An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: General Audiences
Tags: Loop, Allegory, Character Study
Words: 748 Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
"Once, a long time ago, a Traveler jumped into a pit.
He tried to jump back out, but the pit was too deep. He tried to climb out, but the dirt walls crumbled under his fingers.
'Oh no,' they lamented. 'Woe is me! I'm stuck in a blinding pit for some reason!'"
Fandom: I/ron L/ung + P/roject H/ail M/ary (Crossover)
Pairing, AU: B/loodyM/ary, crossover AU where S/imon is saved by G/race and R/ocky
Spoilers: to be safe, blanket warning for both films (but I/ron L/ung especially)
Length: ~6.0k
Summary: R/yland shares something special with S/imon, which ends up having unexpected consequences. (based on this post)
Includes: sneeze fetish content, allergies, inducing, mess, hurt/comfort themes, crying, praise, a sprinkling of whump (and angst)
Notes: If you told me 7 months ago that I would be pouring my energy this year into writing fetish fic for a popular crack ship featuring one guy played by M/arkplier and the other by R/yan G/osling, I would’ve said you were out of your fucking mind. And yet here we are. Lord have mercy. Disclaimer that I'm using my best judgement/referencing what’s most popularly accepted on anything lore-related to I/ron L/ung in this thing, so if I turn out to be completely wrong when it's fully explained then so be it! Second disclaimer that there's probably some things in here that scientifically Do Not make sense and I'm very aware of this. Idk man, I’m just here to be gay and have fun playing with my toys :) as they say: whatever, go my bullshit!!!!
Fic Masterlist
The scene reflected in his eyes like crystal panes. A tree climbed and stretched out wide and endlessly above him, with a brilliant sky to fill the space behind it. Long branches swayed about in the wind, leaves shuddering. Brilliant spots of sunlight flashed in and out of view. Somewhere beyond the hiss of the breeze, there was a faint but distinct tingling of wind chimes.
It could've been real to him, if the floor beneath him wasn't so hard. Simon’s fingers flexed, searching for soft grass or dirt, but there was only a smooth, cold surface to greet him. If only.
He laid flat on his back at the center of the room, entranced. The digital display surrounded him at every angle, arching over him in a dome-like fashion. How long had he been laying like this? He honestly wasn't sure. It didn't matter.
He did badly want to believe it was real. Well, not that it was real, in the here and now. Rather that the footage itself was real, that it came from a real place like Ryland said. A planet teeming with trees and plant life the likes of which he hadn't seen in ages. Plenty he'd never seen at all. It didn't seem possible that this could exist anywhere after the stars died.
Faintly, Simon could hear an energetic exchange between two voices somewhere else on the ship. One voice human, the other a computer. Ryland and Rocky. It was from far enough down the corridor that he couldn't make out words, but the inflection implied their usual antics. He'd become acquainted with their dynamic in a short period of time. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Quite the pair, those two.
Things went quiet, isolating him back to the ambience flowing out of the speakers around him. Then, he could make out footsteps, human ones, steadily making their way down the corridor.
They stopped when they got close enough for Simon to feel the vibrations through the floor. “So you are still here,” Ryland’s voice said from above and behind him.
“Yeah.” Simon’s eyes chased the sunlight that would flash in and out of view as the branches continued shifting around. His focus remained uninterrupted even when Ryland sat down at his side, quietly watching with him.
“You're liking the nature views, huh?”
“Yeah. Nice to see trees again.” Simon blinked and finally looked at Ryland. His blue eyes softened as he met his gaze, and Simon nearly lost himself in them. Like an ocean, threatening to sweep him into the tides- that wasn't the most pleasant thought after everything he'd gone through, actually.
Simon’s gaze flicked more uncomfortably about the room. “We had one, in Eden,” he went on.
“Just one?”
“Yeah. After the Quiet Rapture, anyways.” He rested his arm across his torso, where he began to toy with the lower hem of his shirt. “It was special, somehow. We treated it like this… I dunno. A symbol of life, I guess.” That was how it had started, anyways. “They taught us that we were meant to sacrifice everything for it. When our own blood spilled, it would be the soil to grow more trees. Thousands of them.”
Ryland looked at him again, pondering his words. “Must've been some tree.” The sadness and shock lingering behind his glasses didn’t carry into his voice. Simon wondered what he was actually thinking.
“You said you still have them growing everywhere on Earth, though?”
“Yep. Tons of plants, actually. At least when last I saw it. That was… a while ago,” Ryland added.
Right. They had their own star problem in progress.
“Wish I could see it.” Sadness gripped Simon’s own features for a second as he spoke.
Ryland leaned forward, hugging one knee to his chest. He looked to the left. “You can see it here in some way, at least.” He pointed at the screen, where the footage diverted into a proper field. Tiny pops of color were speckled throughout the tall grass.
Simon turned his head. His expression held even, but the light in his eyes brightened. “Wildflowers, right?”
“If I had to guess.”
“They’re beautiful,” Simon breathed. He swallowed hard before he shifted, struggling his way into an upright, seated position. With one arm missing and the other still sore, it would take time before such maneuvers felt effortless again.
The effort was worth it though, to see the field straight on. The breeze disturbed the grasses not unlike the tree branches, causing a ripple to cascade through. The flowers bobbed around in tandem, like a dance of nature. Simon blinked wetness from his eyes, swallowing again.
“So… did you have any other plant life on Eden?” Ryland spoke up again.
“Mm-hm. I remember seeing certain flowers, at one time. They were too delicate to survive, though.” A stronger wind cut through, causing the blossoms to sway and bounce in more turbulent fashion. “There were succulents that managed to adapt without light, at least.”
“Mm.”
They sat in peaceful silence for a moment, both watching, pondering, yearning for home when home was still conceivable as something they couldn’t lose. Wind chimes sounded again from somewhere distant, beyond what the camera displayed.
Ryland suddenly gasped. “Wait. Simon. Oh, my God. I forgot to show you. I can't believe I forgot.”
“Hm?”
“There's plants on this ship. Actual plants.”
Simon blinked. He finally looked to find Ryland already back on his feet. “Really?” He frowned. Was this some kind of trick? Would Ryland really do that to him?
“Yes! Yes, c’mon. I'll show you.”
Simon took the hand Ryland offered to him and pulled himself to his knees. He moved in slow motion, joints still aching just enough to leave him unsteady.
“How is that possible?” Simon said through a grunt, pushing off the ground from one knee.
“Grow lights! Plus some care from yours truly,” Ryland said. The footage continued to play behind them as Simon followed him out of the room. It had been dubbed the Don’t go crazy room, which he found fitting. He'd been spending a lot of time there the last few weeks for a reason, after all.
“There were a ton of seed packets sent up with us. Or with me, anyway. A few didn't grow well but the ones that survived are doing great!” Ryland rambled on as he led Simon down the corridor that linked to the observation room. “I'm not totally sure why specifically they were sent with. Most of what's growing isn't meant to be eaten. I like to think they were sent along for some form of enrichment, maybe. Like a callback to home.”
A callback to home, huh? Simon quietly let that settle in the context of his own past. How foreign.
As they approached the observation room, Ryland suddenly stopped. There was a door to his right, one which Simon couldn't recall ever opening, now that he was facing it.
“Here. Take a look.” Ryland hit a button and the door slid open, revealing a small room. It was akin to a large closet or a small storage unit in size, surrounded with walls of white not unlike the rest of the Hail Mary. There wasn’t much to see, except for some garden supplies secluded into one corner of the room. Simon leaned to look further in, all the way to the left where he saw–
Simon’s eyes widened. What resembled a shelving unit was built into the wall, structured out of a glass-like, transparent plating. Neon, purple lights cast streaks of dazzling neon over the surfaces, making it seem as if the entire unit was aglow. And there were plants. So many plants, lined up like soldiers along the width of each shelf.
