his face. He can only kinda breathe through his nose, and trying to blow his nose is usually useless.
Second core detail, he rarely gets sick. One of those obnoxiously healthy people whose immune system is basically steel. So he has no idea what to do when heâs sick. Can barely explain symptoms to me because heâs never needed the words because heâs never felt them.
Cue this sinus infection. No cold first that led into it, probably just allergies and then bam. So itâs day 2, and weâre lying in bed so gravity is working against him. Heâs like âIâm so congested but my nose isnât stuffed, itâs like my face?â My response is the obvious âyeah thatâs where your sinuses are.â
This goes into him trying to figure it out, because apparently heâs never felt this feeling before. He pulls up a diagram of sinuses and heâs looking at it, turns to me and says âI canât tell where the nose connects to the throat.â Because heâs looking for a small tube on the diagram, but itâs just a huge open space. And I, confused by his confusion, go âitâsâŚthe whole thing? This whole highlighted areaâŚyour entire face, basically.â
Man is flabbergasted. âThatâs whatâs in my face?? What even are sinuses?â
Iâm losing it. âItâs just empty space. Caverns with folds that cycle air.â
He points at the nasopharynx (that spot above the back of your throat that you canât itch no matter how hard you try) and he goes âthat. I can feel congestion there.â
Iâm still confused because Iâm an anatomy nerd and him not knowing this is so funny to me. âYeah, thatâs pretty normal. Itâs draining.â
This leads to him watching videos on relieving sinus pressure (essentially porn for me) and going âwhat the fuckâŚâ every few seconds.
And because he canât productively blow his nose, it has been a very long week of thick ass sniffling. And useless nose blowing. And ârub my face pleaseâ. And me being on my period and just combusting in the corner.
NSFW, MESS, Semi-public - Padgett and Eliseo leave a dinner party due to distraction.
â-
âHuhkshtt!â  Padgett ducked his head into his napkin, ears red, as he sneezed again. His black hair was as messy as usual and he hadnât gotten it cut since the summer. His bangs were falling into his face. One of the women sitting to his left blessed him, scooting her chair away a little bit.
Eliseo watched from across the round table, trying to keep a straight face. Or at least trying to keep his expression wry instead of interested as Padgett sneezed again and tried to mumble an apology. He was sick again. Eliseo wished with all his heart that his- lover, he supposed, wasnât quite as vulnerable to illness as he was. Especially tonight, when Padgett was only here as Eliseoâs plus one. No talking him out of it, though.
Eliseo wished he had been able to talk him out of it because listening to Padgett sniffle and blow his nose now was straining the capacity of his silk trousers.
(inspired by this post, I've had the basic premise for this written for like a week. it was supposed to be quick and dirty...so it is! it's shorter than feels usual by now. ref for Lilli, still have none for Charlotte, who often enjoys teasing the girls in this way. enjoyyy!)
"Wh-what-?" Lilli recoiled from the feather, scrunching her lips upward and knuckling her nose with a thick red glove. Charlotte reached forward and pulled her hand back, eliciting a confused, teary-eyed look from Lilli.
"What are you-?"
"Shh. I am concentrating." That was a silly question anyway, and Lillia realized it only now. The princess was trying to make her sneeze. This she understood.
She didn't understand why.
After all the time spent fitting her in this gown--she'd evidently told the nice young lady in charge of dressing the adventurers to make it as hard for Lilli to move around in it as possible; at the very least, based on the thickness of her petticoat, that was how it seemed to Lilli--after all the time spent doing up her hair, and applying various powders to her face which she was told to avoid touching, Charlie had produced a long, white feather.
Lillia assumed she was being asked to partake again in some formal official event or what have you, in which she'd essentially be presented like some prized possession of the royal family. She'd be asked to demonstrate some great feat of strength (something easy enough even in this dress, though she'd be a little sweaty for the rest of the event), then she'd have to sit and make polite conversation with nobles or whoever until it concluded.
Truth be told, she was dreading it, so anything else seemed preferable.
Yes, Lillia was expecting to take part in an event.
The princess certainly had one planned.
But that was exactly what Lilli was confused about.
"Hh-hgH-!...H-highness, my...my gown...!"
Her feather danced teasing little circles in both of her nostrils, twirling puffs of a certain white powder, which even Lilli, for all her strength, couldn't resist. Her eyes shut tightly, more of a wince than anything, the tickle intense and overpowering.
"I know! Your gown is soooo beautiful, isn't it?"
The princess used her other hand to grope her knight's breast, the feather continually stabbing at the edge of Lilli's nostrils, never quite enough to truly make her sneeze. Just enough to itch like mad.
She sniffled, hard, her mouth falling open as more powder made its way deeper into her sinuses.
"W-wai-wait-I-!" She tries to slacken her scrunching cheeks, to open her shut, wet eyes, and, without actually touching her nose, she tried to alleviate the tickle, pushing Charlie's hand to the side and wiggling it back and forth as best she can.
The feather reappeared in seconds.
"Hands to your sides, please. It's unladylike to fuss like that." The word unladylike struck Lillia like lightning, turning the twisting mess of feelings in her chest from anxiety over both the event and the gown being ruined to disappointing the princess.
"And it's impolite to hold in a sneeze like that, dear...and especially impolite to hold in multiple sneezes, the way you're doing."
Lilli's mouth shuts, a short whine filling the space between them.
"Here." The feather slides the rest of the distance up with little effort, and its effect is immediate; pink lips become white teeth and a red tongue, sharpened fangs especially prominent from the angle Charlie has below her.
A gloved finger enters her mouth briefly, brushing over top of each point.
"Let me help."
Up to the stalk in, the princess gives her feather a good, quick twist, releasing a cloud of the irritating powder onto every open surface in Lilli's nose. Each particle prickled like a tiny flame, lining every nerve in her nose with a burning feeling no matter where she turned.
Her hands balled into thick fists, then loosened, then tightened again, held stiff at her sides, her mouth alternately gaping open and crashing together as she attempts to grit her teeth and bear the excruciating tickle that made her nose run.
