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Witcher fics
The Wishing Stone Au, aka M.E.S.S Universe (yes I know Iâm a dork, but I thought of the acronym and đ€Ł)
The Mysterious Enchanted Sneeze Stone AKA the Wishing Stone (many characters) (cold) (fin)
The Bardic Competition (Geralt) (cold) (unfin?)
Unrelated Witcher fics
Danger in the Water (Geralt) (sinus infection) (fin)
Lessons in Listening to Witchers (Jaskier) (flu) (fin)
Lambert fic (Lambert) (cold) (fin)
Thank You For Staying With Me (Jaskier) (fin)
Geralt And The Griffins (Geralt) (cold+whump) (unfin)
Now THIS is some fic-level fuckery. I can't believe I witnessed this.
Went to see a band tonight and there's not really a frontman. It's not that kind of band. One guy was sitting in a chair, but I figured it was just easier for him to play his instrument that way or perhaps he had an injury or something that required him to sit down.
Well, the guy that was doing most of the talking thanked the audience for their energy and their love. Then, he motioned to his seated bandmate and said "Especially (his name). He needs your energy most of all. He's been very sick the past few days."
Excuse me, what?
So, I took a very good look at this guy and he was 100% feeling like death warmed over. His hair was in a messy bun, he had wrap-around shades on, and he was pale and flushed. But he played anyway and they took breaks so he could walk off the stage and do gods only know what.
Right before the last song, the sick guy called his bandmate over to him and they fucking HUGGED on the stage. The sick guy walked off and the bandmate apologized to the crowd and said they had to cut the set short because his bandmate's health was suffering and he just wasn't going to make him play the last song.
Y'ALL....
I was already TREMENDOUSLY moved by their music, quite literally tearing up like a fucking girl, but I thought I was going to melt through the goddamn floor when THAT happened. I didn't even care about the last damn song.
Short and sweet, a little hot and heavy, a lot cold and wet, Cerberus and Kia, just walk on in. đ
---
Sheâs been anticipating his return from the intrarealms since she woke, but Kia gasps anyway as she finally hears the door close, hurriedly puts her coffee down on the side table and gets up from the couch, a broad smile lighting her face. The weekâs felt impossibly long, and despite the several social get-togethers and gatherings sheâs hosted in that time, the house has felt empty no matter how many others have come and gone. And you, you stupid thing, she thinks as she looks over at the meagre hearthfire sheâd eventually managed to kindle, valiantly doing its insufficient best, are not my problem anymore.
âWelcome home, sweetheart,â she says brightly as she enters the foyer. âHow wasâŠâ
She stops short as their eyes meet, frowns in confusion. Itâs a perfectly clear, if crisp, autumnal day, so...
âWhy are you so wet?â
Cerberus pushes dripping hair from his face, glancing momentarily down at the small puddle forming at his feet almost as if it comes as a surprise, sniffles and rubs his nose, sniffles again. âUnfortunate side effect of being caught in the rain, love,â he says as he removes and hangs his sodden overcoat, and thereâs no missing the congestion corrupting his diction, the shiver he utterly fails to disguise.
âUmâŠâ Kia, doubting her memory enough to double check the state of the weather through the windows as she takes a quick detour, collecting a towel before circuiting back to her bonded as they meet by the fireside, points outdoors. âItâsâŠnot raining, though?â She delivers her statement as a question, becauseâŠwell, just in case. Invisible rain would hardly be the strangest thing sheâs ever encountered, after all.
âNo, darkling, not hhH⊠*snf!*â Cerberus presses a forefinger firmly underneath his nose to force a rising need into submission â a fairly tenuous one, heâs well aware, the way the dayâs gone so far, but he manages a submission nonetheless, and he exhales carefully, a little shakily. A directed command, much more certain, transforms the quietly crackling hearthflames instantly from little more than a flicker to radiant blazingwild intensity. âNot here. Canât say the same for the Realm, though.â Another sniffle and an undertoned sigh of irritation. âPractically all damn week, in fact. Ridiculous place.â He gives his bonded a wry smile as he weaves a hand through Kiaâs hair, kisses her with a craving undisguised. :Iâve missed you every second, love.:
Immersed in the moment, Kia reciprocates his kiss ardently, accompanied by a heartfelt :Oh, sweetheart, Iâve missed you too: before she wraps an arm around his waist, and the immediacy of other matters pulls her attention elsewhere.
âWhoa, you are freezing!â She gathers a handful of his shirt sleeve, lifting it briefly away from where the fine linen clings to the contours of his arm, damp and chilled, and waves the towel at him with insistence. âBabe. Here.â
Cerberus gets as far as reaching to accept it before the frisson of dissonance between worlds and temperatures becomes too much and he gives a short apologetic shake of his head, focus collapsing unstoppable, turning from Kia posthaste.
âHh-TSSCHH-uu! Excuu⊠hhÂ-hHâŠâ He Creates a handkerchief in a breathcaught pause of expectation, brings it to his face in cover immediately. âAHHTSSCHuu! Ugh, sorry, excuse me,â he says, and sweeps chaotic wet hair back from his eyes with another sniffle, blows his nose, sniffling again immediately afterwards.
âBless you, honey.â Kia, voice far steadier than heartbeat, passes him the towel again, more successfully this time. âYou seriously need to warm up.â She casts an assessing gaze over her beloved, rainsoaked and sniffly and significantly more dishevelled than his meticulous norm, with concern in her eyes but also something much more primal, covetous â ohgods how does anyone even have the right to be this damn gorgeous it should be illegal or something itâs not fair ohgods â which she suppresses for the moment for the sake of practicality. Almost. With a glint in her eye, she affects an air of command.
âStrip.â
Towel in hand, Cerberus pauses to quirk a half-smile at her, more than a little intentionally wicked, and raises an eyebrow.
âDonât give me that look,â Kia faux chastises with a laugh. âCome on, you have to get out of these wet clothes or youâll catch cold.â If you havenât already. She moves to unbutton his waistcoat while he roughly towel-dries his hair. âGods, babe,â she murmurs as she undoes the final button, begins doing the same to his shirt. âYou travelled like this?!â
âWell, it was either travel through it or remain in it, darkling. *snf!* Given thâŠthe⊠Oh, IâŠâ Cerberus breaks off with a staggered gasp, rubs his nose with strong determination against the insistent itch thatâs refused to be sated day-long. Heâs not going to succeed and he recognises the fact of it quickly, places a firm hand on Kiaâs shoulder to halt her motion, and with rushed apology and a surrendered, desperate inhale, turns to bury his face in his elbow. âHuh-AHSSCH-uu! hhh⊠Huh-TSSCHHuu!â
Kia proffers a whispersoft blessing though she well knows he isnât done â and clearly so does he, his expression expectant, encouraging culmination, his breath incremental, erratic, preparatory. She reaches across and takes a couple of tissues from the box on the side table, presses them into his hand mere moments before he capitulates, powerful, absolute, twice and twice again. âHhh-AHTSSCH-uu! HUHschuu! Hh...hh-HH⊠hhAHTSSCHUU! Ah-HEHTSHhuu! *SNFF!* Ah, gods.â
âBless you!â
Cerberus exhales heavily and wipes his nose firmly, repeatedly, Mindsending an apology-laced :Thanks, love:, another series of sniffles accompanying it. âExcuse me,â he says, once more pushing back strands of displaced ebony, and moves to claim another tissue, blows his nose. He catches Kiaâs look of scrutiny and attempts a bit of damage control as he immolates the used tissues in a flash of aetherfire.
âIâm alright, darkling. Itâs just too much time out in the cold. Itâll pass.â
âHmmâŠâ Kia, unconvinced, sits cross-legged on the thick rug by the fire, motioning for Cerberus to join her. He does, though not before first taking another tissue, then, upon further consideration, the box with him.
Kia smiles to herself, more than a little knowingly, at this. âI mean, if youâre sure, babe,â she says, and resumes unbuttoning and removing Cerberusâs shirt, fixing her stunning beloved with a look of mild challenge as the hearthside warmth envelops them both. âItâs just that thiâŠâ
Her sentence collapses alongside his focus and the sharp catch of his breath; he mutters a barely audible fuck, and quickly turns from her again.
âhhâŠHXTchu! UhhâŠâ Stifling was never going to suffice; he inhales again, deep and immediate, and he doesnât bother trying such follies a second time. âHuh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!*Damn it, excuse me.â He shivers and wipes his nose, shifts a little nearer the fire.
âAw, bless you, sweetheart.â Kia places a soft kiss on his shoulder as she moves to nestle alongside him, traces the muscular contours of his arm, her touch lingering and indulgent. âItâs justâŠwell, you know this sort of thing kind of tends to come with consequences,â she finishes.
Cerberus, with a light sniffle, considers this only briefly. âAs far as I can tell, love, after far too much time spent having to deal with idiots and inclement weather, the consequences seem to be that Iâm finally home in front of the fire with my wonderful, beautiful bondedââ He cups her face in his hand, tilts her face towards him and kisses her tenderly. ââwho Iâve not seen for a week. I can certainly think of worse consequences, darkling.â Meeting her gaze with a smile both disingenuous and suggestive, he raises an eyebrow. âAnd Iâm half naked.â
Kia collapses into laughter. âGee, lucky you told me, or I mightâve missed it,â she says with a grin, and brushes some of his still slightly damp hair aside to touch a kiss, and another, another to his neck, down his chest. :You wouldnât be playing down how you feel because youâre horny, now, would you?: she Mindsends, her cadence teasing, flirtatious.
:And if I was?: Cerberus wraps his arms around her, drawing them together, and murmurs in sotto voce midnight velvet, âWould there be furtherâŠconsequences?â
He raises the ambient heat with an elegant wave of one hand, curls the other through Kiaâs hair and kisses her deeply.
She makes a small sound of pleasure, involuntary, needy. âYou,â she purrs, dark and sensual, âare shameless,â before pointing at the redoubled fire and adding a more mischievous, âAnd I know you did that just to get me naked too.â
âI hope youâre not after a denial, love.â
Kia, heatcaressed and heartpossessed, presses a finely manicured hand to his chest, pushing him back onto the rug as she straddles him, rich mahogany waves tumbling over her shoulders. She looks down at Cerberus, her eyes vivid desire cast bright blue.
âOh, that is definitely not what Iâm after.â
I'm working in the floral department for the holiday, and mostly it's just hauling things and filling buckets and refilling balloons. But I was privileged tonight to have a customer make a very moving request, and when I handed The finished arrangement to them I revealed I had woven meaning into the flowers I chose. I almost moved that old woman to tears. I want to have the opportunity to do that kind of thing every day. To do something so beautiful that it gives the people I tell the story to chills. Make something that means so much that it brings tears to someone's eyes. I want that to be my life, weaving love into the world through something as simple as a flower
for when you need to put your OCs/favs in a Situationâą
or if you're simply curious about the science behind why plants make us sneeze
please do not reblog to non-snz blogs // Minors DNI (18+ blog)
Hi! I'm Leni and I'm a plant ecologist and snzfucker (obviously). If you like to include accurate details in your snz fics but don't know where to start when it comes to all things hay fever and plant allergies (or if you're just curious for...reasons) then you've come to the right place! I've put together this mini guide to get you started. If you ever have any questions on any of the following, please feel free to reply to this post (or send me an ask if you prefer to be anonymous).
View/download this post in a Google Doc format (don't worry - viewing is 100% anonymous. You can see my username but I (and others who view the doc) can't see yours.
IN THIS GUIDE:
Mini crash course on plants, pollen + pollination
A selected list of the sneeziest plants, categorized by:
đ» wildflowers + weeds
đŸ grasses
đł shrubs
đČ trees
đ cultivated flowers
đ„ sternutatory plants
đ special mentions
The Chhinkni Cornerâą - how/why does it work? a deeper dive into plant snience (snz science...hehe)
Some fun plant + snz facts sprinkled throughout
Tools, references, and resources at the end
Feel free to skip directly to the parts that interest you. I won't be offended if you don't read it all!
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMERS BEFORE WE GET STARTED:
In an attempt to keep this as accessible as possible I am simplifying some concepts and skipping over some entirely. Otherwise there's just too much to get into!
This is by no means a complete list of species rather a selected assortment
I am not an immunologist, allergist, or palynologist (pollen scientist). Iâm coming at this through the lens of a plant ecologist and snzfcker
While I did create one of the figures/images in this chart, the others I have 'borrowed' from elsewhere on the internet - normally I would include proper credits/citations but, uh, I don't really think we want the authors to accidentally end up here.
Many plants, including some referenced in this document and the included resources can be extremely toxic, dangerous â or even deadly â if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Do not be silly in your pursuit of snz.
Let's dive in! (don't worry, there won't be a pop quiz)
Mini Crash Course on Plants + Pollen
What's the deal with plants? Like, where do I start if I know...nothing?
You can start right here!! Okay, so there are a lot (and I do mean a lot) of different ways we classify plants. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to to break down a few of the key ones in a way that (hopefully) isn't too overwhelming.
The Linnaean Classification system: This is the standard method of classifying all living organisms, using taxonomic binomial nomenclature (a formal, 2-part naming system in Latinized forms).
đ± FUN FACT: Common names of plants often vary from region to region, culture to culture, and era to era. You can learn a lot from a plant's common name, and often a lot more from its binomial nomenclature. For example, the plant known as Common Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica) derives its binomial species name (ptarmica) from the Greek word ptairo ("sneeze") which means "causes sneezing!" -- Thus, the plant's full scientific name translates to "Yarrow that causes sneezing." Pretty on[in?]-the-nose if you ask me.
Do all plants produce pollen?
Nope! Not all plants produce pollen. I've put together the following chart which helps break down how we further classify plants --specifically in the context of what plants produce pollen and how they are pollinated, which all leads us to understanding what makes them more/less allergenic and why...we'll get into shortly.
Why do plants produce pollen, and what exactly is pollination?
It's how plants get it on, bay-bee! đ Pollination is how the male parts of a plant transfer genetic material to the female parts of the plant, allowing plants to produce seed and fruit, and ensure the genetic diversity of its species is maintained. Let's talk about it!
Reproductive Categories:
Both Angiosperms (flowering) and Gymnosperms (non-flowering) have male structures which produce pollen and female structures which develop seeds and fruit.
In Angiosperms, the part of a flower containing the male reproductive organs is called the stamen. At the tip of the stamen is the anther, which is where pollen is produced! The part of a flower containing the female reproductive organ is called the pistil, which contains the ovary. Once fertilized by pollen, this part develops into the mature fruit/seed.
Flowers (and cones) can be male, female, or bisexual -- and there are even more categories I'm not going to get into but...Nature is queer, y'all! And it's awesome.
Monoecious plants have both male and female unisexual flowers on the same plant, which means they are self-pollinating. Examples include: Birch, Oak, Spruce, and Pine trees; and vegetables like pumpkins, cucumbers, corn and tomatoes.
Dioecious plants have unisexual male and female parts on separate plants, and need to be cross pollinated in order to produce seed. Examples include: Juniper, Poplar, Maple, and Willow trees; and vegetables like asparagus and spinach.
đ± FUN FACT: On monoecious conifer trees, female cones grow on the upper branches of the tree, where they can be fertilized by the pollen of male cones blown upwards from the wind.
Okay, so exactly how are plants pollinated?
Biotic Pollination (by animals - primarily insects, but also birds and small mammals). In exchange for pollination services, these plants provide animals with food (pollen is very high in protein and nutrients).
Abiotic Pollination (by natural phenomenons - like wind, rain, or water). These are strong, independent self-pollinating plants who donât need no bugs.
What makes some plants more allergenic than others?
It all has to do with how they're pollinated!
Insect-pollinated plants generally tend to be the least allergenic, as the pollen grains are generally larger and stickier, allowing them to easily stick to insect bodies.
I mean, just look at these guys. Theyâre absolutely lost in the sauce:
Wind-pollinated plants, on the other hand, tend to be the most allergenic as their pollen grains are smaller and lighter. They also tend to produce a lot more of it in quantity, since their distribution method is a lot less targeted (they rely on the variable forces of wind and water vs relying on, say, a bee that is reliably going to fly from flower to flower).