Many of them were green, leafy, but as Simon moved his eyes throughout, he spotted blossoming varieties of different colors. Some were as small as sprouts, others big enough that they looked ready for repotting.
He stood in the doorway, unmoving. Ryland held out a hand.
“C’mon. They don’t bite.”
Surely they were fake, right? For as many explanations as Ryland had already provided him, it didn’t seem possible. How could plants survive out here?
How did Simon himself survive, though? Was he even alive? He was almost certain he was. Maybe. Probably.
He needed to get used to the idea that anything was possible, now that he was here.
Simon numbly stepped into the room and approached the shelving. The plants looked real enough up close. He reached a shaking hand out and touched one, a viney thing that spilled over the edge of its pot and dangled down as it grew. The leaves were pale green and white, and they curled playfully around the tip of his finger.
It wasn't plastic or fabric. It was organic. It was alive.
Simon's eyes, one dark and one crimson, were unblinking as he looked down at it. So quiet, unassuming. Fragile too. Like looking in a mirror, if a mirror could turn back time.
This was life. He was standing face to face with life, life he was so certain had been lost forever. Life he had at one time cherished. A broken memory of the better part of his childhood struggled to resurface behind his eyes, blurry. No, wait, his vision itself was blurry. Why…?
“Si?”
Ryland’s voice pulled him back to the present. His eyes stung. Simon stepped back, suddenly aware of moisture streaking either side of his face. He blinked until he could see clearly again, sending more tears spilling down over his cheeks. He quickly brought his hand up, bewildered as he wiped them away.
He could sense that Ryland was standing behind him, closer than before and yet maintaining a wary distance.
“Sorry, I just…” Words caught uselessly in his throat, thick with emotion. “I didn't think I would ever see this again. Ever since…” He couldn't stop thinking about it, that he shouldn’t even be standing here now. He shouldn’t have even had the chance to see this again, even if he had believed it might be possible someday.
His breath hitched, nearly spilling into a sob. Something like panic unfurled beneath his sternum as he relived what should’ve been his final moments. Pain, so much pain. Excruciating pain. Thick, hot blood dragging him under, filling his lungs. Unruly voices screaming in his head, the Eel’s, his own, someone else’s, he wasn't really sure, he couldn't breathe–
A hand touched his shoulder. Ryland's hand.
Without thinking, Simon latched onto his fingers with his own, feeling them out as though he'd never touched them before.
Right. He'd woken up here. Alive. He was here. Ryland was here. Even the stars were–
Simon parted his lips for a shaking gasp. “I know. I– I know.” They stood still like that for a moment. Simon carefully timed and counted his breaths in and out, until the tightness in his chest loosened. Tears still fell from his eyes, slower.
“Thank you. For showing me this,” Simon finally said, breaking the silence with a voice gone hoarse. He hadn't let go of Ryland's hand. He didn't want to, if he didn't need to.
Ryland stepped closer, standing at his left, but he didn't let go either. “I figured this would mean something to you.” Simon held his gaze for a moment, frozen, lost in ocean blue again.
He should say something. One of them needed to say something. He–
“I can tell you about all of them. Um, if you like.” Ryland did the honor of breaking the tension. His hand did slip out of Simon’s grasp now, but slowly, as though hesitant to let go.
Simon sniffled and wiped at his face once more. “Yeah. I'd like that.”
Ryland had such a way of explaining anything and everything, he'd come to find. There was something nearly intoxicating in how he'd ramble, so animated and excited regardless of the topic. It was clear to him why he'd taken up teaching as a career. He was meant for it.
The angst remaining in his chest melted away as he focused on Ryland’s commentary about this plant, that plant, and so forth. It occurred to him how many of these plants he'd actually never seen before, beyond a drawing in a book or a description in writing. Even before the Quiet Rapture, his homeland's environment had limitations in what could thrive there.
“How do you know so much about all of these?” Simon interrupted, eventually.
Ryland gave him a sheepish smile. “To be honest, a lot of it is what I could learn from the seed packets themselves. And some personal observations, although internet access has come plenty in handy.” He looked back to the plants. “I guess I found it soothing to care for them. And it’s a good challenge to learn and memorize what works for which ones– some of these guys are pretty unique, heh. Plus, considering all the supplies were here to make it happen, I figure it’s what I was intended to do.” His smile wavered. “It… helped keep me busy after I first woke up. I couldn't remember much about myself, and it was honestly kind of scary. This was a good routine to have until Rocky found me.”
Simon’s eyes traced over the pot directly in front of him, from which brilliant, purple-blue blossoms sprouted up. “I get it. Plants are soothing to work with.” He sniffed and passed a hand under his nose, chasing away a faint itch. “They make good company.”
“You said they were scarce where you're from though, right?”
“Yes and no… the environment wasn’t great for a lot of things to survive. But what we could grow was important to keep alive.” Simon bit his lip, brow knitting together. “I would've liked to be a botanist, or somethin’ like that,” he blurted out. “I… I wanted to study them. Maybe figure out how to maximize their survival, and in turn, ours.
But I was still young then, and that was before, well…” Simon trailed off, leaving a multitude of things unsaid that Ryland already knew anyway. They didn't need to revisit that sad story right now.
“What was the environment like though? During your childhood,” Ryland asked.
Simon cleared his throat, but an irritation still clung to his soft palette. Was the air really so dry in here? “Think desert. Lots of sand and dust. Light was limited on Mars compared to what you’d probably see on Earth, though. Eden was darker yet.”
Ryland’s attention was fixed to the very top shelf, where the purple grow lights were absent, yet the plants seated there appeared to be doing well.
“I bet these guys up top would've done well where you were.” He reached up for one of the smaller pots, a plant made up of tall, long green leaves that stretched stiffly upward. “This one's a snake plant. They don't need any light to grow. And barely any water. Neat, right?”
Ryland continued on, first about the snake plant, and then the rest of the plants that lived next to it. They were mostly succulents, which Simon was intimately familiar with. He was content to let Ryland talk like he’d never seen them before though. The few that he touched were smooth and cool beneath his finger tips, just how he remembered.
A callback to home. He echoed Ryland's earlier phrasing in his mind. It settled there easier this time.
On and on he went. Nearly an hour had passed by the time Ryland started to lose steam. Each and every pot that had a plant in it was covered, from the basic, most important things to know, to more trivial remarks. How he needed to re-pot one soon, deadhead another, and so on.
Simon listened just as intently, seated on the paneled floor now as they focused on the bottommost shelf. The urge to paw at his face was however proving to be a frequent and useless occurrence. An itch stubbornly floated just inside his nostrils, and in his throat, a tickle. What was irritating him so much…?
“How do you keep track? Of what gets watered when, I mean,” Simon said, a knuckle pressing to his septum.
An urge to sneeze suddenly surfaced. Simon flared his nostrils and held his breath, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to interrupt. Perhaps it was the intimacy that the size of the room imposed, being one of the smallest spaces he’d occupied so far on this ship.
“Nothing special, to be honest,” Ryland answered. “Just a lot of reminders I’ve set to go off. It’s especially helpful for the guys on the top who only need water every two weeks.”
Two more times did Simon resist an urge to sneeze before Ryland was wrapping up. In the short period of time that had passed, whatever was plaguing his respiratory system increasingly got on his nerves. He was just beginning to feel restless when Ryland helped him to his feet, and Simon stepped back out into the hall, distracted.
Having reasonable space now between him and Ryland, he was intent on finally letting loose. Except now that he was trying, the actual sneeze itself just would not come.
