Character A has been incredibly consumed by their work/studies recently. They've always been dedicated to their craft, but as of late it's been pushing into unhealthy territory. Character B is starting to get worried about them, but no matter what they say or do, A can't be persuaded to take a break. Any questions or concerns are dismissed with a curt "I'm fine," "Don't worry," or, worst of all, "I can't talk about this right now, there's too much to do." It breaks B's heart, to see A put themselves in such a state. If they don't do something about it, they'll damn near work themselves to death. At their wits end, B decides to play on A's one weakness. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
B roots around in their bathroom cabinet until they find what they're looking for: a bottle of lavender perfume, barely used. A bought it for them years ago, before they knew about B's allergies, and for some stupid, sentimental reason, they kept it around. Now, it'll finally find some use. B sprays a little on their wrists and a little on their neck, before heading off to find A, who's hunched over their laptop in the living room.
They don't offer any greetings when B enters. In fact, they don't even look up. B plops down on the sofa and picks up a book, flicking idly through the pages like it's a regular Thursday night. It's only about a minute until they start sniffling - soft, at first, and then harsher, as the tingling sensation starts to build. They notice A's eyes dart over to them for a split second, before returning to the screen and, encouraged by this brief attention, they breath deeply through their nose, willing the tickle to climax.
"K'sh!" It's small, sharp and breathy, but apparently not interesting enough for A, who simply mutters a distracted "Bless you," still frowning at their work. B is disappointed, but not surprised. They knew it would take a little more than that. Hesitantly, they raise their wrist to their nose, and scrub.
Their breath immediately snags, and they're thrown into a haze of helpless hitching. And maybe the "Ih... hih'hhih... HAH-" is slightly exaggerated, but at least they've finally got A's attention, who is watching them out of the corner of their eye like they're not quite sure if it's worth turning a single degree more than they have to.
B tips their head back a little, eyelids fluttering, until finally - "Ha'ksh!" They pitch forward into their steepled hands. "K'shh! K'shiew! Ah... heh... heh'ISH!"
"Bless you," A says again. They've twisted in their chair to stare at B now, a mixture of confusion and concern on their face.
B tries to thank them, but they're in the throws of the fit now, and they can barely rush out a breathless "Thhhank-" before it morphs into a "t'schuh!" And another: "Hih'shoo!" And another: "TISHyiew!!"
A plucks a tissue box up from the side table and sits down beside them, sliding a comforting arm around their shoulders. "God, B, are you alright?" B frantically grasps for a tissue, blinded by sneezes and irritated tears. A pulls one from the box and holds it firmly to B's nose. "There, now," they murmur gently. "Get it all out."
And there it is - precisely what B was hoping for. A's natural instinct to assume the role of caretaker can always be relied upon to override just about any other occupation.
When at last the sneezing slows, B slumps against A, panting between coughs. "Sorry," they choke out, "I-I think something set me off." As if to emphasise this, they let out one last "Ih'ksh!"
"That must have been quite the 'something,'" A hums sympathetically, pressing a palm to B's forehead as if to check for any other symptoms. "Poor thing. You'll feel better after your shower. Wash that itch away."
B sniffles pitifully. Through lowered lashes, they whisper, "Will you come with me?"
For a moment, A's eyes flash with - suspicion, perhaps? But it's gone in an instant, replaced with an affectionate smile, and a kiss on the nose. "Of course, love."