Depending on the anatomical structure of a speciesâ flowers, it may be both animal and wind-pollinated. Privet, for example, is primarily insect-pollinated, but because it has anthers that protrude considerably from its flower (hubba hubba), its pollen can be distributed by the wind, as this article explains.
đ± FUN FACT: Some bees have special structures known as pollen baskets (or corbiculae) to help them efficiently store and carry pollen!
How is allergy season defined?
The peak flowering/pollen times for plants varies by region, even if the same plant species grows across a wide geographical range. This is influenced largely by climate, and may vary slightly year-by-year. Ragweed, for example is abundant throughout all of central-eastern continental US, but pollen levels may peak at different times, depending on what state you're in (the state of allergic misery perhaps). For example, someone who usually prepares accordingly for ragweed season to hit them in mid-September where they live might be in for a bit of a surprise if they travel to another part of the country in mid-late August...!
What is hay fever, exactly? Is it the same as seasonal allergies?
Essentially, yes. Hay fever is actually bit of a misnomer, as it was originally believed that the scent of freshly-cut grass (later dried to be used as hay*) was triggering allergic symptoms. Grass pollen of course can be a major trigger for allergies, nowadays the term is used almost interchangeably with the more-accurately described allergic rhinitis.
*Consider also, if you really want to put your character in a Situation, the fact that dried hay often contains not only pollen, but mold spores and dust/dried plant particles...
Why does pollen make people sneeze?
In simple terms: pollen allergies are an immunological response to the proteins found in different types of pollen. This article, titled 'Allergies: The Radical Theory of Sneezing' goes into much further detail.
Also, um, hello?!!? That name???
đ± FUN FACT: This paper is the first recorded medical description of 'hay fever.' In case you want to read it. For science, obviously.
A Selected List of the Sneeziest Plants
đ» wildflowers + weeds
Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family) in generalÂ
Ragweed (members of the Ambrosia genus): specifically Common Ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) and Great Ragweed (Ambrosia trifida)
Mugworts (members of the Artemisia genus) - particularly Common Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)
Pigweed (members of the Amaranthus genus)
Goosefoot (Chenopodium album)
đ cultivated or cut flowers
Babyâs breath (Gypsophila paniculata) and its relatives in the same genus
Chrysanthemums or 'Mums' (members of the Chrysanthemum genus)
Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family), including:
Dahlias (members of the Dahlia genus)
Gerberas (members of the Gerbera genus)Â
đŸ grasses
Timothy grasses (members of the Phleum genus)
Sweet vernal grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum)
Bermuda grass (Cynodon dactylon)
Kentucky bluegrass (Poa pratensis)
Ryegrass (members of the Lolium genus)
Orchard grass (Dactylis glomerata)
Bahia grass (Paspalum notatum)
đł shrubs/small trees
Common Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata)
Hazels (members of the Corylus genus)
Juniper (members of the Juniperus genus)
Cypress (members of the Cupressaceae family)
Privet (members of the Ligustrum genus)
đČ trees
Alder (members of the Alnus genus)
Ash (members of the Fraxinus genus)
Beech (members of the Fagus genus)
Birch (members of the Betula genus)
Cedar (members of the Cedrus genus)
Elm (members of the Ulmus genus)
Hickory (members of the Carya genus)
Maple (members of the Acer genus)
Mulberry (members of the Morus genus)
Oak (members of the Quercus genus)
Olive (members of the Olea genus)
Sycamore (members of the Platanus genus)
Poplar (members of the Populus genus)
đ± FUN FACT: People who are allergic to the pollen of one plant species are more likely to also be allergic to species in the same plant family. For example, those who are Ash tree pollen may also be allergic to the pollen of Olives and Lilacs, as all three are members of the Oleaceae family.
đ special mentions (plants that may or may not necessarily be allergenic but still deserve to be mentioned)
Highly fragrant plants (known to or most likely to trigger scent reactions)
Lilies â particularly Asiatic hybrids such as Lilium orientalis (aka the Stargazer lily)
Hyacinths (members of the Hyacinthus genus)
Lilacs (members of the Syringa genus)
Wisteria (members of the Wisteria genus)
Lavender (members of the Lavandula genus)
Jasmine (members of the Jasminum genus)
Freesias (specifically the highly fragrant Antique White Freesia aka Freesia alba)
Viburnums (Specifically the Burkwood Viburnum aka Viburnum Ă burkwoodii)
Roses (members of the Rosa genus)*
*There are certain types of hybrid Roses that have been bred specifically for traits like fragrance (eg. the variety known as âMme Isaac Pereireâ) but honestly...most of my knowledge pertains to wild rose species and I'm not researching this topic any further because people who grow cultivated/hybrid roses can be Extremely Serious about it and Iâm genuinely a little scared of them.
Small, fluffy seed heads (wind-distributed seeds that are very tiny and light and easy to breathe in...Do you see where i'm going with this? You see the vision?!)
Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale):
Willowherbs (members of the Epilobium genus)
Cottongrasses (members of the Eriophorum genus)
Asters (members of the Aster genus)
Goldenrods (members of the Solidago genus)
Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea)
Hypoallergenic plants (these species tend to have thick/sticky pollen that does not become airborne, or needs to be intentionally disturbed by specialist polinators in order to disperse). A pollen allergy to any of the following plants would extremely unlikely, but an objectively hilarious affliction to give to a character.
Orchids (members of the Orchidaceae family)
Cactus (members of the Cactaceae family)
Irises, Crocuses, and Freesias (members of the Iridaceae family)
Columbines (members of the Aquilegia family)
đ± FUN FACT: Many flowers have been cultivated (intentionally bred or hybridized to for specific traits) to produce less pollen. We call these varieties "cultivars." For allergy sufferers, hypoallergenic cultivars are great to grow in their garden (or to purchase at a florist). For pollinators who expend energy to search for a food source, it's not so great. It's even less great if these cultivars are native species which are subsequently planted or introduced into the wild, as it can compromise the genetic integrity of that species' wild populations, and negatively impact native pollinators.
đ„ Sternutatory or Errhine plants
Sternutatory (adjective): Also sternutative. causing or tending to cause sneezing
Errhine (noun): a medicine to be snuffed up the nostrils to promote sneezing and increased discharges.
Important Disclaimer â ïž DO NOT TRY THESE AT HOME ( I cannot stress this enough). This is for information purposes only and should not be used as a how-to guide. Many plants, including some on this list and the resources at the end of this guide can be extremely toxic, dangerous â or even deadly â if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Misidentification of plant species can also be deadly. Seriously, do not be silly in your pursuit of snz. Stick with chhinkni, folks.
Wait, soâŠplants can make you sneeze even without pollen?
Heck yeah, friends! We've all heard about pepper as a snz trigger, of course...Well, Black Pepper is just the common name for the plant also known as Piper nigrum. Peppercorns are its dried fruit, and it's what we grind up to get black pepper seasoning! And chhinkni? It's all plant parts! We'll get into that later, too.
Indigenous peoples around the world have been using plants medicinally for millennia. Traditionally, sternutatory (yes, that is the fancy scientific word for âsneeze-inducingâ) plants were used to treat or cure the common cold, headaches, or in some cases as a stimulant.
Are you writing a fic with a character who is an herbalist, traditional medicine practitioner, healer, witch/wizard, etc? Perhaps they would be familiar with some of the following plants:
đ± FUN FACT: Mugwort is considered one of the most important herbs ("the mother of herbs") in traditional medicine (and witchcraft, allegedly). It is both a sternutatory plant and a highly-allergenic plant. It sure would be a shame if your herbalist/healer/witchy character had to both grow/harvest it and prepare/pulverize it...
Okay, but how and why exactly do these plants make us sneeze?
Excellent question, so let's get into it! Come on over to...
The Chhinkni Corner
Ever wondered why Chhinkni works? Why it's so effective? What the ingredients are? Exactly how/why these ingredients make us sneeze? Let's dive into some plant + snz science (Snience)!
First, let's break down the ingredients of Chhinkni:
Well, we know from the list of (some of the known) sternutatory plants above that the root bark of Myrica species is sternutatory, so that makes sense! But what about the others on this list? Let's get back to that important question:
What about these specific plants/plant parts make us sneeze?
It all has to do with Transient receptor potential channels (TRP channels). TRP channels are primarily located on the plasma membrane of our cells. They detect environmental stimuli and translate this exposure into sensations of chemesthesis (irritation, burning, cooling, tingling) pressure, taste, and smell. There are six main categories of specialized TRP channels, which play different roles throughout our body. Here's a chart that helps visualize each category:
Woah, this is getting a little overwhelming. What the heck does this have to do with snz? Or plants?!
Everything, my friend! Everything! Many TRP channels are heavily expressed in the epithelial cells of nasal mucosa. Each TRP channel is activated by different things (with some overlaps) including different chemicals found in specific plant families. Let's look at some of these TRP channels (and what activates them) and things will start to make a lot more sense:
TRPV is activated by:
--- Capsaicin (found in Chili Pepper), Piperine (found in Black Pepper), Carvacrol (found in Bee Balm), Camphor (primarily found the Camphor tree, but also found in plants like Rosemary), Menthol, Cannabis, Incense, Ginger, Menthol (mint).
TRPA is activated by:
--- Mustards (mustard, radish, horseradish, wasabi), Cinnamaldehyde (cinnamon), Tobacco, Cannabis, Wintergreen oil (aka what gives mint candies/gum its flavor), Shogaols (found in Ginger and Sichuan peppers)
TRPM is activated by:
--- Eucalyptol (oils from Eucalyptus plants), Menthol (mints),Â
--- Cold temperatures
Hmm...does anything on this list sound familiar in a snz context??!?!?!?!
Wait, is this why things like pepper, cold temperatures, mint, spices, and strong smells make people sneeze?
It sure is! When certain TRP channels are activated, they send signals to your body that trigger protective reflexes (eg. sneezing and coughing) to get rid of the irritant. Everyone's cellular make-up is as unique as they are, and we all react and respond to external stimuli in different ways. Some people might only get a runny nose when exposed to cold temperatures, while for others it might trigger sneezing.
đ± FUN FACT: There have been studies examining TRP channels in the nasal cavity and the role they might play in allergic rhinitis. There have also been studies on specific TRP receptors in the nasal mucosa comparing patients with and without allergenic rhinitis. There is even this study on the nasal effects of camphor, eucalyptus, and menthol!
Learning Tools and More Resources
See where plants grow on a map: Want to know where specific plants grow? Input the plant species (or the genus or family -- now that you know what that is!) into the search bar, and it will show you its global distribution range based on user-submitted data. You can also narrow results down to a specific area. Note: This data is compiled through user-submitted data and may be erroneous. For best results, filter search results using the âResearch Grade Observationâ option. While the results donât provide insight on historical range, native vs. introduced species, itâs a great tool to get you started!
Pollen Allergen Tool: An interactive chart that shows common allergenic proteins and which plants produce pollens containing them.
Repeated Disclaimer â ïž The following resources are shared for information purposes only. Many plants, including some on these lists are extremely toxic, dangerous â or even deadly â if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly.
Sternutatory Plants: A list of sternutatory plant species compiled by the USDA
Sternutatory Plants: A second list, compiled using various data sources.
This paper published in 2021 on the use of sternutatory plants in herbal medicine, TRP activity. and this banger of a quote:
"Sneezing had great significance and value throughout history; it exerted a strange fascination on humans"
I protest the use of past-tense, but alas. Folks, this paper is Snience (Snz Science) in action. If the following excerpt is any indication:
The End!!
THANK YOU for reading if you got this far, and congrats on making it to the end of this post! I hope you learned as much as you horned (if not more) and I hope this little guide can come in handy one way or another.
As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, if you ever have questions on any of these topics, please feel free to reply to this post (or send me an ask if you prefer to be anonymous) and I'll do my best to answer! đđż
i like the idea of a person having to drag somebody out of bed when everyone knows theyâve been sick, and they feel totally guilty about it but for some reason the need for the other personâs skills, knowledge, and/or presence is important enough to override the hideous cold theyâre just in the middle of fighting
There's just something about someone finally giving in and accepting that they're sick, long after everyone else has figured it out. Looking up at someone trying to take care of them, and weakly saying "I don't think I feel so good..."
Ilya is set to spend his first Christmas with Shane and his family. When he comes down with a head cold, Ilya is anxious about his illness derailing their plans.
7.4k words
cw: some mess mentions, insecurities, dubious attempts at Google Translate
Shane was practically vibrating with excitement. He woke up bright and early the day Ilya was supposed to fly into Ottawa to spend Christmas with the Hollanders. It was their last Christmas technically apart since, next Christmas, Ilya would be living in Ottawa. Shane had been so excited all week as he prepared everything he needed to show Ilya all of the Christmas traditions his family had kept up since his childhood. He was helping his parents make sure everything looked immaculate as they would be spending the majority of the holidays at Shaneâs childhood home and only really going to the cottage to sleep.
Ilya woke up the morning he was supposed to fly to Ottawa regretting many of his life decisions. About a week prior, there had been a nasty cold working its way through the Boston locker room. Ilya had mentioned it to Shane when he commented that nearly everyone was playing like shit. Shane had immediately freaked out, worrying that Ilya was going to get sick and it was going to disrupt their holiday plans. He started hovering; repeatedly telling Ilya to wash his hands more often, making sure he was taking extra Vitamin-C, drinking orange juice, and trying to tell Ilya to stay away from the infected group as much as he could.
Heâd complied so he wouldnât have to look at the angry kitten look on Shaneâs face, but apparently it had been pointless. The second he woke up, he knew he was going to be in for a hell of a day.
His sinuses felt like they were packed full of concrete, his throat felt like heâd spent the last several hours gargling with gravel, and his head was pounding behind his eyes. Ilya tried to huff out a frustrated breath, but it immediately made him double over coughing. He clutched at his throat and his chest as he fought for breath, tears springing to his eyes with the effort.
Ilya immediately knew he was going to have to find some way to hide this from Shane. He didnât want to see the disappointed look on Shaneâs face because Ilya fucked up their holiday plans and he didnât want to deal with the guilt of being the cause of Shaneâs disappointment.
Even though the last thing Ilya wanted to do was get out of bed, he managed to drag himself to his feet and throw his exhausted body into the shower. Thankfully, the hot water managed to loosen some of the congestion. Unfortunately, that meant his nose was streaming down his face. It wasnât so bad at first since all of the mess was immediately washed down the drain. It became impossible to ignore when the shifting in his sinuses ignited a sharp tickle deep in his nose. He had practically no warning before he was snapping forward at the waist, barely avoiding smacking his head on the shower wall.
âHâJYSZZCHH! ahHâyIISHhhuU! ehH? ehH-EHâTZZSHHuu! Ublyudok!â he groaned, sniffling frantically after the fit. He grit his teeth as he tented both hands over his nose and mouth and blew productively, letting the mess wash down the drain, cringing to himself as a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Shane muttered, âGross".
He finished his shower quickly after that, desperately needing a tissue and to dose himself with as much cold medicine as he could before boarding a plane. He shivered as the cool air hit his overheated body and quickly pulled on his warmest sweatpants and a hoodie heâd stolen from Shane, whining softly to himself when he realized he couldnât smell the traces of his boyfriend through his stuffy nose.
Thankfully, Ilya had the foresight to pack the night before and the only things he needed to shove in his suitcase this morning were his toothbrush and toothpaste. He dropped his duffle bag in the kitchen as he went to rifle through his cabinets for any kind of cold medicine he might still have. He managed to find some liquid Dayquil that wasnât expired and he downed a bit more than the recommended dose, washing it down with the last dregs of a Coke he had open in the fridge.
Right before he left the house, he pulled out his phone and texted Shane.