With a frustrated huff, Simon squinted up at the lights above. Usually that worked, when he was already on the edge. Not this time. He'd just sighed out his defeat again when Ryland caught up to him, the door leading to the plants closing behind him. Simon rubbed his eyes.
“Simon, I was thinking… how would you like to take care of them?”
He paused. “You mean the plants…?” He turned to face Ryland, brow raised.
Ryland nodded. “I dunno if it counts as proper botany, but if it would fulfill you…”
Simon stood frozen as he tried to comprehend the true weight of what Ryland had just offered to him. “That would be– I mean– thank you, Ryland. I’d– I’d love that,” he finally managed to say. He really would, and he nodded before repeating himself, “I'd really, reallyhih…hhhffuck–”
Correction: tried to repeat himself. Simon rolled his eyes as the itch suddenly swelled mid-sentence, only to retreat at the last second. As he swiped his hand aggressively under his nose, his eyes welled, the sensation prickling up behind them now too.
Now he had to wipe his eyes. And then his nose again. This was getting obnoxious.
Ryland made a noise of sympathy. “Oh, Simon… I didn't mean to make you cry again–”
“I'm not. I-I just…” Another wave of tears took up residence on his water line. Meanwhile, the tingling in his sinuses reared again, this time enough to heave his chest with a breath inward– “hhHgh–! Huh…”– only to leave him hanging again. Moisture threatened to escape his nose now too, which he stubbornly sniffled back. “Snff, I keep feeling like I have to sneeze buhht I- hhH–! Fuck, I can't,” he finally managed to say. Heat scorched the tips of his ears as he realized how ridiculous he must look, breath uselessly catching and dripping from multiple channels.
Ryland seemed unfazed, however. He just frowned at him for a moment, looking him over. A thoughtfulness suddenly crossed his features. “Simon… do you have allergies?”
“What? Ndo, I don’t… snfff, think so…” He spoke in starts and stops as he rubbed frustratedly at his nose. And then his eyes again. Hell, even his ears itched, deep inside. Simon bit back another curse word. Why was everything so fucking itchy…? He desperately wished he was still equipped with another hand, just so he could tag team his nose and eyes at once. He settled for pinching at the bridge of his nose, thumb and pointer nails digging into his tear ducts.
It was then that Ryland grabbed his wrist, hesitantly at first. “Hey. Don't do that, Si.” Reluctantly, Simon let him pull his hand away, biting back a cough as he cleared his throat once more. “You’ll just make it worse. Trust me.”
“What would I be so ahh-hh–!” Simon hopefully flickered another glance at the lights above. The tickle burned hotter, and yet not hot enough. “...Ahhhllergic to adnyways?” he lamely finished.
“I think it might be the plants. The flowers.”
That made him blink, briefly pulled out of his torturous haze. “But I’ve never–”
“How long has it been since you’ve really encountered any pollen? Your immune system might not be taking it well.” Ryland gave him a look of sympathy. “I'm allergic too. Not to any of the plants up here. I was careful about what I personally planted, but back at home…” he trailed off, leaving an image of a miserable, itchy, sneezing Ryland to Simon’s imagination.
He wished he could sneeze. He should’ve taken the chance earlier, when it had seemed imminent.
His hand trembled in Ryland’s as the itch started to grow again. “Hhhow long do I have to put up with this?”
“It should get better now that we aren’t in the room. I can give you an antihistamine too, although… you look like you’d be better off sneezing some first.” Ryland watched as he hitched uselessly again, expression somewhere between amusement and a sympathetic wince. “I know how frustrating that is. Have you tried looking at a light?”
“T-twihh-twice already. Ndo good.” The deeper tones of his voice wavered up into a desperate pitch. His nose threatened to leak again, and against Ryland’s advice, he stole his hand back, scrubbing at it with the base of his palm. Warm to the touch, his nose was surely adopting a shade of pink that he was only saturating further. Right then though, he couldn't find it in himself to care.
Ryland bit his lip, touching a hand to his chin. “I mean, you could try to…” His expression tightened further. “Normally I would never suggest this, as it’s liable to make things worse before they get better, but… just wait here.”
Simon watched in confusion as Ryland suddenly disappeared back into the room where the plants were kept. He had something in his hand when he came back out. A sprig of something purple. Lavender?
“I can't guarantee this won't just make you more uncomfortable. But it might boost your histamine response enough to sneeze.”
Simon understood the idea. “Whatever. J–hhhust as long as I do.”
Even through partially blocked nasal passages, he could already smell it. He’d noticed it before when he was in the room, but this close to his face, it was far more concentrated. A scent sitting between floral and herbal, it seemed to caress his senses with innocence.
Simon had a feeling it was not so innocent though, now that he was face to face with it. Ryland brought it close enough for him to inhale, and he sniffed it deeply, once, twice for good measure. And…?
He felt nothing at first. Until it hit him, and it hit him hard, like a punch in the face. Invisible to the naked eye, every individual pollen grain danced like a colony of fire ants under his skin. Crawling, biting, itching so fiercely he couldn’t think about anything other than how badly he wanted to sneeze.
Ryland was right. Bad idea. Really bad idea.
“Hihhgh– whatthefuhh-fuckhidh–! hHH–!” His breath hitched so hard and fast he nearly coughed, nostrils flaring to their widest. He thought it was bad before, but this? Nothing could compare. The sensation skyrocketed to immeasurable levels, buzzing and tickling and rushing its way to every corner of his very existence.
He hoped the payoff would be worth it.
“HEHH’dt–!” The urge took him with such ferocity he forgot how to properly submit. Simon’s head bobbed down, but the rush of air caught in his throat uselessly. “hih–ghH…!” And it hurt. His arm instinctively hugged his midsection, bracing for another bout of pain.
“HHEHh’gt–!” Again, he was unsuccessful. Pressure throbbed in his temples, sinuses, and throat. His lungs shuddered under his still healing ribs. Yet, the need to sneeze remained at critical mass, untouched. Overwhelmed and dizzy, Simon stumbled back into the wall behind him.
A hand touched his back. Ryland stood at his side, speaking quietly into his ear, “Just relax, Simon. You’ll feel a lot better.” His hand rubbed between Simon’s shoulders in slow, soothing motions.
“I’mb t-tryig’– hhHH–!” Whether it was Ryland’s gentle command subconsciously at work, or his equally gentle touch loosening his posture in just the right way, his body finally remembered how to sneeze properly. “hHHR’ESHhhh–ih–!” Perhaps too properly. A harsh, angry sound split out of him through gritted teeth, tearing at his throat. His abdomen clenched tighter with white hot pain.
Above the misery though, he would've groaned in relief- if the relief of finally sneezing had lasted longer than a half second. One proper sneeze was simply not enough to tame the wildfire burning at the center of his face now, and he was gearing up for another before he could even recover from the first.
“hH, huhhH–!” Simon’s gills fluttered at either side of his neck, furiously forcing air back into his lungs. He felt a shift within his sinuses as he tilted his head back– a warning sign that the next one would be far more productive. “hhehH–! hHEGHH-SCHeuhh–! Gh–!”
Fuck. Fuck, shit–
It bent him at the waist, spraying and spilling snot down onto his upper lip. That was where the problem came in. That in his mindless haze, he raised an arm to catch and cover himself– his left arm. The wrong arm. The one he didn’t have.
This was a recurrent issue, trying to use it when it wasn’t there. He hadn’t gotten used to its absence and so far feared he never would.
Simon was able to open his eyes for a second, as he realized his mistake. He’d caught his own shirt in the crossfire, the fabric speckled with wet spots. Worse, he’d caught Ryland too, who was still hovering beside him, hand still rubbing his back.