"I'm g-hihH-gonna-! I'm gonna s-sneeze, and, and-!" Her voice rose in pitch to desperate highs as the need to sneeze overwhelmed all thought in her head with one goal, much as she fought.
"Yes. You are going to sneeze. Good job!" The princess hadn't stopped smiling, not that Lilli could see that. Her breath hitched with increasing urgency, but Charlie finally decided this was taking too long.
"Your poor little nose just can't handle my delicate little feather. It tickles horribly, doesn't it?" Lilli breathlessly nods.
"I thought so. You're so itchy, huh?" Her hand presses in along her chin, then her cheek, then her forehead, her brow...over, along to her lips again. Everywhere but her nose.
"Hgngh-! P-please!"
She smirked.
"Go on, then."
And slid the feather all the way up her other nostril.
"W-wai-hGHhH-?!"
She doesn't have a handkerchief, or, or, a napkin, or--
"There you go, love. That's a good look for you." She'll ruin-her, her dress, her makeup, her-
"AhH-! HHaAhgh-! hHhieehHHH-!" A final twitch. And...
"hEEHhp-PTTCCCHhuuuu! Eh-hEH-TSCHHHUuu-! EhGktSCCHHEew! heHh-hEHH-!" Despite her objections, her gloved arms remain locked at her sides as she sneezed and sneezed and sneezed for her, spewing out the feather, progressively more powder, spray, and, as the fit gathered steam, a not insignificant amount of mess.
"Wowww, you really needed that, huh? Gods, bless you." The princess certainly didn't seem to mind it, but Lilli's cheeks were bright red.
Finally, finally, the fit subsided, and Lilli went from gasps and big throaty sneezes to sniffles and the occasional whispered "-tchhuu!" Not that it mattered. She didn't need to open her eyes to know it was a disaster.
"M-muh...my makeup...! My..."
"Oh, come now. You look beautiful. Charlie cupped her chin, feeling warmth spread through her fingers, smile only growing as she took note of her runny nose dripping onto her upper lip.
Lilli cuts short a whimper, unable to bear the thought of ruining the princess's fine...
She opened her eyes to find a full length mirror showing her in all her ruin, leading her to turn shamefully and shut her eyes again.
"Lillia. Dear heart." She pulled her around again, fixing her head in place once more.
"Open your eyes. You look beautiful like this."
She does so, ignoring the urge to shudder and disappear into her hands. Her stomach twists, and she threatens to cry in earnest seeing great grey and black streaks running down her cheeks. Never mind the fair amount of fluid staining the front of her...
"Your outfit has only been improved."
She turns, as though startled, and her eyebrows twitch in confusion.
"I prefer you like this. Helplessly, desperately sneezy is a good look on you." As if to punctuate, the redhead's face suddenly scrunched into another tiny sneeze.
"Wh...? Th-the ball, or...!"
"What ball?" Event, something. Surely she hadn't put her in this dress, all this work, just to...?
"We have nowhere to be, darling. So you just focus on pleasing me. Okay?"
Youâre so cruel for telling us you have a sneezy cold and then leaving us to our imagination (jk I hope you feel better soon!)
I hope these are what you had imagined? I can't go on being cruel any longer đ
I just don't know which ones to post but this is short enough to be allowed here. I'll post ridiculous big cold fits when I figure out how to very soon.
I do feel mostly better now thank you. Fever, raw throat and flu have cleared and it just lingers in my nose but my sneezes are a touch calmer now and probably less contagion in their mist.
It was touch and go for a while but i was a brave soldier buried under a mound of tissues and permanently building up for a few days đ¤§đ¤
Thank you for your well wishes â¤ď¸đ¤¸đťââď¸
I had to induce yesterday to be able to breathe and damn, it didnât take much. Even after I stopped I was still sneezing a few times to get rid of the itch.
I didnât expect these to sound so femme since it was so harsh, but even the raspy voice canât stop it. I also edited out a couple nose blows because they were unattractive (even to me) so it might be choppy at some points.
Weâre dissecting the fetish today because my husband (who is no stranger to fetish space) has some very good points to get me thinking about this. Under the cut just cuz itâs long
(Iâm gonna use the words fetish and kink interchangeably, I know theyâre technically different but itâs both for me)
The snz kink community is a bit of an outlier even in terms of kink spaces. Most fetishes are like âyeah weâre into X, so what?â Or proud of it in some way, raising awareness even. We are so secretive itâs actually funny. And it comes down to the sense of embarrassment we all feel at being turned on by something so mundane.
But where I think it comes from, at least for me, is the non consent aspect. Bear with me.
I saw a Tik/Tok about tattoo artists and kink space, like people who are into the pain or whatever it is getting a tattoo and being weird and creepy to their artist about it. And the Tik/Tok was an artist talking about how they donât consent to you putting your kink on them like that, which I 100% agree with.
So when someone sneezes, anywhere, and I get turned on, my brain goes âoh Iâm a terrible person for including this random stranger in my kink how dare iâ. Because no one asked to make me horny, they just sneezed.
So even at home when my husband sneezes, I play it cool (much to his annoyance lol) because idk if he wants to fuck or if he just had to sneeze.
Iâve turned my husband into an absolute snzfucking monster.
You ever have your partner initiate the messy sick sex even though itâs your kink? Literally every time cuz Iâm too much of a shy bitch to ask for such things. He just does it.
And not like âoh I wanna indulge youâ, but full on âI want to lick your fucking noseâ and holy shit. Iâve now experienced having sex with another snzfucker and I can say, yall werenât overhyping.
I havenât had a real head cold in a long time (at least a year I think) but ugh itâs sexy and humiliating all at once.
I hate blowing my nose in public but I am now left with no other choice. And Iâm actually sneezing, like a lot, in triples. Which is also not something I ever want to do in public.
But once Iâm not in public, Iâm gonna milk this for all itâs worth because itâll probably be at least another year before I catch something like this instead of the usual chest cold.