Lily 09:47:
           âLeaving the house now. Flight leaves at 11:30. Iâll see you soon. I love youâ
Jane 0949:
           âBe safe. Iâll see you soon. I love you too.â
On a whim, Ilya shoved a handful of tissues and cough drops into the pocket of his sweatpants and walked out the door to wait for his cab.
~~~
           Ilya slept through the entire plane ride from Boston to Ottawa but he was still visibly drooping as he got off the plane. Thankfully, since he slept through the entire flight, he wasnât forced to deal with all of his symptoms in front of the fleet of other passengers, except that meant they all felt exacerbated as he exited the plane. Even through the haze of his cold medicine, he could feel the tickle in his nose buzzing through the wall of congestion and the urge to cough was constantly there. It was only because he kept popping cough drops and drinking water that he wasnât hacking up a lung as he slipped into the airport bathroom to try and make himself slightly more presentable before he saw Shane. He slipped into a stall to blow his nose, having to quickly stifle a sneeze into the bundle of tissues. Which quickly turned into three. Then six. He stopped counting after that. By the time he finally finished, he was panting and the tissues had become a sodden wad in his hand. He grabbed a handful of toilet paper and blew one more time, managing a squeaking breath through his nose for the first time that day after the effort. He unlocked the stall door, tossed the wad of tissues into the trash, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face before heading out into the parking lot to find Shane.
Shane was waiting in the car for him, wearing a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses so he wouldnât be recognized. Ilya opened the back passenger door and thew his bags inside before dropping down into the passenger seat with a sigh. Thankfully, Ilya didnât have to find an excuse not to kiss Shane right then since neither of them would chance it in the airport parking lot.
âHow was your flight?â Shane asked once theyâd pulled out onto the main road.
âGood. Short.â Ilya muttered, trying to avoid any words that would put his congestion on full display for Shane.
âGood. I canât wait for you to see the house. Mom did a great job; itâs beautiful. Weâre supposed to bake cookies when we get there, too, so theyâll be ready for the weekend.â Shane started, going through the entire list of tasks that were expected of them upon their arrival. Ilya leaned his head back against the headrest as he listened to Shaneâs excited rambling. The soft sound of Shaneâs voice wouldâve been enough to lull Ilya to sleep if he wasnât in a battle with himself to keep his sniffles to a minimum and his cough under control. He drank so much water on the drive to quell the itch in his throat that he practically had to run inside when they finally arrived to use the restroom.
While he was in the restroom, he splashed more water on his face to try and get rid of the flush that was slowly spreading across his face and down his neck and blew his nose softly.
When he walked out, greeting Yuna and David with a smile and a hug, he saw that Shane was already in the kitchen with a myriad of ingredients in front of him for making cookies. From scratch. Like theyâd done since Shane was born. Ilyaâs only experience with making cookies in his adult life came in the form of a tube of dough from the grocery store.
Shane quickly began instructing Ilya to mix the dry ingredients together while he dealt with the wet ingredients. Ilya nodded dutifully and grabbed the bag of flour to begin measuring.
Thatâs about how long he lasted in the kitchen. He measured out the required amount of flour, but when he dumped it into the large mixing bowl, a cloud of the white powder flew up into his face. It immediately sent Ilya coughing and spluttering. He took several steps back away from the food, holding his elbow tight to his face as he fought for breath. He stopped coughing after a moment, but as if the universe had it out for him, he hadnât even caught his breath before his eyes were fluttering shut as his breath hitched.
âheEH! nNGgtt! â nnGgkT! Hh! nNGT'tshh!â he started, not bothering to lower his arm from his face after the first initial wave, knowing he wasnât done.
âBless you, sweetheart.â Yuna muttered, surprised at the reaction from a simple cloud of flour. Ilya just shook his head quickly, trying to signal that he wasnât finished.
âhhn! nGKT'Chh! Ugh.â Ilya let out a pained moan during the brief reprieve, the effort it took to stifle his sneezes making his head pound even worse.
âHey, stop that.â Shane muttered softly, coming up behind Ilya and rubbing a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades as his breath continued to catch. Shaneâs touch was enough to ground Ilya for the moment, plus he was getting too tired to keep holding them in.
By the time Ilya finally finished, he was backed all the way against the cabinets opposite the counter they were baking at, he was panting, his eyes were streaming, and everyone was staring at him, concern written all over their faces.
âBless you, baby.â Shane mumbled, pressing himself closer to Ilya so he could reach up and swipe the irritated tears off of his cheeks.
âI think, maybe, you should sit out of baking duty. Itâs kind of inevitable that you get clouds of all the dry ingredients in the air, and that definitely doesnât seem to agree with you.â Yuna reasoned, and Ilya nodded eagerly.
âWhy donât we work on this puzzle and watch them bake.â David offered, making Ilya smile softly and nod.
âSure. Just⊠firstâŠâ Ilya muttered, trailing off as he gestured vaguely to the bathroom and his nose, which was running again after that display.
No one stopped him as he scurried off, embarrassed, to blow his nose. When he returned, his nose was pinker around the edges, but his voice was a bit clearer as he sat down on the couch to help David with the puzzle that was laid out on the coffee table.
Ilya only managed to get a few pieces in before he resorted to watching Shane and Yuna bake in the kitchen. His gaze kept trailing to his boyfriend; content to watch him laughing and happy in the kitchen with his mother. He leaned back on the couch, getting in a more comfortable position to quietly observe, a soft smile on his face.
Ilya didnât realize heâd dozed off until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. When his eyes fluttered open, Shane was waving a cookie in his face while he had one in his mouth. Holidays seemed to be the only time that Shane indulged in eating a few sweets, so Ilya wasnât going to discourage him. He took the cookie from Shane, smiling sleepily up at him as he bit into it.
âVery good.â Ilya mumbled, shoving the whole thing in his mouth when he realized it was still warm and the chocolate chips were still melty. Shane smiled proudly and flopped down next to Ilya on the couch, tugging him closer until Ilyaâs head was resting on his chest.
~~~
           After dinner, they all curled up on the couch to watch one of Shaneâs favorite Christmas movies that they, apparently, watched every year. Shane had balked at him when Ilya admitted heâd never seen Home Alone and went on an at least ten-minute rant about why Ilya had to see it.
Shane had draped a blanket across their laps and dragged Ilyaâs head down to rest on his shoulder so he could run his fingers through Ilyaâs curls. Ilya managed to watch the first few minutes of the movie through half lidded eyes until Shaneâs fingers in his hair and the lingering exhaustion managed to lull him back to sleep. Shane didnât notice right away that Ilya had dozed off, but he couldnât find it in his heart to wake him once he did, even though heâd been so excited for Ilya to experience all of their Christmas traditions. He just continued to run his fingers through Ilyaâs hair as he let him sleep.
When the movie finally went off, Yuna and David announced that they were going to bed. Yuna pressed a kiss to the top of Shaneâs head as she passed and David ruffled his hair.
âWe made up your room for you boys. Just in case.â David commented, gazing pointedly at Ilya, who was still snoring softly on Shaneâs chest.
âI think weâll probably stay tonight.â Shane whispered, gazing down at Ilya, who looked so peaceful he hated to wake him, but they couldnât sleep on the couch all night. David nodded with a smile before turning to follow his wife.
Once they were alone, Shane gently shook Ilya awake.
âHey, Ilya. Itâs time for bed.â He mumbled softly once Ilyaâs eyes fluttered open. He nodded slowly, turning his head to muffle a yawn into Shaneâs shoulder. He stood up first and stretched before starting to turn toward the front door, but Shane caught his hand and shook his head. âLetâs just stay here tonight.â He proposed, smiling when Ilya just nodded and turned toward Shaneâs room. Shane stood up off the couch and followed him, finding Ilya already pulling back the covers to slide into bed.
That made Shane pause, furrowing his brows curiously. Ilya always wanted to shower before bed after being on a plane. He began to wonder if maybe there was something Ilya wasnât telling him, especially with how tired heâd been today. Shane didnât say anything, not wanting to spook him. He just went to quickly brush his teeth before sliding into bed next to Ilya, who was blinking slowly at Shane, like he was already half asleep. Shane leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.
When he wasnât met with any unnatural heat, he shook off his suspicions and figured Ilya was just tired from so much traveling and that heâd be fine in the morning.
âI love you.â Shane mumbled softly, leaning back in to brush a gentle kiss to Ilyaâs lips.
âI love you, too.â Ilya mumbled, and it was clear that he was barely hanging onto consciousness, because it couldnât have been more than two minutes since the words left his mouth before he was snoring. Shane grinned down at his adorable boyfriend. He dropped one last kiss to Ilyaâs curls before snuggling up to him under the blankets and sighing happily as sleep overtook him.
~~~
The next morning, Shane woke before Ilya and went to help his dad start making breakfast. They were making omelets while Yuna gathered up all of the gifts so they could wrap everything together. Theyâd been doing it this way since Shane stopped believing in Santa as a child. His parents would put all of the gifts into boxes with whoever it was for written in sharpie on the side and then they would wrap gifts as a family. While father and son were busy cooking, Yuna continuously appeared and reappeared in the living room as she dropped off rounds of packages.
When Ilya finally emerged from Shaneâs bedroom, he was still in his sweatpants but heâd pulled on a different one of Shaneâs hoodies. He was scrubbing at his eyes and his curls were all over the place.
âGood morning.â Shane greeted brightly, kissing Ilyaâs cheek as he passed, smiling softly when Ilya stayed in the kitchen to wrap his arms around Shaneâs waist while he cooked, his head resting on Shaneâs shoulder.
âGood mborndig.â Ilya mumbled into Shaneâs shoulder, making him pause. Ilyaâs voice was thick with congestion, which wasnât necessarily abnormal. The man always woke up stuffy after having broken his nose so many times; but this was different. He sounded sick. Shane furrowed his brows slightly and turned around in Ilyaâs arms to kiss his forehead. He felt a little warm but he mostly felt sleep warm, not fever warm. Shane sighed, hoping that if something was wrong, Ilya would come out and say it.
âBreakfast is almost ready. Weâre having omelets.â Shane said, watching Ilyaâs face for any hint that he didnât want one. He nodded agreeably and wordlessly went to sit down at the table after retrieving a glass of juice and a ginger ale for Shane.
After their breakfast, it was time to wrap packages. Yuna briefed Ilya on the tradition over breakfast and he seemed excited to participate. They all piled in the floor in a circle with the wrapping paper and bows in the middle. David joined them last after putting on some Christmas music to play over the speakers. They each grabbed a package and a roll of paper and began wrapping.
Shane was still keeping a close eye on Ilya as they wrapped which was how he noticed that Ilya kept sniffling. They were soft, unobtrusive little noises that could barely be heard over the Christmas music, but Shane could also see how Ilya kept pressing the cuff of his sweatshirt against his septum and wrinkling his nose. No one else was paying attention, too wrapped up in their tasks, but Shane was only really watching Ilya. That was also how he noticed when Ilya gasped softly and ducked into the cuff of his sweatshirt. Shane watched as Ilyaâs head bobbed eight times as he stifled his sneezes into silence. When he was finally finished, he sniffled softly and shook his head, his curls fluttering around his ears.
He glanced at Yuna and David first to see if theyâd noticed. When he decided they hadnât, his gaze shifted to Shane and he blushed when they locked eyes.
âAre you okay?â Shane mouthed to him, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Ilya nodded wordlessly and continued to wrap the present he was working on. When he finished, placing it into the pile with the rest, he stood up, stretched, and retreated to the bathroom. Shane listened carefully to see if he could hear the toilet flush. When he didnât, but heard the sink turn on, he knew Ilya had gone to blow his nose in private.
He came back and resumed his position, not saying a word to anyone. Shane dropped the matter for the moment, knowing that he was going to circle back later when he and Ilya were alone.
He only lasted about half an hour before Ilyaâs soft gasps drew his attention again. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were fluttering shut, and his pink nostrils were flaring wildly as he tucked his head into his shoulder. This time, Shane counted a whopping fifteen head bobs before Ilya practically scrambled up and retreated to the bathroom again.
âIs he okay? He doesnât seem like himself?â David asked after Ilyaâs quick disappearance drew his attention. Shane shrugged, having had enough.
âIâm gonna go check.â Shane said, getting up himself and following Ilya into his childhood bedroom, which was the bathroom heâd disappeared into this time.
As soon as Shane stepped through the door, he could hear Ilya coughing softly through the door before blowing his nose. Shane sighed heavily, silently shutting the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
When Ilya emerged, his nose pinker than ever, he froze when he caught sight of Shane, who wordlessly held out his hand to Ilya to tug him down into his lap.
âIlya, please be honest with me. I can tell youâre not feeling well. I just want you to tell me whatâs wrong.â Shane pleaded, gazing at Ilya with open concern. Shaneâs arms wrapped around Ilyaâs back while Ilyaâs hung limply at his sides. He glanced away from Shane, not making eye contact until Shane turned his head back to face him with a finger under his chin. His heart broke when he saw tears shining in Ilyaâs eyes. âBaby.â Shane whispered softly, and thatâs when Ilya broke.
âI'm sorry. Feel like garbage. Tried so hard not to get sick. Did not want to ruin your Christmas plans. You were so excited. I did not mean to fuck it all up.â Ilya cried into Shaneâs shoulder, finally wrapping his arms around Shane, who was holding him tight and rocking him slightly. Shane craned his head back slightly to kiss Ilyaâs forehead and, yep, definitely a fever.
âBaby, you havenât ruined anything. You never could. Iâm sorry I made you feel like you couldnât tell me how you were feeling. I â we just want to look after you.â Shane told him softly, rubbing Ilyaâs back as he let out soft, hiccupping sobs into Shaneâs shoulder.
âI could not bake with you yesterday, did not even make it through wrapping presents, or your Christmas movie. I ruined everything.â He cried, still not looking up at Shane.
If Ilyaâs father could die twice, Shane would be going to prison for murder in the next few hours.
âBut youâre here. Spending Christmas with us. With me. Thatâs all I wanted, Ilya. I wanted you here. Everything else was just a bonus. I wanted you to have a good family Christmas. I didnât want you to torture yourself and make yourself miserable because you were scared to tell me you were sick.â Shane whispered softly to him, moving one hand up to run his fingers through Ilyaâs curls as his sobs tapered off into soft sniffles.
âButâŠâ Ilya started, but Shane shook his head.
âNo butâs. Thatâs the truth. I promise. I just want you here.â Shane adamantly told him, removing both hands to hold Ilyaâs face, making him look into Shaneâs eyes to see that he was serious. He studied Shaneâs expression carefully and, finally, seemed to realize that he was being truthful.
âYou promise?â Ilya asked softly, suddenly seeming much younger than he was. Shane smiled up at him and wiped the tears from Ilyaâs cheeks with his thumbs before leaning in to kiss the tear tracks.
âI promise.â Shane repeated, then waited until Ilya nodded to continue. âNow, can you tell me how youâre feeling?â he asked softly, still stroking Ilyaâs face.
âStuffy. Head hurts. Throat hurts. Cold. Tired.â He listed, which thankfully just sounded like a bad cold rather than the flu or something worse.
âOkay. Can we give you some medicine? I think you have a fever.â Shane requested, but Ilya shook his head frantically.
âNo pills.â He protested, but Shane shushed him softly.
âI know, baby. I know. I can see if we have any liquid medicine, and run to the store if not.â Shane offered, but Ilya shook his head again.
âDonât want you to leave.â He mumbled, leaning to tuck his face into the crook of Shaneâs neck again.
âOkay. What if I do a delivery order? I can get whatever you want, and itâll come straight here.â Shane suggested next, which seemed to appease Ilya, who nodded, and rolled off of Shaneâs lap and onto the bed next to him so he could pull out his phone and scroll through the delivery options.
Once heâd finished putting everything into his cart, he handed the phone to Ilya to look over it. Heâd added liquid cold medicine, liquid fever reducer, tea, cough drops, lots of tissues, and some popsicles. Ilya nodded and handed the phone back.
âOkay. Itâll be here in about an hour. Do you wanna take a nap in here?â Shane asked, but Ilya shook his head.