“Ohh, shhit, Ryland, I’m sih– sorrihhH–huHH–!” He could barely apologize before he cycled back into the fit. “hHHR’SCHHhieuhh–!” Where they initially tore at his throat, they'd evolved to pull from a higher, more desperate pitch in his voice register. He wasn't sure he could ever sneeze like this if he tried. Not the sound, nor the pattern- it was unlike anything he'd experienced ever before.
“Don’t apologize, Simon… It's okay. There, yes, just like that…”
There was that too.
Ryland’s voice in his ear sent a shudder down his spine, one which he couldn’t grasp enough clarity to acknowledge the implication of. “hiEHH–SHIEuuhh–!” His arm– the good one, which he’d managed to raise after his initial fuck up– was instantly drenched. There was no space for him to be mortified about it. He couldn't even find the time to whine at the pain shooting sharply through his sides, over and over. All he could do was keep– s-sneezing–! “hhHRH’ESCHHh–!”
His knees threatened to buckle. In fact they did, partially, and not just because he was lightheaded. For as strange as the circumstances were, this was the first time in a long, long time that words of praise were sweetly touching his ears. Before this, for most of his life, he'd only known voices that spat out propaganda and command after command, until he'd been molded into the perfect weapon they desired. The hand touching his back now too, would've been cold back then. Stained in sin, guiding him only to fight and maim, for whatever he'd been brainwashed into thinking it was worth.
But now, someone was being gentle with him. Yes, unapologetically gentle with him, Simon the Butcher, Simon the Convict. Did he really deserve this?
His knees buckled further. Ryland noticed him stumble. “Whoa, careful…!” His other arm hooked around his front, catching and pulling Simon towards him, mindful of his still tender ribs. He turned him around, holding him upright against him, chest to chest–
“Rhhyland, what’re you– I still hhhave to–” Simon gritted his teeth, eyes burning as he fought against another sneeze. He was painfully aware of how close he was to the other man, how firmly he was holding him at his hips, and the way he couldn’t help but lean into him despite his instincts telling him to resist. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to let go but smack dab between them.
“Let it out. It’s okay. I've got you,” Ryland assured.
Simon’s hand trembled as it grabbed the closest thing it could find– the bottom hem of Ryland’s shirt. He held that handful of fabric like a lifeline as another sneeze shuddered through him. “hHHh…ehHH’SCHHIUehh–!” Ow, ow, ow. A sharp ache ran through his shoulders this time as he tucked his chin to his own chest, reluctant for Ryland to witness any part of this so close to him.
Ryland wanted nothing of the sort though, apparently, as his arm maneuvered over the back of his neck. He pulled Simon in even further, obliterating the space between them. “hh…dhHh…!” He wheezed into his shirt, inhaling Ryland’s scent, something so familiar and yet never hitting his senses at a dose as high as this. Simon's head spun. “hhEEHH’MMFSChh–!” He had no choice but to sneeze into the fabric, into his chest. All but melting into him.
“Good, Simon. Breathe. Good. Bless you.”
Maybe he would melt away, if he kept talking to him like that. The soft cotton offered a relief he didn’t know he needed, and Simon quickly found himself freely muffling sneezes against him, bracing his full weight against Ryland’s taller form. Completely and utterly anchored to him.
Eventually, finally, the space he had to recover between sneezes began to lengthen. The fire in his sinuses died down to embers, diluting into a dull throb that climbed up between his eyes. The onset of a massive headache, he was certain.
He maintained his face against Ryland’s chest for a moment, breathing heavily. Ryland continued drifting sweet nothings into his ear.
It was over. He could stop with the praise now, Simon thought. And yet, he did nothing to indicate that to him.
When he finally had the strength to lift his head, the air was cold against his face where moisture still clung to his skin. “Oh– shit–” he hissed when he saw the mess he'd made. A massive wet spot darkened the fabric across Ryland’s chest. At the center, it was glossy, and Simon recoiled in further shame.
“Better now?” Ryland was smiling at him. Smiling after he'd turned him into the equivalent of a human snot rag. Did anything make this guy cringe?
“But your– your shirt, I'mb sorry I–”
“It can be washed.” Ryland blinked, suddenly seeming to notice how close they were still pressed. He didn't move though. “I didn't realize you'd have such a reaction. I’m surprised Rocky didn’t come running to see what the matter was, heh. That sounded intense.“
Simon nearly flinched from the sudden rush of heat running under his cheeks. “I-intense, yeah,” he stammered. His hand still clung to Ryland’s shirt with a white knuckle grip. He couldn't find it in himself to relax yet. “I thought I would break another rib if I– oh–”
The words got stuck in his throat as Ryland’s hand suddenly moved up his back, all the way to the nape of his neck. Gently, he scratched at his scalp, fingers intertwining with dark, messy locks of hair. Simon closed his eyes to hide how they rolled with euphoria that could drop him to his knees, if he let it.
Ryland’s hand slowly made its way to the top of his head, where he continued stroking his hair. Then, abruptly, he stopped. “Sorry. Is this too much?”
Simon blinked open his eyes. He kept his vision level with Ryland’s chest, close enough that he could make out the miniscule vibrations of his heartbeat. It was elevated. Was he nervous? “Ndo. Ndot at all, snff,” Simon finally said. Ugh. How could he still be so congested after that?
Satisfied, Ryland’s hand continued its delicate massage, sending goosebumps cascading over Simon’s skin. “I'm sorry the plants made you so miserable,” he said, eyes focused on the wall behind them.
“It was worth it. I think,” Simon said, the corner of his mouth twisting. “I suppose I shouldn't be the one taking care of them, though…”
“Hey, it's not the end of the world. We can try some antihistamines and see how you fare,” Ryland quickly assured. “Maybe we could separate them out too. Whatever ones don’t bother you could be yours, and I’ll do the rest.” He glanced at the door, continuing on, “The air might circulate better too if we leave the door open, so long as our gravity is active. Plus, you have to remember we were in there for a while. That’s a lot of exposure time…”
Simon knew it wasn't much, what he was describing. It wasn't as if shifting some plants around or digging out some pills for him was the equivalent of uprooting his entire life as he knew it. But it may as well have been. No one had done much of anything for him in this realm, at least not since he was…
He usually felt the absence at the right side of his chest, where he used to wear the holster his mother had given him. Prior to when he had to part ways with it on the SM-13, he always had it on, even after the blade inside had been confiscated by the COI.
It had once served as a grounding tool for him. Something for him to nervously grab and rub his thumb over. Slow, soothing motions over smooth, dark leather. He wasn’t reaching for it now though, he realized. He just held on to Ryland instead. Ryland, who was treating him with more kindness than anyone he'd ever known, besides her.
“You keep telling me you aren’t an angel, but I still think you’re lying to me.” The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them.
Ryland stopped his rambling and stared at him with owlish eyes. He grinned as he spoke, “I'd only be lying to you if I told you I was.”
Simon bit his lip. His heart pounded in his ears. Why did his chest feel so tight right now? Residual allergy symptoms, right? Surely that was it.
“There’s more to life than what you’ve known, Simon. And I'll show you as much of it as I can.”
Everything stopped. The air left his lungs. His eyes burned fiercely again. Simon suddenly couldn’t bear to look at him, so he did the only thing he could think to: press in close, cling to him with an arm around the waist, stiffly until both of Ryland’s arms returned the embrace.
They stood like that for a while. Way longer than they needed to. Simon wasn’t completely sure what that meant. Did Ryland know? His pulse was still heightened, beating nervously against Simon’s ears.
Maybe he was just as uncertain, and yet embracing it all the same. Maybe Simon could do that too.
He was forced to break away finally, once the congestion shifted and he was incessantly sniffling again. Not sneezing though, which he was grateful for. His sides still ached.