Would you guys believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble? Hahahahah who the hell do I think I am??
This is a Matt & Mark fic, told in Matt's POV, which I don't think I've ever written in before. In it, Mark is sick and tries to hide it from Matt, which works exactly as well as you'd think it would. Guys, I have been writing this one alllll week which is so unlike me, and I think working on it over an extended period paid off because I honestly like it quite a bit. Matt's head was SO fun to get into, and Mark is SO fun to write miserable because he's awful at being miserable. It's a bit of a behemoth and there's no snz until over 2k words in (apologies), but I really think it's one of my better fics. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please let me know your thoughts :) :)
CW: Male snz, male illness, coughing, fever, dizziness, illness denial, chance of contagion. Sappiness. Whump. Angst. The usual. Unedited for the most part because I need to get it out and have no more time this week to look at it lol. 6.5k words under the cut.
Nowhere to Hide
Bzz, bzz.
On a Monday in May, five months after making their relationship official, Mark texted Matt to cancel their date that night. From the second he glanced at the text, Matt knew something was up.
10:21AM
Mark
hey babe, can we reschedule tonight? forgot I promised ben that I would help him with promo materials for the gig they have next week :/ I know its last minute, im sorry!!
Matt furrowed his eyebrows at his phone, the inside of his cheek held between his top and bottom teeth in concentration. Huh.
10:22AM
Matt
ofc we can reschedule :) but im also happy to help with promo stuff!! I took that graphic design class in highschool, remember? and I mean ive been hoping to meet ben, since hes like. your only friend lmao
Mark didnât respond; generally, he was the type to answer immediately, the bubbles on the bottom of their chat popping up almost the second that Mattâs message was sent. Today, though, the message didnât even get read for almost five minutes. Again, Mattâs face pinched with worry. His boyfriend was absolutely not the type to cancel a date and then abandon his phone â quite the opposite, honestly. If anything, Matt figured Mark would have responded quicker than he usually did, falling over himself with unnecessary apologies and berating himself for forgetting something like this. After seven minutes went by, Matt unlocked his phone again and stared at their chat. Mark had read his message.
Patience was not one of the virtues Matt possessed. When the bubbles didnât pop up a minute after Mark read his text, Matt pressed the video button to FaceTime his boyfriend.
Within three seconds, the call was rejected. Matt gave his phone a look of disbelief â no shot Mark rejected his call. No way. He pressed the video button again.
Brrm, brrm. Boop. Rejected.
What the fuck.
10:37AM
Matt
???
10:37AM
Matt
did I say something wrong? why are you ignoring my calls?
The texts were read immediately. This time, Mark started typing.
10:38AM
Mark
no!! im sorry, im just out right now, im driving. lets have you meet ben another day, if thats ok baby? I just know he wants to lock in on the promo stuff and I donât want him like ignoring you or smthn and then you both hate each other
Matt read the text over twice. Was Mark high or something?
10:38AM
Matt
ur driving? since when do you have a car?
The text stream went silent again. Beneath the pajama shirt he was wearing â Markâs old shirt, a Duluth tee that was near threadbare and smelled like his shampoo â Matt started to sweat. What was really going on here? Mark never canceled anything with Matt, not even if he was busy. Theyâd run errands together, been to Restaurant Supply in the middle of a date for Elijah and Greyson. Hell, Mark hadnât even canceled a date post an all-nighter helping Elijah do inventory after a crazy service. Now he couldnât do a date because he was going to be helping Ben? He was driving in Manhattan? Or⌠was he not in the city, did Ben live in the burbs? Matt couldnât remember any details Mark had given him about his high school buddy, the only guy Mark ever hung out with outside the other restaurant employees. Had they had some sort of⌠fling in high school?
Was⌠was Mark cheating on him?
The thought sent a pang through his chest that felt like heâd been pierced by an arrow. A lump formed in the back of his throat, and immediately tears welled in his eyes. He was moments away from calling again, when a new text from Mark popped up in their chat.
10:41AM
Mark
sorry, I meant im on the train. little out of it today lol, I guess anothee reason to reschedule?
And now he was sending texts with typos. Mark, Mattâs Type-A boyfriend (was there something beyond Type A? Type Pre-A? Type A-Plus?) was hastily sending misspelled texts and mistakenly saying he was driving when he wasnât. Something here didnât add up. Sighing heavily through his nose, Matt typed out a message back.
10:42AM
Matt
are you ok?
Sure, theyâd only been together officially for three months, but Matt and Mark had known one another for years. Matt figured theyâd been close for long enough that he could cut through the bullshit. And this? This situation was fucking bullshit.
10:43AM
Mark
im ok baby, sorry for canceling and being confusing. everything is fine, pls donât worry :) ill see you at work tommoro ok?
At this second typo, Matt closed their chat and stood from his bed. He pulled on the closest pair of jeans he could find, keeping the sleep shirt on and donning a hoodie over top it. He needed some air.
***
âWow, one day off in the last ten days and youâre calling me. Iâm honored, really. I didnât realize you loved work this much. Care to come in tonight?â
Matt, twenty blocks from his house at a patio table at his favorite coffee shop, rolled his eyes so hard he was sure Greyson could hear it through the phone. âFuck off, Chef,â he said, sipping his latte. On the other end, Greyson laughed.
âTo what do I owe the pleasure?â his boss asked, the bustle of the kitchen preparing for service a constant hum behind him. Matt sighed through his nose, tracing the outline of his coffee cup with a finger.
âI think Mark might be cheating on me,â he said, his voice low. Before he could even really register what heâd said, Greyson guffawed.
âMark? Are we talking about the same Mark who canât keep his hands off of you for three seconds to get through a service? The one who leaves those gay-ass little poems in your apron every day? That Mark?â
âI donât think you can say âgay-assâ like that, Chef. I think people frown on that now.â
âWhy? Iâm a gay-ass. Youâre a gay-ass. Markâs a gay-ass. The poems are gay-ass.â Greyson said, the sound of a Kitchenaid being thunked on the prep table obnoxiously loud behind him. âItâs a descriptor at that point. Not a slur.â
Matt couldnât help but snort out a laugh. âYouâre certainly an ass,â he said, prompting another laugh from his boss.