âDonât want to take you from your parents on Christmas.â He protested, clearly still feeling guilty.
âOkay. Why donât we go curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Theyâre probably done wrapping presents by now.â Shane suggested, and Ilya smiled and nodded. Shane stood up and took Ilyaâs hand, helping him to his feet before wrapping him in a hug. âI love you.â Shane mumbled, then kissed the side of Ilyaâs neck. He felt Ilya droop further into his embrace.
âYa tebya lyublyu.â Ilya mumbled back, following it up with a heavy sigh as he allowed Shane to lead him back out into the living room.
âEverything okay?â Yuna asked as they piled up on the couch and Shane draped a blanket over their laps. Shane glanced at Ilya, who nodded shyly and let his head drop onto Shaneâs shoulder.
âIlyaâs got a little bit of a cold, so I think weâre just gonna rest here for a bit.â Shane said, immediately getting sympathetic looks from both parents.
âCan we get you anything, son?â David asked. Shane felt Ilya smile into his shoulder.
âI donât think so. Iâve got a pharmacy order being delivered in a little bit.â Shane told them, which seemed to appease them. They both went back to putting the finishing touches on their last few packages and Shane turned to Ilya. âSee. Nothingâs ruined. They just want to make sure youâre okay, too.â Shane whispered, kissing the top of Ilyaâs head after. He nodded sleepily and gazed up at Shane lovingly, who took the opportunity to press a kiss to the tip of Ilyaâs nose. He blushed and wrinkled it in response before ducking down to scrub his nose into Shaneâs shoulder when the touch made him itchy.
âSorry.â Shane apologized, but he was giggling softly when Ilya had to bring both hands up to his face.
ânNâTSCHh! â iiHTSHh!â Ilya grumbled when he finished and poked Shane in the side accusingly.
âAsshole.â He grumbled, while Shane continued to giggle.
âShane, stop teasing him.â Yuna admonished, making David chuckle.
âYes, Shane. Stop being mean to your dying boyfriend.â Ilya added, making everyone laugh.
âYouâre not dying, you drama queen.â Shane poked Ilyaâs cheek, leaning in to kiss the spot heâd just poked when Ilya grinned.
âBoys, arenât you supposed to be resting?â David asked, ever the voice of reason.
âI am trying, David. Talk to your other son.â Ilya replied with a pointed sniffle, then another. Shane just rolled his eyes.
They finally managed to sit quietly on the couch and watch Home Alone 2, which made more sense to Ilya after Shane explained the plot of the first, until the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of Shaneâs pharmacy order.
He hopped off the couch to retrieve the bags and came back with his arsenal, including a thermometer heâd pulled out of the kitchen cabinets.
âUnder your tongue.â Shane instructed, tapping the underside of Ilyaâs chin until he complied. He sat there looking all pathetic with the device under his tongue until it beeped and Shane swiped it from his mouth. â38.3°. Not too bad. Still need some Tylenol.â Shane mumbled as he started to pull items from the bag.
First, he handed Ilya a capful of liquid Tylenol, taking it like a shot. Then, he got a capful of liquid Dayquil and swallowed it down quickly.
âGross.â Ilya grumbled, giving his head a shake.
âPopsicle?â Shane asked, offering him a neon green one. He nodded happily and took it, crunching down on the ice and sighing happily as it slid down his throat, the cold numbing the pain slightly. Shane tossed a box of tissues onto the couch next to Ilya and finally sat down next to him, draping an arm around his shoulders.
âShane? I think your father and I are gonna start cooking for tomorrow. You two just hang out on the couch. Weâve got this.â Yuna told them, ruffling Shaneâs hair as she passed and leaning down to kiss Ilyaâs forehead, humming softly as if she didnât trust the thermometer. âWe may need to rethink the lightshow tonight. If heâs already not feeling well, we donât need to drag him out in the cold.â Yuna mumbled softly to David as she walked into the kitchen, making Ilyaâs head whip around.
âNo! Please! I want to go!â Ilya exclaimed, which sent him coughing into his elbow. Shane rubbed circles on his back as he caught his breath and tossed a skeptical look over his shoulder at his parents.
âIlya, are you sure thatâs a good idea? Youâre already shivering on the couch; do you really want to sit in the car for an hour with the windows down just to look at some lights?â Shane asked, starting to run his fingers through Ilyaâs curls.
âI never had anything like this in Russia. I want to see what your Christmases are like. I will be fine. I promise.â Ilya reassured them all, before flashing Shane his pleading baby blues.
âWeâll see.â Shane finally mumbled after a brief standoff. Ilya seemed appeased at least for the moment and they settled back in to finish the movie.
Normally, Shane would be in the middle of the kitchen, preparing the food for Christmas Day, but he found himself perfectly content to lay on the couch with Ilya, even though he was periodically coughing and sniffling into Shaneâs chest. Ilya also finally seemed content, snuggling with Shane and watching Christmas movies even though he felt like garbage.
After a while, the delicious scent of Christmas dinner began to fill the house. It wasnât long after the smell began permeating that David came into the living room carrying turkey sandwiches.
âLunch?â he offered, handing a plate to both of them.
âThank you, dad.â Shane said, taking both and handing Ilya one. âThey always do the turkey early and reheat it for lunch the day before. We usually have leftover turkey for Christmas and a fresh ham.â Shane told him.
âGood leftovers.â Ilya mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. Shane snorted but didnât say anything as he started eating his own sandwich. David and Yuna joined the pair on the couch with their own sandwiches. They all ate lunch together as they started watching A Christmas Story.
Once Ilya and Shane had finished their lunch, they stretched out on one side of the couch, Shane laying out across the couch with Ilya splayed out on top of him. Their feet were tangled together and Shane reached up to pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it across Ilya. Ilya sighed happily and tucked his face into the crook of Shaneâs neck. It wasnât long before his breathing evened out and he was snoring softly.
âWhatâre we thinking about going to see the lights tonight?â Yuna asked softly once Ilya started snoring. Shane hummed softly and turned his head to press a lingering kiss to Ilyaâs forehead.
âHeâs cooler now with the medicine in him than he was earlier. I think if he feels up to it, we can bundle him up and go.â Shane reasoned, knowing Ilya would be more upset if they didnât go. He didnât want Ilya to get worse, but he really didnât want to see his boyfriend crying again, wracked with guilt over ruining Christmas.
âWe can crank the heat up in the car, too. I think heâll be okay.â David chimed in, smiling at Shane, who sighed in relief.
âOkay. As long as heâs not doing worse when he wakes up, weâll plan to leave a little after dark.â Yuna stated before getting up, grabbing the lunch dishes and heading back into the kitchen. âReady to get back to cooking, honey?â she called to David, who nodded and got up to follow her.
Shane sighed and relaxed into the couch, letting Ilyaâs warm weight soothe him into an afternoon nap of his own.
~~~
           When Shane woke up, it was to the feeling of a gentle finger tracing lines across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes fluttered open and met Ilyaâs bright blue ones. He grinned when he saw that Shane was awake.
âHi.â Shane mumbled, turning to muffle a yawn into his shoulder.
âHi. Youâre very pretty.â Ilya mumbled, leaning closer to Shane to kiss his freckled cheeks.
âYouâre delirious.â Shane teased, lifting a hand to press the back of it against Ilyaâs forehead and cheeks. Thankfully, he wasnât any warmer than he was earlier. âHow was your nap?â Shane asked as he pushed himself up into a seated position.
âGood. Ready to see the lights.â Ilya whispered excitedly, his grin lighting up his face.
âYouâre sure youâre up for it?â Shane asked, still skeptical as he gazed at Ilya with his pink cheeks and nose. He shot Shane a halfhearted glare.
âShane, Iâm fine. I want to go.â He promised, gazing earnestly at Shane.
âUgh, fine. If you insist.â Shane muttered teasingly, then turned to glance outside to see that the sun was going down. âItâs probably almost time to go. Letâs get dressed.â Shane said, tugging Ilya up from the couch and leading him to the bedroom.
Shane quickly tugged on a pair of jeans and a hoodie on over his long-sleeved shirt. Then, he began rummaging through their bags. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and a beanie for Ilya.
âThis is dramatic.â Ilya muttered as Shane also pulled a pair of fuzzy socks out of a drawer. When Shane shot him a withering glare, Ilya nodded wordlessly and began dressing. He rolled his eyes but he did sit down on the edge of the bed to pull the socks onto his feet. When he stood back up, Shane tugged the beanie down over his curls.
âYou are hovering. Like mother hen.â Ilya grumbled, but Shane could see that the corners of his lips were fighting not to turn up into a smile. Shane just grinned then turned to pluck a handful of tissues out of the box on his nightstand and stuffed them into Ilyaâs pockets.
âIf you get too cold or start feeling bad, we can turn around and come back. Promise me youâll tell me if you need to come back.â Shane requested, flashing Ilya his best puppy-dog look.
âYes, I promise. Letâs go.â Ilya grinned excitedly, turning on his heel and heading for the door. Shane rolled his eyes and followed after Ilya, whoâd been waylaid in the living room by Yuna, who was looking him over one last time before agreeing to let him out the door.
âOne more dose of medicine before we leave, I think.â She said, quickly moving to pour out a dose of both the fever reducer and decongestant. Ilya took them both like a champ before practically skipping out the door.
âIs he always like this?â Yuna asked, her gaze jumping between Shane and the door Ilya had just walked out of.
âStubborn? Absolutely.â He grumbled, rolling his eyes again before following after Ilya, who was waiting out in the cold by the locked car door. Even though Shane could already hear Ilya sniffling from the cold, he was practically bouncing with excitement on the balls of his feet. âGet in the car! Are you trying to give yourself pneumonia?â Shane grumbled once heâd heard the two beeps of the car doors unlocking. Ilya rolled his eyes and climbed in. Shane settled in behind the driverâs seat and Ilya shimmied himself into the middle seat, pressing himself against Shaneâs side.
Before David and Yuna had even made it out of the house, Ilya was frantically fishing one of the tissues out of his pocket.
âheht-tisschâuh! Ihhschâoo! âŠhhh? Ihhhâischhh!â Ilya sniffled frantically and scrubbed his itchy, runny nose into the tissues before doubling over again with a surprise fourth. âeihâyishhshiew!â
He blew his nose quickly to head off any more while Shane rubbed his back.
âBless you, baby.â Shane mumbled, moving his hand up to give the back of Ilyaâs neck a gentle squeeze.
âFuck. Sorry.â He mumbled, sniffling like he was still itchy. Shane knew him well enough to know that he was probably going to spend the whole light show sneezing. Being cold made his nose run, his nose running made his whole face itch, and any minor irritation tended to make him sneeze his head off.
âWeâre still in the driveway. We can still go back inside.â Shane offered one last time, but Ilya was shaking his head before Shane could even finish his sentence.
âMight need more tissues, though.â Ilya admitted, but that was his only indication that anything was wrong. Shane grinned victoriously and pulled a travel pack of tissues out of his own pocket. Ilya grinned bashfully and ducked his head.
âI know you.â Shane replied simply right as David and Yuna climbed into the car. Ilya blushed and snuggled his head into the crook of Shaneâs shoulder.
âReady, boys?â Yuna asked, turning to glance at them before David threw the car into drive and started to pull away. They both nodded and settled in to watch the world go by as they drove toward their destination.
Ilya spent the car ride with his head on Shaneâs shoulder, observing as much of the scenery of Shaneâs hometown as he could in the dark until, finally, they turned off the main road onto a side road and the world immediately exploded into technicolor. Shane glanced down at Ilya to see that heâd lifted his head and was gazing at the lights with a childlike innocence. His mouth was slightly open in both disbelief and necessity, and Shane could see the colorful lights reflected in Ilyaâs eyes.
Yuna began messing with the radio until she got to the right station to correspond with the light show, and cheery Christmas music filled the car.
âIlya, honey, weâre rolling the windows down now. If you get cold, tell us and weâll turn the heat up.â Yuna said as David pressed the buttons to roll all 4 windows down. Ilya nodded blankly as he continued to stare at the lights.
Although this was one of Shaneâs favorite traditions, this year, he spent his time watching Ilya instead of the lights. He would mouth along to the words of some of the Christmas songs he recognized as they came on the radio and he kept his head on the swivel so he wouldnât miss any of the lights.
âHow do they do that?â Ilya finally asked after a particularly intricate display where the lights danced around to the beat of the song on the radio.
âI have no idea. Iâve always wondered that, too.â David chimed in from the front seat as they creeped along behind the line of cars ahead of them.
âIt is beautiful.â Ilya mumbled softly and Shane couldnât help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead. âThank you for bringing me.â Ilya whispered, gazing up at Shane.
Shane wanted nothing more than to shrink Ilya down and carry him around in his pocket. Sometimes, he couldnât believe this huge, normally stoic, Russian hockey player had the capacity to be so cute.
Thankfully, Ilyaâs cold symptoms seemed to be held at bay by all of the clothing Shane had bundled him up in coupled with Shaneâs body heat and the heat blasting through the car. He did have to keep a few tissues clutched in his hand to swipe at his runny nose and to muffle the occasional, âheht-tisshâuh!â when the cold air became too much for him, but thankfully he was able to stay warm enough to avoid any full-fledged fits.
When they got home, Shane immediately shoved Ilya into a warm shower while he helped his parents make hot cocoa. When Ilya emerged in clean sweatpants and one of Shaneâs hoodies, curls dripping, they all piled onto the couch under blankets to watch The Santa Clause.
Ilya managed to stay awake through the entire movie, even though he started blinking sleepily at the screen about halfway through. Once it was over and everyone had finished their drinks as well as a few cookies, it was almost midnight and, therefore, time to retire to bed. David carried the mugs to the kitchen and Yuna took the dirty plates while Shane pulled Ilya to his feet.
âNight boys. Weâll see you in the morning. Merry Christmas.â David called from the kitchen since heâd started rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Yuna made her way over to the two boys, wrapping Shane in a hug and whispering something in his ear before moving on to Ilya.
âMerry Christmas, sweetheart.â She whispered to Ilya as she wrapped him in a hug as well and kissed his forehead. âFeeling any better?â she asked, unable to resist mothering him.
âMuch better. Thank you. Merry Christmas, Yuna.â Ilya whispered, trying not to tear up from the motherly display heâd missed so much.
âGoodnight, boys.â She told them both as they turned to head to Shaneâs room.
Once they were behind closed doors, Shane wrapped Ilya in a tight hug, where he let out a huge yawn into the crook of Shaneâs neck.
âSleepy?â Shane asked softly as he ran gentle fingertips across Ilyaâs back.
âMmhm. And happy. Thank you for sharing this with me.â Ilya mumbled, pulling back slightly from the hug only so he could wrap his arms around Shaneâs shoulders. They stood in the middle of Shaneâs childhood bedroom, swaying slightly from side to side.
âThank you for letting me.â Shane replied, pushing himself up slightly on his toes to press a kiss to Ilyaâs forehead before planting a lingering kiss to his lips.
âYou are wanting me to give you my cold for Christmas?â Ilya teased, but he didnât pull back from where his grin was pressed against Shaneâs mouth.
âI want to kiss my boyfriend on Christmas.â Shane reasoned, making Ilyaâs entire body flush hot and he ducked bashfully into Shaneâs shoulder. âCome on, letâs get another dose of medicine into you and go to bed.â Shane instructed, giving Ilyaâs back a pat before pulling away to go dose out the medicine. Ilya just nodded and joined Shane in the bathroom. He quickly swallowed down both capfuls then brushed his teeth side-by-side with Shane.
He whipped his hoodie off before crawling into bed but held his arms out for Shane to snuggle into when he fell into bed next to Ilya so he could steal his body heat.
They laid nose-to-nose for a bit, just breathing each other in.
âMerry Christmas, dorogoy.â Ilya replied, leaning in to press a lingering, sweet kiss to Shaneâs lips before nuzzling into his chest, tucking his head under Shaneâs chin, and wrapping his arms tightly around Shaneâs torso. âTy luchshee, chto kogda-libo sluchalos so mnoy.â Ilya muttered into Shaneâs chest.