“Let’s get you something for your allergies. Then maybe I can show you more plants, virtually. I'll bet Rocky wants to see them too.”
“I’d like that a lot, Ryland.”
Simon stopped to glance back at the door leading into the plant storage. He had a vision of himself, calm, at peace, tending to them inside. Not a memory of his younger self, but a vision of the not so distant future. And he wasn’t alone. Ryland was there. So was Rocky.
A traveler and a researcher meet at a Vaugardian inn. Siffrin has never been the type to get close to strangers, but maybe that can change. When in Vaugarde, right?
Rating: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationship: Odile/Siffrin
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Pre-pre-canon in fact, What if we talked about anthropology and our elbows touched and we were both strangers here 🫣😍, Touch-Starved Siffrin (In Stars and Time), Touch-Starved, And I do mean absolutely starving for it, One Night Stands, Except not really. Except technically yes? Except technically no., Ace character pushing their own boundaries, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overstimulation, Unprotected hand-holding 😳, Dom/sub vibes, Communication, Despite Siffrin's best efforts
Words: 25,093
Chapters: 4/4
Read on Ao3 here
It's finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has read, recommended, commented on, talked to me about, or otherwise enjoyed this fic. I loved writing it and I'm so glad I get to share it with other people who love it too!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A traveler and a researcher meet at a Vaugardian inn. Siffrin has never been the type to get close to strangers, but maybe that can change. When in Vaugarde, right?
Rating: Mature
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Other
Relationship: Odile/Siffrin
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Pre-pre-canon in fact, What if we talked about anthropology and our elbows touched and we were both strangers here 🫣😍, Touch-Starved Siffrin (In Stars and Time), Touch-Starved, And I do mean absolutely starving for it, One Night Stands, Except not really. Except technically yes? Except technically no., Ace character pushing their own boundaries, Communication, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overstimulation, Unprotected hand-holding 😳
Words: 7,896
Chapters: 1/4
My gift for @drrainedon for the fanfic gift exchange!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The hope of an entire country is a heavy weight to carry.
Odile checks in with Mirabelle.
Rating: General audiences
Characters: Mirabelle, Odile
Additional tags: Not sure what genre to call this... perhaps, Mild Hurt/Comfort, It's hard being the Chosen One, but sometimes friends can help!, Pre-Canon
Words: 1,784
Chapters: 1/1
Rating: Mature
Fandom: In Stars And Time
Characters: Isabeau, Siffrin, Odile
Tags: Alcohol, Probably too much alcohol to be specific, Written for 'write a bad fanfic day' but the badness is like. diegetic. lol, Brief mention of underage drinking, Post-canon, Ninety percent banter slice-of-life vibes
Words: 2,959
It's not uncommon for Isabeau, Siffrin, and Odile to go out for drinks, but this time Isabeau has a mission: he's going to drink as much as Siffrin, or pass out trying.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
It's hard, taking care of a kid when you're still growing up yourself, but Pétronille does her best. She's not sure it's good enough, but what else can she do?
A series of scenes following Pétronille and Bonnie, from the first time they ran away to the second.
Rating: Teen and Up
Category: Gen
Characters: Pétronille, Bonnie
Tags: POV Second Person, Minor Original Character(s), Specifically various citizens of Bambouche, Child Neglect, Child Abuse, Bipolar Pétronille, Suicidal Thoughts, breaking the cycle, kitchen mishaps, Shoes both remembered and forgotten, Drowning imagery, Bonnie's protectee guilt, Bonnie's A+ spelling
Words: 10,541
*this is a fetish blog- non-fet blogs and minors DNI (no age in bio -> blocked)*
Fandom: L/ove and D/eepspace
Spoilers: None
Pairing/AU: Z/ayne X f!Reader, normal universe
Length: 5.4k
Contains: sneeze fetish content (duh), sickfic, fevers, caretaking, that trope where a character’s powers act up because they’re sick, reader insert
Summary: L/ove and D/eepspace's "Winter's Emissaries" summer event, wherein everything is the same, except I made it better gave Z/ayne a cold.
Notes: Backstory time! This game had an event last summer that included four different virtual roleplaying games to complete (one for each guy). In the one featuring Z/ayne, you play as “Winter’s Emissaries” searching for treasure to save a village. While playing through these, you also receive special social media interactions, one of them being this one from Z/ayne. I think my inspiration should speak for itself… 🥴
I wanted this to feel like it could seamlessly fit into the original canon plot, so a few lines of dialogue and description were adapted directly from the game. There's also gonna be casual mentions of things which might go over your head if you haven't played, but it shouldn't ruin the fic reading experience!
Okay, enough yapping. Enjoy 🫶
Fic Masterlist
Your reflection was barely visible in the glass as you stared out the window. Snow swirled in a gray and white cacophony, past the glass pane and all across the region as far as you could see. The conditions seemed more treacherous now that you had escaped them, free to observe rather than experience it.
You'd experienced it enough today, anyways. Your face still stung of whipping, icy winds, and your hair dripped as clumps of ice and snow melted off your head. Every part of you felt chilled- your fingers, your toes, hell, your very soul. This little cabin was truly the desert oasis of the frigid mountain forests. There was no way either of you could've survived a night out there.
To your right and behind you, a stunted rush of flames brought the fireplace to life. Your hand curled over your chest, relieved. There was never a situation where you weren't grateful to have Zayne around, but this one especially so. His simple presence was enough to flip an unfortunate situation into a favorable one, or at the very least, an okay one. This would be okay.
Another bundle of snowflakes rushed past the window as a new gust of wind took to the air with violence. You leaned into the knotted pine of the window sill and walls, pressing one ear to the glass.
Your brow furrowed. Only the crackling of the fireplace registered to your senses. Not even a muffled echo of the blizzard’s roar could be detected through the glass. Was the soundproofing of this cabin really that thorough?
Zayne’s hand on your shoulder shook the question out of your mind. “You shouldn't stand so close to the glass. A blizzard can break the window.” His voice was calm. “Come sit by the fireplace. It'll warm you up.”
You stood back from the glass, and one of Zayne’s hands caressed your cheek, palm hot against the chapped skin of your face. You found him in a similar state, skin flushed and wind-broken around and across his nose.
Zayne led you to the fireplace with a hand to your back. Heat instantly washed over you, and you tugged off the heavy coat that still clung to your shoulders.
“You say I need to warm up, but you're the one who gave up your coat,” you said, hanging it on the hook off to the side of the hearth. He'd insisted you take it, once you realized the hard way that your own coat was highly insufficient for the weather.
“You're right. Come sit.” Zayne had seated himself in a wicker chair a few feet back from the fire’s glow. You paused to consider whether there was enough room to join him. If you were expected to fit next to him, you’d practically need to be sitting in his lap.
…Not that you minded. You never minded that.
As anticipated, you found yourself crunching your knees up to settle yourself next to him. You were squished against him, legs to legs, warm body to warm body.
It occurred to you, though, that there was plenty of sitting space throughout the cabin suitable for two people, much unlike the chair you had just forced your way into. You looked at Zayne and smirked. “I get it. You're using the fireplace as an excuse to cuddle, aren't you?”
Zayne tilted his head and met your gaze. His lip curled so subtly you had to squint to see it: “Well, if you knew that was my goal, why did you still join me?”
You nearly got lost in his eyes, aglow with a sunset orange reflection of the flames. “Because… I may or may not have the same goal,” you finally admitted, nestling the rest of your body to Zayne’s. Your head settled perfectly against his chest, like a puzzle piece to its match.
“I'm honored to be your personal heater after serving as your navigator.”