âWhatever,â Greyson said, turning on the noisy Kitchenaid and yelling into the phone. âAll Iâm saying is I would sooner bet on the moon being made of fucking brie before Iâd bet on Mark cheating on you. What the fuck even happened?â
Leaning back in the patio chair, Matt squeezed his temples between a thumb and forefinger. âHeâs being fucking bizarre, thatâs all. He canceled our date for tonight, said heâs doing some random thing with his friend, and when I asked if I could just join him he started acting weird. Heâs ignoring my calls, avoiding me. Texting fucking typos, if you can believe that. Itâs just allâŚâ Matt blew air out from between his closed lips, a soft pbbtt sound escaping them. âItâs just⌠weird. I dunno.â
For a moment, the other end of the line was silent, save for Greyson steadily chopping and Elijah coming up to ask whoâs on the phone?
âTell Elijah I said hi,â Matt said.
âMatt says hi.â
Why the fuck is Matt calling you?
âHe thinks Mark is cheating on him.â
In the background, Elijah snorted out a laugh. Put him on speaker. Then, more clearly, âMatt, Mark is not cheating on you.â
âGreyson, can you not keep anything to yourself?â Matt asked, frustrated. âSeriously.â
âSorry,â Greyson laughed. âI figured Elijah didnât count as telling someone.â A thunk in the background, then an ow! as Elijah smacked Greyson. Matt groaned. Again, he relayed the story while Elijah listened on.
âHmm,â Elijah hummed, thinking. âHave you gone to his house?â
Matt rolled his eyes. What a boomer, he thought, though he kept it to himself. âNo, he said he isnât home,â he said. âHe was on the train or in a car or in some guyâs bed.â
Elijah huffed out another laugh. âYeah, so you said. But I mean⌠Mark isnât known for being a great liar. And while youâre right, this all sounds like a lie, I agree with Greyson. Mark would rather eat glass than cheat on, like, a spelling test. I think heâd pass away before heâd cheat on you. So I mean⌠maybe just like⌠go there? See if heâs there? Because Iâd assume heâs just, like, having a freak out over something. Panicking over whether you really like him or whatever, you know how he is. I doubt heâs even left the apartment today.â
While Matt hated to admit it, that did sound like something Mark would do. He let a beat go by before he answered the two older men waiting on the other end. âAlright,â he said, standing. âOkay, yeah, maybe youâre right. Iâll⌠Iâll head over there.â
Greyson made a noise of approval. âGood man,â he said, his voice becoming clearer as he took Matt off of speakerphone. âAnd hey, he lives so close to the restaurant, if he doesnât answer you could always pop in and run middle for me!â
At this, Matt snorted. âYeah, Chef, sure. Thanks, asshole.â
âWelcome!â Greyson sang. âGood luck. Tell Mark we said âmwah, mwah.â
Matt rolled his eyes, hung up the phone. He pulled up his his uber app and typed Markâs address in. Itâll be fine, he thought to himself, everything will be fine.
***
This is a mistake.
As Mattâs uber pulled up to Markâs apartment building, he felt his insides twist like they were being coiled into a balloon animal. He nodded to the driver and stepped out of the car, his heart thumping wildly, and stood silently at the front door, trying to work up the nerve to push the call button for Markâs apartment. Why had he done this? Why did he listen to his old-ass bosses?
âJust go to his house,â Matt mumbled mockingly under his breath. âThe hell is wrong with me.â
Instead of pressing the call button, Matt took a picture of the call box outside of Markâs apartment and sent it in their text stream. Surprise? He typed out under the picture, and sent that as well. In his chest, his heart hammered ever harder.
Unlike this morning, the three dots popped up in their chat immediately after Mattâs picture went through.
Mark
12:32PM
?
Mark
12:32PM
are you at my apartment?
âFuuckk,â Matt muttered, pulling a hand down his face. Of course Mark would be pissed; who just showed up at someone elseâs house, unbidden? This wasnât the fucking eighties. Leaning on the wall of the apartment building, Matt attempted to fix what heâd done.
Matt
12:33PM
uhhh, maybe? lol.
Matt
12:33PM
you seemed a little weird this morning over text...i just wanted to make sure ur ok
Matt
12:34PM
sorry, I know thatâs kinda weird. but could I come up? just to say hi?
He waited. The bubbles took a moment to pop up after he sent his last text, but â finally â pop up they did. It took a few tries, but eventually Matt heard the bzzz of the front door unlocking. On his phone, Mark replied.
Mark
12:36PM
ok. juust donât judge the mess. hjaha
Matt clicked his phone off, the lump of worry resurfacing as he clocked more typos from his boyfriend. Maybe Mark was drunk? Elijah may have clocked it; some sort of mental health crisis day might have been underway. Maybe itâs good I came, he thought, climbing the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor. Maybe this is what he needs.
When he got to Markâs front door, though, he hesitated. It was still weird, right? That heâd come? And when Mark asked why heâd really shown up here unannounced, what would he say? Iâm a jealous little baby who wanted to make sure you werenât fucking around on me? That didnât sound great, honestly.
But also⌠he was worried. This was part of it, right? Part of loving someone. Part of being serious â you checked on each other. You reached out to each other. Matt pulled in a deep breath through his nose; he was here. Mark knew he was here. No choice but to follow through now. He knocked on the door.
It took a moment, but eventually the door clicked open to a Mark unlike Matt had ever seen him before. He was so shocked by his boyfriendâs appearance, Matt couldnât help but mutter an âOh,â as they made eye contact.