Shane had been working on his Russian, but he wasnât quite that advanced. He knew, though, that Ilya liked to express his more vulnerable thoughts in Russian. This time, Shane gave him a pass and didnât ask for him to translate. He could tell by the tone of Ilyaâs voice that whatever heâd said was something incredibly sappy that would probably bring Shane to tears.
Shane craned his neck down to kiss the top of his head, nuzzling his nose into Ilyaâs curls and sighing contently. He began trailing his fingers up and down Ilyaâs back, letting the rhythmic movement of his hand lull them both to sleep.
Shane hated that Ilya hadnât been feeling well for their first Christmas together, but here, wrapped up in the arms of his love, he couldnât help but feel like this had already been the best Christmas of his life. He fell asleep with a smile on his face at the thought that it wasnât even over yet.
Well I havenât written fanfiction in like 3 years BUT this hockey show has damaged my brain in incomprehensible ways so. Here is ~5k words of sick I/lya and S/hane being way too perceptive about it
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I/lya R/ozanov was having a horrible fucking day.Â
The Raiders were in Montreal for a game and I/lya had been looking forward to it for weeks. It had been months since he had been able to get H/ollander in his bed. They hadnât been texting much - both of them were busy and I/lya knew S/hane was skittish when he was constantly around people. Now, I/lya sent his room number to H/ollander as soon as he was handed the key card, with a kissing emoji next to it for good measure.Â
Since I/lya had seen the schedule heâd been ready to not only fuck H/ollander into the hotel mattress, but to beat the Metros so badly they wouldnât know what to do with themselves. Mentally, physically, he was ready to go. He was at the top of his game. There was nothing he loved more than playing against H/ollander on the ice, except maybe fucking him and hearing the sweet whines that came from his lips after every game.Â
Until Ilya had woken late for practice to one of his teammates banging at his hotel door. He had slept badly that night, too hot then too cold, tossing and turning over and over. Ilya only really reached REM once the sun started coming up, and by then he should have been getting dressed already. He leapt out of bed and threw on whatever discarded clothes were in proximity. His head was fucking killing him and he was already in a bad mood, cursing as he hopped on one foot trying to yank his sweats on. Ilya missed breakfast, barely made it downstairs for the bus, and simply sucked ass during practice. His head wasnât in it and no matter how hard he focused on the ice he just couldnât find the tight groove he usually did.Â
By the time practice had finished, he was drenched in sweat and could barely catch his breath. Ilya had a hard time remembering ever being this tired after a pre-game practice on the ice. It soured his mood further, how out of routine he felt. This was not how game days went, especially not game days in Montreal. His headache hadnât gone away; if anything it felt worse. He snapped at his teammates until they all got the hint and left him alone because honestly the last thing he wanted to do was speak or deal with someone asking him what the hell was wrong with him. Ilya didnât even know himself what was going on and heâd rather chew concrete than try to put it into English.Â
During the afternoon Ilya tried to get back to feeling normal. He ate lunch with his team even though he had zero appetite, he went back to his room and showered, he chugged a couple of water bottles because maybe his problem was dehydration.Â
But by the time they were at the stadium in the locker room, he was beginning to think maybe he was fucked. His brain felt slow to process the information around him - English was suddenly so difficult that he stumbled through a rather short, embarrassing pre-game speech before just walking around and giving each teammate a shake or bump of helmets or punch on the arm to physically get them hyped instead. His vision felt a little off, a little out of focus, and god his head was killing him. The sound of the fans in the stadium nearly made him clamp his hands over his ears when they skated out for warmups.Â
Ilya couldnât even get himself to look at Shane. Ilya was pissed off, he felt like shit, and the last thing he needed was Shane to pick up on that. Because of course Shane would. There was no way if he was even a hair off of his usual game that Shane wouldnât notice and Ilya really didnât want to fucking talk about it.Â
By the time the game was over, Ilya wanted nothing more to be magically transported to his hotel room where he didnât have to do anything other than shower and sleep for the next twelve hours.Â
The Boston Raiders lost by one point, 4-3 for the Montreal Metros. He felt worse and worse as the game progressed. By the second period his throat was aching, not yet raw but uncomfortable when he swallowed, dry and irritated from all of his panting during the game. His nose was next to useless now. Ilya always was sniffly on the ice from the cold of it, but this was a new low. The congestion was bad enough his ears ached and muffled the sound around him. His head continued to pound. His gear felt hot and suffocating and he was constantly wiping sweat out of his stinging eyes. The harder he pushed, the faster he worked his legs, the more nauseated he became. By the fourth period he was benched - somewhere in the last few minutes of play is vision went a little sideways and he just couldnât keep track of the puck and his coach knew it. Embarrassing.Â
Luckily he hadnât been slammed around too bad, but he still felt like shit and he was pissed that he felt like shit. He was pissed that they lost, and he was pissed that he would probably have to tell Hollander he was coming down with something and couldnât hook up. Of course. Ilya knew he was an asshole, but not that much of an asshole. But with the way Hollander squinted at him during the puck drop, he might already know.Â
Shane gave him a narrow-eyed, calculating look when they shook hands after the match. Ilya had seen him make this face at enough people that he didnât take it personally, but did make him feel weirdly self conscious in a way only Shane was capable of. Ilya probably looked as bad as he felt. So he got the handshakes over with and skated back to the locker room where he peeled off layers of sweat-soaked fabric and protective gear to shower this fucking night off of him.Â
The steam didnât help the issues he was having with his nose. The congestion began to shift in earnest, and before he knew it he was -Â
It was surprising to him how quickly he was going downhill. His headache has been steady all day, but over the course of just a few hours he had a full-blown head cold. Hopefully. Ilya was really and truly hoping this wasnât the flu. Either way, his ears were blocked, nose packed full and running, and his throat felt like it was gearing up for laryngitis. Awesome.Â
Ilya showered quickly, dried off, and threw on his post-game clothes. He sniffled thickly, wiping his nose roughly with his hoodie sleeve. Heâd have the team medic check him out tomorrow if he still felt like this, and either way he had a couple of days before he needed to catch a flight. Right now all he wanted was to just to go the fuck to bed.Â
Soon enough he was fumbling with his door key and stumbling inside his hotel room, closing it with a thud and leaning back against it. Ilya closed his eyes and took a deep breath, coughing weakly into his elbow on the exhale. Great. He rubbed his aching eyes and shuffled into the bathroom, rolling a copious amount of toilet paper around his hand and blowing his nose thoroughly. The noise was loud and gurgling, making him wince in disgust. He looked pretty terrible, hair still damp from the shower, face puffy and pale, nose already an irritated red with a mound of makeshift tissues tented around it.Â
He took a moment to mop up his nose, but the touch just made him -Â
Ilya groaned afterwards. This cold had just started and he was already over it. He finished cleaning up, dug through his bag for tylenol, and took a couple with several desperate gulps of water. The liquid didnât really help with the dryness in his throat, just made it sting as it went down his esophagus. He took a whole spare roll of toilet paper to bed with him as he collapsed into it, clumsily sliding it onto the nightstand.Â
Ilya was so exhausted, sore and aching, head and sinuses pulsing when he moved. The bathroom light was still on and he needed to set his alarm for the morning. He was still fully dressed. But Ilya was too tired and felt too shitty to care about a single one of those things.Â
He did care about one thing though. Groggy and squinting, he quickly pulled out his phone and typed a message to Hollander.Â
Lily: Donât come tonight. We will meet next time.Â
Satisfied that Shane both wouldnât come over and wouldnât freak the fuck out at his radio silence, Ilya tossed his phone to the bedside table and nuzzled deeper into the starchy pillow, sniffling thickly. He just needed to sleep, just for a little whileâŠÂ
~~~~~~~
Ilya jerked awake an indeterminate amount of time later to knocking at his door. His phone on the bedside table was vibrating incessantly and Ilya could basically feel the reverberation of it in his skull. He grumbled and swore and swatted at his phone until he knocked it to the carpet, fingers fumbling and failing to tug it towards him. He swore again and pushed himself up on trembling arms, confused and aching and pissed off.Â
He really truly now felt awful. He was freezing cold even as sweat plastered his shirt to his skin. As soon as Ilya left the warm pocket of air trapped between the blankets, he began to shiver. His head was pounding and his nose was running already, congestion packed so tight that even sniffling made his face bloom with pain. His throat was beginning to ache properly now after an indeterminate time of mouth breathing.Â
The knocking began at his door again, sharp and insistent. The phone on the ground stopped vibrating, then seconds later began again. Shaky, Ilya threw his legs over the side of the bed and wobbled to his feet. He was grateful in that moment he had left on the bathroom light so his balance wasnât a hazard along with the lack of sight. Ilya, hunched over himself, arms tucked tight around his stomach as if that could ward off the chill, pulled on a discarded hoodie and swiped an arm under his leaky nose after trying and failing to sniffle away the mess.
Ilya didnât know who was at his fucking door but they were about to regret it. The only thing in the world he wanted was to sleep, and Ilya swears to god if this is one of his idiot teammates-Â
The door is yanked open to reveal Shane Hollander, ball cap pulled low over his eyes, standing nervously in the hallway. He had a plastic shopping bag in one hand, the other holding his phone to his ear. Ilya saw Hollanderâs shoulders visibly droop with relief as he pushed his way inside. Ilya felt stunned for several seconds, mouth working soundlessly, sluggish sick brain trying to put the pieces together as to why Shane Hollander was here right now. He had cancelled, hadnât he? Had he dreamt that? Ilya didnât have time to make sense of it before Shane was shutting the door behind him and sighing in relief. It took several seconds for Ilya to realize he was being spoken to. He felt like he was underwater, vision swimmy, thoughts slow. Â
â-really thought someone was going to see me. Are you okay? Iâm sorry if you were sleeping. I just wanted toâŠâ Shane trails off, looking nervous and embarrassed in that endearing way he always does when he meets Ilyaâs silence with rambling. But then his eyes focus in on Ilyaâs face again and his eyes narrow, bottom lip pursed in the prettiest frown Ilyaâs ever seen. âGod Rozanov, you look awful. No wonder you played like shit tonight.âÂ
The insult seems to jolt Ilya back into the land of the living. Now itâs normal territory again, back where Ilya knows what song and dance to perform.
âSo you have combe here just to insult mbe then?â Ilya has to fight to not cringe at the sound of his own voice. Itâs beginning to sound raspy and raw, clogged with congestion. The concerned wrinkles in Shaneâs face deepen.Â
âNo, I just wantedâŠâ Hollander paused for a second, averting his eyes and shuffling nervously, and Ilya takes the opportunity to move this conversation in a less tender direction. Ilya really didnât want to talk about it, the vulnerability so vile he could feel it on his skin like a physical entity. If Shane got all soft and sweet with him right now Ilya knew he wonât be able to resist it like this. He could not do this, not with Hollander and his worried brown eyes, not while he felt so shitty.Â
âYou have combe here for a fuck, hm? Are you so unable to resist mby dick even when I tell you ndo?âÂ
The taunt works and Shaneâs eyes snap back to his usual affronted squint he does when someone says something particularly stupid.Â
âStop fucking around, Iâm not here to sleep with you. What do you have, the flu?âÂ
Ilya sniffled before he answered, which proved to be the wrong choice. The congestion shifted inside his already sensitive nose and the burning need to sneeze ignites in his sinuses. After he had broken it for the second time, Ilyaâs nose became over-sensitive and reactive, even more than before. So now when he got sick it was always a constant struggle to fight the tingling, burning urge to sneeze.Â
He turned away immediately, ducking to try and hide his face in his below. His sinuses were packed full since Ilya hadnât really thought to blow his nose before answering the door. He felt a small flare of panic, a lick of embarrassment; this was possibly the least sexy thing he could do in front of the one man he found to be the most attractive person on the planet. But still, his breath hitched on a shuddering inhale and his body gave him no choice.Â
He stifled painfully, jerking forward one, two, five times, expulsions squelchy and squeaking. Thank god, no mess had escaped him. Ilya groaned quietly, face pinched with pain. His pulse roared in his head for a few seconds as the sinus pressure made his ears pop. He turned back towards the bedroom, going straight for the roll of toilet paper on the bedside table. He fumbled with the soft sheets and then blew his nose, going slowly to try to avoid the worst of the pain in his head. Ilya made sure he was presentable before he turned back around to face Hollander, nose beginning to feel raw and chafed from the frequent friction. At least now he felt a touch less clogged.
"Don't do that, you're going to give yourself an ear infection. I can't believe your medic cleared you to play tonight."
While Ilya was busy dealing with his nose, Shane had put his shopping bag down on the desk and was pulling things out of it. Bottles of medicines, sports drinks, water, a can of ginger ale (naturally), and two large cylindrical takeout containers. Ilya's nose was too stuffed up to smell anything, but he guessed from the shape that it was probably soup. Soup. This man was going to fucking kill him. Â
"He did not clear me," Ilya grumbled, pulling the hotel room's waste bin closer to chuck the sopping tissue he was still holding into it. Shane whipped his head around to ogle at him, eyes wide and outraged, freckles bunched up adorably. He quickly amended his statement before he got thoroughly chewed out. "I was okay before game, just headache and was tired. I will see team doctor tomorrow. I am okay, Hollander, Russians to not pass out and die just from ti-ihhh-ny coldsihhNGXT! HihâNGngXT!â
Ilya ducked quickly into his elbow again to squash the angry expulsions there, strangled again into quiet, painful things.Â
Hollander just blinked at him as he blew his nose again. At least the blowing helped a little.
"Uh-huh. Tiny."
Ilya refused to feel embarrassed about the call-out.Â
"Why are you here, Hollander? I told you not to come yes? We cannot fuck, you will catch this and then you will blame me for ruining your perfect little winning streak." Ilya felt himself already losing the little energy he had from the shock of seeing his rival at the door. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed to look up at Shane, eyes heavy and hot. As if Shane were telepathically tuned into that thought, he stepped close into Ilya's space and put a palm against his forehead. Their eyes met, and Ilya felt his pulse jump into his throat at the zing! of contact. At the gentleness in Shane's eyes.Â
Shane must have felt something equally as vulnerable because he pulled away and turned away to open one of the pill bottles on the desk, ears red. Ilya tried not to mourn the contact. He really did feel pretty awful, head aching, throat sore, snuffling and miserable and cold.Â
"Well, I correctly assumed that you're shit at taking care of yourself. And I... wanted to see you." Shane admitted the last part softly, like he was unable to get his vocal cords to raise the volume past the nervous lump in his throat. Shane opened one of the boxes, pulled out the bottle inside, and then disassembled the box to fold it flat. Always so neat. "You probably have a fever, by the way."
Ilya was helpless to the smile that worked its way onto his face.
"Ah, so you do think I am hot."Â
Shane huffed and smiled softly, shaking his head.
"Shut up, Rozanov. You're not funny." He finished with his unboxing and counting of the pills he had brought, four capsules in the cupped palm of his hand. "Have you taken anything?"