A comfortable silence followed Zayne’s words. Your attention honed in on the crackling of the fireplace, the flames within wiggling their unsteady dance and casting a faint, smoky scent into the air. You inhaled deeper, chasing the nostalgic memories of summer bonfires lingering behind. The air was dry, but warm enough now that you didn’t feel moisture chasing every breath in through your nose. But the same couldn’t be said yet for Zayne, based on the still frequent sniffling above you. It really was dreadful out there…
The whole reason for your journey here slowly crept back into your mind. Today the blizzard would keep you both within the safety and warmth of this cabin, but you knew there was still a long journey in the cold ahead of you. As Winters Emissaries, it was your duty to complete the task given to you. The whole of a village was counting on it.
As to what it was though, you still weren't completely sure.
“Hey… do you think the treasure the villagers mentioned is something like this?”
You felt Zayne move above you at the sudden sound of your voice. He pondered your question. “A treasure that brings warmth in winter… the concept is similar enough,” he eventually said.
“But visiting the palace just to get firewood for them would be pointless. They could just go into the forest themselves, couldn't they?”
“Perhaps the treasure is a self-heating energy stone. Winters Emissaries are like torchbearers. They've been entrusted with the responsibility of bringing energy to the village.”
An image of yourself and Zayne wearing special ceremonial attire during an Olympic opening ceremony, sacred torch and all, flashed in your mind. It was far more flashy and loud than your actual reality, traveling alone together in the winter wilderness of the mountains as the elements assaulted you. “Zayne, your imagination got a little wild there,” you giggled.
“Oh? Then what sort of fantasy would you prefer to listen to?” Zayne sniffled again. Outside, the world had begun to turn dark.
“Something real, maybe.” Your eyes searched the space above the fireplace, as if the answer would appear there for you. “Hmm… talk about your childhood memories. When we were kids, wasn't there a time a snowstorm trapped you at my house?”
Long was the history between the two of you. You spent your childhood together, grew up together, and now Zayne was a unique combo of your primary doctor, lover, and a formidable fighter you could rely on in any Wanderer encounter.
So, you were a little hopeful Zayne would still remember your early days, after everything you'd been through.
Zayne’s hand fidgeted at the small of your back. “...I remember that,” he finally began. “My parents and I went to your place for dinner. And then it suddenly started snowing. It was getting late, and we tried to head home but the car wouldn't start. We had no choice but to spend the night there.” Zayne paused, swallowed, and cleared his throat. His voice was noticeably rougher when he spoke again though, as if he hadn't cleared anything at all, “But you had already returned to your room. We had barely talked that day…”
There was a tremble you noticed in his voice too, as though the memories themselves manifested within the language he spoke. He wasn't always the most straight forward with his sentimentality of your shared youth, but there were always signs he cherished them the same way you did.
Yet you always felt strange, separated from yourself whenever you reflected on it, everything being the same and yet so different from what you had with him today. As children, could Zayne and I have ever imagined ourselves nestled by the fireplace one day, enjoying idle conversation?
“Maybe it's because I went to bed too early that day. If only I had known…”
You waited for Zayne to respond, or continue, but it never came. His breathing steadied and slowed above you, and you craned your neck to look up at him.
His eyes were closed, long, dark lashes completely still. No surprise sleep took him so quickly; for as often as he would lecture you about getting enough sleep, you knew his line of work didn't allow him to rest as well as he'd like. He was known for taking any time he could between surgeries to nap. This quiet time in a cabin was the perfect environment for Zayne to take advantage of.
You were careful not to disturb him as you settled your head back where it was most comfortable. The warmth you shared between your bodies had only grown, stealing away any drive you had left to stay awake. The fireplace became a blur as your eyelids drooped.
Against your ear though, you were still awake enough to notice the slight wheeze in his breathing. And from his nose, the tiniest whistle when he exhaled. Both were not typical for him, in all the times you had rested together.
Mentally, you winced, remembering the pity taken on your poor choice of winter wear once the blizzard hit. Zayne assured you he still had enough layers on, and initially you believed him.
Now though, you realized he would've told you that anyways. Of course he would've; he was prone to worrying more about you than himself.
You wondered if this wasn't normal tired for him, but sick tired. Had he been hiding it from you? Or was it too early for him to even realize?
You were only barely awake yourself anymore, unable to think clearly. “Zayne?” you murmured, quiet, still hesitant to wake him. You heard nothing back, and then you heard nothing at all, as sleep stole you away too.
—
You woke up suddenly, somewhere soft, warm. Pillow under your head, and layers of blankets draped over you. Sluggishly, you picked up your head. The grey light of morning seeped through the windows, pale and too early to be awake. You squinted to make out flecks of snow billowing past the window, just as energetically as the day previous.
This wasn't where you had fallen asleep. So how did you…?
Oh, right.
Somewhere in the night, you vaguely remembered being lifted and held to Zayne’s chest before he settled you somewhere else- it was in this bed, you now knew. You stretched and whined beneath the blankets before rolling over. Next to you, the comforter was pulled back and the fitted sheet wrinkled, implying Zayne had slept there next to you. The bed suddenly felt cold.
As you sat up, you frowned. Something had woken you, but what? It was quiet in the cabin. “Zayne…?” you called out groggily.
“heh’tSCHh-!”
Oh.
“hegH’SCHUhh-!”
Sneezing. Zayne sneezing, to be exact. Muffled and echoey beyond the half wall immediately behind you, you concluded he was too far away to have heard you, in another room of the cabin.
You heard him sneeze again, after a longer delay. You internally winced as you had the night before. For all the time you'd known Zayne, you'd never heard such frequent disruptions, except for when an outside factor- such as illness- was actively aggravating him.
The urge to investigate dragged you out of bed. Your ears pointed you towards the bathroom across the way. As you got closer though, you stopped. The sound of rushing water could be heard, loud and clear with the door of the bathroom wide open. Your approach to the door was a little more hesitant- was he showering this early in the morning?
Beyond the steam cloaking the room, you found Zayne not in the shower, but hovering just to the side of the sink. His hair was slightly disheveled from its usual neatness, and damp, implying he'd been standing in there for some time. Even from where you stood in the doorway, his body language read of discomfort.
Though you stepped lightly, your bare feet weren't quiet enough to avoid alerting him. Zayne turned to look your way. His posture instantly straightened, but it didn't hold, wavering in tune with his breath.
“Y-Y/N, hih…! hH’gnx’SCHhh-!” He notably pressed into his wrist, cutting the volume. That wrist flipped, and his fingers clamped over his nose, pinching tightly over the bridge in a fashion you'd seen before, when he was either annoyed or- “heh-NGTt-uh!” -suppressing a sneeze.
“Bless you… thanks for the wake up call.” You couldn't help yourself from teasing him.
“Did I wake you?” He paused to sniffle, thick, unproductive. “I tried to be quiet getting out of bed, but I suppose that didn't last…” Zayne’s voice cracked and he coughed, hoarse.
Concerned, you stepped into the bathroom, closing the space between you. “What's with the shower?” you said.
“Clearing out my sinuses. You can turn it off.” The steam in the room was pleasantly warm, but the humidity was a little much, you thought. You shut the water off.
“Did it help?” you asked.
“Well, it made me sneeze through the worst of it.” With the water off, you can hear congestion in his voice more clearly, and you shuddered to think this was an improvement from when he'd first awoke. His illness had set in, and it had done so quicker than you thought possible. Zayne took one step back from the counter, touching one temple and wincing. You saw him sway.
Your brow furrowed. One of your hands drew up to his forehead before Zayne had the chance to stop you. Your fingers brushed his bangs aside with a gentle sweep, and the pads of your fingers ghosted heat, searing his skin deeper than any steam could create on the surface.
“You have a fever…” Zayne swatted you away, but you grabbed at his wrist in rebellion. Instantly, you gasped and froze in place. Under your palm and fingers was an icy cold, etched across his skin and leaving purple welts in his wake- it could only have originated from his abilities. “Your Evol, why…?”