âCâmbon in,â Mark muttered, clearly embarrassed. âSorry againd.â
Matt stepped inside and took in both his boyfriend and the surrounding apartment. Markâs impossibly tall frame was stooped, his hair unwashed and greasy in his face. Around them, the apartment was certainly a mess; takeout containers and gatorade bottles littered the kitchen, the blinds were half-drawn, and on the couch there were a mess of blankets that Mark had clearly just emerged from.
Matt had never seen Mark like this; was this a mental health crisis? He took in his boyfriendâs face, the two of them not moving from the entry of the apartment. His bright blue eyes were watery, like heâd been crying, and he was deathly pale; shit. What am I supposed to do?
âAre⌠are you okay, baby?â Matt finally asked, a question that felt ridiculous given the state of his boyfriend. Mark attempted a smile, before his face faded into a look that Matt didnât recognize. Oh, fuck, is he about to cry? Fix it, dumb ass, fix it!
âIâm sorry,â Matt said, âI mean, itâs fine if youâre not okay, I was just -â
âHUHTZCHH-uhh! NnGTZCH-ue!â
Mark wrenched into a crumpled tissue Matt hadnât realized he was holding, the sneezes tearing out of him painfully. He stayed there for a moment, turned away from his boyfriend, as a flurry of congested coughs escaped him. When Mark righted himself, his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, the tissue hidden in a fist. Ohhh.
âBless you,â Matt said, carefully. Swallowing hard enough for his adamâs apple to bob up and down his throat, Mark nodded. âYouâre sick,â Matt mused, not moving from his spot. Mark coughed out a laugh.
âWhat gave it away?â he managed, swaying lightly on his feet. Feeling bold, Matt took three steps across the entryway and slid an arm around his boyfriendâs waist. Their height difference was always comical â Greyson loved to make fun of them for it â but today, it felt almost dangerous. Mark was really swaying, clearly unable to stand for much longer, and Matt wasnât sure if heâd be able to catch his boyfriend if he came toppling down. He held tight.
âCan we sit?â Matt asked, sagging under Markâs weight. Mark nodded slowly, groggily.
âYeah,â he said, untangling himself from Mattâs grip. âSorry, yeah, letâs sit.â
Carefully, Matt guided Mark back to his blanket nest and sat him down as gently as possible, flopping down next to him in the process. âYou mbay wahh â hh⌠ngh. Wandt to sit a little further awahhh â hhETSZCH-ue! Snf. âScuse mbe,â Mark grabbed a tissue from the box that was set on the coffee table in front of them, turned away to quietly blow his nose.
âBless you,â Matt said again, ignoring his boyfriendâs warning. âBaby, why didnât you just tell me you were sick?â
Mark attempted a smile, wiping the tissue beneath his nose gently. âDidnât, uh⌠didnât want to worry you,â he managed, clearing his throat. Matt scoffed.
âBabe, I hate to break it to you, but you sending cryptic-ass texts with typos galore was far more worrying than knowing that youâre sick,â he said, pushing Markâs sweaty hair off of his face. Christ, he was burning up.
Beneath Mattâs hand, Mark visibly relaxed. âFeels good,â he muttered, eyes closed. Matt moved his hand down his boyfriendâs face, cupping his hot, dry cheek. They really needed to get that fever down.
âHave you taken anything?â Matt asked, voice low. Mark shrugged.
âDidnât have andything,â he said, sniffling. âOnesec â hhhITSZCH-uhh! HIIITCH-uee!â Again, Mark collapsed into the near-ruined tissue, pained coughs on the tail of even more painful-sounding sneezes. Matt winced at the pinched, crunching sound.
âYou sound fucking awful, babe,â he said, rubbing Markâs back in slow circles. âWe really need to get you something for that fever. How did you get so fuckinâ sick, like, overnight? You seemed fine at work yesterday.â
If it was even possible, Markâs fever-reddened face deepened in color. âUmb,â he said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, âI, uh⌠Iâmb pretty good at, like. Hiding it?â He pushed his palms into his sweatpants, avoiding Mattâs gaze. âIâve felt off for, umb. I dunno. A couple days?â
Matt blanched at this admission. âA couple days? Baby, seriously, why would you hide that from me? Or Elijah or Chef? I mean, if Elijah knew you were sick Iâm sure he wouldâve sent you home. Did you feel this shitty yesterday?â
âNdo. I felt okay, today is the worst so faahhh⌠snrf. So far â hh-! HhNTSZCHH-uhh!â This time, Mark didnât have the wherewithal to fold into the tissue, opting instead to sneeze into his own lap and wipe his hands over the spray left there. Against his better judgment, Matt pulled a handful of tissues out of the box; a few to hand to Mark to clean himself up, and a few for Matt to wipe off his boyfriendâs pants. Mark flinched at the touch.
âDonât,â he said, gently pushing Mattâs hands away. âYouâll get sigck.â
âBaby, I donât care if I get sick, I think thatâs what youâre not understanding. I would rather get sick a thousand times over than know youâre alone in your apartment with no medicine, sick as a dog. Iâd rather get sick as fuck than know youâve hidden feeling shitty from me for days on end. That hurts, Mark. I donât give a fuck about getting sick, Greyson infects the rest of us like once a month, minimum.â He held his boyfriendâs face between his palms then, the heat radiating into his hands. âI really just want to be there for you. Okay?â
Mark opened his mouth to answer, but his face dissolved into a now-familiar one before he could. Before Matt could remove his hands from the other manâs face, Mark crushed his nose into his own shoulder, attempting to stifle. âHhh-TXCH! NGTSH-uhh! HRXTSH-ue!â Another gurgling, helpless sniffle. Another grating, congested cough. Matt sighed; this conversation was going to have to wait until Mark was medicated, that much was obvious.