Ilya leaned back on his palms, bed creaking beneath the new distribution of weight. He still kind of couldn't believe this was happening. Shane Hollander was here in his hotel room to feed him pills and soup and play nurse. Ilya hadn't even told him he was feeling bad, hadn't said much during their game together, and hadn't even been terribly symptomatic during the time he was on the ice. To anyone else he was just playing shitty. Was it that Hollander only had to look at him to know? Did Shane see the differences in him the way Ilya could see the differences in Shane? When Shane was playing on a tweaked ankle, when he pretended missing a goal didn't bother him, when his eyes just barely flashed anxiously while answering interview questions that were just a little too personal. Did Shane watch him like Ilya did?Â
Ilya took a deep breath, then stopped the train of thought where it was. He didn't need to be thinking of that when he was so tired and unwell, when his walls just weren't as strong, when he simply didn't have the resources to keep them tall.Â
"Umb," Ilya said, clearing his throat and turning away to cough weakly. "Tylenol only."Â
"Good," Shane said, holding out the handful of pills with a bottle of water. Ilya felt his heart do a insubordinate little flutter at the praise. He took the pills into his own palm, chasing them down with a swig of water. The bottle was cold, recently refrigerated, and it made him shiver. "This will fix you up. And it's nighttime too so it should help you sleep. I checked Boston's schedule so I know you don't fly out for a few days. If you have practice in the morning, don't go."Â
Right as Ilya was going to tell Hollander to fuck off and that he wasn't Ilya's boss and he could go to morning practice if he wanted to (he very much didn't), the itching from earlier came back to his sinuses full force. He brought up the back of his wrist to his nose, breath gasping.Â
âHihâHnGT-nGXT-HNGKT! HAHângHHXT!â
He suppressed them as well as he could, unwilling to make a mess, to show further proof of his illness. To try and make it as small as possible.
Shane frowned at him again, eyebrows pulling together in displeasure.
âSeriously, Roz, knock it off. Stop doing that."Â
Ilya snuffled into more toilet paper he had pulled off the roll. "Doing whadt."Â He blew his nose with a painful honk before tossing the tissue into the trash. If anything he thought maybe Hollander would appreciate his attempts to keep his germs to himself, to be less gross. Shane was always so put together, so neat and tidy, so very much the opposite of whatever Ilya was right now and Ilya very clearly felt the imbalance of it. It made him feel a mix of embarrassment and self-consciousness and shame he didnât often feel outside of interactions with his father.
"Holding them in. Your, uh, sneezes," Shane said, suddenly looking sheepish. "You'll make yourself worse. Or, like, explode your brain. It must hurt to stifle them."Â
"Whatever," Ilya grumbled, crawling further onto the bed and leaning his aching head against the headboard. He didn't love the idea of sneezing with a very full nose in front of the guy he fucks every other month, but Shane was right. It did hurt to stifle them. "You did ndot have to do all of this."Â
Even as he said it, Ilya was grateful Shane had come. It warmed something inside of him, that Hollander had thought of him, had noticed something was out of place, and had showed up unasked to fix it. Ilya struggled to remember a time someone had done this for him, especially without being asked. He couldnât. The last person who must have done this for him was his mother, and he really didnât want to think about that right now. It was a strange feeling to be grateful and content and miserable and exposed all at once.
Shane looked away with a half shrug, cheeks heating. God, he was so sweet Ilya could barely handle it.
âI wanted to.â Again uncomfortable with his own nervousness, Shane retrieved the takeout containers and dug around in the bottom of the bag for a pair of spoons. âAre you hungry? I brought soup. I donât know what you like so I just got miso? Itâs what I usually get when Iâm sick but if you donât like it-â
âHollander.â Ilya smirked softly. Even sick and drippy and gross he couldnât help the swell of affection in his chest. It was so Shane to fret so much, even about his rival, the guy he sometimes has sex with. Ilya had never had another hookup in his life care about him like this. Or look at him the way Shane sometimes does. âIâmb sure is fine. Bring here, we can eat.â
Ilya wasnât really hungry at all, but an excuse to keep Hollander in his room was something he couldnât make himself pass on. Shane just nodded quickly and fumbled with the food and utensils for a second before getting it together while Ilya took him in with hungry eyes.
They ended up side by side on the bed, bad hotel TV on, eating soup mostly in companionable silence. Ilya drank his soup while Shane ate his with a spoon. It was actually pretty good despite having no desire to eat, simple and savory and salty. The food was enjoyable, but the steam almost immediately made his nose begin to run. He sniffled through it for a few mouthfuls before the congestion shifted just so and ignited the tickle in his sinuses. Again.
He had just enough time to set his container of soup on the bedside table before he was snapping forward with several body-shaking sneezes.
He remembered at the last minute Hollanderâs instructions to not hold it in. He was glad for it - even letting loose still made pain shoot through his sinuses and into his temples. Ilya didnât want to know what the agony of stifling right now would feel like.
Ilya felt a little winded, a touch dizzy as he pulled away from his elbow. As he reached for the now half-used roll of paper on the nightstand, he saw there was a smattering of wet droplets on his hoodie sleeve. He felt himself blush a bit as he scrubbed at his sleeve with the tissues and blew his nose. But when he risked a glance over at the man next to him, Shane was looking at him with a little proud smile pulling at his lips, eyes soft and warm.
âBetter,â Shane said before turning his attention back to the TV, still smiling.
Ilya for the first time felt too flustered to reply. That, and he was still exhausted and sick and his brain was slow. Thatâs why he just finished cleaning up his nose and turned back to the TV. It was just the cold medicine making his face warm, making his heart pound.
Ilya managed to finish most of the soup which he was rather proud about. He was glad that he was able to eat despite his lack of appetite, if only so Shane would be happy about it. And it was clear that Shane was; he made a little satisfied noise in his throat when he got up to throw their trash away and saw just an inch of broth left in Ilyaâs container. And to Ilyaâs great surprise, once Hollander finished tidying up, he got right back into the bed, just a touch closer than before.
Now full of warm soup and medicated, Ilya began to feel his eyes droop. He wanted more than anything to have just a little longer of this, a little more of Shaneâs company, a little more of the creature comforts he usually denied himself. But sleeping off how terrible he felt was a close second.
Shane, of course, was quick to notice.
âMeds working already?â He looked at Ilya so sweetly, eyes soft, little concerned crease in his brow. He reached over again and felt Ilyaâs forehead, then brushed the backs of his fingers against his flushed, warm cheek. Ilya sighed and leaned into it, sniffling thickly.
âMm. Amberican medicines are insande. Is like I amb dreaming while awake.â
âWeâre in Canada right now.â âšâšâMmph. Whatever. Ndorth Amberica, is sambe thing.â Ilya yawned hugely and nuzzled down into his pillow, blinking slowly up at the man in his bed. Shane moved his hand up to play with Ilyaâs hair. Ilya was rather enjoying it before he had to jerk away into his sleeve with another set of sudden, intense sneezes.
He coughed and sniffled wetly after, eyes watering, head pounding, vision wobbly from the medicine. âSorry,â he rasped, already turning away to clean himself up. His face felt hot with embarrassment, shame, vulnerability. His head swam as he tried to sit up.
But Shane just frowned and pulled Ilyaâs face back towards him with a cupped hand.
âDonât be. Iâm sorry it hurts.â Shaneâs fingers skidded across his face, gently pressing and massaging the swollen passages of his sinuses. Ilya shut his eyes so as not to cry. He felt both raw and soothed simultaneously as Shane moved his warm thumbs to trace firm circles at Ilyaâs temples, slowly easing the ache there.
Ilya felt himself deflate against the pillows. He was well and truly in the depths of a nasty cold, but he was somehow the most content he had been all day - and he was also on the verge of tears. Shane Hollander was absolutely capable of making him feel complicated things. He was nothing but putty under Shaneâs hands, helpless as the haze of cold medicine pulled him under.
âIs okay. You mbake it better.â Ilya was sure he was slurring, and maybe not even entirely sure he had spoken at all. Shaneâs fingers froze at his temples for the smallest of moments before they began their ministrations again, somehow even more tender than before. Eyes drifting closed, Ilya let his body relax fully as the fuzzy sensation of sedation washed over him. Promptly, he fell asleep.
Whatever pills Shane had given him had knocked him out more than properly, but some time later Ilya was sure he felt the quick press of lips against his cheek before Shane whispered a soft âGoodnightâ just inches from his ear.
Ilya would wake alone the next morning, which was not a surprise. But it did make him smile when he saw all the supplies Shane had brought him lined up on the desk with a note set neatly before them.
hello!! i come bearing more sk/ip food for the timeline.
this has been sitting in my WIPs folder for a hot minute and i'm very happy to finish it!!
[[ EDIT ]] (because i cannot believe i forgot to add this disclaimer â i posted at like 3:30am iâm so sorry!!):
the idea for this fic initially came about off the back of this gooorge dialogue post by @sky-snz [ X ] â thank u so so much for the inspo!!! i just couldnât help but make a fic out of it xx
summary: set about six months after they agree to take a break, s/cott and k/ip are still hopelessly in love and can't leave each other alone. now, s/cott may or may not have accidentally given k/ip the plague, right before heading back out of town, and has to eat humble pie about it.
[ feat; contagion, s/cott h/unter stuffed up out of his ever loving mind, big big feelings, smoothies, and a cameo from papa grady.]
words: 6.5kish.
For all of S/cott H/unterâs flaws â and he himself would admit to having many â an inability to own up to his mistakes and take accountability, even when it was difficult, generally wasnât one of them.
On the ice, he took the time to apologise to the refs when one or more of his guys were being assholes about being given a (fairly earned) penalty. If he accidentally cut someone off in traffic, heâd make a point to meet their eye in the mirror and give an apologetic wave. It was an essential component, he felt, to being both a good captain and a good human being overall.
For all the time that heâd had with his mom, he liked to think sheâd raised him right.
A JFK departure lounge, one that was much too brightly lit, when he had a thumping headache, however, was not exactly the easiest setting in which to rouse himself into taking such accountability. Particularly not when it would involve having to call his ex-boyfriend who he knows he should be leaving well alone.
His chest still pangs, referring to Kip as his âexâ anything, but thatâs where they are.
âhhUHâIHHHDZSSTCHhhâuh!â
Scott pitches forward from the confines of the uncomfortable metal bench, catching the sneeze in the little nest of tissues heâd been clutching like a lifeline since before TSA.
It cuts clear through and echoes above the din of chatter that surrounds them, heavy and abrasive. A couple of nearby passengers turn their heads. He might have blushed if it was anywhere near the first time itâd happened today, but having blown right through the âsuspiciously sore throatâ stage of this cold the previous evening, this morning had ushered the âstuffed up to his eyes and sneezing his brains outâ stage right on in.
No fever, though, so no excuse not to play. Especially not with the upward trajectory the team has been riding these last couple of weeks. As Captain, the weight of that bearing down on him is ever-present, the pressure and the expectations of fans, coaches, managers, agents, the team themselves. It only grows for every year that goes by without a cup win, particularly when theyâve been within touching distance so many times over the last number of years. Itâs his job to finally see it done.
Beyond everyone else, though, he wants it for himself as well; desperately. Needs it, really. Setting aside career-long pipe dreams about his personal legacy, or whatever, what heâd now allowed to slip through his fingers made it absolutely imperative.
Carter Vaughn, his unfortunate roommate for this leg of the journey, and whose shoulder heâd just accidentally knocked, gives him a sympathetic pat. âJesus, man. Bless you.â
Finally satisfied after a moment of uncertainty that it was to be just the one, Scott sniffles and slumps back in his seat. He isnât properly done, though, not by a long shot. He can feel the need still buzzing around in his head, just not quite strong enough to manifest yet.
âThadks, Vaughny. Sorry, agaid, though. I feel like youâve drawn the short straw here.â
Minneapolis may not actually be a million miles away, but it may well feel like it if you were going to have to listen to him like this the whole way there. But Vaughn just shrugs, his smile easy-going with a hint of teasing, like nothing on earth could bother him too much. Scott could always rely on him for that and it takes the edge off his unease.
âHey, so long as you score some goals and lead us to a win later, all is forgiven, man.â
Iâm not sure youâll be saying that if you do actually end up getting whatever the hell this is, Scott thinks to himself, but he appreciates the sentiment all the same. Heâll certainly do his best, but with the ability to score goals heavily dependent on oneâs ability to regulate their own breathing, it remains to be seen just how much use heâll be.
Thereâs a ringing chime over the tannoy, followed by a chirpy, but monotonous drone of announcements. Pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time, his stomach sinks. Theyâll be boarding in no more than five minutes or so. Heâs stalled long enough â if he was going to call Kip, itâd have to be now.
Scott pulls himself to his feet with a sigh. With how early heâd had to be up to make it to the airport, he was just going to text, and had even been putting that off all morning. But suddenly faced with the prospect of several hours on a plane with no service, the weighty thought of getting on the flight without having put this right sits heavy in his stomach. It was late enough now that Kip would definitely be up for work, and a text just didnât seem like enough.
âHey, mban, Iâmb just gonna hit the bathroom before we board, you good watching mby bag?â he directs to Vaughn as he stands, the lie rolling off his tongue with a practiced ease. He paces far enough away through the bustling terminal that he just about loses sight of the team and is comfortably out of earshot, ducking into a quiet alcove.
This is Scottâs karma, heâs convinced. A nice big dose of karmic retribution for his lack of willpower because he couldnât just let Kip go.
If he had anything to say in his own defence, when the temperature of what theyâd had going on had accelerated to such an all-consuming fever pitch in such a short space of time, plunging back into the cold came as a bit of a shock to the system. Itâs been hard, adjusting back to how his life was before. How itâs been for the last 20 or so years.
God, heâd spent a lot of his life alone. Maybe thatâs why he hadnât realised just how much that ached until heâd had someone fill the space and then vacate it again.
Kip was just so⊠big. So bright and so clever, unflinchingly kind and wickedly funny. His heart is so open, itâd embraced him right from the very beginning. His smile is like pure, undiluted sunshine in an open blue sky, and Elena was right. Thatâs where he belongs.
No matter how much time passes, though, or how much moving on is attempted, Scott knows himself very well and he knows heâll always leave a door open for Kip. Maybe one day Scott will be worthy enough for him to walk back through it. He hopes so.
In the meantime, in order to lessen the blow of the separation for both of them, theyâd agreed to try and remain friends. Platonic friends.
However, over the last six months since the official break-up, theyâd seen each other no less than three times. Though they tried to limit how much they spoke outside of these instances, the offer of meeting up was admittedly like a token they each kept, hidden and cherished in their back pockets, available to cash in in a moment of weakness.
At first, it had taken three months. Scott broke first.
Then, two. Kipâs turn to buckle.
Then one month after that. Thatâd been the day before yesterday.
In Scottâs defence, Kip had reposted a picture from Mariaâs Instagram story, one in which he was sitting on a bench at what looked like a bustling outdoor public ice rink, lacing up a pair of skates. It was like fate had dropped the circumstance in his lap purely for the purpose of allowing him to strike up conversation, and thatâs genuinely all heâd intended for it to be. It was too tempting to resist. Scott had fantasised before about getting Kip into a pair of skates, inviting him and his family and friends to one of the family skate nights the team held sometimes at Madison Square Garden. He could recall Kip mentioning that his sister had a kid, even, who mightâve gotten a kick out of it.
Scott takes no real interest in his own official public Instagram profile, nor that of any social media platform for that matter, leaving access and periodic posting responsibilities in the dutiful hands of his comms team. His grid remains an impersonal mosaic of carefully curated, contractually obligated ad posts. Which is why when he swipes up on Kipâs story itâs from the burner account (âsfromrochester_77â) theyâd sat on his couch and made together while they were dating, so Scott could watch Kipâs stories and privately keep up with his life there.
sfromrochester_77: Those generic rental skates are death traps, btw, so be careful. Iâd even struggle to stay upright on them.
The reply doesnât come until a couple of hours later, presumably after they got done with whatever they were up to. Scottâs heart leaps in time with the chime of the notification.
kipstopher_g: I fear any skates are likely to be death traps simply by virtue of being worn by me đ Can confirm though: Iâm alive and well.
kipstopher_g: Ego only slightly bruised, knees and elbows also.
That manages to get a chuckle out of him. He has no doubt Kip looked cute as hell bambi-ing out on the ice.
sfromrochester_77: Tsk. Call yourself a New Yorker.
kipstopher_g: Says the man from Rochester!
sfromrochester_77: What are you doing out at a public rink, anyway?
kipstopher_g: Straw+Berry holiday staff âpartyâ. Skating, then dinner and drinks. However weâve now learned that the tab for the latter two are not included in managementâs festive spirit of generosity, lol.
sfromrochester_77: Harsh. Your great work all year is worth at least a nice burger some place where the waiters come to you.
kipstopher_g: Yeah, Iâm not holding out hope.
sfromrochester_77: Holiday bonus?
kipstopher_g: I wish. Your tips were my holiday bonus.
kipstopher_g: And hey, if my âworkâ set the Admirals in good stead for the season this year, then I can live with that.