In one quick move, Zayne shook his head at you, tugged his freezing wrist from your grasp, and twisted away with a wrenching sneeze.
“hegH’NSCHhih-! Hh…” The exhale carried exhaustion. You allowed him the space to recover but refused him another inch beyond that. As you examined him closer, you realized that white, crackling frost glazed not just his wrist, but his neck too.
“Are you…okay? Why is your Evol doing that?” you asked.
But Zayne couldn’t seem to catch a break. “I'm f-fine…hih…!” His denial was drowned out in a shuddering hitch of breath. He managed to retrieve a bunched up wash cloth from the counter, just in time to jam it under his nose before he-
“hih’MPFSChh-!”
Punctual.
“Bless you,” you said, wincing. “Uh, you were saying? About being fine?”
He was even slower to recover, as though the very last of his energy had seeped out through his sinuses, dampening the already soiled cloth in his hand. “I'm not denying that. Obviously I'm not well.” Zayne slid past you to leave the bathroom, and you followed nervously behind him to where he dropped down on the couch. He barely seemed to be present, tilting his head back, eyes closed. The dark shadows under his eyes told you he hadn’t slept much. “I just meant… the ice. I'm fine, this always happens when I'm unwell.”
From where you sat next to him, you took the chance to touch his forehead again, and Zayne didn't protest this time. It was worse than you initially thought. “You're really hot, Zayne…”
One eye opened. “Flirting with me while I'm sick?”
“Hey, you know what I mean…” You smiled and felt at ease- at least he wasn't so ill that mirth failed him.
It couldn't cure all your worries, though. Your touch trailed down his cheek, to his jawline, and then his neck. It was there that the temperature under your fingers went shockingly cold, as though he'd just been outside in the winter elements without a scarf. Zayne’s brow knitted at your touch, and he shivered.
“You're freezing,” you commented. It wasn't a question, but Zayne nodded anyway. “Let me warm you up, then.” This too, wasn't a question of permission, but rather a warning that you would try regardless.
Again though, Zayne nodded. Even a doctor as work-driven as he was knew when it was time for someone else to do the caring.
You looked first to the fireplace across from the couch, in front of the chair where you had both dozed off last night. The flames weren't flames but small, smoldering ashes- certainly of no substance to subdue a fever and keep the chill of winter out.
You tossed another couple logs on and allowed a moment for the fire to catch.
Then, back on the couch, you adjusted your knees under you. “Here, let me squeeze in.” You sidled close to Zayne’s spot on the sectional. He hesitantly straightened his legs, allowing you space between him and the back cushion of the couch.
“It'll get nice and warm here soon,” you assured. Zayne hummed, glassy, hazel eyes fixed to the ceiling above. Your attention drew back to his Evol, still vicious and frosty at his wrists and throat. The warmth of the fire couldn't sedate this- this cold came from within, and the longer you lingered on it, the more uncomfortable it looked. You feared self-inflicted frostbite was in his near future.
“Do you think you might be overdoing it? Your Evol, I mean.”
“It's…” Zayne paused, shivering violently as though simply acknowledging the sensation made it worse. You swore you saw vapor as he exhaled, as if the air of winter itself were contained around his head in a bubble. “It's against my will, mostly…”
His discomfort was nearly palpable to you as you realized this was completely out of his control. This was the same cold extreme enough for Zayne to use in combat, after all, and now it was acting of its own accord, attacking him.
“Think of it as a flight or fight response,” Zayne went on. “My temperature is up, therefore my body is responding by trying to cool down.”
“It's just too much, isn't it?” you said, finishing his thought for him. Zayne nodded, casting his gaze towards you. He'd never looked so openly vulnerable underneath you, except in distant memories, and you felt your heart soften despite the circumstances.
You laid your weight heavier into him, shuffling so that one leg intertwined between his own. He caught your eye when he moved his hands out of your way.
Maybe… if you resonated with him…?
You reached for one hand. “Here, let me just…”
Zayne shrunk away though, tucking his arms to his sides. “No, you shouldn't…touch me when I'm like this. Not on my skin.” Worry, genuine worry flickered in his eyes, and you felt that soft glow in your chest trip and falter.
“Zayne…” Your hands remained hovered at his wrist. Begging him with your eyes. He tensed, but he didn't stop you from closing your touch over his wrist. His skin was frigid, burning against your warmer palms, but only that. “You won't hurt me. I promise.”
You seemed to get through to him, and Zayne found it in himself to relax, finally. Your squeeze over his wrist was firm, but gentle, wringing your grip back and forth. You slowed your breathing and sought his Evol’s frequency, and it met you with a chaotic and unusual rhythm. A warm light glowed from your palms. In a matter of seconds, his skin took the warmth of yours.
“Better?” You asked.
Zayne nodded, brow raised just slightly as though he didn't expect this outcome. You weren't sure you had expected it to work either. Discomfort crept back into his features, and he breathed through clenched teeth- you healed his other wrist with more urgency.
Briefly, you chewed the inside of your cheek. You couldn't deny that you found it all alarming, try as Zayne might to act casual about the whole thing. The nature of Evol was different person to person, but was it really okay for it to attack its user? Even under circumstances of illness? What if there was more to this?
…No, no. You had to shake this out of your head, stick to the task at hand. Interrogating him in the midst of being miserable wasn't good for either of you.
You forced the frown out of your expression, before Zayne could read it and interrogate you instead. “Your hands look better,” you said. “Is it just your shoulders now?”
“Yes. I think.”
“Get comfortable, then.” Both having lost their icy touch, he tucked his hands under you, and you properly draped yourself over him like a weighted blanket. Zayne tilted his head up to accept your arms wrapping over the back of his freezing neck.
You suppressed a shiver of your own as you nuzzled your cheek into the crook of one shoulder, the cold seeping into you through his shirt. Then, you remained still, focusing to match the frequency of his powers again, further resonating. Any remaining anxiety drained out of you. Maybe you couldn't cure his cold completely, but a small win was still a win in the war against misery.
Zayne sighed above you in relief. ”hh…hih…!” And then in urgency. He fidgeted under you, prompting you to lift your head.
You were greeted with the sight of a man most definitely about to sneeze.
And it had you a little mesmerized, to say the least- the stoic type, you rarely ever witnessed his face so obviously contorted. Somehow, Zayne always maintained a calm and collected demeanor, even when he was feeling anything but. This expression he currently wore though, was scrunched up, needy. His brow pinched together, eyelids taught. And the pink rims of his nostrils ticklishly flared, lip curled back into a snarl.
“Y-Y/N, my…hands…!” His breathy voice barely hung above a whisper.
You didn't get the memo- at least not fast enough. His hands remained trapped under you, and with nowhere else to hide, Zayne twisted toward the couch cushion, squelching the sneeze into submission by willpower alone.
Willpower didn't carry him very far, however. “hH’NXTt’shih-!” The burst of moisture that broke through was audible. Zayne’s chest swelled under you to gear up for a second one, and you braced a little tighter around his neck- “hegH’SCHUhh-!” The force his sneezes wrought nearly folded him at the waist, even with your full weight on top of him.
Zayne stilled after that. You were more timid as you looked back up to him. “Bless you. You shouldn't fight it like that…” you said softly.
“You shouldn't keep my hands trapped, then,” Zayne shot back.
You shrugged, although you did shift your hips up to free one of his arms. Zayne took to knuckling under his nose, before carefully dabbing at any excess dampness with the edge of his sleeve.
“Really though, don't worry about politeness,” you went on. Your expression turned downcast. “You're sick because of me, after all.”