âBless you, babe,â Matt said, handing the box of tissues on the coffee table to his boyfriend. âOkay, enough of this conversation. I need to go to the pharmacy and pick you up some shit. Youâre fuckinâ dying.â
This snapped Mark out of his stupor; his head shot up, bloodshot eyes locking desperately with Mattâs. âNdo, ndo babe you donât ndeed to get mbe anything. Iâmb fine, really, please donât -â
âMark,â Matt interrupted, a gentle hand placed on his boyfriendâs bouncing knee. âHoney. I say this with love: chill out. Iâm not being put out by you or whatever. I want to get you medicine. Alright? Whereâs the closest pharmacy to here?â
Defeated, Mark shrugged. Helpful, Matt thought, pulling out his phone and -
âFuck, you live close to, like, nothing,â he muttered, scrolling through the results google pulled up. âWhy is it all fancy-people areas have nothing helpful around? Thereâs not even, like a grocery store within a ten-block radius.â
âButlers?â Mark offered, prompting a snort from Matt.
âHow could I forget about butlers?â he asked, clicking through the apps on his phone. âOkay, either I can order a doordash thatâll be here in⌠fuck, two hours? This area, I swear to god⌠okay, not that. I can walk to this Duane Reed, and be back in like⌠an hour and a half?â He glanced up at Mark, whose white face and wet eyes betrayed exactly how he felt about Matt leaving for an hour and a half. Pivot, Matt thought to himself.
âOrâŚâ Suddenly, an idea popped into Mattâs head. He sat up straighter, smiling at Mark when it did; perfect.
âOr,â he said, âI can just run next door to Elliotâs and raid the cabinet Elijah keeps there.â
At this, Mark paled even further. âNdo,â he said, adamant. âBabe, Elijah is goigg to be so annoyed if you show up there to steal mbedicine for mbe. Iâmb okay, I promise, Iâve mbade it this long without anything, just⌠just stay with mbe.â He held tight to Mattâs hand.
In his chest, Mattâs heart ached like a vice was gripped around it. He pressed his lips together, folding his other hand over the one Mark had taken. âHoney,â he said, carefully, âI want to stay with youâI will stay with you â but we have to get your fever down. We have to get your cough under control. And Elijah wonât give a fuck, he buys all that shit for this exact situation. Itâs literally either this, or urgent care.â He shrugged in a way that he hoped conveyed this is the best idea I can come up with, please just go with it. Mark sighed, defeated.
âOkay,â he said, voice small. âBut I - I really donât wandt to be alonde. Iâmb sorry for trying to keep you away.â He looked up, feverish tears threatening to fall. âBut please donât leave mbe alonde.â
Matt pushed a hand through his hair, the lump in the back of his throat reappearing. âItâs a short walk,â he said, finally. âJust⌠letâs get you bundled up. If you can walk, you can come with me.â
***
Any hope Matt had that they could make this a quick, quiet trip was dashed the moment they stepped in the back kitchen doors.
âHh-!â Markâs breath hitched audibly, his glazed-over eyes fluttering closed as he tucked into his elbow away from Matt. âHhh-ITSZCCH-ue! Huh -! HHITSZCHH-uhh! ITSZCHH-uee!â The sneezes ripped out of him, loud enough to make Matt flinch in sympathy. Around the corner and across the kitchen, Elijahâs voice rang out at Mark attempted to recompose himself.
âJesus fucking christ⌠whoâs back there?â
Markâs face colored, embarrassment further flushing his pink cheeks. âWe should just go,â he whispered to Matt, voice thready and congested. Matt shook his head; theyâd made it here, somehow, despite the fact that Mark was swaying on his feet and couldnât get a word in edgewise without sneezing or coughing so hard he nearly fell over. Theyâd walked the two blocks over here â a five-minute stroll that had drawn itself out into a forty-five-minute diatribe â and theyâd made it in the doors. Matt wasnât leaving until Mark was medicated, whether everyone here liked it or not.
âNo,â Matt said, guiding Mark slowly through the kitchen. âWe made it here, weâre getting you medicine. Plus, you need to sit down. You look like youâre about to pass out.â
Unable to argue with that point, Mark just huffed out a sigh that immediately turned into a coughing fit. The spasms wracked his body, tore him in half and into his elbow right in the middle of the kitchen, unwilling to let up until he was nearly gagging with the effort. Slowly, carefully, Matt rubbed small circles into the small of his boyfriendâs back while Elijah and Greyson popped their heads out of the office in concern.
â...Mark?â Elijah asked, standing from his desk chair and walking towards the younger two managers. âGood lord, what are you guys doing here?â
Finally, when Mark was able to get a hold of his lungs, Matt helped him stand to his full height and answered the question for the both of them. âUm⌠well, Mark isnât cheating on me,â he said, an attempt to make light at the situation that immediately backfired when Markâs head turned on a swivel to give him boyfriend an incredulous look.
âYou⌠you thought I was cheatigg ond you?â he asked, voice breaking mid-sentence.
Oops, Matt thought, cringing. âI⌠no, baby, I was just worried because you wouldnât call me back, I didnât actually think you were cheating, I-â
âI would ndever cheat on you, Mbatt,â Mark interrupted, tears welling in his eyes. âNdever. I⌠I candât believe you would thingk -â
â- I didnât think it, baby, I was just worried, I-â
âOkay,â Elijah cut in, placing a hand on each of the boyâs shoulders. âMaybe we save this conversation for later, hmm?â He looked at Matt, then Mark, then back to Matt. âLetâs stick with the original question: what are you fucking doing here? Mark looks like heâs about to keel the fuck over, and neither of you even work today. I know weâve instilled some bad habits in you both,â at this, he looked to Greyson, still seated in the office, who held up both of his hands in feigned innocence.
âWhy am I catching strays?! Iâm not even a part of this conversation!â
âBecause you Pavlovâs Dogged our management team into thinking that they have to come to work when theyâre sick, whether theyâre on the schedule or not, apparently,â Elijah answered, turning back towards the younger men. âAnyway,â he said, âdonât you think you should be⌠home?â
Matt sighed, Mark still leaning heavily into him. âWe were at Markâs place, but he doesnât have any medicine,â Matt explained. âAnd this stupid rich people area isnât exactly rich in pharmacies, so we figured weâd come and use the in-home pharmacy.â
Elijah raised an eyebrow, confused.