Oh, fuck, I like you.
Scott catches himself smiling at his phone. Heâs been on the road so much lately and heâs so worn out, even if being away from his apartment has become somewhat of a welcome reprieve of late, it doesnât make travelling any less tiring. Feeling the familiar warmth of Kipâs glow within arms reach is almost too much to bear resisting, but he shouldnât give in to it. Scott definitely shouldnât (after insisting that he can absolutely say no), imply to Kip that if he wanted to come round to his place after he gets done with his work party, then the invitation was open.
He does it anyway.
They were really going to have to try and get better at being, well, not together.
If anything reinforced that, it was now having to reckon with the mortifying possibility that said moment of weakness could have led to him having accidentally given Kip the plague, and then immediately skipped town and simply left him with it.
Steeling himself as best he could, Scott presses Kipâs contact and brings the phone to his ear.
From somewhere between the monotonous, anticipatory rings of the dial tone, that tingling buzz of irritation heâd been left with before flares suddenly back to life, this time with a vengeance. He isnât sure whatâs set it off â someone walking by wafting a perfume sample that didnât agree with him, or wearing clothes layered in cat hair from last minute cuddles before leaving for the airport, or even nothing at all, his sinuses are so sensitive right now it really wouldnât have taken much of anything.
It all happens so fast and he doesnât get time to ponder it in any real depth before his eyes are full of tears and heâs hurrying to press the handful of tissues to his nose, which has swiftly started to stream. He grips the phone tighter and turns away even further into the alcove.
âHi, this is Kip! Please leave a message-â
Pervasively aware of how little time he has, Scott has no other choice but to power on.
âHey, hodeyâ umbâŠâ
And promptly stumble at the first petname-shaped hurdle. He winces at the slip up, clearing his throat to try and dispel some of the awkwardness he felt flood his system. They didnât talk on the phone much nowadays, and he hadnât had the chance to get himself out of the habit.
â...sdnffff. I, uh, I hope youâve beed havidg a good day. I hope workâs ndot beed too awful after last ndight-â
He smothers a string of coughs into his fist, his breath threatening to snag on them. Jesus Christ.
âHhihh⊠what it is, I just wadted t-tâhhh-.... wadted to, ub⊠sdnrrff. I just wadtedâhhh-â
How many goddamn times is he going to have to try that sentence?
â....hhhuhHâAEHâDZZSSSHhhhhâuh!⊠sdnnngk⊠ugh, sorry⊠I wadted to check howâŠ. h-how⊠hhh? how youâre feeliâg, b-becauseâhHH⊠hâaHâEHDTZZSâssschâhuh!...â
Blinking against his swimming vision, Scott jams his phone between his ear and his shoulder, leaving him with both hands to try and wring the very last ounce of use out of the now thoroughly soaked, very useless tissues in the aftermath of those sneezes. He sounds vile, he knows that, but thereâs no turning back now.
â...sorryâ sdnrrfff. As you cad hear, I, uh, thidk Iâve cobe dowd with sobethidg reallyâŠâ He huffs out a humourless laugh. â...ndot ndice. Defiditely ndot pretty, by ady mbeans. I just wanted to⊠check id, I guess? Ward you, just id case? I really hope you dodât get it, though. And Iâb⊠Iâb so so sorry. If Iâd knowd I was gettiâg sick, I wouldnât have-â
He heaves out a heavy sigh. Maybe the cold had just left him feeling particularly vulnerable, but to be honest, even just speaking to the vast, silent, empty abyss of his voicemail inbox, Scott canât help but tell Kip the truth, even if he instinctively lowers his voice to do so. âIt was great seeiâg you. I just wishâ⊠yeah.â
Scott shakes his head, unsure of where exactly he was going with that thought, but it makes him sad regardless. âYeah, ub, for sure get sobe vitabid C into you if you cad. Irodically youâre i-idâŠhhhiâh?... the perfect place for thatâ sdnrffff. A-AâhhhndâŠ.â Not again. He tucks his face firmly into the crook of his elbow, holding the phone slightly away. âhhuHâAEHHTCHâsschâiew!... Fuck, excuse mbeâŠâ
Vaguely aware of movement in his peripheral vision, Scott pauses, stepping out of the alcove far enough to catch the team in the distance, en masse, beginning to stir.
Shit, he definitely doesnât have time to delete the message and try it again.
âLook, I have to go, I thidk weâre getting ready to boardâŠâ
He pauses, considering. Should he ask to him toâ
Fuck it. Heâs come this far.
âBut, ub, mbaybe give mbe a call back sobetime later, if thatâs okay? Alrightââ He stutters a beat, managing this time to catch the habitual âlove youâ before it could spill out. âBye.â
â-
Once again, Kip is hungover at work. Because he never fucking learns his lesson.
He has no one to blame but himself, either. Theyâd all been out for Shawnâs birthday the night before and he arrived at the Kingfisher full of assurances that, because of the whole âI have to open the shop at 6am and Iâm stuck commuting from Brooklyn againâ thing, he was only going to have a couple of drinks. He was then going to switch to Diet Coke, go home at a reasonable hour, and get a half decent amount of sleep.
Did he expect to actually follow through on such sensible plans? Honestly, not really.
Did he expect himself to abandon them quite as quickly or as wholeheartedly as he had done? No. He did not.
What could he say? The music was great. Kyle, though not on duty, was jumping behind the bar anyway and had a very generous pour. It did his heart good to be around his friends. Heâd been leaning on them a lot more since he and Scott stopped seeing each other, happy to be distracted by their joyful, colourful chaos, even if he couldnât even fully talk about the situation to them.
So as stupid as it was, with all those factors conspiring together, his arm hadnât been difficult to twist into staying out. Even if he was paying for it now, suffering through an opening shift on three hours sleep (Thank God Elena had let him crash at her place so he didnât have to traipse all the way back out to Brooklyn, only to have to pretty much come right back in again), a killer headache, and incurable dry mouth that probably hadnât been helped by the Taco Bell theyâd all picked up after stumbling out of the bar.
His throat was aching with it, too. No matter how much water heâd been gulping down over the course of the morning.
With his phone battery drained after last nightâs escapades, heâd left it on to charge face down under the counter as they just about made it through the morning rush from hell. Between said rush and having to basically restock the whole prep area to account for the rush, itâs like 10:30 before the shop is empty again, theyâve done everything they need to do, and they can finally take a breath.
Only two and a half more hours.
Maria, who is somehow looking remarkably less worse for wear than him despite being out just as late, flutters around while Kip finishes refilling the last of the fruit containers thatâd been decimated, concocting herself an improvised, off-menu smoothie. Mango, passionfruit and⊠probably some other things, he thinks.
âMmmm!â she exclaims. Her eyes are a tired reflection of his own, but they light up when the smoothie hits her tongue. âNot to ride my own dick, but I swear, this might actually be my calling in life. That tastes awesome. Here, tryââ
Kip is quick to oblige, desperate to quench his apparently unquenchable thirst, and takes the cup from her waiting hands.
âMmmm,â he repeats, a little caught off guard by just how good it really is. Not that Mariaâs not a proven and extremely proficient âsmoothie artisteâ, but he could swear he even feels his headache recede a little with the sugary hit. âItâs really good. Did you crush up some Advil into this? If not, could you?â
He grabs the straw and takes a second, longer, admittedly rather audacious, sip before she can snatch it off him again.
âHey! Give me that back and Iâll make you your own. JeezâŠâ She sucks up another mouthful of her masterpiece through the straw, as if in protest of his audacity.
Kip turns back to the counter and unhooks his phone from the charger. Itâs the first opportunity heâs had to look at it since the whole of Manhattan, their wives, and their dogs too, woke up deciding they wanted smoothies on a random Wednesday morning. Smoothies that, at some point, had managed to drip down onto the back of his phone case. His brow furrowing in disapproval, he licks thumb, rubbing it away before turning the screen face-up.
Oh. He has a missed call. From Scott.
And a new voicemail message.
Kipâs heart lurches. For many reasons, probably, but primarily because nowadays, they never call; just text. Even in and around these little liaisons theyâd been allowing themselves to indulge in. Call it a futile attempt at holding in place some kind of boundary, no matter how feeble, but either way, this is unavoidably strange. Something must be wrong. Scott would have been at the airport when heâd called, about to fly to Minnesota for the start of another string of away games. Heâd said as much the other night.
Kip swallows painfully against the worry starting to churn in his stomach.
âHey,â he calls across to Maria, âAre you okay if I step out here and make a call? Just for a sec, promise.â
She gives him a deadpan look. âUm, no. How will I cope with all these customers all by myself?â she says, gesturing dramatically to the empty shop.Â
Kip rolls his eyes, playfully flipping her off, and her face breaks into the smile sheâd just about been holding at bay as he made his way towards the back storeroom.
Nestled away safely amongst boxes of cleaning supplies and plastic cup lids, he hurries to hit play on the voicemail.
He isnât entirely sure what he was expecting to hear, but straight out of the gates, the first three syllables are a swift one-two punch to his resolve.
âHey, honeyââ
The endearment washes over him like deep heat on a blossoming bruise; a pleasant, pleasant kind of hurt. In that deep, low, familiar gravel of his voice, too, andâ
Oh. Oh, wait, no. It isnât just gravelly, itâs wrecked. Heâs sick. Kip doesnât need to wait for him to confirm as much himself, the hopelessly stuffy sniffles and eye-wateringly raw, forceful sneezes he couldnât even hold back long enough to get through a minute long voicemail saying all that needed to be said.
Scott sounded awful. Not even in a placating âAww, you sound awful. Here, wrap up warm, pack some extra tissues into your pocket and get on with your dayâ kind of way. The kind of awful that should be tucked away in bed and not flying across the country to go play a major league contact sport, involving ice and blades and sticks and a rubber projectile travelling at over 100mph.
âAs you cad hear, I, uh, thidk Iâve cobe dowd with sobethidg really ndot ndice. Defiditely ndot pretty, by ady mbeans. I just wanted to⊠check id, I guess? Ward you, just id case? I really hope you dodât get it, though. And Iâb⊠Iâb so so sorry. If Iâd knowd I was gettiâg sick, I wouldnât have-â
Kip feels all mixed up, his immediate feelings a strange cocktail of sympathy, appreciation of the fact that heâd gone out of his way to let him know and check up on him, perhaps a touch of regret for just how sorry he sounded, like it was all his own singular fault that heâd gotten sick in the first place.
Then, just as a hint of an essence in the mix, a seed of foreboding.
Kip swallows experimentally, that ache in his throat suddenly recontextualising in his mind in real time as a third sneeze rings in his ear, and Scottâs hoarse, thoroughly cold-ridden voice closes out the message.
No. Itâs fine. Iâm hungover, but itâs fine. Iâm fine. Shawnâs party had been kind of rowdy, I was yelling quite a bit. I was out the night before, too. Thereâs absolutely no need to jump to conclusions.
If he did end up getting sick though⊠maybe it was his punishment from the universe. For being the one to insist that they take a break, as deeply as it had pained him to do so, regardless of the strength of how they felt about each other. Of how blissfully happy theyâd been when things were good, how effortless they clicked, and the potential of what they could be if heâd had the patience to wait for itâŠ
In a few years, maybe.
To set that aside and then not even having the decency to hold true to his own convictions or fully close that door.
Kip should probably get back to work. Text Scott laterâ tell him he feels fine, wish him luck for the game, and that he hopes he feels better soon. Scott would probably be busy right now anyway, in warm ups or even fully into the practice session. A practice session he probably shouldnât even really be in at all. Would he get benched at some point before the game? Probably not, all-star player and captain that he is, as much as Kip wishes he would.
Whatâs more likely to happen is that heâll play, push himself harder to compensate for not feeling well, sustain some sort of minor injury and then be left tending to himself in some cold, impersonal hotel room so far from home.
Kip presses âcall backâ instead. It picks up on the third ring.
âHey,â Scottâs voice comes through the receiver as hoarse as he was in the voicemail but now a little breathless as well, and slightly surprised. âHow, um⊠howâs it going?â
When the line connects whatever environment heâs in sounds bustling and busy, punctuated by loud, accented voices and the sound of lockers slamming. Itâs quick to die off and quieten, though, like heâs moved rooms to take the call. It takes Kip a second to realise he isnât sure what heâd intended on saying. It feels like new territory.
âGood! Itâsâ itâs going good. Well, alright, really,â he has to swallow back the urge to keep rambling. âI got your message.â
He could almost hear Scott cringe over the phone. âNdot mby finest mboment, I kndow. Iâmb sorry. I dodât know whether Iâmb hoping at least sobe of it was intelligble, orâŠâ
He trails off, with the faint sound of his breath starting to hitch, like heâs trying to hold back a sneeze that inevitably, imminently, needs to come. For Scott, that tended to be a rather pointless exercise though, as it rarely ever succeeded. So Kip politely waits, wincing in sympathy at coarse, devastating fierceness of the sound, even evidently muffled.
âBless you. And itâs okay; donât be, honestly. For any of it, by the way. You didnât knowââ
Didnât change the fact that you shouldnât been at his house in the first placeâ
Kip shook his head, clearing the unhelpful thought away. âI canât believe youâre actually playing tonight. You really donât sound good.â
Scott dismisses the concern with a huff of humourless laughter. âDodât worry, Iâmb mbade of sturdy stuff, mbost hockey players areââ
â...except for the ones from Boston.â
Now that gets a real laugh out of him. Kip enjoys the sound very much; of the brief reprieve from his discomfort.
âExactly, you get it,â Scott says. âIâmb ndice and dosed up with cold mbedicine and Iâve played with a lot worse. Dodât eved have a fever, so.â Kip swears he can hear him shrug, so nonchalant. So a team doctor actually checked him out and signed off on him playing in this state?
âAlright, ednough about mbe, though. Youâre okay, right? You sound okay, but please tell mbe Iâve ndot gived you this.â
Kip swallows, unable to ignore the definite twinge in the back of his throat, one no amount of water, nor coffee, nor smoothie has been able to quell. Heâs sure itâs just the power of suggestion, listening to Scott speak to him all stuffed up and sniffly, but heâs suddenly feeling the urge to sniff? Even though his nose isnât running. To reflexively test the resistance against some non-descript, incrementally increasing pressure.
He was a very suggestible person, clearly, hence how heâd ended up in this situation. Of course heâs fine. Heâs hungover but heâs fine.
âOh yeah, no, Iâm okay. Youâre good,â Kip lies. âWell, about as much as I physically can be, though itâs all self-inflicted. I told you it was Shawnâs birthday party last night, right? And I had to be here for 6am, and, well, you know me,â he sighs, though his lips twitch at the corners, his and Scottâs first meeting flitting through his mind like a sun-soaked daydream.
âI never learn my fucking lesson, do I? Iâm hard-headed like that.â
Scott groans, but itâs unmistakably fond, an air of relief clear in the sound. Kip wonders if heâs thinking about that day as well. âApparently ndotâ sdnffff. You odly have, what, a couple of hours left, right?â
âTwo hours and fifteen minutes exactly. Iâm counting âem down. Iâm going to get a bagel on the way home, and oh my God, the nap Iâm going to takeâŠâ Kip groans in pre-emptive pleasure at the thought.
Scott chuckles. âStop, Iâmb jealous. Youâre mbaking mbe mbiss Ndew York. And sleep.â
The pleasure twists in Kipâs stomach the thought that Scott still technically has a full, physically strenuous work day ahead of him now.Â
âWell, be sure to get plenty of it when you get back later,â Kip says, his voice soft.
God, he sounds way too much like heâs still Scottâs boyfriend right now. Like he has a right to be concerned. He bites his lip, looking to the storeroom door as if the real world was beckoning him back.