Several seconds passed as Zayne processed your words. Then, he gave you a look, the one he always had when you said something silly. “You know people don't get sick just from being out in the cold, right?”
“Says who?”
“Y/N, I'm a doctor. Your doctor,” Zayne deadpanned.
You couldn't hide your grin. “Okay, but consider this: I saw it happen in a movie. A lot of movies, actually.”
Zayne shook his head. A yawn crept into his voice, and his eyes closed. “Right. Next time I need continuing education credits, I'll just watch some movies instead.”
“You better invite me over for a movie date night then!”
“But of course.” You held him a little tighter. The corner of Zayne’s mouth tugged into a smile. “Y/N… you really never grew up,” he said.
“Oh?” You tilted your head at him.
“You're just as unserious as you were when we were young,” Zayne went on. “More than when we were young, actually.”
To that, you stuck your tongue out. “Coming from the most serious guy I know? You should try it sometime.”
Zayne opened his eyes, and there was That Look again, the Y/N-Said-Something-Ridiculous Look. For a moment, it even seemed like the feverish haze had left his eyes. But it only lasted a second, and the sorry state of him continued to be evident.
Your eyes shifted down to his throat. The skin looked healthy now, as though it had never been coated in a deadly ice. “So is this whole, uh, Evol thing gone now?” you asked awkwardly.
“For now. I imagine it’ll stay away now, so long as you're here.”
A complicated knot of feelings sat in your chest, out of nowhere. For all the times Zayne had gone out of his way to protect you, save you, cure you, rarely could you return the favor. And it was a regular experience- you were good at getting yourself into trouble, after all.
But now, here you were, in a position where he needed you.
“Good,” was all you could muster in response.
Your hands snaked out from behind his head where they found his face. Cupping his cheeks, your fingers brushed over all the contours you now knew deeply, intimately. You let your eyes drift thoughtfully over his lips, threatening your resolve.
Clearly you had grown up in some way- the idea of kissing Zayne would've been strange and wrong in your youth, but now you found yourself fighting with your better judgment not to. You could already hear him quietly scold you for kissing him while he was sick.
Only then did you realize Zayne was looking at you. You found yourself instantly shy under his scrutiny- for all the times you had kissed him, gone on dates, fully gave yourself to him, he still managed to make you nervous.
Just as the tension of your eye contact threatened to become too heavy, Zayne sighed and melted a little deeper into the couch. You shook yourself back into a caretaker mindset.
“Are you warm enough?” Zayne hummed his confirmation. “Okay… can I get you anything? Fever reducers, maybe?”
You sat up, preparing to get up from the couch, but Zayne’s hands held your waist firmly. “I already took some. Why don't you just rest here with me?” His words caught and he coughed into his shoulder.
Zayne’s voice was growing ragged, even for how softly he spoke. You made a mental note to raid the cabinets for tea later, whenever he was ready to accept it.
For now though, resting with him would be an easy task. The light filtering through the snow plastered windows was still too dim and early for your liking. And with the most concerning of Zayne’s symptoms relieved, you were content to relax a little. Your breathing synced with the slowed pace of his, calm.
For all the symptoms that had been relieved though, there was always another waiting to rear its head and break the moment.
Zayne suddenly stirred under you. He stiffly exhaled. “Actually, Y/N…” Zayne sniffled, and then sniffled again, sharply squeaking within his swollen sinuses. “Maybe…you should, hih…!” You sat up in time to see the twinge in his expression take hold, uncertain, a will-he or won't-he battle. The fluttering of his eyes and twitch of his nares tells you he definitely will, though Zayne seemed intent on holding back. The rest of his words tumbled out in a rush, “...should get me some tih-! tissues, hH-!”
His arm tensed over your back, and he swung up with the intent to cover above you. You moved quicker though, tucking his face against your shoulder. Another gasp shook him beneath you, fluttering against your skin. You only held him tighter.
“heH’MFSCHHeh-!” Throaty and violent, the sound was squashed into your shirt. It was a warm and damp rush in the fabric, and Zayne jostled you as his nose betrayed him a second time. “hH-! ‘ESCHh’uh-!”
Several peaceful seconds came and went. You propped yourself up and met his gaze sheepishly, exposing the damp spot that now soiled your shirt. Zayne’s face was hard to read, but his ears were noticeably pink. “You know, when people ask for tissues, they don’t usually mean someone else’s shirt,” he mumbled.
“I- wasn’t thinking, I guess…” you said. One hand lazily traced along the curved top of his ear. “You don't need to be so embarrassed.”
“I have a fever, remember?” Zayne retorted, so casually that you almost couldn’t detect it as an excuse- almost. He sniffled again, wet and productive. “Listen, I could still really use those tissues… unless you’re expecting me to use your shirt for that too.” His eyes shifted away from you.
The heat on his face seemed to possess your own cheeks, as it occurred to you just how compromised he was under you. Completely at your will, or at least as completely as he would allow, and so far it seemed to be a lot. Your mind threatened to drift to places far from innocent.
“No, not unless you- asked to, I mean…! N-not at all.” Your words tripped over themselves as your tongue knotted itself with your inner desires. You shimmied back to the other end of the couch, part in preparation to get up, but mostly to hide yourself from Zayne’s intelligent gaze. He could always read right through you.
You managed to pull yourself together while fetching a tissue box from the bathroom. And a glass of water- you were sure he needed it.
You stopped in your tracks exiting the bathroom. Zayne still laid on the couch, eyes closed, somehow serene despite being in the throes of a bad cold.
Cute.
He stirred once you approached close enough to be heard. “Here,” you said, passing the box of tissues to him.
“A whole box? How generous,” he playfully remarked. Zayne plucked a tissue from the box, and then another. You looked down at the glass of water still in your hands, for whatever shred of privacy it would offer him as he loudly blew his nose. Soiled, he tossed the tissues into the wastebasket nearby. At this rate, and with the way that had sounded, you had a feeling that the bin would be full of them by the end of the day.
“Thanks,” Zayne said in a thick voice as he took the water from you next. He made quick work of it, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for thinking of his needs before he had even voiced them.
You checked that the fireplace was still lively, and then you turned back to Zayne where you stood before him.
“Can I get you something else?”
Zayne looked at you with warm eyes. “I don't know… I’d just really like my blanket back.” You frowned, only to falter when Zayne winked at you. Duh.
You needed no other prompting to crawl back into your original position, settling yourself over Zayne like a large lap cat, or a blanket, as he had put it. A new sense of ease washed over the two of you.
You turned your head where it was more comfortable on its side. Snow still billowed past outside, and you found yourself reflecting again on why you were both here. Although there would be much to do later today, or more likely tomorrow, when the snow had slowed, you could both have this moment. You didn't get to lay and nap together at home nearly as often as either of you liked, but right now, you were free to indulge in it.
You had each other's comfort. And you had each other's warmth.
“Ya know, maybe what you said yesterday was right,” you suddenly spoke.
“Hm?” Zayne opened one eye, brow raised.
“About the treasure being something warm within winter, or however you put it.” Your limbs twitched, and you curled a little tighter into Zayne. “Maybe it's cheesy, but I feel like we have our own little treasure here, ya know?”
Zayne exhaled a laugh, but it was genuine. “Perhaps you're right.” He closed his eyes, and through a yawn, “We had to find our own little treasure before we could find one for the whole village.”
“Exactly.” You smiled, closing your own eyes. Your ears zoned in on the cracking and popping of the fireplace, coupled with Zayne’s soft breathing.
Flashbacks of the cozy night prior crept into your mind. “Can you tell me the rest of that story from last night?” Your words were slurred by almost-sleep. Zayne only responded with a soft snore.
Ah well, you thought. Another day, then; this treasure was treasure enough.