âThe office,â Matt explained, gesturing that way. âWe figured itâd be easier to come here and steal some Nyquil than try and make it across town to buy some.â
âAhh,â Elijah said. âGot it. And⌠you couldnât come by yourself?â He gave Mark a once-over, taking in the chills wracking his body, his pallor and red, running nose. Mark looked down, while Matt lowered his voice to explain.
âUm⌠he didnât want to stay home alone,â he muttered. âIt wasnât a long walk.â
Finally, Elijah seemed to understand. âOh,â he said, face softening. âI see.â He turned to Mark then, grabbing him gently by the shoulder and leading him towards the office. âLetâs see if we canât get you doped up.â
While Elijah sat Mark in his office chair and began perusing the medicine drawer, Greyson exited the office and approached his sous.
âSo I was right,â Greyson bragged, slapping Matt on the back. âPer the usual.â
Matt rolled his eyes. âYou knew he was sick? Since when?â
âNot about that,â Greyson said, cringing as they watched Mark dip into the elbow of his sweatshirt to sneeze again. âYouâre going to be down so bad in a couple days, fuck. Take some Zicam or something, Iâm not letting you stay home this weekend.â
âIâll be fine,â Matt deadpanned. âWhat do you mean you were right?â
Greyson shrugged. âThat he isnât cheating on you. I mean seriously, Matt, did you really think Mark of all people would cheat? The man worships the ground you walk on.â
The lump that had made its home in Mattâs throat all day dissolved into tears that filled his eyes; he worships the ground you walk on. It wasnât an understatement, not really, and Matt knew it. From the moment they began seeing each other, Matt began receiving flowers almost weekly, had been taken on near-constant dates, and was always getting little messages from his boyfriend about how beautiful he was, how lucky Mark was to have him. There was almost nothing Matt could do wrong in Markâs eyes, it seemed â Matt was a chef, quick to anger and frustration, and Mark never took the bait to fight, always stayed cool and collected. He never made Matt feel like he was lesser than, the way Matt had always felt from the time he was a kid, never flaunted the money his family clearly had, never made Matt feel weird about the fact that he barely spoke about his fucked-up upbringing. Mark was good. Mark was everything Matt knew he didnât really deserve, but got to have anyway. He swiped under his eyes quickly, hoping Greyson wouldnât notice them fall.
âYeah,â Matt said, voice thick. âHey⌠do we still have that beef stock from the wedding over the weekend?â
Greyson knit his eyebrows, glancing over at his sous. âYeah, itâs in the freezer. Why?â
âWould you mind if I took some with me when we go?â
Before he could answer, Mark pulled both their attention back to the office. âHNTSZZCHH-uhh! Fuck, âscuse mbe, sorry,â he muttered, pulling a few tissues off of the box on the GMâs desk.
âBless,â Elijah said, placing the Nyquil in front of his floor manager. âDonât take that til you get home. Greyson, can you go into dry storage and get the Lysol spray?â
âLet me amend,â Greyson said to Matt, âweâre all going to be down so bad in a couple days.â He sighed, pulling a hand down his face. âYes, dear, Iâll go get it,â Greyson called to Elijah. Before heading to the back, he turned to face Matt. âYou can have the stock,â he said. âGo. Take care of your guy.â
Matt nodded. Take care of your guy. He would certainly try.
***
âOkay,â Matt said as they walked in the front door, âgo lie down.â
For the first time all day, Mark laughed in earnest. âWhat amb I, a dog?â he asked, the laugh quickly turning to an angry cough. In lieu of trusting his boyfriend to follow any instructions in this state, Matt guided him to the couch and gently lowered him down.
âNot a dog,â he said, pulling a blanket up over Markâs middle and turning the TV on to the Great British Baking Show. âJust bad at being sick. Obviously. This or What Not to Wear?â
âThis is good,â Mark said, eyelids already drooping. âSit with mbe?â he asked, voice giving out on the last word. Matt bit his cheek at the raw sound of his boyfriendâs voice, then leaned down and kissed his warm â not hot, thank god the ibuprofen was starting to kick in â forehead.
âSoon,â he said, holding up the Trader Joeâs bag filled with supplies from the restaurant. âJust give me a bit to put this all away. Close your eyes, love.â
Mark nodded, nearly asleep before the words even came out of Mattâs mouth. âLove you,â he muttered, swiping mindlessly under his nose. Mattâs heart ached.
âLove you,â he said back, though Mark had already begun to snore.
In the kitchen, Matt quickly and quietly got to work. The bag from work heâd filled with medicine, and more tissues, and, at Greysonâs insistence, Lysol wipes, but heâd also filled it with everything heâd need to make beef stew; carrots, potatoes, celery, even some filet scrap that he was fairly sure Greyson wouldnât notice was missing. Working his ass off in a kitchen had to come with some perks, he reasoned with himself.
Last out of the bag was the beef stock heâd made for a demi theyâd included on the filet set that the wedding over the weekend had included. Matt had spent hours babying the stock, feeding it beef bones and veal bones and fortifying it with some older stock theyâd been trying to use up. What had been borne of his babying was a rich, deep broth that frankly he couldâve just gone at with a spoon and a piece of bread. The demi it made was unreal.
Now, standing in Markâs tiny kitchen, Matt got to work. With an expert hand, one who spent thousands of hours doing it at this point, he peeled potatoes, chopping them into equal-sized chunks, then moved on to thinly slicing the celery and carrots, mincing the garlic. He carefully picked and chopped thyme, his hands moving quickly and with practiced ease. When he was younger â younger even than Greyson knew, about fifteen â Matt had begun washing dishes, doing prep at a diner; grating potatoes for hashbrowns and par-cooking bacon and chopping so many onions that the skin under his eyes was constantly red and raw from weeping. It was a hard work, but it was everything to him. It kept his mind busy, gave him a reason to step away selling pretty good weed and horrible coke. Cooking wasnât what he wanted to do when he grew up, but in all honesty the idea that he would even grow up past his teen years had been a long shot to Matt. Cooking gave him a lifeline, it changed all that. It gave him a future to consider.