âSorry, I left Maria on her own out on the floor and I think sheâs calling me back. Sheâs meant to be making me a smoothie âof her own creationâ â sounds ominous, but she let me try some and itâs actually really good, lots of vitamin C, so Iâm sure Iâm covered. But look, good luck for the game later, and thanks for the, uh, the heads upâŠâ
For a second he thinks he might be imagining it, but no, an errant tickle is in fact flaring to life in the back of his throat, radiating upwards into his sinuses and embedding right in.
No. No. Absolutely not.
His eyes screw shut against the sensation, and he jams the side of his fingers underneath his nose, massaging away the itch as silently as he can.
âThadks, Kip. Yeah, you mbanaged to catch mbe just after warb-ups hereâ thidk weâre heading into full practice now, so Iâll let you go. I know what you said, but just⊠sorry. Agaid. If Iâd kdnown, I wouldnât have, wellâŠâ
Scott pauses, and for a second Kip worries heâs clocked him and his struggle, as he finally manages to wrangle the urge to sneeze into some kind of temporary submission. When he continues, though, his voice is pitched lower, into something altogether more intimate, more exposing.
âCould I mbaybe give you a call sobetime toborrow? Just to mbake sure youâre definitely okay.â
âHey, thatâs my line, right? Youâre the one whoâs sick,â Kip says, weak and non-committal.
How fucking sad he feels at the prospect of turning him down only further reveals how much he probably should.
But yet again, he canât quite bring himself to do so.
They leave things in that weird, up-in-the-air space as they say goodbye. As if Kipâs body was primed and waiting for that âend callâ button being hit, a slight loosening on the grip of control heâd exerted to keep the itch in check, it instantly expanded, overwhelming his senses untilâ
Right as the door swings open and Maria appears, a very full, very refreshing, very delicious looking smoothie in-hand.
âAre youâ oh, bless you, damnâ she chirps. âHereââ
Handing him the drink, she gives him an assessing look, not looking overly pleased with what she sees. âYou flagging? You look like you need it. But anyway, itâs still empty out there and Iâm so bored, please come back.â
Kip takes the smoothie gratefully and gives his nose one final scrub, hoping that clears away the irritation threatening to linger there, before following Maria back out into the shop.
Two hours and seven minutes left to go.
â--------------------------
Waking up later from the nap heâd been so looking forward to, honestly, it was kind of a disappointment.
Rather than feeling restored, or refreshed, or in any way better at all, all Kip really wants to do is just go right back to sleep and write the day off entirely. That distinctive âhead caught in a viceâ type of hangover headache has eased off at least, which would be welcome if it hadnât left this throbbing pressure behind his eyes and a fledgling sinus headache in its wake. And as much as heâd like to continue denying it, he was for sure feeling a bit congested now.
As much as heâd love to continue rotting in bed in peaceâ heâd come home from work, gone straight to his bedroom, and hasnât been downstairs since. And thatâs after having pretty much only shown his face here in the last two days to change for Shawnâs party before heading out and not coming home. Again. So even if momâs probably already left for her night shift, he knows if he doesnât show his face downstairs soon his dad will be coming up to investigate.
Itâs probably just easier to bite the bullet and go down of his own volition. Anyway, thereâs a heady scent of garlic and tomatoes wafting from down there, which means his dad must be making his famous baked ziti and he was definitely not missing out on that.
After much ribbing about how much heâs been out recently, they eat dinner together in comfortable companionship and Kip fills him in on all the gossip and goings on with his friends and the guys at work from the last couple of days. Whilst his dad has his moments, and can impart some sage wisdom in response to even the silliest of misadventures, a lot of the time he just lives for the drama. However, Kip tactfully leaves out that part where heâd ended up staying the night at the place of âthe closeted public figureâ heâd been seeing before, at the behest of an impromptu Instagram DM conversation.
Having come clean about everything (minus Scottâs actual identity, because heyâ still wasnât his information to be giving out), after rather dramatically sobbing into his arms the night it all ended, Kip doesnât exactly reckon heâd be too impressed to hear it.
If one good thing has come out of all this though, he supposes itâs maybe being able to share in his dadâs passion for hockey and for the Admirals as his team, and how they now regularly carve out time to sit and watch the games together. Kip regularly wonders if perhaps he simply stopped watching, whether heâd have an easier time moving on or not.
Of course he had to tonight, though. Just to make sure Scott is holding up okay. Because he totally couldnât trust the teammates, friends, coaches, and the medical professionals he was surrounded by in-person, and who were in a position to actually do something, to do so. So he follows his dad to the living room and settles in as he flips the channel over.
Caught occasionally by the cameraâs close-up, both pre-match and during the first shift, Scottâs looking rather worse for wear, though he was doing his best to mask it. Quite honestly, heâs playing like it too. Not to the point that heâs playing bad necessarily, just distinctly average, which isnât like him; definitely not his best. The commentators are annoyingly quick to point it out, too.
Kip finds it difficult to reconcile sometimes, the tall, broad, proud figure on the TV screen, broadcast to millions, being the same man heâd been on the phone to a few mere hours ago, sounding sick and vulnerable and so achingly familiar.
The same man whose head heâd held in his lap, running his fingers through his hair after a long, gruelling day. Whose apartment he knew the layout of by heart, right down to exactly how he liked his cupboards organised. Whose bed heâd shared not 48 hours ago, tongues down throats, gasping for breath straight from each otherâs mouths, like there was a limited supply of air and they had no choice but to share it.
Kip sniffles, the pressing need to do so a development which has been gradually unfurling over the course of the evening, no matter how unwelcome it was. Heâs not even aware heâs doing it half the time, and from what he is aware of, even that is starting to feel excessive. Not to mention the sneezing. It was at least once per period now (twice accounting for the fact theyâre pretty consistently coming in twoâs), and going into the third, his dad turns to him, his gaze shining with concern.
Heâs such a worrier.
He reaches across to the coffee table and helpfully chucks the box of tissues thatâd been sitting there in the vague direction of Kipâs lap. His reflexes are a little rusty, but he just barely grabs it before it bounces right of him and onto the floor.
In all honesty, heâs been fantasising about getting up and snagging that box for the better part of an hour now, held back only by the inclination that by doing so he would be admitting defeat. Itâs actually kind of a relief to have the decision taken out of his hands. He plucks a couple out.
âBless you. Sounds like you need those, bud,â his dad says kindly. âYou coming down with something?â
Heâs aware his dadâs eyes steadfastly arenât leaving him, waiting on an answer or at least an acknowledgement, while Kipâs own are focused solely on the screen. Theyâve panned back to the away bench, where Scottâs got the bottom half of his flushed, sweaty face buried in a towel, blowing his nose, seemingly, before his attention snaps back to the game in front of him, following the puck and the movements of his players with what was usually a laser-like focus, now rendered sluggish but determined. Heâs got his helmet off, so he must be pretty sure heâs not likely to get tapped back in.
He looks about as good as Kipâs beginning to feel.
In an aberrant, almost taboo sense, it feels almost intimate, if Kipâs ready to fully accept reality. The one in which he does in fact have Scottâs cold, the one heâs heard over the phone and is seeing play out right now on a TV screen over a thousand miles away, leftover from the time spent together right here in New York they probably shouldnât have. He should probably feel annoyed and inconvenienced by the whole situationâ he wasnât sure he wanted to face why he didnât, not completely.
Itâs endearing. In a stuffy, snotty, sweaty, humbling kind of way. If itâs a punishment itâs a tender one; one thatâs shared.
Thatâll at least be something to hold onto when tomorrow comes around and I have to work on grad school assignments with a streaming head cold.
âMmm, maybeâŠâ Kip finally answers through a sigh, still watching the screen, giving his nose a soft blow. âProbably, yeah.â
His dad seems to accept his admission, turning back to the game with a tut. âSee, thatâs what you get, staying out âtil all hours of the night partying.â
alsoooo 1.4k of miserable i/lya for ya as well. partially inspired by the i/lya stifling discourse on here! set right after HR, during I/lyaâs last season with Boston.
Ilya lets his head lull back against his seat. Heâs fucking exhausted.
The Boston Bears are all exhausted tonight.
A moment like this is rare. One in which the team is so subdued after a win. Even in situations like tonightâsâ a quick turn around between games, hopping on a flight only a couple hours after getting off the iceâ usually the guys are hyped up on the adrenaline of their victory.
So, this quiet atmosphere on the team jet is indeed unique. Most everyone on the flight is trying to squeeze in some shut eye, whereas theyâd usually be pouring drinks and blasting music.
Ilya pinches between his brows, digging deep circles to try to rub away the headache settling in right there, just behind his eyes.
Heâs grateful for the silence surrounding him, because heâs really starting to feel like crap. Of course, the reason for the peacefulness, is also the reason for his crummy ailments. A nasty bug that has made its way through, at minimum, half of the team. And now itâs stretched its icky tentacles around Ilyaâs immune system too.
Thankfully, Ilya was able to play a solid game this afternoon. Two goals against Florida of his own, and one by Marleau. It wasnât pretty by any meansâ guys deliberately snotting on the ice, using jerseys as tissues, hacking up a lung after tiring plays. The arena cleaning staff is probably entering in hazmat suits at this very moment, with an arsenal of Lysol by their sides.
The image behind his eyelids of CDC workers rushing into the stadium is doing a good job of putting Ilya to sleep, until an irritating twinge burns in the back of his nose.
He cracks an eye open at the same time as he presses his knuckle against the itching nostril, but the intense tingle only grows stronger. His closed eye begins to tear at the sensation, wetting his lashes.
After a few seconds, Ilya drops his hand and gives into the urge, too tired to keep fighting it. He breathes slowly, gently, lips parted and eyes squinted, until his breath catches. He times one final inhale accurately, able to successfully subdue the reflex into a silent head-jerk. Two more follow, just as they always do. He lets out a soft sigh after the third.
He sniffles audibly, glancing around at the collective misery happening around him, and catches Marleauâs gaze across the isle.
âGod bless,â Cliff says quietly, with an assured nod. âYou good?â He more so mouths than says.
Ilya nods and waves him off, resettling into his seat. Luckily itâs not long before heâs snoring.
ââ
Ilyaâs never found a hotel bed as comfortable as he does the next evening. Another win under the Bearsâ belt (barely), this time in Detroit, and a blessed reprieve from their hectic scheduleâ it had snowed too much during the day for the team to fly out until the following morning.
Some of the guys who werenât sick and a couple who were already on the mend took the opportunity to go out. Ilya had passed, and for once it wasnât suspicious that lady-killer Rosanov was turning in instead of enjoying a night of partying.
Ilya had been skipping out on the party scene fairly often these days, ever since he and Shane had become an official (secret) couple. He still joined the guys out occasionallyâ it would probably be his last season with them if his plans for Ottawa panned out, and he wanted to try to enjoy that.
This time, Ilyaâs rejection was met with âfeel betterâs and âget some sleep, Capâs and so on. A stark contrast to the usual ensuing unconvincing speeches as to why heâs missing out on the best night of his life.
Now, as he lays out flat on his back, head propped up against three pillows and eyes barely open, Ilya has to fight to keep himself awake.
Shane would be calling momentarily, and Ilya, even feeling as crummy as he does, isnât going to miss an opportunity to talk to his boyfriend.
But this bug is something nasty, because he accidentally dozes off for a couple minutes. Thankfully his phone is resting on his stomach, and startles him out of his stupor when it begins to buzz. Ilya forces himself to sit up straight and pulls his knees towards his chest so he has somewhere to rest his arm, phone in hand.
Finally he accepts the facetime. Shaneâs worried face fills his screen.
âAww, you look so sick, Ilya,â Shane coos, brows furrowed, glasses reflecting his bright phone screen.
âDa, yes. I feel terrible,â he grumbles. His brain feels like mush.
Shane bites his lip. Ilya can see the background changing behind him. He must be walking to his bedroom. âWhat are your symptoms?â
Ilya shrugs and sniffles pitifully before mustering up the energy to respond. âStuffy nose, sore throat, headache.â He clears his throat. âMaybe a fever,â he says uncertainly.
Shane tsks. âIâm sorry. I wish I could take care of you,â he says sweetly, though Ilya knows that in the midst of hockey season Shane might secretly be glad to be many miles away from his germs.
Ilya sniffs again. He glances around the room until he spots a tissue box on the TV stand. He wishes heâd sought it out sooner. He groans as he pulls the covers down and gets hit with chilly air.
âWhatcha doin?â Shane asks casually, but based on Ilyaâs state, heâs probably not feeling casual about this at all.
âGetting tissue box,â Ilya says plainly, moving as quickly as possible to get back beneath the blankets.
Shane starts talking again, and Ilya tries to listen, but his sinuses start burning again, and itâs too hard to focus. His eyes glaze over and his chin droops, enough so that Shaneâs voice tapers off mid-sentence.
After a few seconds of silence, Ilya buckles silently with the first sneeze, then the second two, closer together. Then he stalls for a minute, before snapping down with a fourth, that escapes him partially.
ânXKâshhh!â
âDone?â Shane waits a moment. Ilya nods. âBless you.â
A quiet, breathed out, âThank you.â He gives his nose a weak blow, and tries to remember a time when his head didnât feel like it was about to implode.
âThat looked painful. I thought you stopped doing that. Itâs not good for you,â Shane points out.
Heâs right. Still, Ilya rolls his eyes a little. He used to stifle no matter what. It was sort of a learned behavior in a house where imperfection was not acceptable. Being sick was weakness, and being loud (even if the loudness wasnât that loud and the cause of it was an unavoidable reflex) was impolite. So, keeping something as trivial as a sneeze quiet was just another way to stay under the radar.
Sometime after moving to Boston, that habit began to die out. But Ilya remembers Shane commenting on it once, many years ago.
âJesus, how do you sneeze so quietly?â
A lot has changed since then. Ilya discovering new freedoms and ways to clash with his father, even if the man was back in Russia unable to see it. And now, he doesnât usually consider stiflingâ not unless thereâs an explicit purpose for it.
âOh. Yes, I forgot I am finally alone. Iâve been trying to keep the sickness to myself,â he explains mildly.
Shane frowns. âDoesnât half the team already have it?â
âYes. Half. The other fifty percent still have a chance,â Ilya counters, tone weary.
Shane snorts. âWhatever you say. Just donât do that anymore, kay?â
Ilya shrugs, but nods. âWhat is new with you, moya lyubov'?â
Shane nearly laughs at how hard Ilyaâs trying to keep his eyes open to hold a conversation right now. âNot much. How about you call me tomorrow morning and Iâll tell you. I thinkââ
âHH! hihâTDSCHHHh! huhâDTSCHHHhiew!â
ââjeez, bless you.â
âhhhdâTSZCHHHuh!â
âBless.â Shane frowns. âYou okay?â
Ilya shakes his head through another uncontrollable inhale.
âhuhgtâSCHHHieww!â
Ilyaâs got his arm up, vaguely near his chin, though it's doing nothing to cover anything. Shane watches his nostrils flare again.
âhhdâTSCHHHHuh! huhâTDSCHHHiewww!â
âBless you,â Shane sighs. He watches Ilyaâs head leave frame, then reappear with a new tissue, sniffling.
He swipes at his nose, a tear running belatedly down his cheek. âThank you,â he practically whispers.
At a loss for words, Shane frowns deeper. Then, âIâm sorry youâre so sick.â
Ilya sighs through chapped lips. He misses being able to breathe through his nose. âMe too.â
A minute of silence passes, Shane just watching Ilya flight sleep before he speaks again.
âIâm gonna let you go, okay? I want you to get some sleep,â Shane says. Ilya would laugh at how similar he is to Yuna if he wasnât so caught up in his own misery.
âWill youââ Ilya coughs. âWill you stay on the phone until I am asleep,â he meekly requests.
An adoring look creeps over Shaneâs face.
âOf course I will.â
Ilyaâs eyes slip closed. âThank you. I love you.â
Shane smiles fondly. âI love you too, Ilya. Goodnight.â