And when he was nineteen â again, younger than Greyson, who thought Matt was into his mid-twenties when he brought him on, realized â and he saw that a new restaurant, a buzzy, hip restaurant that just screamed James Bear Award Winner, Michelin-bait, as it were, had opened up clear on the opposite side of town from where he worked and lived in a studio with three friends, he knew he had to work there. He got the job on the spot; the first time he knew he was worth something. Cooking hadnât been his dream, but in a lot of ways â ways different than he even knew at the time, he thought, looking over to his snoring boyfriend â it had been his destiny. And who was Matt to argue with destiny?
Matt turned the stove down, allowing the flavors to meld together, and cleaned up the small area. While the soup simmered and English people talked about soggy bottoms quietly on the TV, Matt checked his phone. One new message.
2:37PM
Chef
lij said to tell mark to stay home tomorrow, if u could let him know plss!! hope hes feeling better soon. donât get sick, ur still comin in whether u want to or not LMAO. love ya kid. enjoy the filet scrap ;)
The tears heâd been fighting all day finally coursed silently down Mattâs cheeks. Fucking Greyson. If he werenât such a player, the man wouldâve made a great dad.
Matt took a deep breath, clicked off his phone, and turned off the soup. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, composing himself as much as he could before looking for a vessel for their meal. The bowls Mark had were cereal bowls, not soup bowls, but they would do. Matt ladled out the soup and headed to the couch, gently rubbing Markâs shoulder to wake him.
âMmm?â Mark startled awake, a hand pressing deep into his eye socket beneath his glasses. âSorry, did I fall asleep?â
âYes, but donât apologize,â Matt said, setting the bowls down on the coffee table. âYouâre sick, youâre supposed to be sleeping.â
Mark huffed out a little laugh. âI guess,â he said, sitting up slowly. âDid⌠you mbake mbe soup?â
Matt blushed. âI mean, I made both of us soup. Because I figured if I just made you soup, you wouldnât eat it.â
âYou kndow mbe well,â Mark managed, taking Mattâs hand. âYou didnât have to do that. I have food here.â
Matt raised an eyebrow, amused. âProtein bars arenât food,â he laughed.
âProteind bars arenât good food,â Mark corrected him. âBut they are technically food.â
This time, they both laughed, Markâs ending once again in a soupy, productive cough that he muffled into his sleeve. âSorry,â he said again, âgross.â Matt handed him the water bottle on the coffee table, rubbed his back in slow circles.
âCan you please stop apologizing for not feeling well?â he asked, earnest. âPlease?â
âNdo prombiseehh â hh â HRTZCH-ue! Huh -! Hh⌠hhITSZCCHH-ue!â This time, Mark folded his hands over his nose and mouth, grimacing at what Matt assumed was the mess he left behind. Matt walked over to the kitchen table where heâd left the medicine and supplies, opened a box of tissues. Handed it silently to his boyfriend.
âSorry,â Mark said once again, after heâd cleaned himself up. âGod, Iâmb a fuckigg mbess.â
Matt tilted his head in a little half-nod. âKinda,â he said, prompting another laugh from Mark. âBut baby⌠thatâs okay. Youâve seen me a fucking mess. Hell, youâve taken care of me as a fucking mess like, twice since weâve started seeing each other. I donât think Iâve ever even seen you sick.â
Mark scoffed. âThatâs ndot true. Weâve worked together for years, youâve definitely seen mbe sigck.â
âI mean, yeah, Iâve like, seen you with a cold at work a couple times. But even then, you like hide from everyone. Half the time no one even knows youâre sick until youâre like forced to call out. Iâve never seen you⌠I donât know, ill. Like this.â
Shrugging, Mark began to pick at the blanket over his lap. âI mbean⌠yeah. Thatâs kinda by design.â
âBut why?â
Mark sighed stuffily. âI just⌠I donât kndow, baby. I wasnât, like, allowed to be sick as a kid. My parents werenât exactly⌠the warmbest. Itâs just what Iâmb used to. Sweat it out, alone. Put on a brave face.â
âApologize for normal bodily functions.â
A laugh. âYeah. I guess that, too.â
They sat in silence for a moment after that, letting the words sink in. Finally, Matt said, âIâm sorry for thinking you were cheating on me. Iâm not used to having things work out. Or be good. Or whatever.â
Mark looked at his boyfriend. Gave a little smile. âYou deserve good things,â he said. The lump reappeared, and Matt looked down while Mark placed a hand over his. âItâs okay,â he said. âIâmb sorry for⌠hiding. Ndot telling you. I shouldâve told you.â He squeezed Mattâs hand then, and Matt squeezed back. âIâmb sorry.â
Matt looked up at his boyfriend â his miserably ill, pale, red-eyed boyfriend. His sweet, tender boy. Never had he ever felt such affection for someone. It was scary, to feel this much, to have something to lose. He knew that Mark felt that, too.
âItâs okay,â Matt said, pulling Mark in for a hug. Against what Matt knew was his boyfriendâs better judgment, he hugged back, held Matt tight until he was once again forced to pull away to -
âHRTSZCHH-uee!â Unable to get to his elbow, Mark sneezed into the space between the two men, their laps misting with spray. âGod, youâre gonna get so fuckigg sick,â Mark muttered, swiping under his nose and looking up at Matt with those big, apologetic eyes. âLike so fuckigg disgustingly sick.â
Matt shrugged, leaned in to kiss Markâs hot, wet lips. âOh, well,â he said, a hand placed on his boyfriendâs cheek. âAt least Iâll have someone to ride it out with.â
Without pulling away, Mark closed his eyes, a smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. âYeah,â he said. âYou will. You always will.â
A few sneezes i recorded for a friend (plz ignore my ratty robe) đ i learned that plastic wrap stuff works WAY better for me for inducing without the need for chhinkni soâŚ.more soon?
